#CHRIST it really has how has it been six months since I posted anything on ao3 wtf

[essektheylyss]

message on a wire

Rating: T Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast Additional Tags: Conversations, Canon-Typical Trauma Discussions, we fuck with demiplanes here sir

Summary:

It takes a while after the Apogee Solstice begins, with all of its associated dangers, for Essek to return home.

[phillippadgettwrites]

The First Time, Every Time: Miracle Man

Rated X / 1048 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3

“The power of Christ compels you!” the old priest and the young priest shout in unison.

Streaks of holy water slash through the flesh on Regan’s legs, slicing her skin wide open. She floats above the bed, rigid and mottled, a shell of the child she was when the movie started. 

Mulder’s hand slides further down Scully’s belly, slipping just under the waist of her sweatpants, and gooseflesh lights up all over her arms. 

It’s actually really fucking cliche, a fact that they won’t be able to joke about for another six years. The scary movie, the dimmed lights, the flirtatious teasing about one or the other of them being too scared to keep watching. Mulder facetiously sat too close. Scully ironically pulled the blanket up to shield her eyes. He played pretend at comforting her. Somewhere along the line the joke stopped being a joke, and when he leaned forward and touched her jaw, she knew it wasn’t part of a bit. 

He’s wedged on his side between her body and the back of the couch, and he appears to have aspirations of sticking his hand down her pants. Though she realizes intellectually that they’ve already made a handful of mistakes and would be wise to cut their losses, the fact that she hasn’t been laid in months paired with the empty wine glass in front of her on the coffee table are seriously clouding her judgment. 

“S’that okay?” Mulder mumbles against her mouth as the tips of his fingers graze the skin beneath her belly button, and she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts her hips up in encouragement and lets her body do the talking. 

It truly was an innocent invitation. She owns the movie, so it’s not like she went out of her way to rent it or anything. Mulder just seemed out of sorts after their latest case, and she felt compelled to cheer him up. She typically finds moody men insufferable, but Mulder actually talks to her about the things that sour his mood, and often even takes her advice, which makes it exponentially less irritating. She’s truly flattered by how willing he is to be vulnerable with her, a trait that she initially thought to be compulsive but later realized is specific to her.  

She gasps and clamps her thighs down on his forearm when he sinks a finger into her, and he immediately stills. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling away a little, and she shakes her head and grabs the back of his neck to tug him closer. 

Far from hurting her, he just woke up nerve endings that have been dormant since Bush was in office, but she’s not about to tell him that. She can’t remember the last time a man spent this much time kissing and touching her without trying to stick his dick in her. Just when she has that thought, Mulder gently grinds against her hip, and she feels herself quivering around his fingers at the idea of fucking him. But of course they can’t do that. They shouldn’t even be doing this. 

He’s very respectful. He asks before he takes off her shirt, her bra, her pants. He doesn’t ask if he can take off her panties, but that’s only because she shucks them off herself when he stands up to slip his jeans off and she sees his cock swing free. Legs spread, lined up, sharp sting and oh. Oh, oh, oh my. 

“Oh my god. You feel—” he starts, and she shuts him up with a kiss. 

They can’t talk about it, it’s too…real. They’re naked, and he’s inside her, and the screen on the TV has gone black because the movie is over, making it that much darker in her living room. Scully closes her eyes and tries to forget who she’s fucking, and why she shouldn’t be doing it, but she can’t. The way he smells, the way he feels, the exact pitch of his moans—it’s Mulder. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, god—she’s going to come. Is he going to come?

They didn’t even use a condom. 

“Wait,” she says abruptly, pushing on his shoulders. 

He pulls out of her and hovers there, breathless, for a beat. 

“Is something wrong?”

“We didn’t—I don’t have a condom,” she says. 

She can feel every inch of skin on her body burning bright red with embarrassment. It’s real. They just did that. She just fucked her partner. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

“Okay,” Mulder says reluctantly, sitting back. 

She senses that he might have more to say about his clean bill of health, or questions about whether she’s on birth control, but after a moment he starts to get dressed and she follows suit. 

“I hope I didn’t…pressure you in any way,” he says, a silhouette against the haze of the streetlights, and she’s exceedingly grateful for the relative darkness. 

“No, not at all,” she assures him. “But maybe…do you think we can just pretend this never happened?” she asks, wincing when her voice cracks a little. 

“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

She turns on her desk lamp, which gives off enough light that he can find and put on his shoes and jacket, but not so much that he’ll be able to see how red her face is, or how swollen her lips. She walks him to the door and avoids eye contact as they say awkward goodbyes, but he’s clearly lingering and she doesn’t know why he won’t just go so she can begin the process of repressing this night deep into the far reaches of her memory. 

“Was it really that bad?” he finally asks, and her head snaps up to find a somewhat pained expression on his face. 

“Oh, no,” she stammers. “Not at all. It was fine—it was good, that’s not why…” 

A slow grin breaks out over his face as she struggles for words, and Scully huffs in irritation. 

“Glad to hear it. Night, Scully,” he says, giving her upper arm a squeeze. “See you Monday.”

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she grumbles, flashing him a tiny smile before she closes the door behind him. 

She’s not sure if they just ruined her favorite movie, or just made it her favorite for an entirely new reason.

[blackorechan]

CHAPTER REVIEW: AUGUST 2023

so, this month's chapter is entitled "BLACK MULTIVERSE", and it is our spiderverse parody. this has been a really anticipated chapter by basically everyone ever since corocoro dropped the vague summary of "different versions of black meet up"

which we thought would be something like B meeting black, or something more along those lines.

however this is a corocoro publication so it's batshit insane. this my review of the august 2023 chapter of black channel, BLACK MULTIVERSE

just like last time, panels have been edited for ease of reading the review and for flavor

so, yes this is a spiderverse parody. some characters loosely fill roles from the first spiderverse movie, but ultimately this is just the marvel blueprint for alternate universes colliding, but with black channel!

there are six AU versions of black in this chapter, but first of all let's see how we got here.

satoshi is signing another dumb contract, at least actually signing it of his own free will this time. he is receiving an item that allows him to effectively control his future by micromanaging his actions, which impact the greater multiverse

since life is a fucking nightmare for satoshi, the deal goes wrong, and the actual entire multiverse breaks when satoshi tries to view the potential outcomes for playing a gashapon machine.

satoshi wakes up and meets one of the six black AU selves we'll meet this chapter, a high school girl titled "JK BLACK"! HOWEVER, this design is not new. it first appeared in a plott thumbnail where black was catfishing a ten year old on an mmo by having an anime girl avatar, and JK black here was born!

so there IS a fanon name for this design, ブラ子 (burako / blako). i'm more used to calling this character burako, but i'll be calling her JK black for this post. outside of this i might call her burako tho

JK black and satoshi butt heads a bit as satoshi tries to track down his universe's black, only for them to meet the next black...

'NEGATIVE BLACK', a depressed old man who does onothing but chainsmoke and complain about how bored and tired he is. this is his thing. he complains and smokes

he doesn't do anything this entire chapter but sit around, look pathetic, and smoke.

soon enough, we meet the third one, DINO-BLACK. he's a fucking dinosaur. this can be interpreted as this being a universe where black made the conscious decision to become a dinosaur.

JK black explains earlier in the chapter that the multiverse essentially rolls the dice on gender when someone is born, which explains why some of the other au blacks are girls. this does NOT, however, explain why dino-black is a dinosaur.

i have to be real with you i do not have the resources or energy to explain what KARAKURI BLACK's deal is. he's a war general robot thing and there's a lot of layers to what's being lost by my inability to explain him in depth

in my defense my gf is literally in bed next to me as i write this

we have BABY BLACK, who is a flat 2d cartoon baby version of black very clearly inspired by powerpuff girls.

this one talks like, well, a baby. maybe a 3-4 year old? this one's a baby. there's not much to say about him otherwise except he's like the littlest fucking thing

and then there's...... SEXY BLACK

who is black, if he was a woman with huge tits who only cared about money. femme fatale thief black. satoshi is immediately freaked out by her because she's the least similar to black in satoshi's eyes, and this apparently includes the dinosaur

satoshi hops in between everyone, and begs them to help him find his universe's black....

...and swiftly learns that there's really no amount of multiverse fuckery that can make black stop being, at his very core, the smug motherfucker he is.

by the time all the different AUs agree to help satoshi, he finds out they're all flying off to their deaths and leaving him behind. poor satoshi

VERDICT: JESUS FUCKING CHRIST (AFFECTIONATE)

so, we all had specific expectations of this chapter. the literal only person i know who got anything about this chapter right based off the limited information we got about the story, did so because he made an offhand joke to tease me about if one of the new black AUs was an old man. dead serious only prediction that was correct that i saw anywhere

we all expected B meeting black, or anime + manga + other(?) black, or that kinda thing, and we got a fully crafted spiderverse parody. what is wrong with this fucking series. please. i love it

[jamesbuchananxsteviegrant]

I Pick the TV Show, Rogers Shuts His Cake-Hole | Bucky x Steve x Reader (Angst, Fluff)

Category: Angst, Fluff (Suggested) Age: 14+ Trigger Warnings: none, other than the standard explicit language Ship: Bucky x Steve x Reader Summary: Steve Snaps At Reader When He’s Stressed, Resulting In Her Being Very Upset Request: "can u write where steve/bucky is overwhelmed with something and when reader asks to help or is telling them to relax they snap at reader and reader is hurt which makes them feel really bad afterwards. thank you sm. i love ur writings. and this is anon right? is it alright if u dont post my response if its not anon? im sorry. thank you so much. ur blog always pictures great stucky imagines. 💗💗💗" Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 2,488

---

A given, the super-soldier had been on nonstop missions for the last month or so, but she thought she was helping him feel better, not making him feel worse.

“Would you like anything to eat, Stevie? You’ve barely moved all day.” (Y/N)’s voice is small. Quiet.

She’s leaning through the door of his study where he’s sat putting together his mission reports from the last three or four missions he’s been out on.

He shakes his head but doesn’t even turn to look at her.

Sighing, the woman walks further into the room where her boyfriend is slouched over the desk.

“You gotta take a break, Stevie.” She whispers, resting her hands on his shoulders.

She notices the way they tense up, but he still remains silent.

His fingers continue to write up his report on the laptop.

“I’m worried about you, Stevie; talk to me.”

“I’m busy, (Y/N).”

“I know you are, baby, but you’ve gotta look after yourself too.” She attempts, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. He pulls away.

The woman furrows her brows.

“Steve, please, you’ve got to-”

“(Y/N), just stop!”

The shout is sudden and it makes her flinch back away from the man as he turns to face her.

“I’m fine, alright?! I don’t need you babying me all the time!”

She doesn’t respond for a second, surprised at her lover’s outburst.

He says nothing more, simply turns back to the laptop and continues typing away.

“Steve, look how stressed you are. Can you please just-”

“STOP! Okay?! Just stop! Leave me the fuck alone while I finish these neverending mission reports. For once in your life can you just understand that not everything is about you?!”

(Y/N) swears that being shot in the heart wouldn’t hurt half as much as the words that just came out of the man’s mouth.

Her mouth opens and closes as if searching for the right words to say, but that hurt.

Is she really that bad? Is that the truth behind all of this? That she’s clingy? Thinks everything is about her? That was never her intention. (Y/N) is well aware of how important being an Avenger is. Hell, she is an Avenger, for Christ’s sakes.

She says nothing more and leaves the room.

She can’t even decide if she feels sad. No. She’s not sad, she’s not angry, she’s not… anything.

Numb.

Naturally, her feet lead her to their room. Steve’s room. They all basically share the super soldier’s abode since they all got together, but right now she doesn’t dare open the door.

Doing a full one-eighty spin, (Y/N) takes herself back to a place she barely touches anymore. Her room.

It’s pretty empty. Most of her clothes are in Steve’s room, in her own walk-in wardrobe. Her bed is perfectly made from the last time she slept in here - maybe a year ago?

The woman walks around her bed and straight onto her bedroom balcony, overlooking the lake at the back of the compound, and stays there. For three-hours. Until Bucky comes looking for her.

He came home from his mission about thirty-minutes ago only to find their shared room of Steve’s empty. He searched just about everywhere, completely clueless.

“FRIDAY, where’s (Y/N) and Steve?” He finally gives in.

“Captain Rogers is in study five, and Agent (L/N) is in her private quarters.”

Now that makes the brunet furrow his brows.

Why would (Y/N) be in her room and not his or Steve’s?

He prioritises finding (Y/N) first, knowing Steve will be writing up mission reports, no doubt.

Despite them being together for over six-years now, he hesitates when reaching for the handle of her bedroom door. Instead, the man opts to knock.

No answer.

“(Y/N)?” Nothing. “Doll, it’s me; can I come in?” Nothing.

Bucky tries the door handle and finds it unlocked, yet still hesitates.

“Baby?” He calls out. Again, nothing.

He’s cautious now. Scared.

Her room looks as untouched as the last time he saw it, which was a few months back when she was after one of her plushies.

“(Y/N)?”

It’s when he feels the chill of the midnight winds ruffle his hair that he realises her balcony doors aren’t fully closed.

Striding straight over, his eyes widen at the sight of his girlfriend curled up in the corner of the outdoor area, crying.

“(Y/N), baby, hey, what’s wrong?!”

Bucky immediately drops to his knees in front of the woman, reaching for her hands and gently tugging them away from her tear-stained face.

“(Y/N), doll, look at me.” His voice is gentle. Soothing.

She does almost instantly but her sadness stays.

“What happened, baby? Are you hurt?”

The fear and sincerity in his voice is enough to prompt the woman to shake her head. Yes, she’s hurting emotionally, but he needs confirmation that she’s not dying.

The woman immediately sees the relief take over his features, but he’s still concerned.

“What’s wrong, doll?”

Her eyes stray away from his, not wanting to tell him what’s got her so upset.

“Hey, no, look at me, baby,” He whispers, hand lightly grasping at her chin to raise her face back up to his. “What’s got you so worked up, (Y/N)?”

Another shake of her head as she tries to escape her lover’s hold.

“Baby, please, you’re scaring me.”

Her face contorts into something close to heartbreak as she wants nothing more than to reassure the man in front of her.

“It’s okay, Buck.”

“It’s not okay! Doll, I haven’t seen you cry since Stevie nearly died on that mission in Ohio like two-years-ago! Talk to me.”

She takes a deep breath and wipes her face of the shedding tears.

“Do you want me to get Stevie?”

The question is innocent and makes sense, but her eyes widen and she shakes her head desperately.

“No! No, please, no.”

That truly makes the super soldier concerned.

“Doll, please can you tell me what’s happened?”

Never in the last eight-years that Bucky and (Y/N) have known each other has she been so reluctant to see Steve.

Another sob escapes her and it’s breaking his heart.

“Baby, please.”

“Steve got mad at me, alright?!” She manages an attempted shout. “I just wanted him to look after himself.”

“What happened? What did Steve do?”

He’s concerned. Massively.

“I was trying to get him to eat; he hasn’t eaten properly in so long. He’s so overworked and he’s hung up on all these mission reports. He told me that not everything was about me - shouted at me; told me to stop.” She’s whimpering and sniffling again now. “Please get him to eat something, James.”

That last sentence is the one that crushes him. She’s upset, yeah, but above all that, she’s still worried about the blond super soldier.

“Come on, baby, let’s go to our room and get into bed, yeah? I’ll go and speak to Stevie.”

Her eyes meet his and she looks scared, but the ocean blue gaze that he returns makes her bound to his every command.

The woman nods.

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

With the help of the Winter Soldier, (Y/N) manages to stand up, letting him lead her out of her private room and into their shared one of Steve’s.

“Here, let’s get you into your PJs, yeah?”

He doesn’t leave room for negotiation as he helps his girlfriend strip out of her casual dress and into one of his oversized t-shirts.

“You get snuggled up in bed, doll. I’m going to go and get Stevie, okay?”

He hates how she looks nervous at the mention of their other lover’s name.

“He loves you more than words can describe, baby girl, I promise you. He shouldn’t have lashed out at you, I’m gonna talk to him, okay?”

A hesitant nod and forced smile is enough for now.

“I’ll be back shortly, I promise.” He leans over and gives the woman a kiss on the lips, leaving her with one of her favourite shows playing on the TV.

“Bucky,” Her choked up voice calls out just before he leaves.

The man turns from his place in the doorway.

“I love you.”

The smile that takes over his expression is contagious.

“I love you too, baby girl. More than anything.”

Despite his reassurance to the woman, he’s pretty damn pissed for a number of reasons about Steve losing his cool with their girl. Reason number one being, how dare he? Reason number two being, he knows better than to overwork, yet here we are.

Bucky doesn’t even knock once he approaches the glass doors of the study where Steve is sat typing away on the laptop.

The blond doesn’t even glance up to see who entered. He barely heard the door open which enrages Bucky further.

The brunet slams the lid of the laptop shut without saying a word, prompting Steve’s head to shoot up, glaring daggers at whoever has interrupted him.

“What the fuck, James?!”

That makes Bucky really get annoyed.

“Are you serious right now, Rogers?”

“I’m in the middle of about seven different mission reports, Buck, I’ve gotta finish them.” The man sighs, going to open the lid of the PC once more, only for Bucky to hold it down. “James, seriously,”

“No. What you need to do is explain to me why our girlfriend has been crying for the last God-knows how many hours?”

That makes Steve snap back to reality.

“What? (Y/N) has been crying? Is she okay?”

Bucky literally rolls his eyes at that.

“Are you fucking serious, Steve?” He repeats, Steve looking confused, expression contorting as he realises that his boyfriend is seriously angry at him.

“Bucky, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

The Winter Soldier’s head lolls back as he groans in frustration.

“You seriously have no idea?” He asks, rhetorically, watching Steve look almost scared. “Do you often shout at your girlfriend and forget it happened?”

Cap’s eyes widen at that, and he visibly gulps.

“What?”

“She came in here to make sure you were looking after yourself, which you weren’t, by the way, and you tell her that not everything is about her?! Are you fucking stupid, Steve?!”

He remembers it all too well in that moment, turning his head down to avoid the frustrated glare of his male lover.

“No. No, you don’t get to look away from me. Look at me.” Bucky demands, watching the blond super soldier reluctantly do so. “I come home from my own exhausting mission, search for (Y/N) for thirty-minutes, and find her crying her God-damn heart out on the balcony of HER room; not our room, Steve, no. Her room.”

Steve’s heart shatters and his eyes widen once more.

(Y/N) hates staying in her room. She’d always be in his or Bucky’s without a doubt.

“I- Buck-”

Bucky shakes his head and stands back upright as Steve is lost for words.

“I’m not mad at you, Steve. I get it, you know? You’ve been overworking for the last month, I know you’re stressed, but fuck, baby, you can’t hurt her like that. Do you know how much my heart fucking shattered when I saw her curled up in the corner of her own God-damn balcony?! It tore me apart. She hasn’t cried since you nearly fuckin-” Bucky chokes on his own word as he walks away from his lover.

“I’m sorry! Buck, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have let Fury send me on that many missions, I- I should’ve said no. I’m sorry.” Steve attempts, standing up and following the brunet, turning him around to face him once more.

“It’s not me you need to be apologising to, Stevie.”

Captain America nods and leans up to press a kiss to the man’s lips.

“I’m sorry, James.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and forces a smile.

“I forgive you. Of course I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean it, but I swear to God, if you hurt her again…”

Steve is already shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of either of you getting hurt. Where is she?”

“Our room.”

He nods and begins heading toward the woman to which he owes more than he can give.

