#and I can't find a replacement (because the phone is too old)

[lucianinsanity]

Dropped water on my computer by accident last night and now some letters don't work (5,6,g,h and both click buttons [it has them two times but it's still frustrating])

I don't know when I'll go fix her so I might just connect the keyboard of my older computer to her and see if it works well

[subjectsix]

I don't know I'm not done talking about it. It's insane that I can't just uninstall Edge or Copilot. That websites require my phone number to sign up. That people share their contacts to find their friends on social media.

I wouldn't use an adblocker if ads were just banners on the side funding a website I enjoy using and want to support. Ads pop up invasively and fill my whole screen, I misclick and get warped away to another page just for trying to read an article or get a recipe.

Every app shouldn't be like every other app. Instagram didn't need reels and a shop. TikTok doesn't need a store. Instagram doesn't need to be connected to Facebook. I don't want my apps to do everything, I want a hub for a specific thing, and I'll go to that place accordingly.

I love discord, but so much information gets lost to it. I don't want to join to view things. I want to lurk on forums. I want to be a user who can log in and join a conversation by replying to a thread, even if that conversation was two days ago. I know discord has threads, it's not the same. I don't want to have to verify my account with a phone number. I understand safety and digital concerns, but I'm concerned about information like that with leaks everywhere, even with password managers.

I shouldn't have to pay subscriptions to use services and get locked out of old versions. My old disk copy of photoshop should work. I should want to upgrade eventually because I like photoshop and supporting the business. Adobe is a whole other can of worms here.

Streaming is so splintered across everything. Shows release so fast. Things don't get physical releases. I can't stream a movie I own digitally to friends because the share-screen blocks it, even though I own two digital copies, even though I own a physical copy.

I have an iPod, and I had to install a third party OS to easily put my music on it without having to tangle with iTunes. Spotify bricked hardware I purchased because they were unwillingly to upkeep it. They don't pay their artists. iTunes isn't even iTunes anymore and Apple struggles to upkeep it.

My TV shows me ads on the home screen. My dad lost access to eBook he purchased because they were digital and got revoked by the company distributing them. Hitman 1-3 only runs online most of the time. Flash died and is staying alive because people love it and made efforts to keep it up.

I have to click "not now" and can't click "no". I don't just get emails, they want to text me to purchase things online too. My windows start search bar searches online, not just my computer. Everything is blindly called an app now. Everything wants me to upload to the cloud. These are good tools! But why am I forced to use them! Why am I not allowed to own or control them?

No more!!!!! I love my iPod with so much storage and FLAC files. I love having all my fics on my harddrive. I love having USBs and backups. I love running scripts to gut suck stuff out of my Windows computer I don't want that spies on me. I love having forums. I love sending letters. I love neocities and webpages and webrings. I will not be scanning QR codes. Please hand me a physical menu. If I didn't need a smartphone for work I'd get a "dumb" phone so fast. I want things to have buttons. I want to use a mouse. I want replaceable batteries. I want the right to repair. I grew up online and I won't forget how it was!

[delulujuls]

i'd give you the whole world if i only knew its price | ls18

am i a lance's girlie? no. am i becoming a lance's girlie? dont look at me

he seems so sweet idk why people hate on him

summary: lance's love language is giving gifts and when it came to giving something in return he'll accept only one way

warnings: none

pairing: fem!bffreader x lance stroll

The little girl sat on the curb, tears streaming down her rosy, tear-stained cheeks. In her tiny hands, she held her shattered helmet, unfit for further use. The girl wasn't crying because her father had scolded her for accidentally damaging the helmet. Instead, it was because, until she could find a replacement, she wouldn't be able to race with the other kids. That is, if there were any funds available for a new one.

Seeing the seven-year-old in tears, a slightly older boy, aware of the reason behind her distress, approached her with his newly purchased helmet in hand, crouching down in front of her.

"Here, you can have mine."

The girl stopped sobbing as he sat beside her, handing her the helmet, which she hesitantly accepted.

"I can't take it, my dad doesn't have any money left."

"You can take it, I always have two helmets with me."

The boy smiled at her, but uncertainty still lingered on her face. He glanced toward his father, who stood under one of the tents, observing the children a few meters away. Seeing the tearful face of the girl and the joyful expression on his son's face, he also smiled slightly and nodded.

"See?" he said, squeezing her hands that held the helmet. "My dad agreed. You can take it as a gift."

"Really?"

While her face was still wet from tears, her eyes no longer radiated sadness. Looking into the brown eyes of the boy, he nodded and he stood up, extending his hand.

"By the way, I'm Lance. Now, come on, it's about to start!"

"Please, Y/N, don't be like that."

The boy slumped onto the hotel bed, closely watching the girl's face on his phone screen.

"I'm sorry, Lance, but I can't."

She replied, her phone propped up against a coffee mug, engrossed in browsing job listings on her laptop.

"Why can't you just take it as a gift?"

Y/N scoffed and shook her head.

"Every month you give me some gift, Lance. Last month, as a 'gift,' you bought me a Birkin bag, and I don't even want to know how much it cost."

"You said your bag was falling apart, I wanted to make you happy."

She sighed and shifted her gaze to her phone. Lance looked at her attentively with his puppy eyes, visibly concerned. He wasn't seeing any problem here.

"The bag is gorgeous, and you have no idea how much joy you brought me," she said with grattitude in her voice. "But even a simple Target bag would make me happy, you know?"

"Yeah, probably. But this one is okay too, right?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"It's beautiful. Thank you very much."

Hearing her words, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing her smile, he did the same.

"So, if you want to repay me, let me fly you to Bahrain."

She lowered her gaze, and the smile faded from her face. Barely scraping by on bills and struggling to find a new job, spending her remaining money on plane tickets was the last thing on her mind. Even if, it could cover just one ticket.

"I can't afford to visit you, Lance."

"That's why let me take care of it. We haven't seen each other for so long, and I want to finally see you and start this season together," he said, looking at her worried face. Money meant nothing to him; he could send a private jet to pick her up, just to have her with him. "Please, Y/N."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I feel so embarrassed. I'll never be able to repay you for all of this."

"So, is it a yes? Can I book the tickets?"

He asked, hope in his voice, and a smile slowly crept back onto his face.

"Fine, but no more gifts this month, okay?"

"I'll try to meet that condition."

Lance and Y/N had been friends since the day he noticed her crying next to the carting track, holding her damaged helmet. They remained friends through all the years of go-karting, and their friendship persisted even when Y/N had to give up racing due to financial reasons.

At first, though she shudders at the thought even now, she hated Lance with every fiber of her being. It wasn't him she despised, but the obscene amounts of money his father had, providing him with everything he could dream of. Y/N was aware that Lance had both many fans and critics, so every time she came across unfavorable comments about him online, she felt embarrassed. After all, she used to cry and curse him every night, even though deep down, she didn't hate him; she just disliked the situation he was in, which she was not allowed to have.