The door is half ajar when Steve gets there, he slowly opens it to reveal his girlfriend in all her glory, curled up under their Captain America themed duvet - which Sam bought the trio as a joke last Christmas. Her face is clear-as-day red from her earlier upset, and it breaks his heart.

The man knocks gently on the day as if not to startle the poor girl.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He offers a solemn smile when she turns to see who’s there.

He hates the way he can see her hesitation to speak to him as opposed to her usual squeal of his name, arms opening wide to welcome him into her cuddle-fest.

“Hi.” She manages, forcing her own smile.

There’s silence floating between them, the only sound being Jensen Ackles, in his role of Dean Winchester, talking a load of nonsense about pie on the TV that’s streaming Supernatural.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” Steve manages, taking a step toward the bed. “Nothing can excuse the way I yelled at you, and I’m so sorry for that, but, sweetheart, trust me when I say I didn’t mean it. I was so stupidly stressed, and I should never have let it get to that point.”

She nods, truly believing his words, but it still hurt.

The blond sits down on the edge of the bed, not daring to cuddle his girlfriend until she’s comfortable.

“I love you so much, (Y/N) (L/N).”

A bigger smile taints her lips at that.

“I love you too, Steven.” Her voice is barely a whisper but he hears it clear as day.

“Can I hold you?”

(Y/N) smiles and shakes her head as if he was being silly.

“You never need to ask permission for that, Stevie. No matter what.”

With another sad smile, he pulls the woman into his arms and holds her tighter than ever before.

“I’m so sorry, my love.”

“I forgive you, but no more missions for a while.” She whispers.

“Yes, boss.”

Bucky’s leaning against the doorframe, watching the interaction. He took a detour to Tony’s office and made sure to give the billionaire a piece of his mind about making sure Fury didn’t have Steve on any missions for a long time.

“Is this the last episode?” The brunet speaks up, stripping himself of his clothes as he enters their room properly.

“Yeah.” (Y/N) nods.

“I still think we should watch Vampire Diaries instead.” Steve chuckles, mirroring Bucky’s actions.

“I pick the TV show, Rogers shuts his cake-hole.” (Y/N) teases, mocking a line from Supernatural and snuggling herself in the middle of the bed, sandwiched between the two super soldiers - where she belongs. “I love you both.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

“Love you always, doll.”

TAGS

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Stucky x Reader Only Tag List: polarbearnamedpanda | @marvelous-glims

SFW Only Tag List: @piper-koko-barnes-rogers

[0aurelion-sol0]

So there's something that caught my eyes in those two recaps so far that I think is really interesting...

The numbers.

For El, it is 74, of course 7+4 equal 11. She is the number after all.

But 7 is again a very odd number as it appears a lot throughout ST yet we don't know what it means or if it even means anything. You have various posts about it like one that @beepboop358 made on their blog that you can find in their pinned index post.

After that, 4 for season 4, simple.

But Mike only has 7 since 7 +/-/×/÷ 0 doesn't do anything. And 7 is an interesting number as I said above.

Both 7 and 11 have important religious meanings. And Mike and El have strong inspirations in religions, religious figures and even names. Such as the Archangel Michael, repeatedly depicted as the “great captain,” the leader of the heavenly hosts, and the warrior helping the children of Israel. And Ēl is a Northwest Semitic word meaning "god" or "deity", or referring (as a proper name) to any one of multiple major ancient Near Eastern deities.

(We can also add a possible 7/11 reference here.) There are other meanings to these numbers in religion but it's not what we're interested in right now.

Now this is all very nice but...

...my brain worked, yes it did, for once, brain said it had found something that I do think is interesting. 😏

Notice how the recap for Mike was posted 4 days after El's... What's in 4 days after Mike's recap ?

March 22nd. And on that day, it is the birthday of Will. Perhaps we will get something on that day (recap, teaser, trailer...) but if we do get something, there's something important to point out about that day.

March 22nd, Will's birthday, this year, will the 66th day before Season 4 releases.

How is that important ? Well if we do the same thing we did for 74 which equals 11 and equals 70 which is just 7...

...6+6=12. 😏

And you know where I'm going with this since I already talked about it here:

But 66 is an interesting number for religious connections and symbolisms. With two other numbers.

The number 6 usually has a negative connotation in the Bible. For instance, Christ suffered on the cross for six hours and men were commanded to work six days a week in Exodus. In the Greek alphabet the number 6 is represented by a symbol called the "stigma." In the Bible, the number 6 symbolizes man and human weakness, the evils of Satan and the manifestation of sin.

In modern popular culture, 666 has become one of the most widely recognized symbols for the Antichrist or, alternatively, the devil. The number 666 is purportedly used to invoke Satan. Earnest references to the number occur both among apocalypticist Christian groups and in explicitly anti-Christian subcultures.

So what about 66 ? Well in ST, religious elements have already been here for a long time but they really started to show up in season 3 and seems to become quite important in season 4. The Hellfire Club, Devil's Baby (firework which was given to Will by Lucas.) and Hawkins literally being named Hell. Billy died in a Christ-like manner at the end of season 3. And we had three teasers on the 6th day of a month, which in the end made 666. It is also likely that the Satanic Panic will play a big role in Season 4.

The number 66, however, is a number that does not have any particular meaning in religion compared to the other two. It's mentioned only two times in the bible. There's still some interesting connections that could be made.

The total number of chapters in the Bible Book of Isaiah.

The number of verses in Chapter 3 of the Book of Lamentations in the Old Testament.

The total number of books in the Protestant edition of the Bible (Old Testament and New Testament) combined. And the 66th chapter being The Book Of Revelation. 🤔

Now even more interesting, Six numbers in the Bible are multiple of 66, and the sum of their occurrence gives 11. And, 6 x 11 = 66. Also the sum of the occurrences of all numbers of the Bible multiples of 11 and written in their cardinal form gives 66.

The word "curse" is used 66 times in the Old Testament. (Which reminds me of Vecna's curse.)

Other more interesting things is, if we take into account the SBP gang on the run plotline, they might need to take a certain famous road if they go back to Hawkins.

The designation of the historic U.S. Route 66, dubbed the "Mother Road" by novelist John Steinbeck.

By using the correspondence A=1, B=2, ..., Z=26, we discover that the name of "the man" in French ("l'homme") gives 66 as numerical value, just as that dead ("mort") (Zombie Boy) and to curse ("maudir") (Vecna's Curse) give each one 66. By using the opposite correspondence (A=26, Z=1), we find that the word cross (in French "croix") gives also 66.

Given the fact that Will is a Star Wars fan, in the Star Wars movie series, Order 66 is a prepared order to the clone troopers to kill the Jedi commanding them. Which are both on the ST4 video store movie list.

So as you see, there could be multiple different connections and meanings just like number 11 and number 7. But a few things comes back with this, 6+6 = 12. Which you can see above, I think is connected to a certain thing about Will.

But 66÷3 makes 22 which brings us back to March 22nd which is 3/22. And it makes even more sense to do that since a recap of season 3 on Will's birthday on the 66th day of the countdown until the release makes sense.

So we have two numbers coming back 3 and 12. If you put them together in a way that connects to ST, it makes 3:00 am, "The Witching Hour" which we've seen on clocks of two previous teasers before that. In the Rainbow Room and Creel House, which we've seen on their clocks. (Clock who only have 12 numbers, may I add.)

In folklore, the witching hour or devil's hour is a time of night that is associated with supernatural events, whereby witches, demons and ghosts are thought to appear and be at their most powerful. Definitions vary, and include the hour immediately after midnight, and the time between 3:00 am and 4:00 am.

In the Western Christian tradition, the hour between 3 and 4 a.m. was considered a period of peak supernatural activity – this time is also referred to as the "Devil's hour" due to it being a mocking inversion of the time in which Jesus supposedly died, which was at 3 pm. Plus much like Jesus, Will "died" in episode 3 of season 1, "came back from the dead" after that. (Episode 3 going into 4 is also where the most important twists or stuff happens. It also fits with the witchcraft element of the Witching Hour since Will is a cleric and dressed as a wizard before.) He resurrected in a certain way, much like other characters like El and Hopper. These three are also the only ones to have gotten BTS videos compared to all the other characters.

So again we're going back to the religious elements and how that connects to ST's symbolisms and connections with religions. Which seems to be an important of season 4 already as we have covered above.

Anyway, here is some interesting food, just in case.

[hookingminor]

4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal

a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff

word count: 4,733

summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic

tagging @davidpastrsnack​ so kate can get on the barzy train

-

1.

To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.

Or so you thought.

You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.

Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.

When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.

“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.

“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.

“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.

“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.

You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.

“You’re actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.

“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.

Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.

“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.

“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.

With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.

“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.

A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.

Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.

“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.

“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.

“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.

“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.

“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.

You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.

“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.

They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.

“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.

“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.

“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.

“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.

“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.

“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.

“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.

You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.

It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.

2.

After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.

“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.

“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.

“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.

They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.

That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.

“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.

“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.

“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.

“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.

-

A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.

“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.

You were sadly mistaken.

“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.

You both groaned out a “Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.

-

When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“

3.

It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.

“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.

“Practice what?” You asked.

“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.

“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.

“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.

Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.

After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.

It was a braid.

An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.

“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.

-

You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”

4.

Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d  turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.

It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast

“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.

A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.

“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.

“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.

“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.

“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.

“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.

“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.

Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.

“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.

You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.

-

When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.

“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.

“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.

The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.

It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.

“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.

You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.

You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.

“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.

“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.

You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.

“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Go!”

-

After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.

“I think I won,” you stated confidently.

“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.

“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”

“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.

“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.

He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.

After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.

“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”

“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.

It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.

“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.

You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.

You won the instagram poll too.

+ 1

It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.

It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.

Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.

The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.

You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.

-

Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.

“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.

“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.

“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.

“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.

He paused for a second.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.

You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.

“What are you trying to say, Mat?”

He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.

You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.

“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”

“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.

“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”

“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.

“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.

-

The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.

“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”

You unlocked your phone.

“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”

[nat-20s]

for @jonmartinweek day 4 prompt- tape recorders! once again post canon, but this time babes? it’s pure sappiness

~*~

When Martin dumps the box in front of him, Jon can’t help the sardonic huff of a laugh that escapes him. “Really? I would’ve thought you’d had enough enough of these damn things for a lifetime.”

Martin beams at him, obviously expecting a less than thrilled response to the charity shop cassettes. “Oh, believe me, I have. Buuuut..”

It’s clear Martin wants him to bite, and, what the hell, Jon can’t deny he’s curious. He sets aside the paperback he’s been thumbing through and asks, “But?”

“But it’s been a year and a half since we got here, and you know that I’ve been writing again, and the poems really do sound better on tape.”

“Oh..kay? Is that all? Because, love, you do know you can replicate that sound digitally, right? No need to bring..to bring those things into our home.”

“Aha! I knew you would say that, but, no, Jon, that’s not all. Remember how our therapist said something about softening bad associations by re-contextualizing items with new, positive memories, or whatever? I thought these would be a good start, considering they’re not quite so visceral as lotion or, eugh, peaches. And, yes, there’s always the whole possibility of something listening on the other side, but I have actually accounted for that. I’ve had the recorder in my bag for the past week, and I’ve taken it to all sorts of locations that would be considered interesting or scary, and nothing. I brought it to a job interview, for Christ’s sake, and not a peep. I am almost certain that we have total control over when the recordings start and stop, and who gets to listen to them. You have full veto power here, obviously, and you don’t have to record anything yourself, but, I thought it might be nice, to record just notes and grocery lists or songs stuck in our heads or whatever. Maybe we could make tapes into something mundane and maybe even pleasant, if a bit outdated.”

Standing up for a better viewpoint, Jon eyes the box of cassettes and, crammed in the corner, the recorder itself. He’s not overly enthused at the sight, and if it comes on by itself at any moment, he’s tossing everything into an industrial shredder and never looking back. Yet, it would be preferable to not wince at the sound of static, to be able to use the tape deck in their beater car. He knows already that he won’t be using it himself, the imagined press of the recorder in his hand more than enough to make his skin crawl and throat tighten. Just Martin’s voice, however, might be tolerable. Perhaps even enjoyable, on those rare occasions that they have to spend more than a handful of hours apart. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I suppose it won’t hurt to try. Though I must admit my confidence in this experiment isn’t particularly high.”

Martin rewards his willingness to go along with this with a kiss to the temple, and informs him, “That’s fine. I can be optimistic for both of us on this one.”

~*~

The next morning, Jon rolls over to find an upsetting lack of warmth at his side. He opens his eyes to find his delightful boyfriend has been replaced with a cold, uncaring tape recorder. It’s apparently locked and loaded, as it has a sticky note in Martin’s loopy handwriting that says “Play me :-)”. With bated breath, he ever so carefully presses play.

Hello, love. Remember how we completely neglected to do our shopping on Tuesday? Turns out, we have zero breakfast food now. I’m grabbing some bagels from the cafe that’s too pricey for us to regularly justify, I’ll be back in 15. I love you.”

Huh. Not terrible. Maybe this is something Jon could get used to after all.

After that morning, and Jon’s lack of averse reaction to it, Martin keeps his word and begins to record all sorts of things. Little reminders for both of them, a spoken journal, affirmations for Jon, and, yes, grocery lists, despite Jon’s continued insistence that a whiteboard would be infinitely easier. Martin even manages to capture Jon on tape a few times, either singing or having a very earnest conversation with their incredibly chatty cat.

The wild thing is that it works. Jon doesn’t flinch at the sight of a cassette anymore. At worst, they’re mental background noise, nothing to take note of. At best, they’re audio treats, a physical token of something wonderful or peaceful or loving or all of the above.

This culminates six months later, when Jon finds a tape awaiting it. On it is a spoken clue from Martin, leading to another cassette. He follows the path, and he has to admit, he’s enjoying the playful puzzle. After being lead to a number of locations loaded with fond memories, he ends up in front of Martin, waiting on a bench in the park where they first woke up Here. He goes to sit next to him, and with a silent smile, he’s handed one final tape. Jon raises an eyebrow at him, questioning, but Martin doesn’t give away anything, just nodding at the recorder. Jon shrugs, and goes for it.

My dearest Jon,We’ve been through hell and back more times than I can count, and throughout it all, we’ve somehow managed to stick by each other. Right now, I’m the happiest that I’ve ever been, and I have an inkling that it’s much the same for you. While it’s largely a formality at this point, I would like to declare to the world that we’re going to spend the rest of our lives, and perhaps even beyond them, together. My love, my light, my anchor, will you marry me?

Okay. He can admit he’s glad to have that on tape.

[spiked-tea-writing]

and they were roommates?!

SapnapxFem!Reader

Summary: Imagine being in love with your roommate, couldn't be you.

Pronouns: She/her

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: I don’t watch or know anything, I just like these people and I had a concept. Also, he and Dream aren’t roommates in this for the sake of I can’t figure that out. Also also, my timeline is probably fucked but who cares

The dynamic in the apartment was...interesting to say the least

In the two years of living together, it had shifted a lot

In the beginning, you and Sapnap had been... less than cordial to each other

Both eighteen, fresh out of high school, off to college thinking that you knew everything.

There was lots of fighting, to say the least.

All of the “No it’s your turn to vacuum”, and “I swear to god Sapnap I will punt you halfway across the world if you eat my pineapple again”

The only reason you didn’t slit each other’s throats was that if the other person was dead, who would pay rent?

It was the summer before college started at the time, and you were working long hours minimum wage so coming]’/ home to an annoying prick caused a crap ton of conflict

After a few months of being little bitches to each other, y’all got piss drunk in the apartment and it all just sorta fell apart

Got that good drunk therapy, spilling your deepest secrets

(y’all were underage but shhh)

So by the time college started, the two of you had become actual friends and started enjoying each others company

A few months into the friendship, you encouraged him to post the video of “Minecraft, but it’s Raining Cats and Dogs” on a whim

Lmao little did you know what you had created (we’ll get to that later)

You mocked his train of thought constantly, laughing at the timing of it all.

“Ahhh yes, I am Sapnap, the genius who thought it’d be great to become a YouTuber while in my first year of college.”

He’d always just laugh and roll his eyes, playfully shoving you while stealing your chips.

The next few months were a haze of studying, work, and him.

It was truly a friendship of convenience since you guys were so busy, him starting his youtube career, and you working restaurants, then school on top of that, it was just easy to find friendship in your roommate.

Of course, he had his close friends which he spoke to over the internet, and you had your friends from back home, but as for college, it really was only him.

You guys had a fun time just hanging around the apartment, and it became so easy to be friends with him

And it WAS truly platonic (we’ll get back to that as well)

The best thing he brought to the friendship was his animals

You got on fabulously with Cash and the cats

They were all so cuddly and honestly loved you more than him lmao

You guys were just trying to get degrees and not be too stupid, was that too much to ask???

Well to a certain 2020, it was

The beginning of that year was great.

He was sorta realizing that he liked putting himself on social media, but on top of that, it seemed like a great start to a year.

February brought him to twitch, which you loved

You found it hilarious how he would just sorta play games and have people watch him live.

But you were incredibly supportive, as a friend, of course

He really liked it so, you tried to ignore the shouting at three am, and the loud anthems at night

Sure you’d give him hell in the morning, but why kill his fun?

March started great, as it was his birthday.

You got him a glittery lighter as a gag, but it was the perfect gift for a broke-ass college student

Then a certain pandemic came a-knockin’ on y’all’s door

It was a hard hit on both of you.

An executive decision was made that you two would stay put, but being away from your families was incredibly tough.

That spring was the birth of The SMP.

It brought him so much joy, which in turn made you happier.

The rest of the school year was a blur of zooms and test

Nick nearly killed you on multiple occasions when you made fun of the fact that he was learning computer science over the computer or made him help you figure out what the fuck zoom was since it was tangentially related to his major

“SAP HELP ME YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS ITS YOUR FUCKING MAJOR!!!”

“NO, IT’S- AHHHHHHHHH”

Yall got more than a handful of noise complaints shhhh

That summer was fill was spent trying to fill the time in weird ways

Note to self, he can’t cook (which you learned the hard way)

Yall spent so much time trying to cook and bake, then sweating off the calories working out with The Fitness Marshall lmao

As sucky as the situation was, that summer was so incredibly fun for the both of you, and truthfully the only arguments were about what music to blast

“Y/n I swear if I listen to Cosmicandy one more time I will drown you.”

“Well if I hear American Idiot one more time someone’s knee caps are getting harvested.”

(that argument was settled with Elton John.)

When school started up again that fall, something shifted

After a year of actual friendship, you guys were no longer just friends, and the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife

You had watched every single one of his streams since day one, but within 2 seconds of his Love or Host, you felt the need to hurl for some peculiar reason

It was bizarre because there was no way you could ever like him, of course not.

Within the apartment, you guys suddenly got a lot more touchy, but only because it was getting cold with winter and all that jazz.

It wasn’t because yall were secretly in love, what is this, a romcom?

The number of times you guys woke up on the couch, definitely not cuddling was too many to count

You started sitting in his room while he streamed, definitely not watching him with heart eyes because of how excited he got

He always had a pot of coffee full and a 6-pack of monster in the fridge since he knew you ran on spite and caffeine, and definitely not so that he could spend more time with you in the early hours of the morning.

The laundry started getting all mixed around, resulting in just sharing any sweats, hoodies, or socks.

The same thing went for food.

No longer was anything labeled with a name, if it was in the fridge, it was fair game (unless there was a post-it because come on, yall weren’t monsters)

But no, y’all were just roommates, not dating, lets make that clear.

Feelings? We don’t know her.

This entire time, his friends have had to hear about you rip.

But they got front row seats to your relationship development

“OMG my roommate is the worst she ate all of the frozen strawberries”

“Y/n kidnapped Storm all day while she studied and I thought I lost the fucking cat asjvdk”

“I had to run down and talk to the landlord because we dropped a pot of pasta sauce all over the carpet and couldn’t get the damn stain out.”

“She is so nice in preparation for a family dinner zoom, she ran out to the local Filipino food place and pick stuff up.”

“Sorry I’m late I overslept and didn’t want to wake up Y/n.”

They weren’t stupid, and could clearly see how whipped he was.

Dream and Geroge teased him about it constantly.

“Woah, calm down Sap, you should probably tell her you love her before you propose.”

“Yeah Dream’s right, it’s kinda weird that you’re living together before ever dating.”

He always flushed and denied it with a shake of his head.

He wasn’t into you, are they crazy?

Quackity and Karl messed with him in more unorthodox ways

There are a solid number of clips where they are fake crying over how he’s cheating on them, and even more tweets to match

It only got worse when you met them accidentally.

He was chatting post-stream on a video channel with George, Dream, Karl, and Quackity, and just his luck, you came into his room.

Like of all the times you could walk in, it was the time he was with his five closest friends but I digress

“Yo I got some extra tips yesterday so I picked up some extra Red Bull if you want to do one of your weird all-nighter streams.”

“Y/n I’m on channel.”

“Oh shit sorry my b. Catch.”

All the guys heard was a thud and a groan from Sapnap as the six-pack hit him in the chest.

Dream was the one to recognize your name.

“WAIT IS THAT Y/N I WANT TO MEET THEM!”

You could hear Dream’s voice through his headphones

“Sap… who is that?”

“No one. I’ll be out in a sec to help with dinner.”

You could hear a British voice come through.

“Oh so we are no one now, huh.”

Another voice piped through.

“Common... ¿Qué intentas ocultar?”

You cut in.

“Your headset it shit my guy. I can hear everything. I’m down to talk to them.”

He let out a groan.

“Fine. But you’re gonna have to do the dishes tonight.”

“Deal. Now move.”

“What? No.”

“Fine bitch.”

You collapsed onto his lap, plucking the headphones off of him.

“Hello, Sapnap’s friends. I am Y/n. A pleasure to meet y’all. Can you hear me?”

You heard a series of laughs through the headset, and a voice came through.

“Yes, we can see you too. I’m Karl, it’s so nice to finally meet his girlfriend.”

A blush rose on both of your faces, and another voice came through.

“Yeah, we’ve heard lots about you. Plus we can’t see your face in that picture Sap sent us. I’m Quackity”

That remark stopped your embarrassment in its tracks.

“What the fuck? How do you guys know me? I’m not even his girlfriend? And what picture?”

Sapnap grabbed your arm to calm you down as another voice cut in, but his one you recognized as his friend Dream.

“Hey, it’s okay. He just talks about you a bit, and the picture I believe was of you holding like three cats with like a red bull can on your head.”

“Jesus fucking christ why do they have that photo??”

He looked guilty but chuckled.

“Because that photo is a damn masterpiece.”

Karl’s voice came back in with a giggled.

“Soooo, Y/n we’d love to hear about you. Specifically anything funny or embarrassing that you have learned by living with him.”

Sapnap let out a groan from behind you as you went off.

“WELL lemme tell y’all, he has no cooking knowledge, well I mean, now he does, but one time, about a year ago, I had I been keeping a pot of water boiling for about an hour, soft boiling eggs, cooing noodles, blanching bok choy, etc. but this fucking genius is like ‘oH tHe HaNdLe Is StIcKiNg OuT. LeMmE mOvE iT wItH mY bArE hAnD.’ Needless to say, he burnt the crap outta his hand and kept the bag of frozen blueberries on it for the entire night. It took me like a solid five seconds to actually help him because I was laughing.”

By the time you had finished that story, you had seen Nick roll his eyes like 5 five times while the rest of the guys were wheezing.

“Yeah, well remember the time you were trying to imitate Rapunzel after we had watched it over Zoom with my sister, and you swung the edge of the frying pan into our head and got a nasty bump on it? At least I moved quick enough to put some ice on it.”

“Ice? It was the damn leftover Slushy that I had been freezing.”

“True, but you got to drink it after, so it was a win-win situation.”

“Sap, I had a bump the size of a golfball coming off of my temple. There was no winning.”

“Fine, you’re just making me sound like such a shit roommate.”

“No that’s not true, you do all of the talking to the landlord, and you at least tried to muffle the noise when you stream.”

“I guess that’s true, but you do like 80% of the cleaning.”

“Yeah but only because you’re working. Plus in the past 6 months, you’ve made coffee every morning, AND made sure I was taking my meds.”

“Those things aren’t that hard and I do it to make sure you don’t die because I lo- care about you.”

“What?”

“What?”

You heard Dream’s wheeze laugh and remembered that you guys were still on call.

“Smooth.”

You both went red, and Sap moved his arm around you to leave the channel.

The next few moments were complete torture, the two of you just sitting in silence.

You were wondering if he meant what he was about to say and he was scared that you had heard it.

He was the one to break the silence. (mind you you’re still sitting on his lap lmao)

“I’m sorry about that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Should you ask him if he meant it? Because that wouldn’t be that bad. Or just pretend it never happened. Nah that’d be hella awkward. Or-

“I love you too.”

“You what?”

Wow, okay your brain is being a little bitch rn, but fuck it. Balls to the walls baby.

“I love you, and I have for a while now. I just want you to know.”

You finally looked him in the eye, and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Thank god. I love you, and nearly fucking told you for the first time in front of my friends accidentally. Damn, I’m smooth.”

You laughed and he smiled wider.

“Can I kiss you?”

After a quick nod he swooped in and holy hell his lips felt great. His arm wound around your waist and your hands made their way to his jaw as he pulled you closer to him.

The only thing playing in your mind was “and they were roommates”

[captaincravatthecapricious]

You Don’t Understand- Prompt Fill

Jon has a rough time after being absent for 6 months.

Write as a prompt fill gotten through A03

CW fainting, victim blaming, withdrawal/starvation symptoms (from statements) (I am a bit vague about which it is more like because I couldn't choose, so a bit of both), trust issues, very brief Peter Lukas mention, brief mention of someone being touched while unconscious (nonsexual and very brief mention), and cw for some very mixed feelings about Georgie.  I understand her, and I don't hate her, but I don't really like her either so please don't get mad at me for how she is written I am trying to do her justice and I get why she does the things she does, but I don't have to like her for it.

Thanks for reading hope you enjoy! I have a few more bingo prompts to post, but only one more to write!  Feel free to stick it in my inbox and if no one does, well you will just have to put up with whatever whim strikes me this weekend when I will write it for a backlog!  Card by the wonderful @celosiaa​

It’s been six months.  How has it been six months?  

Jon isn’t sure how he is supposed to think about that time.  Is it all supposed to feel like a dream, that one moment he’s blowing up, the next he’s awake?  

It doesn’t feel like that.  

But he also wasn’t really there for six months, was he?   

He sighs deeply to himself.  It doesn’t matter.  

It doesn’t matter.  

He’s alive.  

He’s fine.  

Martin and Tim are sharing a flat, apparently.  And that’s good.  He thinks?  Maybe?  

They keep telling him there is room for him, but he isn’t sure he can believe that…. Not after everything with Tim.  He wants to believe it…  But… what if Martin doesn’t want him there.  He thought maybe they had a moment before the Unknowing, but did they?  

Jon’s not good with…. Feelings.  With people.  

Not to mention he’s been Gone.  With a capital G and a flatline of a heartrate.  

Even if he and Martin could possibly have…  Could possibly have had something.  Of some unknowable sort.  That he couldn’t have hoped to put a word to for fear that it would crumble around him.  But he’s been gone and Tim hasn’t been and they seem close now.  

And maybe Tim is trying again with him?  But how can he be sure?  When everything is confusing and out of sync with what he thought of time.  

Not to mention the deep hunger that is more than hunger.  Deeper in his gut, and harder to ignore.  Followed by a fog of confusion and the sense that his skin is too tight, that the world is the wrong temperature, and that everything is tilted ever so slightly, making it impossible to keep his balance.  

Reading statements helps, but… Basira… but Georgie.  The disappointed glares they send his way when he skulks off to read one in hopes of feeling like his limbs are his again…. That he isn’t being slowly set on fire or slowly frozen.  The world skirting by him with a vengeful glee leaving him to rot in his own misery on the shelf in the stacks he’s been calling home recently.  

Martin wasn’t there when he woke up…. Working for the ever elusive Peter Lukas.  Tim wasn’t there… Martin later telling him he’d been afraid of scaring him.  Which Jon couldn’t escape the worry that, in actuality, it was Martin worrying that Tim would scare Jon… or hurt him.  Which Jon could tell was the more valid of the worries.  Or he thinks it is?  How is he supposed to be certain.  How can he trust anyone?  How is he supposed to trust anyone when Basira gives him such calculating stares, when Melanie glares metaphorical and literal daggers at him, when Georgie has been ignoring his texts (and her harsh words upon his waking).  When Martin is working for a literal monster.  When Daisy is gone… and Jon doesn’t know how to feel.  He wants Basira to be happy, but he feels safer without her.  And he doesn’t know how to feel about anything but he is sick and hungry and cold and hollow.  

There is no one.  

Georgie doesn’t understand.   

He runs into her once, picking Melanie up for therapy.  After…. An unwise abrupt and shady surgery.  

He is in the breakroom.  Baffled that Martin is still making him tea when he hardly sees him around.  Even more baffled when Tim makes him another cup.  

What does it all mean?  

(Not to mention his confusion at the green hair… that had been a shock.

When he texted Martin about it, he said to ask Tim, and included an emoji that Jon couldn’t parse out.  Weren’t emojis supposed to be easier to read than actual faces?  It was maybe resigned?  Or maybe regretful?

Regretful of what?  Is he ashamed of something?  Is he regretful that he opened a text from Jon, that Jon turned down the request to move in?  It isn’t that Jon wanted to turn it down.  

But it sounds too good to be true?  When everyone avoids him at work… Well Tim doesn’t, but Jon is scared of being alone with Tim.  He is scared of this kindness and how long it might last.)

So he’s in the breakroom.  

Trying to steady himself the less monstrous and terrifying way.  

And Georgie is there.  

Jon shrinks back on himself.  Still hoping the mug of tea will make his hands steadier, make him less cold, less shaky, less miserable.  But he’s having difficulty holding it with one shaky hand, white knuckling his cane with the other.  Trying not to let it tremble as much as the rest of him, propping himself up when black spots start eating at his vision.  Not in the POTS sort of way… but in the same way that has been since America.  Since that first hint of fear that maybe… maybe he’s not human, that he is reliant on some horrifying eldritch god of knowledge.  

This is the price of him waking up.  

And it chews him up from the inside when, in his panic, he tries to limit his consumption hoping that it will turn him back.  Hoping that he still has a chance to win back the people he cares about, but fighting the fear that this is the only way to save them all.  

He doesn’t know what to do.  Being undead doesn’t come with a manual.  

And there is no chance that Georgie will take this any better than she did when she kept telling him to quit… to just stop.  

He’s trying!  

It’s been a few days since his last statement, and the world swims before his eyes whenever he stands.  Worse than it ever has.  He’s woken up on the floor more times in the few weeks he’s been alive again than in the long and confusing months leading up to his diagnosis.  

Which was after Georgie… which… means she hasn’t seen him like this.  Not when he was living with her because he has been managing, or so he thought, but hell maybe the Eye had a hand in that.  

And oh Shit, she is looking at him now.  

What does he do if she wants to talk?  She hasn’t responded to any of his texts, or late night calls when he’s been too afraid to call anyone else and she always felt safe.  Even when they were fighting.  But she hasn’t been there for him.  No one has, of late.  Except the people who are trying and Jon is too confused to know what to do so he does nothing and an all-consuming guilt joins in with that Hunger.  That sickness eating him from the inside with every word he doesn’t consume.  

“Hi Jon.”  

He can’t say anything.  He’s been standing too long, but seeing her there, he is frozen.  Fight or Flight breaking down to freeze.  Has he always been such a coward?  

Yes.  

Yes he has.  A miserable coward since he was a child.  Getting into trouble trying to try to prove to himself that he isn’t.  

Christ he’s dizzy.  But she’s still talking.  

“Jon, you really oughtn’t be here.  You don’t look well.  Shouldn’t you still be resting?  That long in hospital should have you in need of some physical therapy.  Are you pushing yourself too hard?”

Jon bites down on the urge to snap at her.  Or start crying.  Or simply pass out and not have to deal with this conversation at all.  “I need to be here,” he says quietly.  Afraid that expelling too much air will knock him over.  

“And why is that?  Really Jon, I swear…  Melanie says you haven’t been eating , or sleeping, but she sees  you here at all hours.  Why?  What is this all for?  It’s just a job, I don’t care if there are Monsters or whatever.  You see this?  This is why I can’t deal with you right now!  Not to mention what you did to Melanie.  What the hell, Jon?  You say you’re trying to save the world, but maybe you can’t?  Maybe you need to save yourself before you can do anything else.”

Jon just wants to get away before he goes down, and by this point he knows that is inevitable.  Maybe get to his office, and open a statement first.  Maybe that will help, or maybe it will make him feel better once he comes around.  He should put down his tea.  He doesn’t want the mug to break if he can’t make it.  He’ll set it on the table on the way out, or wait until he’s in  the bullpen and put it down and take a seat and hope that helps.  He tries to edge around her, staring at the floor.  Careful not to say anything that could compel.  Just wanting to get out.  “Have work to do… sorry.”  

“No you don’t!  Look at yourself, Jon!  Work can wait!”  

Jon just wants to leave.  He wishes it could!  He does.  He wants nothing more than to take a vacation.  To move in with Martin and Tim and have a life.  A home.  Safety.  Normalcy.  And Argument over who finished the milk and who has to do the shopping and not about how best to not die at the hands of Fear Gods, and how best to not serve them.  “Please, Georgie you don’t understand…”  

He backs away.  Fuck he’s dizzy.  

“No, Jon I don’t.  Explain.  What am I missing.  Why do you have to do this?  Why do you insist on working yourself into your grave?  It’s already basically killed you.  Maybe some of us don’t want to see you do that again?”

“I… I…  I need a Statement….”  Well so much for getting away.  He’s not even going to make it to a chair or the floor on his own.  “Hold this, I’m… I think I’m going to faint now.”  He holds his cane out to her.  

She takes it confused.  

Jon doesn’t remember hitting the floor.  

When he comes around, his head is pounding.  

Georgie is touching him.  He is on his side, and he is being yelled at.  He can’t make out the words yet… all just in a haze of pain and confusion and feeling like utter shit.  He tries to bat her hands away but he can’t and so he just lays there.  Hoping some feeling comes back to his limbs soon.  Or that Georgie will just get bored and leave him there.  

But then Martin is there.  And Tim.  

And Martin is shooing Georgie out of his personal space.  “He doesn’t like being touched while he’s out.”  

Well…  correct.  

“What the hell just happened?”  Georgie.  

“Well… it happens sometimes.  Did he say anything?”  Martin again.  

“Something about needing Statement?”

“Tim, could you grab him a Statement?”  

“Sure thing, back in a mo.”  Tim.  More earnest than Jon has heard him in a long time.  Tim helping him?  If he wasn’t already on the floor, he might have fainted again at that.  

“What, you’re just going to go along with it?  Let him work himself to death?  Look at him!  He isn’t well!  …I don’t know why I am arguing this.  He’s an adult and if he is going to do that, I don’t need to be a part of this.  It isn’t my job to baby sit him.”  Georgie shoves his cane at Martin, who doesn’t freeze.  In fact, as far as Jon can tell through half lidded eyes, Martin looks angry.  

“Look.  I know we don’t know each other well.  But do you really think so poorly of Jon… of me?  I don’t know what he’s told you… but he needs those Statements to live.  I don’t know if it’s ….a food… or… or an addiction.  But … he doesn’t do well without them.  And… And Elias was feeding them to him when he wasn’t here.  And Jon told me how you didn’t want them in the flat, but he got sick in America.  Really really sick, and … and Elias found him there and fed him another one.  He didn’t know until then.  But… you have to know we can’t quit.  And we aren’t sure if Jon can live without these.  And it is a far from ideal situation… but we are working on it.  You don’t have to like it.  Or talk to Jon, although you should.  You aren’t enabling him, he needs a support system.  And he’s just too thick to see that Tim and I are here from him, and everyone else is giving him the cold shoulder… so I don’t blame him for being too thick to notice!  Not to mention, my new position has made interacting with him during work hours… difficult, but I can’t blame him for not wanting to move in yet, although I hope he will.  And you!  The only person not in this mess who he trusts, ignores him.  Blames him!  Maybe you should try listening?  I get it… you can’t deal with him right now.  Fine.  I get it.  Do what you have to.  You don’t have to look after him at your own expense.  But don’t be cruel.  …Oh good.  Tim, thanks.  When he comes around, a Statement and some tea will set him right.”  Martin smiles at Tim (a smile that makes Jon jealous) and gives Georgie a cool look.  

“Marto, I think he’s been awake for most of that.”  Tim is crouched by him.  

“Haven’t been eavesdropping, promise.  Just… just getting my bearings.  I’m fine.  I’ll be up soon.”  Jon’s voice is rough.  Misery, unshed tears, exhaustion.  Take your pick.  

“It’s okay, buddy.  We’ll get you fixed up and then you can have a proper rest.  Offer of the flat share is still open, okay?”  Tim hovers, ready to help him sit when he’s ready.  

Jon… doesn’t know what to say.  After hearing Martin defend him… Maybe… Maybe he can start working on trusting Tim again.  Tim… is, after all, working on trusting him too.  

Georgie looks down at him.  He can’t read her expression.  She looks at him for a long moment.  

The gaze isn’t uncomfortable by itself.  But Jon feels exposed on the floor.  Small and helpless and weak as well as supernaturally hungry, that not at all helped by his “surprise nap.”  

He tries to avoid meeting her eyes.  

“I’m… sorry I didn’t listen.  I… still can’t do this with you right now.  But… I’m sorry.  I can’t be your friend now, but… let me know if you want some pictures of the Admiral ever, okay?”  And she leaves.  Off to bring Melanie to her appointment.  

Leaving Jon with Martin and Tim.   

Who bring him to his sad excuse for a bed, tuck him in with a statement and a cup of tea and tell him to call if he needs anything.  And Jon thinks, maybe he will reconsider their offer.  

[softboywriting]

Right Place, Right Time | Santiago “Pope” Garcia | Triple Frontier

Summary: You and Pope have known each other for years because of your ex. When you end up in a bad situation because of your brother, Pope is the last person you thought would end up saving your life. [Post Movie] [TW: Violence, gunshots, mention of drug running, hostage situation] [Film: Triple Frontier]

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist In Bio

The sound of a gunshot rips through the air, ringing in your ears and your heart stops. You huddle down into the cold porcelain tub you're handcuffed to, praying that you can get out of this situation alive. The situation has gone from bad to worse and you suspect it may get uglier.

You're not even meant to be here, you're a bartering chip because your brother fucked up and owes a cartel boss a fuck load of money. You can't even remember his name, Parade? Patron? Partida. That's it. Three days ago you got grabbed by three guys in a van outside your apartment in San Antonio Texas; had your hands tied up and mouth taped shut, tossed into the cargo hold on a small plane and flown for a long time then put in a trunk and driven for a longer time.