Lance himself knew that without money, he would never have entered the serious world of motorsport. Numerous training sessions, expensive lessons, academy tests – Lance knew that money secured his current position, but talent couldn't be bought. He knew he could drive, and even the people who hated him online knew it too, disliking him simply because he succeeded. Being in Formula 1 cost the Canadian a lot, as he constantly felt like he didn't belong there. Even in the paddock, despite rarely facing personal comments, he knew many saw him as the boy with his daddy's big money. Lance often felt lonely, so he deeply appreciated every moment he could spend with Y/N. No one was as important to him as she was.

However, Y/N focused on being an ordinary teenager after giving up her motorsport career. She finished high school, got into college, even found a job and rented an apartment. Although her life didn't unfold exactly as she wanted, she stayed connected to motorsport through Lance, whom she supported as much as she could. Now things were getting complicated again as the season was about to begin, meaning she could only cheer for him from her couch. But for Lance, there were no such limitations. If he could solve a problem with money, he would. Furthermore, Lance found immense joy in showering Y/N with various gifts. Giving her presents was his love language, something that Y/N had no clue about.

"There she is."

Lance smiled at the sight of his friend, who stepped out of the taxi in front of one of the Bahrain hotels. She returned the smile, hugging him.

"I was talking about the bag, but it's nice to see you too," he teased, pointing to the Birkin she was holding, prompting her to playfully nudge him. Lance chuckled and embraced her, taking her suitcase and leading her inside the hotel.

"I hope the flight was okay and you're full of energy because we're going to a team dinner tonight."

"So, basically your dad is inviting us to dinner?"

She asked jokingly, looking at him as they entered the elevator.

"Technically, yes, my dad is inviting us to dinner."

Y/N laughed, "Well, Lawrence Stroll can't be refused."

Shortly afterward, they were on the right floor where both of them had their rooms. Lance handed her the key card and when she entered her room, she noticed a bouquet of roses and a small package on the bed.

"Lance..."

Turning around, she saw him biting his lip, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, yes, I know, we had a deal. But these roses were practically free and the little gift next to it is, let's say, a shared one."

He explained, putting aside her suitcase. She also placed her bag down and approached the bed, picking up the bouquet of white roses. She smelled one and smiled, feeling their pleasant fragrance. Lance smiled too.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Open the gift."

He encouraged her, leaning against the wall.

She smelled the flowers once more and put them aside, taking the small package wrapped in black ribbon. As she untied it and unwrapped the light-colored paper, she discovered the familiar shade of green. It was a long, satin dress with thin straps, in the characteristic color of Aston Martin. She smiled to herself.

"I guess this is for tonight's dinner?"

Lance nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she ran her fingers over the fabric, "I hope you have a shirt in the same color."

He chuckled.

"Don't worry, I won't disappoint you."

Indeed, at the agreed-upon time, Lance showed up at her door, wearing a shirt in the same color, black jeans, and matching shoes. He smiled at the sight of his friend, who opened the door ready to go.

"You look gorgeous. The color suits you."

Y/N laughed and closed the door behind her.

"That's good because otherwise, I would have to wear the white dress I brought with me, and someone might think I'm supporting Haas."

Lance laughed at her words, pleased to spend these few days with his friend. Honestly, he only stopped feeling lonely when she was around or when they had the chance to talk on FaceTime. Of course, it wasn't the same as having her physically by his side.

The evening passed in a pleasant atmosphere and time flowed effortlessly. Lawrence invited everyone who had arrived with Aston Martin to Bahrain, so instead of reserving a specific number of tables, Lance's father rented the entire restaurant for the evening.

Celebrating the team's excellent work during the winter months, the tables were adorned with champagne and white wine. Y/N had forgotten how weak her head could be, so after two glasses of wine during dinner, a slight buzz started to occupy her mind. Apologizing to Lance under the pretext of going to the bathroom, she stepped outside, sitting on the balcony. Despite being February, Bahrain offered pleasant temperatures, and even after the dark, a warm breeze caressed her exposed arms.

"Here you are."

The girl jumped, hearing his voice.

"You weren't around for half an hour, and I had the waitress check if something happened to you in the bathroom."

"I needed some fresh air."

Y/N replied, smiling at him. She noticed Lance's steps were a bit unsteady and a blush adorned his cheeks. When he sat next to her, she giggled.

"I can't believe we got tipsy."

Lance chuckled and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I won't lie, I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Still giggling, the girl rested her head on his shoulder. Lance wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his cheek on her head.

"I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you invited me."

"I'd give you the whole world if I only knew its price."

Hearing his words, Y/N raised her head and looked at his face. His brown, gentle eyes gazed at her affectionately and a faint smile played on the corners of his lips. Lance tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I hate that I can't give you anything in return."

Lance smiled, "Actually, there's something you could give me in return."

The girl raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"You could be my girlfriend."

Y/N blinked several times, unsure if her slightly intoxicated mind was playing tricks on her or if she understood Lance correctly.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Oh, God, you have no idea how much."

The girl smiled and, without saying a word, cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. Lance hugged her even tighter, returning the kiss, feeling a burst of fireworks in his stomach. He could bring her joy with money, and she could do it in just one way.

"I love you, Lance."

With love.

[iid-smile]

inumaki would...

if you were dating them series.

send you the most random screenshots from his games. it can range from those scammy ad games, to fortnite, to animal crossing, and then to gta. when i saw this tweet, i immediately thought of him. he'll be on the minecraft world the two of you play on together, and this is the kind of stuff you get sent when you're not around. sometimes he'd actually send you cute ones, like gifting you the food he made in cooking mama, and he loves making the foods that he knows you like.

replace your phone case with embarrassing ones. this guy has too much time on his hands. when you're out in public and you're not looking, he'd slip something like this or this on and force you to keep it. you'd probably have a whole collection of weird and wacky ones overtime. his personal favourite would be eggplant shaped, and at least two times bigger than the screen of your phone. it doesn't even fit in your pocket??? like, where does he honestly get the money to continuously troll with you like this?

make up a word that specifically means "i love you". two, actually. one is silly, and one would have actual meaning. the silly one would be something you're allergic to, or something that you hate. if it's not that, he'd call you "tomato" so it blends in with the rest of his words somewhat, and it refers to how red your cheeks would get. the one with actual meaning would be something that reminds him of you. it could be anything as well; your favourite flower, where your first date was, etc. one he uses a lot is "pom pom", because you're always cheering and encouraging him whenever he goes on missions. he'll even do a little gesture with his arms to go along with it.

touch foreheads with you all the time. it's his way of subtle affection, or asking for comfort/reassurance. it was easy when he had his first year hairstyle, but when his hair is down, you would move it out the way for him. the one time your hands were full and you couldn't do so, his hair got in his eyes. you felt so bad afterwards that you promised you would drop everything the next time he wanted to do it.

send you full on rants that are paragraphs long. here me out, because inumaki can't communicate in a proper language, imagine how frustrated he would get at the most minuscule yet infuriating situations and he can't (or rather shouldn't) say anything bad. i'm sure his vocabulary definitely isn't the kindest either. the worst one you got was when he stubbed his toe at 3am. he genuinely spent twenty minutes typing out his curses to whatever he hit, swears and all. hell, he's even start typing in a language you didn't even know he could speak (and he probably doesn't. it's most likely insults or just straight gibberish). when he's done, he'd ask you to hop on fortnite. it's 3am and you have classes tomorrow??? if you actually do hop on, he sweats so hard on ten year olds and finds it the funniest thing ever.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[mvrkieboo]

The Original Ending for Old Bloodhounds

lmao this is totally because of this ask right here.

so, lemme tell y'all how the original ending of old bloodhounds would've been like before i scraped it because it was too much even for me lmao

once yoonsu's had his fun of isolating her from the people she loves, he's going to kill her and commit suicide in an isolated spot, just to really drive the nail that she's always going to be alone with him, even when all that's left of them is their rotting corpse.

he kills her and kills himself, and y/n's friends and family are going to report her as a missing person because she's missing her classes and not seen anywhere else anymore. then, a few weeks* after, some poor hiker and his dog stumble upon y/n's and yoonsu's corpse. mind you, yoonsu executes this during the winter, so in that thick layer of snow, y/n's and yoonsu's bodies are perfectly preserved.

only then are they going to find out that junyoung wasn't junyoung, but actually cha yoonsu. especially because authorities in gangnam already uncovered the original junyoung's body. dna testing proved that the corpse beside y/n's was yoonsu. then as the authorities investigate this fucked up case, they'd find the messages y/n and yoonsu shared and the blackmail material yoonsu had over her. detective do kyungsoo who had helped you in gangnam gets involved in this case.

as detective do explains to y/n's loved ones what really happened to y/n, it would dawn on them that they had a hand in making y/n's worst nightmare come true—for the people she loved to abandon her once again when she needed them most.

jaehyun has a breakdown that would result in his debut as a soloist singer be put on hold. him and his dad were inconsolable, but he eventually realises he can't throw away his career as a singer because y/n had only ever hoped for him to become one and achieve his lifelong dream. didn't she die for this? the public notes that he's not as easygoing anymore, but rather closed off.

mark takes a break from studying, his world is put on hold now that he knows just how much y/n suffered up until her murder. jaehyun drags him in to get therapy, and mark only lets him because jae's his best friend. he always has y/n on his mind. once he actually graduates, all of the songs he helps produce and write with jae are about her. jae knows this. all of the sad songs jae created with mark couldn't be sang live he'd just choke up on those lyrics anyway

geonwoo and woojin were shut off from the world for a while. once they do get back on their feet and continue their work in helping loanshark victims evade their debt collectors, they'd always see her ghost in the backseat of their vehicles. they swore off in personally fostering any loanshark victims after y/n's death. they couldn't bear thinking that they could be replacing her with someone else.

yangyang, xiaojun, and aeri...yangyang—afraid of losing anyone else after just how brutally y/n was ripped away from his life—hired xiaojun and aeri into his start-up tech company. their ai assistant for their app is named after y/n, and even the model suspiciously resembles her. as if that's not enough, the three of them immortalise y/n by creating a foundation named after her that aims to help troubled teens all around the nation.

y/n's and junyoung's ashes are kept within the main jeong household, deciding that their resting space should be among y/n's family and kept together, and papa jeong keeps them both safe and clean daily. geonwoo and woojin comes and visits the jeong household when they can to visit y/n, yuno had left a framed childhood photo of him and y/n together near her ashes, mark always gifts her new phone charms when he can. yangyang, xiaojun, and aeri had gifted her a plush version of their app's ai assistant.

y/n's mom always visits the spot where y/n was murdered, leaving flowers there every month.

everyone eats ice cream during the first day of the fall season in y/n's memory.

they'll never stop mourning over her. each and every step of their life moving forward is haunted by how it could've been if she was still alive.

[sea-stone]

Finally, after ages, it arrives. This is the first entry to a setting of stories I am dubbing "A Durkmuir County Tale" about a modernish day, light fantasy world of paranormal creatures and humans living in tentative harmony out in an American inspired rural country county. I hope you all enjoy, please let me know your thoughts in the comments!

Note: Part one is SFW with mild horny tension, but the following one is very explicit and will contain a list of touched on topics.

Thank you to my fellow monster lovers for inspiring me to finally share my work. I have listed a few below, and to @monstersflashlight for being a betta reader!

@bucketsofmonsters

@momolady

@dragonsholygrail

@cheesomancer

@aftermidnightspecial

@moonshine-nightlight

@snowkissedmonsters

@flowerbetweenfangs

Caught by Moonlight - Part One

Can't Run Forever

Your heart dropped as soon as you heard that pop on the front driver’s side, and heard the familiar 'fuddudduddudd'  of an accursed flat tire. You groaned. And cursed.  And exclaimed bitterly “Fine, then. Whatever!!” as you decided the only best place to pull over was on the same dirt road you had driven for over 10 miles on already. You flicked on the hazards, and took some slow, strained deep breaths with your forehead pressed against the top of your wheel. It was past Midnight; you were alone. Hardly anyone drove this road outside of your neighbors, and it was a Sunday night so they were all asleep. No one would find you until at least sunrise. You checked your phone, and groaned because of course, it’s at 2% battery with no signal. Because of course you forgot to replace your broken car charger. You smeared frustrated fears from your eyes, and resolved to sit in the bed of your old Tacoma and wait instead of moping inside the cab.

A cruel memory of a similar situation a few months back had warned you to replace all your tires rather than drive on the spare. But who had money to spend on that shit? At least it was a summer night, and the full moon hung near directly above you. You could see for nearly 50 miles around you, into the empty grassland many people called No Man’s Land. It was supposedly government land, but no one bothered with it. Even the Sheriff's Deputies rarely patrolled it. On a fun night, you would have been able to trek on foot to a campfire session some Old Hippies from the City would host. But it was a Sunday, in a small Christian area, so there was nobody but Gaia’s Wilderness to keep you company. Even though the air felt like it was about 70 degrees, you shivered with the thin, oversized overshirt and a tank top. You wrapped your arms tightly around your chest as you sat cross legged on your tailgate, rocking slightly. You blankly stared ahead of you, back down the road, with the mountains to the back of you. Had you planned for it, it would have been a great place to camp; but no, you had nothing to work with. You never planned anything, and that bad habit bit you in the ass every time it could.

You probably looked like an abandoned dog on the side of the road, and hopefully pitiful enough to help out. You tried playing temptress to men and monsters alike, but that proved too successful, too dangerous. When you closed your eyes, especially when you felt so alone and isolated, you could still see his fierce green eyes. If you weren’t careful, if you let yourself remember Anad, it ached with need shortly followed waves of guilt and shame. It hurt how much you wanted him, and you battled the regret of cutting him from your life every day. Even after the phone calls stopped, after you deleted his last text, you couldn’t bring yourself to crawl back to him after leaving him with no answer of why you left in the first place. One of the main reasons you have been having a shitty couple of weeks was that you realized your mistake too late. By the time you realized you were haunted by regret, he stopped trying to reach you. Now here you were, in the same spot you were before he met him: with no one but your own cruel thoughts to keep you company. 