Since then you've been fine, no one has hurt you or made you feel uncomfortable other than the whole being held hostage. It's only been a day since you've been handcuffed, you started out much more comfortable in a small sunroom but you quickly ruined that luxury. Your back hurts from the awkward position you're forced to sit in. It's what you get for trying to make a run for it during a guard change.

It's been just under fifteen minutes since you heard commotion from the floor below you. Unmistakable sounds of struggle and loud thumping. Then came the gunshot. You have no idea who is shooting, if it is a guard or someone else with a gun. There are two more gunshots and you are certain that they've come from the stairs just outside the bathroom door. You have a feeling that there is a drug bust going on or a rival cartel is making a move. Either way you're in a bad position.

The hall outside the bathroom door creaks and you hold your breath. Maybe they won't check the bathroom. Maybe it's one of Partida's guards sweeping for intruders. Not that you'd rather it be a guard, but you'd rather not die or go to prison for being in a drug lord's house. You slide the curtain over quietly and lean your head back against the cold tile wall.

The sound of a man speaking catches your attention. It's low, unintelligible. You listen closer, trying to make out what they're saying but you're only catching pieces. It sounds like English.

"I'm going to sweep the rooms."

The door hand jiggles and you can't breathe. Sure enough the door creaks open and you hear someone moving into the room, heavy boots moving slowly across the floor. As long as they don't pull back the curtain it's fine. You're fine. They will take the shit they want and leave. Then you can make a run for it. Just don't open the- fuck.

You stare up at a blonde man with striking blue eyes. He's got a backwards baseball cap and a full tactical vest on. He looks American and you feel only fleeting relief, knowing that at least he doesn't appear to be part of a rival cartel in the country.

"Holy shit." He touches a com on his chest. "Pope, we got a girl up here, second floor bathroom. She's handcuffed to the tub."

"Copy that, I'm on my way."

Your heart soars. Pope. You know a Pope who is now ex military. Your ex boyfriend's squad leader was nicknamed Pope. You got together several times, had drinks with the squad and their significant others. You always had a thing for him, though you never let on since you were with Jude, your ex. The two of you got along far better than you and Jude ever did and you always wondered what if. It was a classic case of right person, wrong time. You can only hope that somehow on the gods green earth, this is going to be the same man.

"Hey sweetheart you know English?"

"Yeah, I'm American." You tug at the handcuff and it rattles loudly against the tub. "Got anything to get this off me?"

"Not on me. I'm gonna let Pope make that call."

Another man appears in the doorway. He looks similar to the one standing before you. Blonde, blue eyes, same jawline and build. "Ah fuck. Did you tell Pope yet?"

"He's on his way up."

A third man steps into view as the second man steps away. He's about the same height, dark curly hair with a bit of gray in the front, stubble, brown deep set eyes. It's him, Santiago "Pope" Garcia. He looks to the man in front of you and then to the one out of sight. They both exit the room and he enters, closing the door behind him.

"Santiago...Pope...holy shit, is this for real?"

"It is." He kneels beside the tub and you can see gray in his dark stubble. He doesn't look old enough to be graying, maybe late thirties or so, you can't remember. His eyes are soft, gentle as he looks at your wrist in the cuff. It's sore, red and rubbed raw. "This is the last place I ever thought I'd see you again. How the hell did you get here?"

"My brother owes Partida money, he did that private security gig here a while remember? He couldn't pay up so Partida took me and brought me here as a hostage. I've been here for three days."

Pope swings his gun around to his back and digs in the pocket of his vest. "He's kept you chained up for three days?"

"No, just one day. I was in the sunroom downstairs under a guard's watch until I tried to get out. I didn't make it far, obviously."

"Then he cuffed you. I got it." He pulls out a pair of pliers and goes for the chain around the pipe. "I want you to listen to what I'm about to say, and listen closely."

"O-okay?"

"If you're lying to me, and you try any funny business I cannot guarantee your safety. Just because we know each other, doesn't mean I can trust you entirely. I don't know you that well anymore. I'm cutting this chain and letting you go because I don't condone hurting women or hostages, and I want to believe you're telling me the truth."

"Of course I'm telling the truth, Pope. Fuck, we've known each other for years, yeah it's been a while but how many times did we get wasted together? Why are you here?"

He gives you a hard look but it smooths out, trust softening his features. "I'm trying to make a difference."

You rub your arm, massaging the bicep as you're able to relax it finally. It's been uncomfortably held at a weird angle since you were chained up. "You're here for the drugs? Are you a mercenary now or something?"

"Something like that." Pope stands and offers a hand to help you up. "You need to get out of here and get back home."

"I can't. I don't have any documents. How am I supposed to get over the border or get a flight?" You climb out of the tub and run a hand over your hair. "They brought me down here on a fucking crop duster hidden in the cargo hold."

Pope sighs, muttering under his breath and hooks his thumbs under the straps of his vest. "I'd say go to the embassy but I'm sure they're in Partida's pockets. Okay, I'll get you out of here, just go downstairs and wait for us to come down."

You nod and open the door, heading down the stairs and stopping short of the last step because there is a guard laying across the bottom steps and he is clearly not responsive. You close your eyes and tell yourself he is just unconscious as you step over his legs and go to the foyer. The front door is open and it's raining outside, the sky a sick green color. How did this happen? How could you have let your brother get in this much trouble? How did you let yourself get picked up outside your apartment? Fuck. You lean on the doorframe and you feel sick. You can't just go home. Partida will find you, his men will find you.

"Hey Handcuffs, you ready to go?"

You turn and see the blond with the baseball cap that initially found you. "Yeah, I'm not eager to stay."

"Pope says you're comin' with us. That he knows you. You're American right? Where you from?"

"Texas."

"Ah I see." He does a little two step move. "I've had a couple of good rounds in Texas. Nice place. Good food and better company." He adjusts his hat and you roll your eyes at him. "How'd you end up in Columbia?"

"My idiot brother." You scoff. "He was in private sector security and he stayed here for six months. Apparently he got in with the wrong people and then ended up owing more money than our childhood home is worth. He's so fucking stupid, he put me and everyone he's knows at risk and look at me now. I'm so fucked."

"Hey it'll be okay. Pope knows the right people, he can get you home."

"I can't go home! If I just go back to my apartment in San Antonio then Partida's men are going to hunt me down. They'll interrogate me about this, whatever this is!" You pace across the foyer. "I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be part of anything! This is all my brother's fault and I'm really tempted to snap his fingers one by one when I see him again, if I see him again."

"Ouch. Trust me, Pope will get this right. Partida isn't going to be a problem much longer. Well, he ain't a problem now."

"What do you mean? Of course he's a prob-"

The other blonde comes down the stairs with Pope behind him. He's got a necklace in his hand with a cross on it. It's the one that Partida never goes without. The only way they could have gotten that is- Jesus fucking Christ what did Pope get into? "You got the matches Pope?" The blonde asks.

"You know I do." Pope says, tossing a bottle of some sort behind him.

"Don't you think maybe we should give some of this money in the house back to the people?"

"It's dirty money, it'll just find its way back to the next cartel that tries to take over the country. It's best we don't feed anything back into it. Let the people heal, free of Partida's grasp."

"Whatever you say, Pope."

Baseball cap and the other blonde grab bottles from a bag nearby like the one Pope tossed. You realize they're lighter fluid, or perhaps gasoline. They're going to burn the house to the ground with everything and everyone in it. "Come on, let's get this place good and soaked."

Pope walks up to you and lays his hand on your shoulder. "I never thought I'd see you again let alone in a place like this. Small world."

"Yeah, small world. What are you actually doing here? Seriously this is not a government mission."

"No, it's not. I've spent the last two years here trying to take down Partida. He was responsible for the death of my aunt and uncle a few years back. I worked with the local government for a while but they were all on his payroll. I met up with Benny and Will about doing this on our own. They hot some hard times so I told them they could keep as much cash as they could carry if they helped me and well, here we are."

You reach out and touch his jaw, there's a scratch you didn't see before and it's bleeding a little. You wonder if he knows it's there. "Never thought you'd do some cowboy shit like this."

He shrugs and looks away. "It's against everything I ever swore under oath but it's the right thing to do and we've got the skill set to do it. So many people suffer under Partida's rule. I've done something like this before in Brazil, it didn't turn out so well but it made a huge difference for the people and the government."

"Well I'm glad you are doing it. I've never been more relieved in my life than I was when I saw you walk into that bathroom. I was sure I'd end up dead or in prison or something far worse. I'm so far from home, and someone I know is saving my life, how did I get this lucky."

Pope chuckles. "I guess people are tied to each other once they meet. The invisible strings of fate. Seems that way anyway. How's Jude?"

"We broke up two years ago. It wasn't ugly, just a mutual falling out. He was being deployed to Turkey for a few years so it would have been rough."

"Oh I'm sorry to hear that. Is he still there? I've not heard from him since I retired."

"Yeah. What about you? Still got that Brazilian girl? What was her name? Annamaria?"

Pope clears his throat and runs a hand over his hair nervously. "No, no she uh...she wasn't into my work. It didn't last long."

"That sucks, I'm sorry. She was a sweet girl."

"She was. Life goes on though."

"Alright we're done, let's light it up and go home." The blonde says and picks up the bag they got the lighter fluid from.

Baseball Cap claps a hand on Pope's back. "Let's get the hell out of dodge my man."

"Let's go." Pope says, laying a hand on your back and guiding you toward the doorway. "We've got a truck waiting on the other side of the highway."

_____________________

The way home isn't as easy as it should be even with Pope's connections. For Benny and Will, baseball cap and the blonde, it's easy as pie. Pope had already set up their fake passports and IDs before the mission. You end up staying with Pope at the place he pays weekly for in Medellin. It's a temporary apartment, all the furniture and appliances are supplied. It's perfect for a man on the move. You both know it's a risk to keep you in the country, should Partida's men decide to get retribution for their boss. Not that many knew who you were or why you were in his home, but either way, if any of them knew about you, this is going to get pinned on you. How one woman in her late twenties could take out several armed guards and a drug lord alone, you have no idea. You're not John Wick, but you're not completely off the hook.

You wake up to the early morning light pouring in the open window of the bedroom. You're covered in soft blankets, a bit too warm, but comfortable enough. Beside you Pope is asleep, his tan skin and dark hair such a contrast against the cream color bedding. He looks peaceful, serene in this state.

Sharing the bed had been your idea. It wasn't as if two adults couldn't share a queen size bed for a few nights. You weren't horny teenagers on a camping trip, forced to share tents. None the less your heart races when you see him inches away, lips parted slightly, eyes closed and his whole expression relaxed. He's gorgeous, rough but attractive beyond measure. He's older than you by a few years, a good eight at least, but you don't care. You definitely still want him.

"Good morning," he mutters, one eye opening to peek at you across from him. He smiles slow and sleepy.

"Good morning."

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Mmhmm."

Pope reaches out and closes the gap between the two of you, fingers gliding over your cheek. "You're flushed. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah." You bite your tongue as you stare pleadingly at the man across from you. Do you say something? Does he feel this vibe? Does his chest ache the way yours does right now? You can't decide what to say so you go with the first thing that comes to mind. "You've gotten some gray since I last saw you."

He grins, breaking out into a laugh and let's his hand fall from your face. "Stress and the military will do that to you."

"I like it."

His laughter lulls and he looks over at you once more. "You do?"

"Yeah." You reach out and touch the curls at the front of his head where they are streaked with gray. His hair is soft but full and thick, his latin genetics for sure. He won't be thinning anytime soon, just graying. "It's nice, makes you look distinguished."

"It makes me look like an old man."

"You're not that old."

"Thirty seven and I've got these grays like a fifty year old pushing sixty hard."

You run your hand into his hair, dragging your fingers up through the thickest bit. "Don't worry about it. Get some hair dye. The ladies will still be all over you with a face like this."

He chuckles. "Oh yeah? What if I don't want ladies all over me? What if I just want one." He rolls forward and leans over you. "Am I reading this wrong?"

"No, you're reading it perfectly right."

"Good." He leans in and presses his lips to yours. His hand slides into your hair and you melt. His kiss is everything you imagined, soft, gentle, loving. "I've got a place in Brazil, a condo in Rio."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Maybe." He smiles and kisses you again. "Just for a bit until things cool down with Partida's men. I think you'll like Brazil."

You smile softly and close your eyes. "Fuck it. Why not? My job sucks in San Antonio. My parents are who knows where since they retired and my brother can figure it out himself. He put me into this mess, he can suffer a while wondering what happened to me."

"If he hadn't, we wouldn't be here." He presses his forehead against yours. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"I guess it's like you said, people are tied together by the universe once they meet." You run your hand through his hair and down his neck, twisting your finger in his curls there. "Maybe we were supposed to end up like this."

He presses another kiss to your lips and then to your jaw. "It was finally the right place, right time."

"Finally."

-------

end

Header imgae by @/delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 272: (Directed by Michael Bay)

Previously on BnHA: The My Child Soldiers Academia arc finally started to live up to its name as Tokoyami became the first (but I assure you not the last) victim of traumatic mental scarring courtesy of Horikoshi’s sick games! So he and Dark Shadow showed up to stop Dabi from murdering Hawks and were all “please don’t kill our mentor.” Dabi was all “AH BUT YOUR MENTOR KILLED SOMEONE ELSE, AND ISN’T THAT JUST LIKE THE HEROES THOUGH, THEIR HANDS ARE SO STAINED WITH BLOOD” and then he tried to set both of them on fire several times in succession. Hawks was all “Tokoyami just run away while he’s in the middle of his five-hour sermon” and so they tried but Dabi followed them! But then Geten was all “ALL RIGHT EVERYONE... CHILL” and fucking froze everything for no discernible reason, and Tokoyami fled the building with an unconscious Hawks in tow as the battle raged on. The chapter then ended with Gigantomachia being all “I smell my master!” and standing up, hahaha oh fuck.

Today on BnHA: Well you guys are not going to believe this, but it turns out that Tomura waking up is actually a very bad thing. A “worst case scenario” if you will! Because, get this, he has a quirk that can destroy anything, which spreads from whatever he touches to fucking everything and everywhere else. Gosh, if only we’d known about this since like 35 chapters ago. If only we’d had a spy among the villains who could have warned us, and three entire months to plan our attack, and literally every single hero in Japan on call to help us when the time came. Anyway so you’re really going to be shocked by this I’m telling you, but it turns out that when a crazy powerful person who wants to destroy everything finally wakes up, he immediately starts destroying everything with his crazy power. So X-Less dies and Crust dies and everyone else runs, and meanwhile the kids, who are on the outskirts of the city finishing up the evacuation, stand there in shock as the plot rampages toward them ready to swallow them whole. The chapter ends with Deku powering up to FORTY-FIVE PERCENT YEAHHHHH, and oh shit. Finally we’re doing this.

I am not even remotely done with all the shit I’m supposed to be finishing up, but fuck it, I need a break and reading the new chapter is by far the funnest thing on my current to-do list, so!

OH SNAPS MY BOY HAS FINALLY OPENED HIS EYES

IT ONLY TOOK HIM... OKAY LOOK I’M NOT GOING TO GO BACK AND COUNT ALL OF THE CHAPTERS, BUT LET’S SAY... FIFTEEN. ...HUNDRED. CHAPTERS TO FINALLY SNAP TO IT AND COME JOIN THE PARTY. BUT IT WAS WORTH THE WAIT! PROBABLY. AHH LET’S JUST READ ON

-- ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohm --

[puts on glasses and unfolds map while poring through a mess of scribbles on post-it notes] -- hold up, if my calculations are correct, I’m pretty sure “somewhere a bit further from the hospital” is, in fact, where a certain THREE TROUBLE-PRONE DISASTERS ARE CURRENTLY HOLED UP. AHHH

can it really be true. are we finally rejoining our protagonist and his buddy cop friends after 97 years. how will everyone react to Deku reacting to Tomura waking up ahhhh

so Burnin’ is yelling at the civilians to let them know if they have any family or friends who need assistance evacuating

god I hate the fact that this is a fucking understatement

they’re not taking any chances after Kamino and Fukuoka huh. fool them once, shame on you. fool them twice, oh shit. but there will not be a third time! no one fucking destroys three cities in the span of six months on their watch, no sirree

(ETA: ...)

lol the kids are trying to get the elderly citizens on a bus to evacuate, but a lady is trying to give them candy and Kacchan and Ochako are of two different minds on whether or not to accept

Kacchan is absolutely right about Ochako’s motivations, but in her defense, who the fuck turns down free chocolate

IIDA!!

FUCKING CHRIST JAPAN IT’S 200 YEARS IN THE FUTURE AND YOU STILL HAVEN’T SWITCHED TO DIGITAL RECORD-KEEPING? WHY IS THIS THE MOST REALISTIC THING IN THE ENTIRE MANGA TO DATE. MY GOOD SIR, IIDA IS LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH, ALL RECORDS AND BUILDINGS ABSOLUTELY CAN AND WILL BE COMPLETELY OBLITERATED IN THE CARNAGE TO COME. I’M SORRY TO BE THE ONE TO INFORM YOU OF THIS, BUT DAMN IT SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY

(ETA: I sure hope these poor bastards had good insurance.)

also. this man here who looks like Beaker from the Muppets, who presumably has the power of Doing Anything Those Wacky Flailing Inflatable Tube Men That You See Outside Of Car Dealerships Can Do. ...yes. that’s it. that’s an intentionally incomplete sentence with a subject but no predicate. I just feel like we should all sit and stare at him for a good thirty more seconds before continuing on with our lives

OH MY GOD

THEY’RE EVACUATING THE PETS TOO AHHHH. EXCUSE ME CERTAIN SOMEONES WHO THINK ALL HEROES ARE “DIRTY.” I SEE YOUR ARGUMENTS AND RAISE YOU THIS ONE SINGLE PANEL. YEAH THAT’S RIGHT. NOW WHAT DABI. AT A LOSS FOR WORDS I SEE. YOU JUST SIT AND PONDER THAT FOR A WHILE

is... this... a space shuttle man

is this literally just a man with a Boeing for a head. FUCKING QUIRKS THOUGH!!!!! ~*~wild~*~

OH MY GOD AND WE’RE BACK

time for some HORCRUX SHENANIGANS!! IS YOUR LIGHTNING BOLT SCAR BURNING DEKU. I CAN’T BELIEVE HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED IS BACK AHHHH

so now he’s slightly hunching forward with his hands pressed together and Todoroki is immediately sensing that something is wrong ahhhhh

(ETA from like 5 days later: I had that as “Tokoyami” instead of “Todoroki” for the better part of a solid week you guys. SHOUTO YOU WERE GONE FOR SO LONG I FORGOT YOUR FUCKING NAME whoop.)

here come dat angst. here comes Horikoshi’s hand beckoning the trio closer and welcoming them to the pain parade ahhh. from now on that’s how I’m ending all my sentences btw. it just seems right. ahhh

OH MY LORD OH MY

ladies and gentlemen, YOU WERE SAYING DEKU DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT LATELY? HE’S NOT INTERESTING ENOUGH AS A PROTAGONIST, IS HE? well maybe that’s because Horikoshi has been saving this one juiciest of plot nuggets for a rainy day precisely like this! BRING ON THAT CHOSEN ONE ANGST AHHHHH

anyway so yes it is indeed OFA speaking to him in the form of Lil Bro a.k.a. the first user

lol I’m trying to think of commentary but it’s difficult seeing as I’M ALREADY SCROLLING DOWN TO IMPATIENTLY READ THE NEXT PAGE

lmao the fuck

okay Princess Zelda. can you get any more flowery with those descriptions though. A TRANSCENDENT BEING. A SUPERLATIVE ENTITY. A SUBLIME, PREEMINENT ORGANISM. FREED FROM ITS SHACKLES. UNFETTERED BY ALL EARTHLY LIMITATIONS

OH MY GOD

it absolutely boggles my mind that this guy is somehow still alive. ??! how many chapters and panels has it been now. he’s like the goat in the t-rex pen in fucking Jurassic Park. WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET EATEN ALREADY

...

do you... want a blanket. ...?

(ETA: do you ever just. wake up and you’re like “ah shit it’s cold”, and then you destroy an entire city. mm.)

do you all suppose X-Less is fully aware that he’s about to die though? he hasn’t even moved. I imagine that sitting next to Tomura actually is much like sitting next to a giant t-rex. like he has to know there is no getting out of this alive. poor guy

damn Mic isn’t even looking back he’s just running back into the main room where all the rest of them are

wow this fight is still going on

I don’t know why, I just expected it to all magically be over all of a sudden now that we have bigger things to worry about. do you guys remember when we were all worried about the High End Noumus being the biggest threat. hahahahaha

(ETA: moment of silence for ALL OF THE FUCKING HIGH ENDS lmao. that did not go how I expected that plotline to go AT ALL, but at least we got the best fucking battle in the entire manga out of it.)

jesus CHRIST ENOUGH WITH THIS

WE GET IT TOMURA IS DANGEROUS AND SCARY AND EVIL AND AWAKE!!! JUST PLEASE GET TO IT ALREADY GOD I’M BEGGING YOU

FINALLY

goddammit. my reaction to this should have been much more “!!!” and “OH SHIT”, but he dragged it out so much that my initial reaction was one more of relief than horror. maybe it’s because of the way I read the chapters, constantly pausing to do commentary as I go along, but whenever a chapter has a ton of panels of people just staring into the distance awash with dread, it really stands out to me lol. there’s only so much I can write about that kind of thing. ah well at least we’re finally getting to the action

I genuinely can’t tell if Ujiko is frightened that he’s about to be disintegrated by Tomura’s quirk, or excited that Tomura is awake

maybe both lol. well don’t worry you’re not gonna die that easily, much as you would not catch me complaining if you did

thanks Gran

lol where was all this speed throughout the rest of this arc though. “we’re only competent when the plot necessitates it” huh. is that right

oh shit it’s destroying the rest of the lab

those are all of Ujiko’s collected quirks, right? someone please tell me if this is a good or a bad thing. on the one hand if they’re all destroyed it means Tomura can’t get them and Ujiko can’t make any more Noumus. but on the other hand this means they won’t ever be able to give them back to the original users (if any of them are even still alive). and also that’s a lot of evidence that’s being wiped out as well

oh shit they didn’t know about this?!

even after Deika City, you didn’t put two and two together?? even with all of Hawk’s intel?? what the hell did you think happened there?

well this explains why everyone was so la-dee-da-no-rush about capturing him though. well that’s on you guys. next time maybe don’t waste 20 minutes uselessly battling redshirt Noumus while Mirko has to do everything herself

anyway so I feel like people other than X-Less are almost certainly going to die here, and fuck. I’m not ready for any of this

AHH THE KIDS

BIT SLOW ON THE UPTAKE THERE KACCHAN LOL. FOR A MOMENT YOU HAD ME WORRIED THERE WAS SOMEHOW A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THREAT APPROACHING FROM THE OTHER SIDE, BEFORE YOU TURNED AROUND TO LOOK WHERE THE OTHERS WERE LOOKING

ALSO JUST A FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT SHOUTO’S DAD IS IN THAT HOSPITAL, ALONG WITH THEIR TEACHER! HERE. COME. DAT. ANGST

LOOK AT THIS CONSPICUOUSLY INTACT BUILDING AS IT STANDS THERE ALL OMINOUSLY WITH THE NEARBY BIRDS AND CRITTERS FRANTICALLY FLYING AWAY

I want to see it crumble so bad. now this is the kind of foreboding cinematic disaster movie bullshit I can get into

FFFF WHY IS THIS PANEL SO HARD TO SEE

THERE’S TOO MUCH CHAOS AND TOO MANY PEOPLE LOST AMIDST ALL THESE SHATTERING AND FALLING TUBES, BUT I NEED TO MAKE SURE EVERYONE IS SAFE AHHH

...okay so I see Ryuukyuu in the top right, and I think that’s RockLockRock on her back. Thirteen is clearly there in the bottom center, but I don’t know who that is next to them. and then of course Gran and Mic on the left. and a bunch of others spread out in various other places, but... where the hell is Aizawa??

OH THANK GOD

FUCK YOU HORIKOSHI, I KNOW FULL WELL YOU’RE NOT JUST GOING TO KILL OFF THE WORLD’S PREEMINENT DAD STRAIGHT UP OUT OF THE BLUE HERE, AND YET I STILL FELT ANXIETY AT THIS LAST PANEL. HOW DID YOU EVEN

BITCH YOU BETTER LET THE FUCK GO BEFORE I --

!!!

oh my god I gasped in real life. stop making me fear for the lives of main characters!!

he. he --. crust. he. ...

I literally stopped reading and had to stop and cover my mouth with both of my hands I’m

silence. no screaming. no flailing. no freaking out. just silence

shit. rest in peace you old sedimentary bastard. respect to you for saving the father of my children in your last fleeting moments. I still have not the slightest idea how you rose through the ranks to somehow become the sixth fucking highest rated hero (HERO BILLBOARD CHART, IS EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT. ARE YOU FEELING OKAY), but you sure did go out with style though

also this may be tacky of me to point out during such an emotionally charged moment, but one second Aizawa is wearing his goggles like normal, and the next they’re suddenly pushed up onto his forehead so we can see the anguish in his bloodshot eyes. there was no reason to do that other than angst and we all know it. so yes Shouta you dramatic bitch, I am calling you out. why Horikoshi felt he had to add to your many accumulated traumas is beyond me. you don’t deserve this and I am so, so sorry

OH GOOD I WAS JUST ABOUT TO ASK WHERE THE FUCK ENDEAVOR WAS

seeing as we just went over this with Gran, I will take the high road here and won’t ask why you’re only this fast now and couldn’t have been this useful this ages ago back before Tomura woke up. oh wait does sarcastically saying I won’t bring it up count as bringing it up. well whatever. middle road, then

sob I’m getting flashbacks to the end of Return of the Jedi when they’re all frantically flying out of the Death Star as it explodes

friendly reminder that Ryuukyuu, clearly the fastest one here despite carrying like 20 people, was number 10 in the rankings for some unknown reason. again, r.i.p. Crust you well-meaning geriatric soul

also just a stray thought, I hope it’s clear now why it was so important to give Deku those additional quirks. at a minimum he needs Blackwhip and Float just so he doesn’t instantly die the moment he’s in Tomura’s general vicinity. sob I’ve joked so much about flying quirks and here they are becoming fucking prerequisites now

anyway so Ujiko is mourning the loss of his lab, which again, good riddance mostly. but r.i.p. that evidence though

(ETA: nah the “total loss” part is referring to how the heroes fucked up so soundly and thoroughly. anyway no one would blame Mic if he accidentally dropped Ujiko in the midst of all this chaos, I’m just saying. I guess they need any intel he could still provide now more than ever though.)

OH MY GOD!!

LAUNDRY HERO WASH?! THIS SUDSY BOI CAN ACTUALLY KICK ASS WHAAAAT

oh my god oh my god it’s still spreading??!

fuck fuck fuck at this rate it’ll reach the kids

(ETA: that happened really fast actually.)

-- oh FUCK NO you had better NOT FUCKING TOUCH FUCKING PIXIE BOB, I WILL MAIL MYSELF TO JAPAN PANDEMIC OR NO PANDEMIC. DO YOU NOT SEE THE SIGN THAT SAYS “OFF-LIMITS.” RESPECT THE SIGN

SOB SHE’S SO BADASS BUT IT LOOKS LIKE IT’S STILL DISINTEGRATING FUCCCCCK. FUCK MY LIFE, FUCK EVERYTHING

AHHHHH

I can’t tell if her earthbending was able to stop it or not?? god help us all if it didn’t, I’m not even sure what else could stop it at this point

SHUT UP UJIKO!!

they really did. only to fuck it up completely at the finish line. well, the man most singularly responsible for it is dead now, again r.i.p. Crust you useless old legend

lmao despite myself

“by a miracle, or maybe through sheer will” even he acknowledges that Tomura waking up was basically complete bullshit. yes blah blah yadda yadda got zapped by some exposed wires explanation science. because we all know that getting electrocuted will fix you right up when your heart has stopped and you have completely flatlined. you can definitely trust Horikoshi on this and there’s absolutely no need to google how defibrillators actually work

also is he somehow wearing a cape now. again by a miracle or maybe through sheer will

YESSSSSSS

(ETA: one has to wonder what Ujiko’s plan was, assuming this scheme had actually played out. were they just banking on Tomura not waking up cranky and disoriented and wanting to test out his power. his quirk doesn’t exactly distinguish friend from foe here I’m just saying.)

the part of me that goes all “ooh ahh” when all the buildings explode in Independence Day is singing inside. but never fear, the rest of me is appropriately horrified though. what was that Burnin’ was saying about the city becoming a large-scale battle zone? sob

also this page sure serves as a nice refresher for exactly why Tomura Waking Up Was Bad, which was inexplicably a topic of some debate in recent weeks. yes in spite of everything the villains are still the bad guys who’d have thought. almost as if the purpose of humanizing a character is to show that they’re human, not that they’re right

WHAT’S THIS NOW???

WELL I’LL BE. IT’S BEEN AN EVENTFUL THREE MONTHS, APPARENTLY!??

HOOAHHHHHHHH

IT’S A BIRD IT’S A PLANE IT’S A BADASS OH SHIIIIITTTTTT

finally finally finally!!!!!!

THE SHIT HAS HIT THE FAN, REPEAT, THE SHIT HAS HIT THE PROVERBIAL FAN. THE PLOT IS FINALLY HAPPENING, REPEAT, THE PLOT IS FINALLY FUCKING HAPPENING AHHHHHH

and there is no one coming to save them this time. no one to arrive at the last second and say “it’s all right now because I am here.” they have to save themselves. they have to save everyone. the training wheels are finally coming off. the safety net has been removed. after 272 chapters, the story has finally reached a point where these kids, these children, who in spite of all they’ve been through have been protected and shielded from the worst of it up till now, will finally have to be the ones to save the day all on their own

and they are not ready. but also maybe they kind of are??! but they definitely are not. and oh god oh god oh god, FINALLY WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS. TIME TO FIX THE MESS THOSE SILLY GROWN-UPS MADE, CHILDREN. YOU GOT THIS

[vicegrips-fr]

Into the Black

Azizi divulges his upbringing and the horrors that came with it.

-------------------- I’ve debated sharing this on here because to be completely honest it’s very personal and not for everyone. I’ve decided to open up and share it anyway with the appropriate warnings. It’s no secret that I vent through my own ocs to explore the intense abuse I survived and this is one of those lore posts that delves into that. Hopefully some of you will take the time to read it and if not I completely understand. It’s a long one and difficult to read in many ways I’m sure.

Gustav belongs to my boyfriend @wyvernrising!

Warnings: language, themes of parental abuse, drug/alcohol abuse mentions, and unpleasantness abound.

Pings: @fusefr @kattafr @stimmy-dragons -------------------

They’re together for the night. Himself, Gogo, and the Sub Rosa sent to protect them which includes his boyfriend Gustav. There’s an injury to his hand which isn’t self-inflicted but the product of his past come back to bite him in the ass today. Since then they’ve been sharing their stories to pass the time and ease the tension, getting to know each other better and well, now it’s his turn.

“You don’t have to share,” Gogo peeps up sympathetically, scooting closer so that their thighs are pressed together.

He already knows the truth, knows how hard this will be for Azizi to talk about.

Azizi waves a dismissive hand in the air, happily allowing Gus to take hold of the injured one and press a kiss to the knuckles. Some small part of him does care what they’ll think but it’s drowned out by the stubborn I don’t give a shit what you think of me attitude he’s spent a lot of time cultivating for himself. “We’ll see about that,” he says, pouring himself a glass of wine.

He pauses, bottle in hand as his eyes land on Gustav’s glass. There’s still wine inside but he fills it back up to the top for him anyway. Whether he chooses to drink it or not is irrelevant. Maybe he doesn’t want him to; more wine for him.

Their previous compliments earlier in the night did not fall on deaf ears and bring a smile to his face when he remembers them. “Ha! I am a pleasure to be around, aren’t I?” he chuckles, licking his teeth, “If I were a bore then I wouldn’t be netting as much dick as I am on the daily.”

It’s crude but true. He’s popular for a reason and part of it is his bombastic, nasty personality. Truth is sunshine and rainbows have no place in a brothel, no matter how hard Gogo tries to change that fact.

“But you’re right about what you all said,” he sighs, “It’s an ugly story, just like the rest of you have.”

For a solid few seconds he lapses into silence, picking through the pieces of his life inside his head like dusting off an old photo album. None of the pictures inside are things he wants to see, they’re kept in a box for a reason, after all.

“Where to begin?” he muses to himself, swirling the wine in his glass around, transfixed by the dark red liquid sloshing around the sides.

“Like Gustav and Gogo I was born in Neo Necropolis. The slummy part, obviously. My mother’s name was Tiwa but she went by Candy. If that doesn’t tip you off she was a stripper. A popular one, I was told.”

He stops to sip his drink, the mere mention of his mother’s name enough to elicit that response. Jesus. How long has it been since he said her name out loud?

“My father’s name was Ayoola but everyone called him Ayo,” Azizi continues, the wine burning all the way down his throat, “And his biggest claim to fame was his appetite for men and women. He frequented just about every brothel and strip club in a fifteen mile radius.” Azizi looks up, eyes passing over everyone’s faces in favor of focusing on anything but.

“You can all put two and two together and figure out how my parents met,” he laughs without joy, “They were never married, of course, but they lived together and it wasn’t long before I was born. Not like they were kind of people to use protection, but I sort of wish they had.”

It’s a terribly dark thing to say and painfully true. Plenty of people in a bad situation have the same thought- I wish I was never born!- and he can’t count how many times he cursed the world for being forced into it. “They fought all the time,” he says, recalling the first time he was old enough to understand the words they were yelling.

------------------  

”Get off of your ass and do something for once!” Tiwa screams at the top of her lungs, “I work my ass off on the pole every night and you can’t even get off the couch to get Zizi his breakfast? Pathetic!” It's early. Early enough that the sun is only just coming up, bright light streaming in through the dingy window in his bedroom despite the tall buildings that surround their home. It’s not the first time he’s been woken up this early from his parents fighting. His mama is gone all night, returning every morning and sleeping most of the day away, but not before their daily fight. Tail between his legs Azizi tiptoes quietly to the end of the short hallway, his little hands gripping the corner of the wall as he peeks out from behind it to see what’s going on. ”Oh, I’m pathetic?” Ayoola shouts back, “That’s rich coming from a pole crawler who calls herself Candy! The pipsqueak isn’t even up yet so fuck off to bed already and quit your yapping.” Azizi can’t see them from where he’s standing so he lets go of the wall and steps into the living room, ducking back into the hallway as quietly as possible when he catches a glimpse of his father laid out on the sofa, beer bottle in hand. ”No Ayo YOU fuck off,” Tiwa says loudly from the kitchen, bone tired and her tail lashing behind her in anger. “I’m not dealing with this mess when I’ve been up all fucking night, do you hear me? I’m not your mother, I’m your girlfriend and I need your help. We’re barely getting by, for fuck sake. Just… try to be responsible for once in your miserable life. Please.” ”Jesus fucking christ Candy, get a grip,” Ayoola snorts nonchalantly, rolling over so that his face is pressed into the cushions of the couch, “I’ll do the dishes and get the brat his breakfast, alright? Will that shut you up?” Tears in his eyes, Azizi shuffles off back to his bedroom and curls up on the small mattress laid on the floor of his tiny bedroom, pulling the blanket over his head. The shouting continues but it’s muffled through his hands over his ears and, after a little while, he falls back asleep.

-----------------

“It was really annoying,” he scoffs, “How they’d fight over just about everything. It was like they couldn’t help themselves. No matter how small the affront they would manage to find a way to turn it into something more.”

He’s getting off track. Blinking away the memory like it’s nothing, Azizi drinks deeply from his glass and marches forward. “Anyway,” he mutters, taking another small sip, “I was, hm, about eight or nine years old when my mother up and left. I can’t blame her, really. My father was a bum and an addict who brought other men and women home when she wasn’t around. More than once she walked in on him cheating on her and I guess that plus his allergy to contributing anything to the ‘family’ was enough to put the final nail in the coffin. We all have our breaking point.”

-----------------

”Where’s mama?” Azizi asks, tugging lightly on his father’s pant leg. It’s midday and she hasn’t come home yet. Ayoola is passed out on the couch, his dirty hair sticking up in different directions, spit and booze drying in a crust at the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t respond right away. It takes Azizi asking the same question a few times before he’s finally roused awake. ”Huh?” he mumbles, cracking an eye open, “Oh. That.” Ayoola doesn’t seem particularly worried about Tiwa’s absence, just slightly annoyed to have been woken up. ”She left,” he sneers, grunting with effort as he pushes himself up and grabs a crumpled piece of paper that had been wadded up underneath him. “Don’t worry, she’ll come crawling back eventually. Until then how about you go play or something. Daddy is trying to sleep off a cold.”

It would only be a couple more years before Azizi would realize that these frequent ‘colds’ were actually hangovers of varying degrees. A week turns into a month, a few months turn into a year and Tiwa still hasn’t come back. Around the six month mark was when Azizi realized he would never see his mother again. In another three months he would grow angry and resentful, pounding his little fists into the floor because she left him behind. She left him alone with HIM. ”That selfish bitch!” Ayo yells, putting another hole in the wall with his fist, blood seeping from between his fingers, “Leaving me to take care of you by my fucking self! How the hell am I supposed to do that, huh?! Tell me how! Where’s the money going to come from?! I’m sinking here! Do you know how many people I owe money to?” Azizi sobs into his hands, tiny body curled up into a ball on the sofa as his father paces back and forth like a caged animal, ranting like a lunatic at the top of his lungs. ”I… I don’t know!” Azizi cries, far too young to understand all of the things his father is saying, “I’m sorry dad! I’m sorry!” -------------------

“After Candy split the house chores fell to me,” Azizi murmurs darkly, setting his drink down to reach for another cigarette instead, “The cooking, cleaning… Him. Ayoola was a full time job. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I had to clean him up after a blackout. Put him on his side and make sure he wouldn’t throw up and drown in his own vomit.”

Azizi pauses, takes a drag from his cigarette and sighs.

“He drank and shot up so much that the floor was littered all over with the aftermath,” Azizi chuckles bitterly, “I’d have to wade through the filth being careful not to stab myself with a used needle, turn him over and check his pulse. Clean the puke off of him with a rag and then pick it all up.”

Gogo sniffles, rubbing his eyes dry on the back of his hand. It’s at this point that he wants to interrupt, to tell Azizi that he doesn’t have to go on if he doesn’t want to. But as if reading his mind, Azizi looks over at him and smiles sadly. 

“It’s okay, Gogo,” he says as soothingly as he can manage, “I’m fine.”

Another pause as he tries to collect his thoughts, memories he wishes didn’t belong to him. “As I got older we started to fight more and more,” Azizi murmurs, “At that point I really had replaced my mother in almost every way.”

----------------

”Zi! That you?”

”Yeah, it’s me dad,” Azizi replies a little flippantly, “Who the fuck else would it be? One of your booty calls?”