You lifted your face that had been buried in your arms, suprised to the sound of a car heading towards you. It was odd, but a welcomed sight to see an very unlikely sight of a Deputy Sheriff SUV round the bend a few miles down the road. You slid off the tail hitch and closed it, and you had to shield your eyes as the SUV pulled up about 20 feet behind you. You squinted, trying to see who it was behind the driver’s seat. When they hesitated to come out, you took a few steps closer. Finally, they turned their vehicle off first, and then their lights, which allowed you to see a looming shape exit the vehicle. Normally, you could tell just by the height of the officer who it was, but you didn’t recall anyone with that hulking silhouette before on the team. You shook your head, blinking repeatedly to get your eyes to adjust, and when they did you saw his remarkable green eyes flash from your truck’s hazard lights. He slowly walked towards you, and you backed yourself up against the trailer hitch, your heart pounding. He only got close enough to where you could see him clearly, and it was a feast for your eyes. 

Anad, who normally wore garish silk pants and nothing else when you saw him at the clubs you both frequented, wore the typical sandy button up, khaki pants, and cowboy boots that any human would. The clothes strained against his bulk, and the top  buttons had gone missing or were removed permanently. Your eyes followed the transition of his orange striped fur into the white stripes that came down from the neck to his exquisite collar bone and the top of his enormous pecs. If it wasn't so tense, you would be drooling, but kept your mouth pressed tightly closed. Your knees would have buckled if you hadn’t already braced against the cold metal of your truck, reminding you that this wasn’t just a weird fever dream. “Ah-Anad,” you stumbled to speak, but words failed you as your mouth dried up. You saw it too: the both of you were straining to breathe normally. His eyes betrayed the mixture of desire and pain that his otherwise steely expression failed to express, and he couldn’t control how his tail flicked back and forth, almost in aggressive irritation. “I don’t understand. How are you here right now?” You managed to say with a shaky breath. 

He broke out of pensive trance, and he anxiously ran his hands over his face and back over his head as he broke eye contact. “I followed you from work,” he admitted, through gritted teeth. “I guessed when you pulled over that it was because your spare finally wore through like your other tires. I went ahead and called Arturo’s Tow and Pull, but they can't get out till morning at the earliest to tow your car. There was a bad accident on Highway 8, so all the trucks got sent to help out that way about an hour ago.” You frowned, and you looked up at him utterly confused. “We can either wait out here for them to come, or I can drive you home. It’s your choice.” He continued to figet with his hands, frowning as he thought about what to say next. “When I hadn't heard from you, I thought you were busy. But after a week, I was almost convinced you got bored of me.” He sighed, and folded his arms. Goddess, it was so distracting as his muscles flexed in his arms, threatening to tear through his clothes. He continued, his tone switching between frustration and dejection.

“When I didn't see you at the clubs anymore, I grew concerned. Maybe you were just done with Monsters, but I talked with the other Deputies, and they said you weren't seeing anyone new. I was getting desperate.” Anad cautiously approached you again. When you didn’t move, he walked until he was within inches of you, and boxed you in by gripping the top of the trailer hitch on either side of you. You tried to hold back how much you liked that stance. The only thing keeping your hands off him was just how pained he looked and how much that hurt your soul to see. “I just - I need to know. I’m not going to let you go until you talk to me,” he spoke softly, lower, trying to hide his pleading tone. “I just want to know why you ghosted me,” he lowered his face lower to better hold your gaze, searching your eyes for the answer. You could even see his whiskers twitch, anxiously trying to read you. You could barely breathe, your heart screamed in your ears.

The tears you had beaten back finally broke through, slowly streaming down your cheeks. “I'm scared,” you hardly spoke louder than a whisper, and you felt his breath hitch. The metal under his grip creaked as he tried to hide how those words hurt him. He let one of his hands go slack beside you, grazing your shoulder and arm. He looked away then, over your shoulder, a face painted with dejection.

“What did I do wrong? Please, you got to tell me,” he pleaded. “I thought we were good, more than good even.” He tapped your hand with the back of his, and you vainly grabbed his hand with yours. He looked down and rearranged his to envelop your whole hand and wrist, seeing as it so comically dwarfed yours.

“It was too good,” you told him, your voice breaking under strained control. He pulled his face back enough to better look at you, utterly confused. “Everything was great; you’re amazing.” You cast a glance down at your enclosed hand as his grip tightened. “It wasn’t supposed to get serious. It was just supposed to be just sex.” His eyes bore in the skull, but you just couldn’t meet his gaze yet.

“But it wasn’t,” he acknowledged and he gently kissed the top of your head. Your cheeks warmed at his tenderness, and your heart fluttered as he sniffed your hair fondly.

“Why do you have to be so perfect,” you whined, and fell forward into his chest. He wrapped his other arm around your shoulders into a tight embrace. Even his tail curled around your leg sweetly. “How could I fall so hard without knowing anything about you,” you sobbed. “I didn’t know what to do, so I just ran.” You wrapped your arms as best you could around him, and let his warmth, his scent wash over you. Anad smelled like your favorite incense smoke, a calming yet arousing spiced scent that didn’t seem real. It always calmed you and equally stirred lecherous thoughts in your mind. In that moment, it was the most welcomed feeling after realizing how lonely you were without him.

He didn't speak again as he let you sob into his chest. You both did your best to cradle each other, despite the obvious height and size difference, in hopes to alleviate the strain in both of your hearts. 

Some time must have passed as he finally loosened his hold and brought your face up to his, both of his hands cupping your cheeks delicately. “I should get you home,” he told you, fondness showered down from his eyes. You smiled with a sniffle and nodded, leaning into him while he strokes your cheeks for a moment before letting you go. Reflexively, you reached for his face, and gave him a delicate kiss. It was meant to be purely romantic, but you felt heat bloom in both of your bodies again as he deepened the kiss, allowing you to feel his fangs on your tongue before he broke away.

“We have a lot to catch up on,” he implied hungrily, but added with a calmed tone. “I still have more questions.” 

“I do as well,” you replied and winked at him, and you both walked over to his car, a new spring in your step. 

[alchemistc]

okay….. can I ask about Buck in the hockey au?

Buck was a middling college player who got drafted in the third round after his team missed the Frozen Four, and he kind of labored in obscurity for a few years in the AHL before his current team picked him up trying to unload cap space to buy out a problem players contract.

Buck plays four regular season games with his new team before he gets sent back down. The company line is that he's just Not Ready but in actuality he's been hooking up with girls in visitor facilities and once in the team bus. His coach (the coach is Bobby I'm just still working out the details) tells him he sees a lot of potential in Buck, and he could make it if he could just find a way to get his head on straight.

Buck gets his head on straight. He kills it with the affiliate team, runs a point streak through twenty-three games as a defenseman, quarterbacks the power play to the point that fans of the NHL team are up in arms that he hasn't been called up.

They're playing with numbers, trying to give Buck as much ice time as possible while they lose the weight of one of their underperforming D-Men - the usual contract juggling. Then they call him up. He has a few good games, scores a few goals, has a wicked wrister from the blue line. He also scores an own goal against Chim his fourth game up and keeps taking stupid penalties. It's 2-4 penalty minutes a game for too many men or delay of game because he keeps getting too overexcited and slinging the puck over the glass instead of along the boards.