Ayoola snorts with laughter, looking up at him as he walks into the room with bloodshot eyes. ”Have I ever told you that you look like your mother?”

Azizi rolls his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he leans in the doorway.

”Yeah,” he answers flatly, “Like, fifty times this week.” Ayoola nods sadly, head rolling to the side as he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep again. Frowning, Azizi goes to his room.

----------------

I won’t cry, Azizi thinks, he doesn’t deserve my tears. “Eventually I ran away,” he informs them, unable to bring himself to give them the gorier details of his life, “And I went out with a bang.” Chuckling softly at his own wording, Azizi brings the glass to his lips again. “That makes it sound like I shot him dead,” he hums, “Sadly, I didn’t. We got into a fight, another bad one where he didn’t just use his words to berate me but his fists. I shoved him backwards, he shoved me harder, I slapped him, and he told me to get the fuck out of his house- I happily obliged.”

----------------

”You!” Ayoola screams, following Azizi around the house as he does his best to get away from him, “Where do you think you’re going?! I’m talking to you! Where the fuck were you?! You knew you had a client coming over! You knew and you went out anyway- hey!” His hand lashes out violently, grabbing Azizi by the arm and yanking him back. ”I’m not playing with you Zi!” Ayoola says, spittle flying and his teeth grinding together as he gets up in Azizi’s face, “You’re in big fucking trouble. If you’re going to live under this roof-” ”I don’t want to live under this roof!” Azizi screams back, slapping Ayoola in the face in an attempt to get him to let go, “I want to be as far away from you as humanly possible! You’re a fucking monster!” Ayoola doesn’t hesitate to backhand him, the force of it throwing Azizi to the floor where he sits shocked and rubbing tenderly at his freshly bruised cheek. ”Then get the fuck out!” he shouts, jabbing a finger in Azizi’s face as he looms over him, “Leave! Just like your mother did! I’ve taken care of us for how long and you’re acting out like this because I ask you to do your part?! All you have to do is put out! Easiest fucking job on the planet!” Azizi stares at him, dead behind the eyes as he’s yanked back up onto his feet and shoved hard against the kitchen wall, a hand around his throat. ”You hearin’ me? Answer me-” Azizi screams, shoving his father back so hard that he trips over his own feet and falls backwards. ”Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” he wails, shoving past Ayoola and out the front door. Ayoola gives chase, pausing in the open doorway to yell after him. ”Then go! Die on the street for all I care!”

He does not follow.

-------------------

“To make an already long story short,” he says, glancing over at Gustav and then quickly averting his eyes, “I spent a long time, years, on the street just like Gogo. I did what I knew how to do best. Eventually I ran into Chaka.”

At the mere mention of his name his blood runs cold, the events of his sad life replaying all over again. He handles it though, shoving it deep deep down inside himself where it belongs. “He took me in off the streets you know. Well, for the most part anyway,” he admits, “There were plenty of times he’d leave me on a corner. To teach me a lesson, he’d say. I mean, I do have a reckless mouth so is that any surprise to you guys?” He laughs humorlessly, eyes finding Gogo’s. “But I met Gogo because of that,” he adds very fondly, “So hey. Silver-linings.” Sighing deeply, Azizi downs the rest of his drink in one go.

“I’ll save the stuff with Chaka for another time,” he murmurs, “If I go into that right now we’ll be here all night. Needless to say I didn’t go down the best path after leaving that hellhole, but if I’m being honest I don’t regret it. Dealing with Chaka’s bullshit was a hell of a lot better than dealing with my old man’s.” Despite his best efforts there’s a wet shine to his eyes now, but the tears don’t fall. Not even when the memories are threatening to choke the air out of his lungs. “So, that’s part one of my story,” he says faux cheerfully, “Now you know I come from trash. Do with it what you will.”

End.

[aellynera]

Frayed Wires (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

FRAYED WIRES (Nathan Bateman x Reader)

(so i decided i may turn the drunk texts thing into a series? i decided at least to do one with Nathan because...well...it’s Nathan. the poem he quotes is Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was incidentally married to Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein (or: The Modern Prometheus) which is also kind of appropriate for Nathan and anyway i sat down today and this happened.)

Word Count: 2122(ish)

Summary: All you want to do is sleep. All Nathan wants to do is talk.

Warnings: Language, naturally.

(Nathan’s texts are in bold. Your texts are in bold and italic.)

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

You reached blindly for your phone as it rattled on the bedside table. You had no idea what time it was but you did know it was the middle of the night, your phone should not be going off, and you had gotten entirely too little sleep. Like, maybe two hours worth. You were so tired and groggy that you made the mistake of checking your messages before you actually even thought about what you were doing.

Do you ever think about the meaning of life?

I mean like really think about it.

Why we’re here, why the sky is green and the grass is blue?

No wait that’s not right.

You sighed and buried your face in the pillow. It was 3:27 in the morning and Nathan was texting you. Which was just odd anyway, since he knew where your room was and it was much more his style to just walk in and start a random conversation with you in person. 

He was probably drunk.

And now he could see that you had read the messages, so you were going to have to reply, or he really would show up at your door. Technically it was his door, it was his house, you just worked for him and stayed there, but the point was you were not in the mood to deal with him at all right now, and most decidedly not in the flesh.

You rolled your eyes before sending him a reply. You really should just ignore it, but...you were annoyed. Nathan was annoying. And it was now 3:30 in the morning and you were going to push a few buttons. Figuratively AND literally! your sleep-deprived brain cheered.

And things like why is water wet and air is invisible?

YES exactly see that’s why I want you.

I’m sorry?

Your brain. I want to pick you up. Your brain I mean. Pick your brain.

You just want me for my brain, huh?

You have a very nice brain.

Yep, Nathan was definitely drunk.

Not that him being drunk was anything out of the ordinary. But a few hours ago, when you were both in the lab testing some of his most recent ideas about the AI code, he had seemed...normal? Well, normal for Nathan anyway. He wasn’t irritated, he wasn’t condescending, he was actually (you honestly could not believe you were even thinking this) pleasant to be around.

You had been working for Nathan as his personal assistant for a few months. It was a promotion for sure over being a code slinger in a cubicle, but sometimes you honestly wondered what made you say yes to this bizarre existence. It was a beautiful house, beautiful scenery, interesting and highly intellectual conversations...when Nathan was sober.

There was also something you could never quite put your finger on. Something that was shifting as the weeks went on and you spent more time working alongside Nathan in the lab. As you spent evenings eating sushi and steaks and whatever else you were in the mood for that night (most nights, he actually let you choose the menu, you realized.) As you took afternoon walks around the estate, just taking in the scenery. As you debated various philosophies and ideas and theories and tried your damndest to prove Nathan wasn’t always right about everything. He almost seemed like he appreciated it all, but he would never say anything.

And you weren’t about to open that can of worms. Especially when he wasn’t sober.

How drunk are you right now?

On a scale of shitfaced to really fucking blitzed I would say I’m feeling no pain.

Jesus Christ. Well that was obvious. It was obvious just from the fact that he was texting you. Nathan was so uptight about security and data leaks and wiretapping and signals being hijacked (he’d admitted to doing it himself, so he did have a point) but had decided, after much insistence from you, that rigging the cell phones to only work inside the compound was an acceptable idea. It was so vast, you’d said, and what if something happened and one of you was all the way across the house or down in the lab, how were you supposed to let the other person know? It made sense at the time.

Now you were vaguely regretting it.

You could count on one hand the number of times you’d actually considered your boss to be pleasant to be around, and you still had your thumb left over just in case you needed to add to that tally.

At least personality wise. He was definitely pleasant to look at. Very pleasant.

You coughed and cleared your throat. That was not a line of thought to travel right now. The proper course of action was to get him to stop texting you.

A few minutes passed in glorious silence. Maybe a new, shiny thought had occurred to him and he was madly writing it down on a Post-It note. Maybe he just got bored and went to get a new drink. Maybe he’d finally just passed out and---

What are you thinking about?

Dammit. How to make you shut up, your brain snapped back. How to get you to let me sleep. How good your arms and shoulders look in that tank top after you’ve been hitting that punching back and you’re flushed and sweaty and…. Oh no. No no no. Stop it right now, brain.

Nathan hated to beat around the bush. Straightforward was the best policy with him, right?

How to get you to shut up and let me sleep.

Wonderful, glorious silence for exactly forty-six seconds.

Bro...that’s...so not cool.

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. Why were you participating in this? Why was he? You narrowed your eyes and looked toward a corner of your room. You hoped he could see you glaring into the camera that you knew was there and that he was watching while he was texting you. If not, you were sure he would watch it in the actual morning and you hoped the look was withering enough to make him think twice. Probably not. Because this was Nathan Bateman.

Your incredibly narcissistic, incredibly intelligent, incredibly attractive...stop it brain.

But he was pushing your buttons right back. Neither of you could ever really back away from an exchange like this..

I’m not your “bro”, Nathan. Please knock this shit off.

Dude, it’s a figure of speech.

I’m not your dude, either. Please just stop talking.

What’s wrong with dude. Dude is a gender neutral term, anyone can be a dude. Guys are dudes, chicks are dudes, dudes are dudes

Yeah, well, you’re kind of being an asshole, dude.

Dude. Chill.

Turning my phone off now.

No, wait, don’t. I’m sorry. I’ll stop.

Now that was...unexpected. Nathan Bateman just apologized to you? For being a drunk asshole in the middle of the night? Your eyes narrowed again. Suspicious.

You’ll stop texting me so I can go back to sleep?

No not that. I’ll stop calling you dude.

Oh for the love of...you closed your eyes and briefly considered the merits of hurling your phone at the surveillance camera.

Nathan, seriously, can we please just leave this until the morning?

A whole minute of wonderful, glorious, blessed silence this time. You couldn’t believe he might be considering this.

You were right.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains Round the decay

Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away

If a brain cramp was an actual thing, yours would most certainly be doing it now. You could barely even process it. He was drunk as hell and he was quoting poetry to you? You supposed you probably shouldn’t be entirely surprised, he’d quoted Oppenheimer once in a worse stupor (which you could only quantify because he had actually passed out that time.)

Are you fucking serious right now.

What.

Are you fucking quoting Ozymandias to me right now?

I am.

You couldn’t get the color of the sky right earlier, and now you’re just flawlessly quoting philosophical Romantic poetry at me?

I am.

You are not a normal person, Nathan Bateman.

What is normal anyway, besides really fucking boring? Who wants to be normal?

I would like to be somewhat normal, at least between the hours of midnight and 8am.

See, I knew there was a reason I liked you.

That was the second time he said that, you noted. You found it hard to believe. Nathan liked his work, his routine, his own brain. He liked talking about his work and how smart he was. Other than telling you that you were doing a great job, he barely handed out a single compliment, and if he somehow accidentally did, it was so backhanded you weren’t sure you could actually define it as one.

You mean you like my brain.

Well, yeah, your brain is fucking amazing. It has to be if you work with me.

I work for you, Nathan, not with you. But thanks?

No, no, see, that’s where you’re wrong. You work with me. We’re like partners. None of that employer employee bullshit.

Oooookay now I am one thousand percent sure you are completely piss drunk.

I am but that doesn’t make it any less true.

You could almost hear him saying those words in your head. You could see the way his eyebrows went up, the intensity in his eyes, the way he held his finger up to make the point.

The thought made your brain go slightly fuzzy, and not from exhaustion. Because now you were wide awake. Damn him.

Okay, Nathan, I’ll bite. What do I have to do to get you to stop doing this right now?

There was a pause before he answered, and you swore you’d heard a phone alert that wasn’t your own. It sounded like it was coming from...oh no, he wasn’t…

Getting tired of typing. Can I come talk to you for a while?

Are you outside my door right now?!

You heard the phone chime very clearly this time. He was, definitely.

I am.

You sighed, deeply. So deeply.

Is that really a good idea?

I think it’s a great idea.

Nathan, being serious here.

You could have sworn you heard him sigh from the other side of the door. He could have just come inside. It was his house, his keycard worked on all the doors.

But the door didn’t open.

So am I. Please can I come in? My mind just won’t shut off and I really am fucking drunk but talking to you is helping but tired of typing shit out, I’d rather say it to you.

I wanna see you. And tell you how sexy your brain is.

And that I like you for more than your brain.

And you knew in that instant there really was only one way to get him to shut up. And it was to just let him talk. It made sense, in an oddly Nathan kind of way. What’s the worst that could happen, really? He’d come in, you’d talk, he’d eventually pass out, maybe you could get a couple more hours of sleep, and then in the morning you’d either talk about it on a very deep cerebral level or you’d just pretend it had never happened at all. 

A press to the door release button on the side of the table and the latch let go. The door opened, revealing Nathan standing on the other side. Still wearing what he’d been wearing in the lab earlier that night, black lounge pants and that tight white henley he seemed to love so much. The corner of his mouth turned up in the most miniscule of smiles, but it was there.

You were about to toss your phone back onto the bedside table, when the text alert went off again. You shot an exasperated look in his direction, but gamely checked the message.

Did you mean what you said before? About biting?

You glanced up at Nathan and saw that the sliver of a smile had taken over most of his face and his eyebrows had raised to emphasize his question.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t text him back. You just nodded your head to the empty spot next to you in your bed.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight after all.

~end~

taglist: @anetteaneta​ @rosemarysbaby13​ @darksideofclarke​ @girlwiththemostcake​ 

(taglist is open, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future fics)

[official-alan-dabiri]

First and foremost, we have some exciting new changes that everyone can get behind. Absolutely nobody has a problem with the new experience globe mechanics. New experience globes are only at full value for six seconds, and after that are worth 25% exp. And then they last for thirty-nine seconds. Nobody finds this objectionable in any way. This change was not on the PTR due to public outcry from Reddit when it was leaked early, but it’s here live with all of its zero problems fixed.

Another change about which we have received zero complaints is a new tag system behind the scenes. People looking for just the right hero for the situation can easily find it by searching for such keywords as “CC” “Silence” “Sustain” and “Double soak” and find extremely useful and not absolute garbage results. Don’t worry about checking it ahead of time, just get right into draft mode and use it to find the perfect pick!

In addition to those minor and unobjectionable changes, we have removed Volskaya Foundry from the ranked queue, and added everyone’s favorite quickmatch map, Warhead Junction. We have also done this simultaneously with an Overwatch-themed event.

Hero changes below the cut, because this patch is another doozy, with fiiiiiive herooooo rewoooooorks, Four buffed assassins, three nerfed offlaners, two nerfed tanks and we also nerfed the looost viiiikiiiings!

Anduin is the first of our reworks and with him taking a more prominent role in Shadowlands we want to be able to welcome WoW players with open arms. He, uh, doesn’t have a new skin or anything, we just want people to play this game. The central goal of the buff is to improve his healing output in line with other heroes without removing the largest strength in Leap of Faith. As such, we’re just touching literally every part of his kit and talent try and praying that it goes the way we want.

People keep mistaking Johanna for the best tank in the game. This is factually untrue, since Muradin exists. As such, we are just gutting the absolute pants off of Johanna’s talent tree and making it weird and clunky.

For too long has Raynor been the scourge of draft play. Too good to skip, but not scary enough to ban. Perfect macro contributions, with respectable hero damage. Enough self-sustain to take weight off your healer, and self-peel for when tanks are bad. The perfect killing machine. As such, we’ve nerfed his damage into the ground. Start playing Greymane, bitches.

Stitches has proven to be a mediocre bruiser in the eyes of the community. After all these years, I think I know why. We accidentally categorized him as a tank. As such, he needs some serious changes to make him fit that label. This whole time we’ve been balancing him as a bruiser and nobody said anything? This is as much your fault as it is mine.

The average damage output of a ranged assassin has been steadily climbing for a while now. As a result, for a hero to actually be a glass cannon, they need some serious firepower. Valla now has the gunpowder to match her glass. And she’s the glassiest cannon there is. Don’t get me wrong, she still evaporates like a drop of water in California when an enemy hero looks at her. But when she has a solid tank and three healers behind her, the world is your oyster.

Oh my god they didn’t break down the heroes by category. Jesus Christ what the fuck Blizzard? You just decided that this is the line? This is the day you stop caring? Well, congratulations, you’ve made reading your patch notes mildly more inconvenient. I’m still doing this. Ya bunch of jack-offs.

Mei has been grossly overperforming, and we have no idea how that happened. We certainly didn’t buff her over and over again for an entire year. Anyway, we’re just going to roll some stuff back. Definitely probably fine.

It turns out - and bear with me here because this might be hard to follow - Hogger, D.va, and Sonya were all overtuned? For six months? So we’re just gonna tippy tappy them down the smallest little bit. And then slap them around a little for good measure. D.va’s mech form is no longer indomitable, Hogger can no longer solo any merc camp in the game in 12 seconds, and Sonya is now... Basically fine still, honestly. We kinda gave her just a slap on the wrist in comparison. But honestly after gutting Hogger like that, I just didn’t have the heart. One of the benefits from being a little later, alphabetically.

After riding the TLV train up through the ranks, I think it’s about time to recognize that I’m not actually good at them. They’re just overtuned. So it’s time to come back to earth, Icarus. Don’t be fooled by the seemingly-small HP nerf, though. The real nerf is buffing Longboat Raid. People are going to have to pick it to test it and it’s gonna murder their winrate.

Someone told me that Lucio is a problem and needed to be addressed this patch, but my cat came into the home office being adorable so I didn’t hear exactly what they said. So we had to kinda wing it. Hopefully these minor adjustments to his talent tree will solve whatever they were talking about!

Even we know Uther is a problem. Being first pickable and filling three different unique roles was what we wanted to do with Varian not Uther. So we’re going to try and make him incrementally worse at tanking until he just goes away. First up: Shaving off some of that personal armor.

AFK splitpush trash Azmodan is dead. Long live teamfight artillery mage Azmodan. Really glad I made the last HotS Content post about Nova instead of Azmodan because boy howdy do these changes invalidate the entire playstyle that post would have discussed.

W build Falstad has obviously become a problem. Not only was he riddled with bugs after the rework - don’t worry, we learned from our mistakes and made sure there were no bugs with our new reworks - but also he had the ability to point and click on an enemy hero and force them to run all the way to the next lane over in order to stop taking buckets of free damage. It turns out that ability was more powerful than anticipated, and required adjustment.

Q build Falstad has obviously become a problem. Not only was it completely overshadowed by a build that did more damage in every situation with less skill requirement, but we overestimated the value of macro power on a build that demands PvP for stacking. As such, we’ve doubled the amount of power each stack gives him! That’ll do.

AA build Falstad... Stay the course, buddy. Doin’ fine.

Junkrat has been underperforming, which is surprising for a hero with his level of power. As such, we’re going to make a few small buffs to hopefully draw attention, and then we can roll things back once the pickrate reflects his actual power. Hopefully then WE CAN FINALLY MAKE THE MANDATORY CHANGE I PUT IN EVERY MEMO. TYRE. WITH A Y. THAT’S HOW THEY SPELL IT IN AUSTRALIA. KAEO I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU- wait, did Kaeo leave? Who the fuck is still here? Kinnabrew? Adam? Jason? JASON! JASON!?

Tassadar has also fallen off a lot without us having done anything at all whatsoever to nerf him. Entirely undeserved treatment. I’m disappointed in all of you. As such, we’re going to tweak his numbers up just a little tippy tap so that you all remember who killed the Overmind. It wasn’t James Raynor or Sarah Kerrigan. It was Tassadar... Tassadar Bassadar. That’s his last name. Don’t look it up, just trust me.