Abby works for TNT, and Buck catches her eye while she's between the pipes for a national broadcast game. She's got enough pull to get his number and they start up a phone based relationship.

Buck's team makes playoffs his first year, and gets slaughtered in the first round. Abby's mom dies and she takes a break from sports casting and Buck, not that she really lets him know that.

During the off-season Buck's team trades for a defenseman who's been in the KHL for a few years. His name is Eddie Diaz.

Buck hates him for about half a day. He feels like he's being replaced. He's worked so fucking hard to make it and now there's this guy who just gets a spot right away?

(They're best buds by the end of the week, and by the time the regular season starts they're playing 25 minutes a night as the top D-Pair)

Buck's career comes to a screeching halt in the second round of the playoffs that year when he gets tripped on a breakaway and slides awkwardly into the boards.

(No one makes the connection at the time, but the player who trips him is the same one one of their old wingers, Deluca, saved from the bottom of a dogpile years ago when a skate got way too close to his neck)

The injury isn't an easy one. There's no quick recovery time. Buck is just sort of stuck in limbo for a while. And then when he's cleared to return they find out there were complications. Coach Bobby benches Buck.

And Buck has been nothing but hockey for most of his life. It was the only way to get his parents to pay attention to him. The only outlet for all his anger. And he's good at it. He's the best. He could be the best, anyway.

Buck takes to twitter during his 'recovery' time. At first he's just posting stupid shit, but then people start paying attention to him. The PR dept does Not Like the way Buck calls out bullshit and trolls on Twitter. The GM gets involved, things blow up. Buck is reluctantly allowed back at practices and quickly jumps into game readiness.

And it's clear he's come back better.

The team toils for years in first and second round exits, and some of their stars are coming close to contract years, and they just can't break out. Buck places third for the Norris a few times, and he and Eddie are often talked about as one of the best Defensive pairings in the league, but their team is fast and light and they get beat to shit every time playoffs roll around. Eddie's feisty, he'll talk shit until the opposing bench is FUMING, he'll get scrappy along the boards, he'll duke it out when necessary, but he usually has to keep a lid on that because he can't let Buck down by getting injured.

At the end of year six for Buck, after a heartbreaking out, Buck's end of year presser goes viral when he talks about how he's been in the league for six years and hasn't won shit.

The fanbase panics because he's in his second to last contract year. If they can't contend, they're convinced he's gonna want out before the All-Star break. (None of them are aware that Buck would rather re-break his leg than leave this team he considers family, and his agent would like to keep it that way)

The team has a banner fucking year. They've got record game winning streaks and record point streaks and their aging goalie has never played better. He has four shutouts in the first half of the season. And Buck was never planning to leave so no one really broaches the contract thing. They'll figure it out in the off-season. Buck's got games to win.

With the trade deadline looming and Buck's team looking like a shoe-in for top of their conference, the front office makes a... strange move early in. They trade for Tommy Kinard. He's a bruiser, real old school type, skates like he's got bricks attached to his ankles but will knock a motherfucker down for looking sideways at his guys. He hasn't announced he's retiring at the end of the season, but he's planning to hang it up either way.

The team is hesitant about that, at first, once they know. He and Chim played together for a few years, and Chim welcomes him to the team by filling his car with golf balls. Pointed, maybe, but Tommy laughs it off, and retaliates, and the team starts to grow fond of him. BUCK starts to grow fond of him. Buck has a Cup run to worry about but Tommy is there, playing five minutes a night and knocking dudes on their ass that would normally be going for Buck and Eddie so consistently that Buck and Eddie feel a little invincible. People are second guessing whether or not they want to risk incurring the wrath of Kinard for a meaningless late March game.

And that is where I leave this because I'm actually seriously considering writing this fic now and that's about where I'd start it.

[notapradagurl7]

Unhealthy.

Franklin Saint x Black Fem! Reader

Word Count: 1,860k

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @wide-nose-and-wonderful @henneseyhoe @satoruya @westside-rot @keyera-jackson @sageispunk @beenathembo @blackerthings @playgurlxoxo @planetblaque @partygetsmewetter-x @vile-harlot

Summary: You and Franklin were inseparable until that one day when he killed Kevin, however you have a daughter with him. But you have a date tonight with Donovan.

Warnings: Use of AAVE, spoilers of season two, mention of violence, use of drugs, guns, threats, Mention of jail, toxic smut, gaslighting. slight choking, a furious, possessive Franklin, profanity, dirty talk, the reader is stressed out, use of the N-word. oral(fem receiving) fingering. Obsession.

—————————

You reached a breaking point and decided to end your relationship with Franklin after witnessing him kill Kevin, and this incident made it so you could no longer tolerate being in his presence or allowing your three-year-old daughter, Eden, to be near him. You had your daughter during the period leading up to Franklin's act of killing Kevin, and you made a sincere effort to protect her from his actions.

Franklin explained everything to you the best way he could but after watching it. It became too intense.

He informed you about Kevin's cousin conducting sales in Mexico and subsequently being brutally stabbed, the agent witnessing the entire incident during daylight at the park, and the presence of witnesses. Moreover, Kevin's sole motivation was seeking vengeance for his cousin.

At that moment, Franklin decided to handle things on his own. You and Leon swiftly caught hold of Franklin's arms, guiding him towards the backseat of the elegant deep green Cadillac. Meanwhile, Leon comfortably settled himself in the seat next to the driver.

You assumed control of the car and promptly drove away from the park, closing the car doors with Leon. Later on, Franklin was incarcerated and subsequently released, undergoing a complete transformation of character.

Even though you never inquired about it, you were aware that Franklin was a running a drug empire. He displayed traits of being clever, driven, and constantly sought out opportunities to generate more income, not solely for his benefit, but also for you and Eden.

Franklin occasionally came over for dinner to spend time with you and Eden, and these visits were generally enjoyable for him. He cherished seeing his little one, but on this particular night in question, you had plans for a date with Donovan. Fortunately, your mom was available to babysit Eden for the evening.

You called him on the phone before your date tonight.

“Hey, Franklin, there's something i've got to tell you.”

“What is it baby?"

“You can't come over for dinner tonight because i have a date." you said, trying to brace yourself for his reaction.

His face twisted in a furious glare with his harsh breath picking up, “What did you say?” he growled, his voice low with the rasp waltzing through your ears from the receiver.

"You think you can just replace me with another nigga? After everything we've been through?" he spat, his voice laced with venom.

“It’s not about replacing you, your obsession has got to stop.” you pleaded softly, your voice cracking a bit. You nervously twirl the phone

Franklin had an unhealthy obsession with you and wanted the two of you to get back together, he wanted to be a father to his daughter.

“Y/N you really think that Eden won't miss her father?”

“We can co-parent with Eden—”

“Fuck that co-parenting bullshit Y/N, Eden needs both of her parents in her life.”

“My mom is babysitting her—”

He slammed his fist against the counter, causing a loud thud to echo through the kitchen. You flinched as if you were in the kitchen with him.