In the bug fix department, we’ve had a nice sit-down with the Mountain Giants on Alterac and told them that if they have time to lean, they have time to clean. Reaching the end of their lane and expecting the core to come to them is putting undue stress on an already overtaxed position. The core is a very stressful job, and if the mountain giants could just do their part to walk into the core pit when they arrive, that’s a huge load off their shoulders. Drek’thar and Vanndar really needed this expectation taken off them right now, and I’m hopeful it will lead to a better work environment.

[jungshookz]

the one where agust d makes a comeback

↳ pairing: min yoongi x reader  

↳ genre: ceo!yoongiverse, smut, more smut, and even mORE smut! NSFW!!! lower the brightness on ur device or else the cops will come for u  

↳ summary: yoongi finds out you faked an orgasm and he’s going to gi-give it to you in more ways than one. 

↳ wordcount: 6.5k 

↳ note: this was surprisingly highly hiGHLY requested / a lot of you wanted a ceo!yoongi x agust d collab but more specifically an agust d x y/N (lucky girl!) collab and it would be a crime for me to noT grant that wish in form of a smutty drabble so here you go!!! this is my second attempt at writing a smutty drabble so take it easy on me pleathe!! i know my smut is clumSY but i really reaLLY wanted to make this happen (nobody’s allowed to talk about fishnets or else i’m suing) anyways ENJOY p.s. i told u i would be back before u knew it >:-) 

(gif isn’t mine!)

                                ⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“jesus, that was good…” yoongi rolls off of you and flops down on his side of the bed

he rests his arm above his head on the soft pillow before pulling in deep breaths of air

hOo

he was on fiRE tonight

the bedroom’s been tainted with the smell of sex between the two of you

“mm, yeah.” you hum in agreement as you chew on the inside of your cheek anxiously

a moment of silence goes by and you wait for another second to pass before giving yourself the green light to go ahead and get some clothes on

also you’re kind of sticky so you should probably go and take anoTher shower  

yoongi’s brows knit together as he stares up at the ceiling

something seemed… off tonight

but he can’t quite seem to put his finger on it

hm

he replays the sequence of events that took place

he got home from work

gave hwayoung a bath

ate dinner and watched some tv with you

helped you with the dishes (and by helped he means he wrapped his arms around you from behind and pressed kisses down your neck whiLe you were washing the dishes)

ended up making out with you for a little while before you guys went to the bedroom for a little more privacy

and baM

here he is now in a post-sex daze

everything seems like they went swimmingly so he doesn’t know why he feELs like something was off-

OH

oh!!!!! he knows!!!!!!

he knows exacTly what was off tonight!!!!

you didn’t do that thing

that little nose scrunch that usually happens before you’re about to-

yoongi pales

oh my god

“…did you fake your orgasm?” yoongi props himself up on his elbows when the realisation that you totally just faked your orgasm hits him like a train

you freeze in the middle of slipping your t-shirt back on before clearing your throat and glancing at yoongi over your shoulder

“what… makes you say that?”

yoongi pokes his tongue into his cheek “…you didn’t say no.”

shit

you were hoping you would be a good enough actress to pull it off but it looks like you’re not going to be winning any oscars anytime soon for your performance

sometimes you forget that your husband is a very observant man

the two of you have had sex many, manY times which means he’s seen you have an orgasm many, mANY times so of course he’s going to be able to notice when you’re not as enthusiastic as you usually are

it’s just that today was an off day!!!!

you woke up feeling kinda gross and bloaTed

and not to mention!

lately you’ve been waking up super early because hwayoung is going through a ‘i’m going to wake up at 5:30 on the dot every single morning and scream until u come and cuddle with me’ phase

and usually you’re 100% down to fool around with yoongi after hwayoung goes down for the night but tonight you just felt bLeugh

you weren’t really in the mood to do anything besides sleep but yoongi was obviously in the mood and since you’re a very caring wife you figured it’d be good for you to help your husband unwind after a tiring day at work

yoongi purses his lips in thought before turning to lie on his side

he doesn’t want to be that guy but oUCH

what a shot to his self-esteem!!!!

is he not good at sex anymore??  

you faked an orgasm!!! one of his jobs as your husband is to make you feel good and he thought he was pulling out all the right tricks but apparently they weren’t working tonight because you had to pretend like he was making you feel good-

“yoongi, it’s really not a big deal…” you trail off sheepishly “and it’s not your fault!!!”

you know for a fact that he’s overthinking this and you feel awful

you should’ve just told him you didn’t want to do anything instead of going through with it and faking it

“yoongi…” you curl up next to him and prop your chin up on his bicep “i just wasn’t into it today, alright? it’s a me thing, it’s not a you thing… i promise! how about we go take a shower and try again-”

you jump in surprise when yoongi suddenly sits straIght up before turning to gawk at you because anotHer realisation just hit him

“you-“ he points at you- “you yawned! you yawned halfway through and you tried to play it off as a moan!!!”

you immediately wince

oh friCK

jesus christ

you knew you should’ve gone hands and knees tonight instead of missionary

at least it would’ve been easier to conceal a damn yAWN you complete AMATEUR

“you know, i don’t see it as a yawn…” you shrug “i think you should view it as a… slow, sleepy, sexy-“

“do noT even try to-“

“hey, i got up at 5:30 this morning, can you blame me??”

yoongi huffs and tosses the blanket aside before crawling off the bed

he’s just frustrated now

not with you, specifically

more with himself!

this is all his fault

he’s been suPEr busy for the last month and a bit with work (you guys have skipped date night three consecutive times and jimin is starting to get antsy because he hasn’t seen hwayoung in literally three weeKS)

he’s always leaving early in the morning and coming back late

is your guys’ sex life nonexistent now?

is he a bad husband???

an awful lover?????

do you not find him attractive anymore?

:-(

he hasn’t gone to the gym a lot since hwayoung was born but maybe he should take this as a hint to get his ass to the gym and lift some weights

maybe try to get his six pack back because it’s starting to fade

actually

looking at his stomach now it’s actually baREly there

it’s all that frozen yogurt he’s eating!

anyways the point is: you’re stuCk with him for the next like 60 years so it wouldn’t be good if you weren’t attracted to him!!

“yoongi,” you groan quietly, “don’t be like that, come on-“

“i’m fine, i’m fine.” he grumbles as he shimmies back into his sweatpants “i’m going to check on hwayoung, i think i heard something through the monitor.” he gestures to the little walkie-talkie sitting on his bedside dresser

you let out a sigh and glance over at the monitor before looking back at yoongi  

“are you sure you’re fine? i can go and check on-“ yoongi swoops down to give you a reassuring kiss before pinching your cheek

“i’m fine. you had an off day, right? it’s just an off day.” he pinches your cheek again

“right, exactly!” you chirp before getting up on your knees so that you’re almost eye level with yoongi “you are so understanding…”

the mattress dips underneath where your knees are as you shuffle closer to the edge

“-i just wasn’t in the mood, and it’s definitely not your fault.” you hum and give yoongi a kiss on the cheek

yep

that’s all it is

you just weren’t in the mood and it’s definitely not his fault

yoongi lets out a sigh as he shuts the bedroom door behind him before reaching over to turn the hallway light on

he scratches at his bare arm as he makes his way down the hallway to hwayoung’s room

maybe he is overthinking this

after all, he has his off days too

he’s not saying that he’s ever faked an oRgasm like some people but he understands what it’s like to feel burnt out and not in the mood to do anything

it’s fine

it’s a one time thing

he’s stiLL the man

….right?

yoongi peeps into hwayoung’s bedroom and smiles softly when he sees her snoozing away drooling over that dumb cookie plushie you bought for her the other day

you joked that it kind of looks like him and that’s why she likes it so much but honestly he can’t see the resemblance

he takes a second to just glance around her bedroom

as per usual there are a couple of toys on the floor

it looks like you left a half-empty milk bottle on the dresser

he might as well bring it to the kitchen before the milk gets all gross and curdled

yoongi snorts quietly when he sees one of the framed photos sitting next to the bottle

it’s from that box you found with all his college stuff

it’s a polaroid picture of agust d chowing down on a little cup of tteokbokki

the picture was taken in the middle of the shoot for his stupid music video and he still remembers how good that tteokbokki was-

yoongi freezes and his lips part

💡l i g h t b u l b ! 💡

“i hate to break it to you, but people - especially guys - don’t just let go of something like that so easily! we have very fragile egos!!!” jimin exclaims and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you cross the street “no wonder he was so moody the other morning!!”

it’s been about a week since the incident but thankfully it seems like things have been smoothed over now

yoongi finally had the night off tonight and you obviously had to take advantage of that so you sent hwayoung off on her merry way with her little tote bag

jimin was moRe than excited to take care of her for the night

jungkook might’ve been even more excited because he hasn’t hung out with his favourite friend in a while and he even brought her a little takeout cup of steamed milk when they came to pick her up earlier

he even split his sandwich with her and he was having the time of his liFe watching her nibble on the soft bread

“i think i know my husband, thank you very much. i explained it to him and he was totally fine! sure, he was kinda hurt at first, but after i told him that i was sleepy and tired and not in the mood-“

“it doesn’t matter, y/n!” jimin exasperates “i guarantee he’s still thinking about it-“

“well, it’ll be fine, alright?” you grumble, “i’m bringing dinner to the office now, and then we’re going to get ice cream, and then i’m gonna surprise him with a brand new set of lingerie that was kind of expensive but it’s okay because-“ you’re cut off when you hear a familiar little squeal in the background accompanied with another familiar but slightly lower squeal “-everything okay over there?”

“yeah, everything’s great-“

“-last one to crawl to the sofa’s a rotten egg-“

“babawbwahabhaw-!”

“-jungkook, i didn’t baby proof the coffee table, be careful- hey, look, i’ll talk to you later, alright? good luck!”

“okay, i’ll-“ before you get the chance to say goodbye the line goes dead

as far as jimin is concerned: hwayoung > y/n

you slip your phone back into your purse before pushing the glass door open

your sneakers squeak against the marble as you make your way to the elevators

you were going to dress a little nicer because it is date night after all but since it’s just you and yoongi in the office for dinner you’re sure it’s not a big deal that you’re not dressed suPer super fancy

your outfit is still super cute though!!

it’s this blue-ish plaid mini dress with a square neckline and spaghetti straps (you paired it with a pair of nike air force 1s and ur feeling very Young and Hip)

you’re obviously wearing the diamond necklace yoongi bought for you (with the matching diamond studs in your ears)

but yes

this dress

the pattern kind of reminds you of a school uniform

school uniform,.,.. but make it sexy

it’s definitely on the sexier side because it ends like mid-thigh and there are two little slits on either side of the dress

you will admit that when you slipped into this little thing you felt a little siLLy just because you haven’t worn something like this in a long time and you don’t want to seem like a try-hard or one of those Cool Moms Who Aren’t Actually As Cool As They Think Are

but at the end of the day

who the freAk cares because ur still young and this dress is cute and you worked hard to tone ur body after giving birth to hwayoung and you’re going to show your body off if you want to gosh darn it!!!

you hum to yourself as the elevator starts going up and you adjust your grip on the takeout bag

you picked up yoongi’s favourite!!!! you were going to get burgers because you were in the mood for burgers but let’s be real

you stiLL feel kind of bad about what happened the other night even though you’re pretty sure yoongi’s over it

but yes

sushi!

a dragon roll for him and a spicy salmon roll for yourself

you even got a little tub of edamame and a seaweed salad to share between the two of you

ding!

“…huh.”

you’re surprised when the elevator doors open to reveal complete darkness

well, not really, but like.,.., kinda

all the main lights are switched off

it’s about 7 o’clock now so it makes sense for the office to be empty but you expected a couple of people to be working overtime

you always had to work overtime!!!!

but that probably had to do with the fact that yoongi had a big fat cruSh on you and didn’t know how else to spend time with you so he forced you to stay behind and organise files

the office is completely empty

which is actually kind of creepy now that you think about it

you start heading down the hallway towards yoongi’s office and you smile lightly at the little station by of his doors

that’s where you used to sit!!!!

and now jimin sits there

it’s fine

just a couple more months and then you get to come back

there’s a picture of him and hwayoung sitting on his desk which is cute

it’s of them and they’re wearing their matching teddy jackets

you’re going to have to talk to jimin about getting a picture of yOU and him on his desk

huff

you push yoongi’s office door open as you rifle through your purse for some loose change

“yoongs, you wanna come with me to the vending machine? i’m in the mood for some cookies-“

oh what the heck

you immediately feel a wave of anxiety wash over you when you look around and realise that this isn’t yoongi’s office

are you in the right room??

are you on the right floor????

are you even in the right building?????

where are you???

your brows knit together in confusion as your eyes flicker around

okay

no

this is definitely yoongi’s office because you recognise the mark on the wall from jungkook’s sneakers

this looks like yoongi’s office but it also doEsn’t look like yoongi’s office

and sure, you haven’t been here in a while but you don’t remember yoongi having… a monitor and two big speakers on his desk

and that keyboard deFinitely wasn’t here either

there’s a pair of chunky headphones slung over the top of the monitor and you can just make out the sound of a beat

(if you weren’t so focused on finding loose change in your purse you would’ve noticed that yoongi’s name plaque on the front door was replaced with ‘genius lab’ instead)

“what in the hell…?” you mutter to yourself as you stand behind yoongi’s desk to take a look at the monitor screens

you have no idea what any of this is but it obviously has something to do with music

the last time you had to produce a song was…

…well, never

“can i help you?”

you reach down to brush your fingers over the cool light-up keyboard

“hey, i think someone robbed you and then replaced your things with fancy music equip-“ you look up from the desk and-

wh-

wHA-

hOLY

SHIt

WHAT

your jaw drops straiGht to the deepest pits of hell when yoongi steps into the room

but this isn’t your yoongi

no

no no nO

not at all

this isn’t your yoongi with his pressed suits and his hermes cufflinks and his silky raven hair with not a strand out of place

this is-

oh my god

you never thought you’d live to see this day

you never thought you’d live to see this legend standing right in front of your eyes but here he is

here he is

this isn’t min yoongi

this is agust d.

“oh… my god.” your eyes are as wide as saucers as you take in the view

and whAT a view this is

yoongi shuts the door behind him and starts pacing towards you and you feel like your feet are glued to the ground

what the HELL

there are chunky silver rings decorating his fingers and thin gold chains hanging around his wrists and his neck

as the kids would say.,,..

… he drippin’

ok yuck you’re never going to waste time trying to learn cool slang ever again

his pressed dressed pants have been replaced with a pair of distressed skinny jeans and his crisp button-up has been replaced with a loose white tee

he’s wearing a plain black hoodie over it and you don’t remember the last time you saw yoongi in a plain black hoodie

his polished loafers? gone and replaced with a pair of chunky black boots

and his hair

oh, his hair

the coal black strands you’ve come to know and love have been bleached to a shade of blindingly white silvery-bloNDe

honestly his hair kind of looks like he just rolled out of bed but he’s really pulling it off

you don’t even-

you don’t know what to-

woW-

when did he find the time to-

his hair-!

the clothes??

what??? what is-

you’re not complaining or anything you’re just-

*sound of distress*

“again… can i help you?” yoongi raises a brow as he stands at the side of his desk

he crosses his arms before veRy obviously checking you out

your brain is still trying to process what in the heck is going on here

you plop your purse and the takeout bags down on his chair behind you before putting your hands on your hips

“i… i don’t know! can you help me? because quite frankly i am dazed and confu-“

“you in first year?” yoongi cuts you off cooly and you tilt your head in question

what is he talking about

“what?”

yoongi gives you a veRy unimpressed look and for some reason you suddenly feel a teensy bit intimidated

you’re getting flashbackS

when he first started working here he always gave you that specific look to let you know that you were being a moron

like that one time you came to him because the stapler wasn’t working and you were convinced that it was broken beyOnd repair but it turned out there just weren’t any staples in it

yeah

that look

“are you… a first year student?” yoongi repeats a little more slowly as if trying to hint something to you

and then it hits you

oh

oh

ok

you and yoongi haven’t really dabbled in the world of role play very extensively but honestly,.,.,

you’re intrigued

and you’re always open to experimentation!

you’re open minded!  

at the same time you can’t help but wonder why he even bothered doing all of this

obviously you knOW a part of it is because of the incident that the two of you are tip-toeing around but even before that happened he said he was never going to resurrect agust d out of pure mortification yet here he is

agust d

right in front of your eyes

oOH

another reason as to why he could be doing this might be  because of the comment you made when you first found the agust d box!!!!

you know

about 18 year old y/n and how thirsty she would’ve been over 20 year old yoongi

how big of a crush she would’ve had on third year student music producer rapper bad boy min yoongi

those were your exact words by the way

(that riled yoongi up fAr more than he expected it to)  

well  

you can play along

you can definitely play along

you clear your throat “yes, i’m a first year student.” you cross your arms “are you?”

also

tonight was definitely the right night to wear this dress if you’re going to be playing the role of 18 year old y/n because she would probably describe your outfit as so ca-yUte*! (*cute)

“third year.” yoongi hums and offers you a smirk “what’s your name?”

“y/n.”

“y/n what?”