“If you think for one second you can find someone better than me, you—”

“Fuck you Franklin Saint.”

“Ma, you're mine. You've always been mine.” he declared, his rasp hits your ears.

“I know what that nigga looks like Y/N, if you invite him to your—”

You hung up the phone, your heavy breathing echoing in the dimly lit kitchen as you swiftly rose from the chair.

There was no time to worry about Franklin; all that mattered now was preparing for your date with Donovan.

A gentle knock on the door caught your attention, your gaze fixed on the sleek black dress in the mirror and your hair styled in a curly bun on top with a curly bang in front of your face. Your rich midnight skin shone underneath the lights, You peeked through the peephole, you saw Donovan standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers.

He took a deep breath, and you tightened your grip on the doorknob. But before you could react, a sudden movement caught your eye. Franklin appeared, aiming a black pistol at the top of Donovan's head.

The sound of a gunshot filled the air, and blood splattered across the grass, staining the peephole. Your eyes widened in fear, your heart pounding in your chest. Donovan's lifeless body dropped to the ground with a dull thud.

"What the hell?" you whispered under your breath, Franklin called out for Peaches, his bodyguard.

You watched in shock as he cleaned up the blood, wiping the gun with a blue paisley bandana. Peaches swiftly seized Donovan's body and tossed it into the trunk of the car. He grabbed the gun from Franklin, he looked both ways, making sure that there wasn’t anyone outside, He settled into the driver's seat, Peaches sped away, the tires screeching echoing through the neighborhood.

Franklin knocked gently on your front door, as if the world hadn't just crumbled around you. With tear-filled eyes, you swung the door open, your voice trembling with anger and pain, "What the hell is wrong with you? Come inside."

You wiped away your tears as he crossed the threshold, his face devoid of any guilt or remorse for his actions.

It was clear that the mere thought of you finding comfort in someone else's arms was unbearable to him. Deep down, you knew that you couldn't allow yourself to fall in love again, not with the person he was slowly transforming into.

"Why can't you let me—?" His hands cradled your face, preventing any further words from escaping your lips. "Y/N, I’m the only one you should be with, nobody else.." he whispered, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

His eyes locked onto yours as his fingers gently encircled your neck, his thumb pressing against your skin, not to harm you, but to feel the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"I don't need you, you're a different person now Franklin. Ever since that day—," you sighed, unable to bring yourself to utter another word. Your hand instinctively moved down your face, attempting to erase the painful memories that you wished to forget.

“Did you know how scared I was? After everything that happened. Look at me, after this. Let's co-parent for Eden, we’ll still have those dinners so you can see her okay?”

Franklin released a quivering exhale, his gaze piercing into the depths of your pupils, yet his love for you remained unwavering. He acknowledged that this fixation was far from healthy, but it stood as the sole possible choice for the two of you.

“Okay, you're right. can I get one last kiss before I go?” He asked softly, lifting your chin with his index finger.

Franklin stepped closer to you with a warm smile, the rasp in his voice made your clit throb and your heart did a backflip his face leaned into yours. His plump lips descended onto yours, this one last kiss would eventually turn into something more.

Next thing you know, you were gently tossed on the couch with your back slouching against the plush cushion, Frankin crouched between your legs and you gently turned you around as his fingers unbuttoned the back of your dress, your dress gracefully fell on the living green room rug, you slid your panties off your ankles and unhooked your bra.

Your legs were draped over his shoulders, his hands holding them firmly in place as he pecked your clit twice, “fuck..” you moaned softly, his tongue slithering across your wet folds, replacing his tongue with his fingers as he traced shapes on your clit lazily, “You're sure you don't need me? You're already so wet..” he mumbled, Your hips moved with his tongue, The vibration from his mouth made you shudder. His hands palmed your breasts with his tongue flickering on your nipple, Your heart swelled at his words.

Why did this moment feel both perfect and flawed simultaneously? You were about to feel the absence of Franklin, but only for the positive aspects of his character. Waves after waves of pleasure washed over you with your hand gripping on his small afro earning a groan from Franklin, “More..” you whined softly, begging for him. boosting his ego while his tongue rolled around your sensitive nub.

His fingers picked up the pace with precise, his low-lidded watched your folds clenched around his fingers, “It sounds like your pussy missed me.” he groaned deeply, the soft squelching sound sent him to the edge. Your gaze locked with his, your hips gently rolled against his fingers, filling you with a wave of bliss as his thumbs lovingly caressed your thighs, pecking your dark skin.

Your legs shaken in his hands, a rapid quivering that betrayed your excitement. your climax coursed through you like a bolt of lightning. "Oh fuck, Franklin!" you cried out, clutching the armrest tightly for support. A wave of tiny tingling sensations scattered across your body, catching you off guard.

"Let it go," he whispered softly, kissing your lips twice. Despite the regular dinner visits, he yearned to be more for you. the whole neighborhood heared you as you squirted on the rug, Franklin eagerly slurped and every drop.

You were too weak to move from the intensity of your orgasm but you grabbed a grey sweatshirt from last night, you slid on your sweatshirt and got up by your hands and knees, Franklin gently grabbed your by your arms. “You good Y/N?” He asked softly, his face softened at you in concern.

“Yeah, I'm good Frankie.” you panted, lying to your knees going weak at the sound of his voice.

Franklin stood up from his crouched position and lifted your chin to look at you with a warm smile, “I’ll see you on Monday night in your with Eden.” He said softly, his thumb swiped your cheek.

After that, you bid farewell to Franklin as you watched walked through the threshold of your front door. You closed the door behind him with slow caution. Your fingers turn the lock swiftly as your back leans toward the door with tears rolling down your cheeks in a happy yet still sad type of way.

You exhaled a shaky breath from your lips, knowing that you had to figure out a way to leave him and take your daughter with you. You had to leave right? There had to be another way but for now. You had to smile through the dinners with him as if everything was fine.

——————

[teatreeoilll]

|| Missions (Gojo Satoru X Reader) ||

(Reposted from my old blog which I don't have access to anymore (thanks Tumblr), if you liked it reblogs or likes would be appreciated to get me back on track since I've lost all my followers and half my work :(

There's not much to do after Geto leaves everyone heartbroken, (mentions of geto X reader).

MDNI just in case; language, mentions of sexual acts. So much angst.

"Coming back?" Gojo laughs at the sentiment, he runs his hand through his hair, but it just keeps falling back to cover his eyes. He knows he shouldn't say it, but he feels sorry for you, almost as sorry as he feels for himself. He looks at you, replacing the bandages on your arm, trying to keep your wound sanitary until someone finds Shoko.

"Yeah, you just saw him - you and Shoko. When's he coming back?" You wince at the pain radiating from your arm to the rest of your body.

"Suguru's not coming back."

"Then bring him back," you hiss at him, "what's the use of all that power if you can't even do that?"

Gojo knows you don't mean it. He knows you're hurt because you were away when Geto finally called because of your nasty habit of keeping your phone off when you're away on missions. But even though he knows you don't mean it, he's not in the right mood to exercise any self-control.