“min- i mean, y/l/n. y/n y/l/n.”

ooF

you haven’t introduced yourself as y/n y/l/n in a while lol

“well, y/n y/l/n, can i ask why you’re in my office?” yoongi asks uninterestedly as he swipes a finger along the top of his desk

“i don’t know, can you?”

yoongi scoffs before poking his tongue into his cheek “kitten has claws, i see…”

oh boy

he’s really not playing around tonight

yoongi steps over so that he’s standing right next to you

“so-“ he nudges you aside gently before hitting the spacebar so that the beat stops playing through his headphones “answer the question, y/n.”

you feel your mouth go dry when you notice how hot yoongi’s hands look when he’s wearing all those rings

not that his hands aren’t usually attractive when he’s not wearing any rings but it’s like,,.

you’ve never seen his hands like this before

you pout a little when you notice he’s not wearing his wedding ring

>:-(

you know he has to play the part or whAtever but STILL

“i guess i just… i guess i-i just… lost my way…?” you stumble over your words a bit when yoongi shuffles a little closer to you

god he smells good

he’s not wearing his usual expensive smelling cologne but he still smells good

his arm is pressed right up against yours and you can’t help but let out a shaky breath

“what’s the matter? do i make you n-n-nervous?” yoongi mocks playfully and nudges your side before pulling away

YES

yES he makes you n-n-nERVOUS

you don’t know how he did it but in five minutes flat yoongi managed to revert you back to the slightly awkward fresh-faced-wide-eyed freshman you were at the beginning of university

you suppose that’s just the power of agust d

“n-no.” you clear your throat and keep your eyes glued on the blinking cursor in front of you “i don’t know. maybe. yes.”

although you can’t see yoongi, you can certainly feel his presence behind you

a chill tingles up your spine

…you sense danger

it’ll be fine

just focus on the screen and play it cool-

a gasp of surprise slips past your lips when all of a sudden yoongi flips you around and cages you in between his arms

he nudges you back gently til your bum bumps up against the desk and you instinctively reach backwards to grip onto the edge of the table

“you’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?” yoongi chuckles darkly and nudges his nose against your cheek when you turn your mouth away from his

you don’t remember the last time you felt this hot and bothered and quite franKly you’re a little flustered

you can’t help but wonder if maybe you can get yoongi feeling the same way

it’s always him getting your cheeks hot and rosy

“hey- you okay?” yoongi snaps out of his bAd bOy persona for a second to check on you when he notices you space out for a second

the last thing he wants to do is make u feel uncomfortable

he honestly didn’t know how well this roleplaying thing was going to work out but if it makes u uncomfortable he’s deFinitely going to quit it

he hooks a finger underneath your chin and turns your head so that you can look at him

“yeah, i’m good…” you nod timidly before sitting up onto the desk “i just… um… i should probably tell you something before we get started…”

yoongi’s brows knit together in confusion

you trail a finger down his clothed chest before leaning forward to nudge your nose against his

your lips barely brush over his and he finds himself chasing after your mouth a little

he can almost taste that strawberry chapstick you’re always wearing

“you see, yoongi- yoongi, is it?” you pull away before he gets the chance to kiss you and yoongi nods quickly

okay

it looks like the roleplaying thing is still happening

you’re a pretty good actress

“i just thought it’d be good for you to know that i’ve never had sex before…” you flutter your lashes at him “so i’m awfully sorry if i’m a little… tight…”

…o god

yoongi swallows thickly and he feels himself twitch in his pants

you are playing a veRy dangerous game here

“yeah, baby?” yoongi hums and gives your hips a squeeze “i’ll take it easy on you…” he presses a light kiss to the corner of your mouth and a smirk twitches at his mouth when he feels you shiver

yoongi nudges your head to the side so that he can plant gentle kisses down your neck

and then

you say it

“what if i don’t want you to take it easy on me?”

he freezes immediately

…

…

…

yoongi’s mouth closes over yours in a searing kiss and you yank him closer by the collar of his jacket

so much for taking it easy on you

it almost seems like a competition between the two of you to see how quickly you can undress each other although you’re boTh losing because yoongi decides he’s happy with bunching your dress up around your waist and you decide you’re happy with just shoving his pants and briefs down mid-thigh

yoongi steps in between your legs and places a gentle hand of warning on your hip before he’s pushing himself into you

the two of you make sounds of disbelieving awe at the intimate contact and your back immediately arches as your fingers wrap tightly around his bicep

you don’t know why but it just feels different this time around

yoongi’s barely moved and he’s already making your head spin

yoongi isn’t doing so hot himself

you’re so unbelievably tight and warm and wet and-

“jesus, yoongi-” you fight the instinct to roll your eyes to the back of your head when yoongi slides himself in further

you can feel your toes curling in your sneakers

and just when you think you’ve got all of him he pulls back a teeny bit before surging all the way in

a shout of surprise slips past your lips and you immediately tighten around him

“fuck, baby, don’t-“ yoongi groans and digs his blunt nails into the flesh of your hips instinctively

“m-move, you can move-“ you whimper and wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer even though he’s already fully pressed up against you

the realisation that you can be as loud as you want hits you and you let out a particularly enthusiastic yEs-! when yoongi gives you a particularly forceful thrust

it doesn’t seem like yoongi has half a mind to keep you quiet

the two of you have the entire office to yourselves, after all

>:-)

he’s basking in the sounds that he hasn’t been able to hear in a while

sue him!!!!  

the two of you usually have to keep it down a little because of obvious reasons, but now?

the circumstances have changed

“god, look at you…“ yoongi growls as he begins to pick up the pace

your nails dig into his jacket while you gasp his name with watery eyes and tighten your thighs around him

you cry out faintly when he hits that spot and your eyes nearly cross as he continues to roll his hips against yours again and again and again

o god

you’re falling apART

“does that feel good, hm?” you practically go limp underneath yoongi as he begins to hammer into you at a consistent rhythm

the table starts to creak underneath the two of you but it’s fairly obvious that the damn table is the last thing on your minds

“i asked you a question, miss y/l/n-“ yoongi grits his teeth and he grunts when he gets a good look at you  

the straps of your dress are hanging off your shoulder

your cheeks and your chest are flushed and your lips are swollen from how often you’ve been biting and sucking at them

your eyes are glazed over and yoongi can’t help but feel a sense of pride when he notices a single tear prickling at the corner of your eye

“yes, yes-! y-yes, it feels good, feels s-so good-“ you’re babbling from how overwhelmed you are and your head lolls back in pleasure “nnGh, yoongi-!”

yoongi keeps hitting that same spot within you and it’s making your limbs and muscles tingly and wobbly at the same time

your legs are hiked onto yoongi’s hips and you lean forward to circle your arms around his neck

you want to prolong this for as long as possible and the only thing you can think of to distract yourself is by kissing yoongi for some kind of leverage

yoongi licks into your mouth as he kisses you and he gives your bottom lip a playful nip before he’s looping an arm around your waist and pulling you towards him so that you’re practically on the edge of the desk

your eyes squeeze shut on his next harsh thrust

the shirt he has on underneath his jacket is starting to cling to his skin and he feels droplets of sweat beginning to collect at the back of his head but there’s no way he’s going to stop now

his next few thrusts are slightly slower but rougher and reaching far deeper

your legs tighten on reflex and your mouth falls open when he grinds up

your hand slams down onto the desk and your fingers curl around the edge of it as yoongi continues to reduce you into a whimpering mess

oh god

you’re close

you’re like really close

“yoongi-“ you squirm underneath him and you feel your head starting to spin

“not yet-” he grunts out as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh

if you weren’t so distracted by the fact that you’re about to explode you’d probably notice that yoongi’s looking at you like he wants to completely devour you

his hand leaves your hip to slip in between your legs and you let out a needy whine

chriSt

it’s too much but at the same time you want more

“y-yoo-“

“not. yet.” yoongi groans out through gritted teeth

come on

just a little bit more

yoongi’s ego inflates tenfold when he sees your nose twitch ever so slightly

THERE IT IS

yES

fINALLY  

that’s all he wanted to see

that’s all he needed to see

now he knows for sure that he’s still the man

>:-)

“oh my god, yoongi-“ you whine pitifully “please, please let me cum-“ yoongi pushes up again and you let out a sharp, wordless cry when your orgasm suddenly hits you like a brick wall

your back arches against yoongi’s chest as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you’re panting like you just ran a marathon

you’re seeing stars

you’re seeing the entire galaxy

“fuck, that’s my girl…” yoongi groans his praise

his jaw clenches as you tighten around him through your orgasm and before he knows it he starts to feel the knot in his own stomach becoming undone

“w-want you to cum inside-“ your fingers wrap around the nape of yoongi’s neck as you pull him towards you and nudge your nose against his “give it to me-“

yoongi swears he could die a happy man right then and there because you totally just quoted one of his songs (probably unintentional but stiLL) but that is completely irrelevant because he’s about to cum and-

“christ, you’re killing me-“ yoongi groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck

and then it happens

yoongi nearly bites his bottom lip off when he feels himself release inside of you

his grip loosens around the underside of your thigh as his thrusts start to weaken

he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and your head lolls back lazily as your eyes flutter shut

you are spEnt

“…i can’t wait to tell my friends i hooked up with a third year student.” you joke lightly as you peel one eye open and yoongi snorts in response

he hums as you run your fingers through his silky-ish hair  

silky-ish is a reach

his hair is fried

all it’d take is a gentle breeze and his strands of hair will probably blow away like the florets of a dandelion

“you don’t like it?” yoongi presses a kiss to your collarbone

you give him a gentle tug because you’re scared that you’re going to riP the three strands of hair on top of his head out if you’re too rough

“i like it, but i miss my husband.” you hum as he pulls away from you and reaches over to grab the tissue box “and, you know, for the record… the only reason why i faked my orgasm was honestly because i was about to fall asleep-���

“wha-“ yoongi tosses the soiled tissue into the bin “-why are we going over this again??”

“-nO, what i’m saying is that you didn’t do anything wrong!” you cup his face in your hands and squish his cheeks together “-you don’t have to bleach your hair and shred up your jeans and wear like twenty rings on your fingers to seduce me or whatever, alright? i like- i love you and your natural hair and your pressed suits and shiny cufflinks and the only ring i want to see on your hand is your wedding ring, dummy.” you grab his left hand and inspect all the rings on his fingers “-not a scary skull ring with angry red eyes.”

you don’t even know where the heck he would’ve gotten a ring like that

“unless you’re broadening your horizons in terms of fashion and you wanna start bleaching your hair and wearing ripped jeans in which i will be very supportive-“

“y/n, relax.” yoongi laughs lightly and wiggles his fingers before reaching over to pinch your nose “i get it. it was an off day. i have them too!”

you freeze

“wait a minute, you whA-“

“-i just figured it wouldn’t hurt to try something new, you know?” yoongi changes the subject quickly and you give him a look that tells him the two of you are going to pick up this conversation again sometime in the near future

now you can’t help but wonder when yoongi’s ever faked an orgasm with you

hM

if you faked one and he faked one then they cancel each other out

ok that’s fair

“i wouldn’t… mind if agust d makes an appearance from time to time, by the way…” you smile slyly as yoongi helps you off the desk

woAh

every muscle in your leg is trembling

thank god you didn’t wear your heels

yoongi sighs and runs a hand through his hair “you think you can accept an agust d with black hair? because if i have to keep bleaching my hair, i’m going to be bald by the time hwayoung turns one.”  

(yoongi and y/n spend the rest of the night hanging out in the genius lab and y/n has to keep reminding herself to be gentle with yoongi’s hair when he has his face buried in between her legs. it’s proving to be a challenge.)

((hwayoung refuses to leave jimin’s arms because she’s a little scared of the man in her house who looks like her father but also definitely doesn’t look like her father.))

[transgamerthoughts]

What I Found In The Leaves

Last August, as the lease to my apartment was about to end, the roof began to smolder until the place I lived was full of smoke. When all was settled and done, my apartment had no roof. My room was spared and most of my things were okay—this part of the story being set in late capitalism, I am required to assure you that the things I purchased were okay too—and I decided to leave New York City to return to New England with my family. One of the first things I did when I arrived was look at the sky and imagine I was up there. Falling or sailing or flying. It didn’t really matter. I wanted to touch a cloud, to feel the whipping wind.

I promise… this is leading to something. In the months since, in spite of comfort and proximity to my family… in spite of the arrival of my nephew into this world—a child I would climb a mountain and punch God for if I needed to—and in spite of a happy job… I have spiraled into depression. My solution was work and writing. To throw myself into my job and to, somewhat foolishly, take on the task of novelizing my favorite game: Skies of Arcadia. Because if you’ve read my work long enough, it always comes back to Arcadia. I am proud of that project but it sparked a yearning in me. To truly connect to the world I was writing. It lit a fire. Before we proceed, let me be clear that by depression I don’t mean the woes of pandemic living or some disaffection with the reality of entering my 30s. I mean a deep and painful darkness with all the implications therein. Regardless to say, my efforts to combat it drained me. To the point that I burnt myself out and with some prodding from my boss, took a vacation. Which I am currently on. This is not the first time this series of events has played out. I made a promise to myself when I started vacation: no writing. I am breaking it because I have found, yet again, a moment where I must desperately drain the wonder in my heart and attempt to explain to you that I think there are magical things in the world, and that I believe there is some type of magic in art—in that strange alchemic or shamanistic way—that transfers to us. This will be my second attempt to explain it, and to explain what it has to do with video games. (Forgive the indulgence of this introduction by the way; an editor would surely have cut it all but I need you to understand two things: I am in pain and there's a part of that pain which I think points to something important.) This is a story of ritual and tea. Of how my senses and imagination came together to send me on a journey around a fictional world, in search of heroes who both do and do not exist. As part of my love for Skies of Arcadia, I’ve become something of a paraphernalia collector. I bought an old light novel from ebay, I used my rudimentary Japanese skills to set up a warehouse dropbox so that two fan magazines could be sent there and then subsequently shipped to America, and I have drank tea based off the game. At the time, I wanted to collect the little tins the tea came in; they seemed excellent collector’s items. What I found with my first round of tea was art unto itself; balances of flavor and spice and blends that symbolized characters and connected me to them. These were crafted by a dedicated fan and fellow writer. I don’t have the time to sit and research all the ways in which tea is used in ritual. Because I am tired and older and depressed and writing a blog post that perhaps thirty people will read. Regardless, to my delight I found that the tea-maker had created blends based off the various moons that dot Arcadia’s skies. For those who do not know the game, which I assume is many of you: each nation of the world rests under a magical moon. There are six, with one—a Black Moon—theorized to have gone missing. Here was my opportunity for a journey.

I bought teas based on each moon, and one based on the world itself. I will post a separate collection of all my individual tastings and reviews later. The important thing is this: I had been given an amazing gift. With these teas, I had something of that digital world which was actual. When we play games, we hear them and see them. Perhaps with certain haptics we can feel them. But we do not smell them or taste them or literally consume them. Eight teas, eight chances to smell and taste that wonderful world. To touch the clouds. Quem quaeritis? This is a famous question asked by an angel to the three Marys visiting Christ's tomb: his mother the Virgin Mary, Mary Magdalene, and Mary, who is the sister of Lazarus—the man Christ brought back to life after his death. It means: “whom to do you seek?” I was journeying, one tea cup at a time, around Arcadia. From continent to continent, I tasted their spices and experienced hints of their values, their cultures as expressed through the tea. The question played in my mind: Quem quaeritis? Whom was I seeking? The answer is complicated. First, I was seeking something of myself. The part of me that understood magic and wonder. The part of me that believes in the soul and believes that art, in allowing the complex interaction of creators and characters with players, performs some type of soul-magic. It impresses upon us, real and actual changes. I was seeking that piece of me; that part of me that understood that each cup was a ritual that brought about a communion with a distant world. I was searching for the younger part of me that believed in wonderful things. 

I drank the teas in the order our heroes travel the world, and in doing so I was performing a sort of perseveration of their journey. I communed with some place distant and followed in their footsteps. Which answers another half of the question. Whom did I seek? I sought my heroes. I sought the adventurous Vyse and his dogged determinism, I sought the firecracker Aika and her swift rushes to action, and I sought Fina. The woman I wish I could be: feminine, slight, beautiful, kind, brave. Quem quaeritis? All of this sounds like nonsense and when I try to explain the nonsense, I feel a deep embarrassment. To care in the 21th century, particularly in America, is to be weak. To be publicly vulnerable is to make yourself a target. You must be hard and solid as a rock. You cannot believe in magic or else you are doomed. But here I was, chasing myself and my heroes one cup at a time. And I need you to know that it hurt to do that. 

I went to the corner store today to buy some energy drinks. When I got back home, my father asked: “did you find what you were looking for?” I told him “That’s a very complicated question.”

Let me explain. Let me do the thing that I feel I cannot do well anymore; let me do some game criticism. In the world of games, the entities we control exist as two things. They are actors; manipulatable bodies, guided by code and controller inputs, that we guide around as we see fit. In this way, players have extraordinary power. In some ways, it is a… fraught power. We can, as Soulja Boy did, leave Braid’s protagonist in a perpetual flux state: jumping and rewinding. Back and forth, forth and back. Eternal puppets for our amusement, avatars for our power fantasies. Sometimes, as in the case of a game like Skyrim, our controllable actors are little more than flesh suits But actors are, more than anything, just… avatars. Video game actors are also characters. Within their worlds, which are fictional, they have motivations and wants and desires and dreams. They want to live and grow and succeed. Cloud Strife wants to defeat Sephiroth and uncover the truth about himself, Joel wants to protect Ellie and survive in a cruel world. Arthur Morgan wants to find a calmer life and redemption for his sins. They are, as characters, people. But since they are also actors, we can deny them their hopes and dreams whenever we want. We can have Cloud while away his days gambling at the Gold Saucer and, if we want, we can force Arthur Morgan to murder to population of an entire town. The core truth of a player's relationship to the character is this: we decide if their dreams are fulfilled. I find that troubling and I will try to explain why. But first let’s be clear: I do not think the character in games are sentient entities. I outlined this relationship of players and characters in a GDC talk a few years ago, using highly rhetorical terms and my reward was the ridicule of countless gamers who questioned my sanity. Some made videos about my presentation. It was hell. To be a woman, perhaps especially a progressively minded trans-woman, in games is to know a very real hell. To this day, I cannot go a week without some type of horrid experience on the internet. Some judgment of my worth, some assumption about my competency, or in the worst cases some proclamation about my right to live. No doubt this is part of why I needed my vacation. But here is why I find the player/character/actor relationship troubling. It is not merely the abstract notion, the thought experiment that elicits fun but meaningless philosophical natter. The reason I find that relationship troubling or at least complicated is because for all of their fiction, the characters in games can give us real things. They can, through some type of power—a deep power found in the act of story-telling itself—impart aspects of themselves on us. For instance, they can teach us lessons which we then carry into the rest of our lives. My father, for reasons I can’t recall, once told me: “the meaning of life is to serve others.” Though he does not know it, that truism has been etched into my soul. It is a “thing” that my father has given me. But my father is not the only person who has etched something into my soul. Vyse, that dashing pirate, has etched many things into my soul. For instance: “impossible is just a word people use to make themselves feel better when they quit.” That is etched on my soul too. Just as much as anything my father has taught. So we come to the heart of it: what does it mean that Vyse can so alter my being and values, and that he can do it with the same strength and “realness” of my father? What does it mean for a character, who is also often an actor that I guide, to give me such a powerful gift? Because let us be clear: values are “real” things. When I tried to explain that I believe that certain things are actually true, for instance that looking at landscapes does mean that we are looking at something real…. I spent an afternoon with former Jeopardy! contestant Arthur Chu and a cohort of Twitteristas attacking my philosophical surety. So, again, fuck the internet… I digress.. Let’s explore: I believe in the realness of things because of the depth of the emotions those things make me feel, and I refuse to believe that life is just endorphins, hormones, and instinct. That music or games or anything else can make us weep for joy is proof-positive to me of the existence of a soul; of an ineffable thing that is “us.” Not necessarily all enduring but certainly extant. And if this thing exists, it can be acted upon. I know this because my father, with his truism, changed my soul. Changed the core of me. I know this because Vyse and the others did so as well.

I’ve written that games criticism is a kindness; that it seeks the good in art and attacks the banal explicitly because art is beautiful. I write today to suggest this: art is magical. It alters us, not metaphorically, but in the ways it can affect our souls. Which brings us back to character and actors. I control Vyse since he is an actor and I am a player; but he is a character with dreams and hopes and personality. And values. Wonderful values which he shared with me. So what does it mean now that I can send actors to their doom? What does it mean that I can control them utterly when I know for a fact that they can affect and change me? I do not have clean answers for this. Perhaps there are none. Perhaps all I have written is silliness, even as I beg you to please understand. Please. 

Understand the power of stories, understand it in the way that Tolkein did when he said: “Creative fantasy, because it is mainly trying to do something else … may open your hoard and let all the locked things fly away like cage-birds.” Understand that I am telling you that the locked thing is your heart and soul, and that just as a lover or parent or mentor can open that thing… so can the people we meet in our fictional journeys. Vyse is not just the captain of a ship. He is my captain. That means something. Art is ritual and play is ritual. In creation, we place something of ourselves in another thing. In play, we allow ourselves to be transmuted and changed. This is magic, of a sort. I am left wanting however. I followed the path of my heroes in as literal a way as I could, pulling on new senses to understand the world they live in and touch their skies for a fleeting moment. But I cannot reach them; I am Tantalus in the mire. Ever reaching, ever chasing. For that moment I can be the person that my heroes trusted me to become. Note by musical note, word for written word, tea cup by tea cup, I am chasing my captain. When I went back to my apartment the day after the fire, I looked up at the spot where the roof used to be. All I could see was blue sky and I thought I might fall into it. Perhaps in superficial ways I have shared something with my heroes; I have tasted something they have, even though the tea is not actually from Arcadia. It was merely a conduit to my imagination, to the transformed parts of my souls. Yet, I did not find him and I could not find myself. Which is why it hurts, in spite of how wonderful it was. Quem quaeritis? He is not here. So I will keep sailing after him.