"Not my fault he didn't want to fuckin' see you, is it?"

"Get out," you try to keep your composure, but anger bursts through easily a moment later, "Get the fuck out!"

When Shoko comes, you're the only one left in the infirmary. The floor is full of bandages you tried to wrap around your wound but kept ripping up, too tense to put them on gently.

She picks them up silently while listening to the sobs you try to muffle by burying your face in the palms of your hands. Unlike Satoru, she doesn't say a word. Even her cursed technique couldn't mend a broken heart, and words seemed futile.

"He didn't call me," you turn your puffy eyes to her, to which she promptly stops her actions, "He didn't text, he didn't say anything. He had no problem fucking me in the showers because he was so sad, and you know baby, you're the only thing keeping me sane," you grumbled, imitating Suguru's deep voice with a raspy tone, "'keeping me sane' my ass."

And just as you wished she'd say something like 'Suguru said he tried to reach you', or 'He said he was sorry', she simply took your wounded hand in hers, "Don't move, okay?"

-

It's been three full months. Three months was longer than your entire relationship - if one could even call it that - with Geto Suguru. You kept your distance from everyone but Shoko, going in and out of Jujutsu High almost daily.

"Let me take this one," Gojo meets you when you come out of Yaga's office after a quick mission debrief. You walk past him, but he easily matches your pace, following you down the hallway. "Come on, you look like you need a day off."

"I'm fine," you walk faster now, there's a limit to how long he'd follow you, isn't there?

"Yeah, you look just as fine as me."

You stop in your tracks at his comment. Only when you finally turn to look at him, do you notice the remnants of dark circles under his eyes and the light creases on his uniform, giving him an uncharacteristically disheveled look.

"Satoru, you look horrible," you mutter, widening your eyes.

Gojo laughs, putting a long arm over your shoulder, "Me? Have you looked in the mirror recently? If you keep looking like that, someone might accidentally exorcise you."

Something about his demeanor lifts the horrible mood you've been in, you burst out laughing at his statement, "Exorcise me?" You breathe, still smiling, "You're so pale they might accidentally bury you."

He lets his arm hang loosely over your shoulder, "Go to sleep, I'll take this mission. Shoko said she's tired of seeing your face in the infirmary every other day anyway."

"She did not say that!"

"Well, she didn't say that, but I'm sure she wants to."

-

Gojo was quite sure that taking the load of missions you've put upon yourself would make you feel better, and that doing something for someone else would help him focus on anything else. Unfortunately, the consequences were quite the opposite. Your days moved slowly and uneventfully, trapping you in a constant state of reminiscing in the familiar environment you desperately wanted to get away from.

Gojo was gone for days at a time. After a while, you decided to camp out in his room, waiting for his eventual return. You already drifted to sleep on a chair in the corner when he opened the door.

"Got our rooms mixed up?" You jolted awake at the sudden voice, seeing Gojo's outline take his shoes off at the entrance to the dark room.

"No, I was waiting for you," you muttered, still wiping the sleep off of your eyes.

"Oh - as much as I'd love to, I'm not doing this to get any favors back."

You frown at his comment, "stop taking my missions, Satoru. I agreed to it just that once."

"You look like you're finally getting enough sleep." He settles himself on the bed, taking his jacket off.

"It's because there's nothing to do but sleep, I think I'm going to lose it." You get up from the chair, making your way to the door, "thank you, but please tell Yaga you'll stop covering for me."

"Ah, don't thank me," the small smile he has on his lips is illuminated by the dull light coming off the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"No, really. Thank you." you smile back at him.

"No, don't thank me, 'cause I'm not going to do it."

"You what?" You freeze, "It's not funny."

"That's good, because I'm not joking."

"I don't think you understand, I'm not asking you - I'm telling you." You make your way to the middle of the room, standing above his bed, looking down on his unbothered expression.

"I don't think you understand, I'm not giving you back your missions until you get your act together. D'you want me to call Ieri to count the amount of times you were close to losing a limb?"

"I don't think it's for you to decide just how together my act is."

"Then who's it for, huh? You clearly can't. Now, d'you mind? I'm tired." He gets up from the bed to fix up his sheets, paying no mind to your growing impatience.

"I'm not leaving until you give me back my missions," you cross your arms.

He shrugs you off, opening a drawer to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. You try to ignore the heat rushing to your face as he shamelessly starts to change in front of you.

"Quit it, Satoru." You're mesmerized by the way the muscles on his back move when he pulls the top of his uniform off, throwing it on the chair you were sleeping on moments ago, before putting on a gray t-shirt. When his hands reached to unzip his trousers, you grabbed his arm, trying to pull it away from performing the action, "Quit it!"

He shakes your hand off of his, finally turning to you, locking his eyes with yours, "I'll quit it when you stop moping around."

"I'm not moping!" You exclaim so suddenly that it even startles you a bit.

"Yeah, sure you're not." His eyes inspect your face.

"I'm not." You pull back your shoulders in a desperate attempt to seem more assertive.

"M-hmm," he utters, his face leaning closer to yours, a knot forms in your stomach when you see his eyes shift their gaze to your lips. You find yourself drawing closer to his lips, tipping your body just slightly forward, close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

"I'm not," you're so close your lips brush against his when you whisper, your hands run up his back, lifting his shirt, your cold fingers sending a chill up his spine. He presses you against his chest in one swift move, locking you within his arms before pressing his lips to yours.

"You better not," he breathes into your mouth.

-

"Does it mean I can have my missions back now?" you look at his crimson-colored face, still panting softly.

"After that? You can have mine too," He laughs.

[sissylittlefeather]

How the Web Was Woven: The End

A/N: This. This series is my Mona Lisa, my Sistine Chapel, and these final brush strokes literally tore me apart. I poured my soul into this one. If you hate it, please don't tell me. But if you love it, please do because this is my everything. I hope it's enough.

Need to catch up? Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of death, illness, reference to sex, I think that's all.

Word count: ~2.5k

Four and a half years. That's all you have left. It's not enough.

******

The years slip away with Elvis going back and forth every couple of months like he did before. The kids get older, you get older, and Elvis gets older too. Every time he leaves, it tears out another piece of your heart knowing it's getting closer and closer to the last time you'll see him. He's in good spirits every time he visits, but it's hard not to notice his body declining. Making a portal to send him home gets harder and harder, but he still maintains that he's fine. You both know he's not, but what is there to do about it?

And then, before you know it, it's July of 2027, or 1977 for him. John Jessie is 10, Erin Love is 7. Your babies have been replaced with kids and your youthful, vigorous husband is replaced with a man you know is past his prime. He doesn't know it, but you do. He has a little over a month left and you find yourself falling apart at the smallest things. He kisses the back of your hand while you all watch a movie together and you have to get up and go to the bathroom to weep. He sings in the shower and you lay in your bed and rock your body while the tears stream down your cheeks. You drive to dinner with him in the backseat of your minivan between the kids watching a movie on the little screen that comes down from the ceiling of the car and when he laughs you almost have to pull over to keep from crashing as you drive with teary eyes.

He stays with you for a full three weeks because you continue making excuses to keep him around. You need him to help with this or the kids have something going on that he should be there for. In reality, you can't bear the thought of saying goodbye. Because this time you know it's really going to be goodbye. And you can't tell him, so he'll treat it like any other parting. He'll kiss your cheek and say "until next time, honey" like he always does.

But you know there won't be a next time. And the knowing is eating you alive.

In early August, a summer thunderstorm rips through in the middle of the night. Elvis is still there, wrapped around you breathing softly as you lay awake trying not to cry. There's a sharp flash of lightning and not ten seconds later, a crash of thunder tears into the quiet night. You listen for opening doors and sure enough, in less than a minute Erin is in your room and on your bed.

"Daddy!" Elvis sits up and she snuggles into his warmth. He strokes her hair and shushes her gently.

"You're okay, baby girl. Daddy's got you."

John Jessie walks up to the bed cautiously.

"She okay? I just came to check on Erin-" There's another flash of lightning and John Jessie jumps. When the thunder crashes, he crawls into the bed next to you. He might be a big 10-year-old, but you're still his mama. The rain is coming down in torrential waves and you hear hail start to plunk against the windows.

You and Elvis sit with both kids in between you and the power flickers. Erin gasps and John Jessie pats her hand.

"It's okay, sister." Elvis kisses her hair.

"Your brother is right, sweetheart. Nothin' to worry about."

Just then, the power goes out fully.

"Daddy!"

"We're alright. Your mama will go get a candle to light." He looks to you in the dark and you grab your phone and turn the flashlight on. Then, you slide out of bed to find a candle and a lighter. It takes you a minute of fumbling around the house to get what you're looking for. When you make your way back down the hall to the bedroom you pause just outside the door and your heart stops.

He's singing.

In the twilight glow I see

Blue eyes crying in the rain

When we kissed goodbye and parted

I knew we'd never meet again

Love is like a dying ember

And only memories remain

And through the ages I'll remember

Blue eyes crying in the rain

Some day when we meet up yonder

We'll stroll, hand in hand again

In a land that knows no parting

Blue eyes crying in the rain

When he reaches the end of the song, you're on your knees on the floor in the hallway, tears soaking the front of your night shirt, biting your knuckle and trying not to hyperventilate.

How will you survive without him?

You won't. You can't.

The power flicks back on and you hear both kids cheer. You quickly try to pull yourself back together and as you do, you make a decision.

You're not sure how you'll pull it off, or if you even can, but your mind is made up to try.

You walk back into the room and get back in bed with a new determination.

"You okay, honey?" Elvis looks at you curiously. You smile brightly.

"Mhmm! Now, let's get these kids back in their own beds." He shakes his head.

"You're somethin' else, honey. Twenty years together and you still keep me on my toes." He leans over and kisses you softly and then you each take a kid back to their bedroom. When you come back together, you settle into his arms and relax. Tomorrow, you'll think of a plan.

******

The next day comes and goes and so does Elvis. While the kids are at school, you make love and open a portal. You give him the next rendezvous point for the fall, knowing you'll see him before then. As expected, he kisses you and says he'll see you next time. Before he leaves, though, you grab him one last time and pull him into a deep kiss. Memories of every one of your kisses over the last 20 years comes crashing into you and you shake as you hold him, not wanting to let go. You have your plan, but if it doesn't work out, you want your last kiss to be a real one.

"Honey, do you want me to stay?" The portal shimmers behind him.

"Yes. But I know you can't."

"I don't have to go right now. We can make another one later." You look into his eyes, the same eyes that met yours in fear when he first appeared in 2007.

"No. If you don't go now, I'll never let you go."

"Honey, are you sure you're okay?" He doesn't want to leave you if there's something wrong.

"I'll be fine. Now go. I'll see you soon." He smiles softly and kisses your forehead.

"I love you with all of me, y/n. Always have and I always will."

"I love you too, Elvis." He squeezes you tightly one last time and then turns and walks through the portal. When it disappears, you sink to the floor. You have no more tears, so instead you pray. You pray for him, for his body and his soul. You pray for yourself and your kids. And you pray that your plan will work.

******

On August 15th, 1977, at 10:30 pm Elvis arrives at his dentist's office. It's a rather routine appointment, so he doesn't think too much of it. But when he gets back to the room and sees the shimmering portal, he's stunned.

This is not your agreed-upon meetup time or place. Somehow, he's alone in the room, but he knows he doesn't have much time before the dentist comes back. He decides there must be some urgent reason for you to show up here and a pang of worry hits him. Hopefully the kids are alright. The dentist knocks to let him know he's coming back in the room and Elvis takes a breath and walks through the portal, hoping he can get back without the dentist noticing.

"Honey, what the-" and then he sees you. Your eyes are wild and you're chewing on your thumbnail. It looks like you haven't slept in days, because you haven't, and your eyes are puffy and red with the remnants of your last crying spell. He immediately walks to you and wraps his arms around you. "What happened? Is it the kids?"

You lean against him and take in his warmth. You're afraid to move or speak in case something you do upsets him and causes what you're trying to avoid.

"No, it's not the kids. They're fine."

"Then what is-"

"It's you."

"Me? What about me?" You back up and look into his face. How will you tell him?

"You- if..." You trail off, not sure what to say.

"Honey, you're scaring me. You better tell me what's going on right now."

"I have to tell you something. And I need you to trust me. And then you have to make a choice." Your heart is pounding in your chest. You've thought of this moment so many times in the past two weeks and now it's here. The decision to give him a choice was not an easy one, but you know him. Telling him what to do is never the right option.

"Y/n. What the hell are you talking about?"

You take a deep breath, close your eyes and pray silently. Then, you open your eyes and look at him standing in front of you.

"You're going to die tomorrow." It hangs in the air between you like some tangible thing.

"What?" He almost whispers it.

"If you go back, you will die tomorrow. You have to."

"What do you mean, I have to?"

"Because you already did. Look." You hold your phone up to him and show him on Google. Elvis Presley, January 8th, 1935-August 16th, 1977.

He backs away from you and covers his mouth in shock. He shakes his head.

"No. I don't believe it."

"Elvis, why would I lie to you about this?" He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. He searches yours for evidence that this is some kind of cruel trick, but all he finds is sincerity and desperation.

"You said I have to make a choice."

"Yes. If you stay, I can take you to a hospital and we can try to save your life. But you can never go back. You'll be stuck in this timeline forever."

"I'll never see Lisa Marie again."

"No."

"I'll never perform again."

"Not as Elvis Presley, no."

"Elvis Presley is dead."

"Yes. But you could live as John Burrows." He sits down in a chair against the wall.

"That's a hell of a choice, honey."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Maybe if I'm supposed to die..." You nod and turn away from him. Your shoulders quake as your body is wracked with sobs. You don't want to impact his decision, but you can't control the anguish you feel at the thought of losing him. "But maybe you were meant to save me."

You turn back to him, your face shiny with tears. He walks to you and wraps you in his arms like he has so many times before. He presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes.

"Y/n, you've saved me a hundred times over. You've made my life worth living. Save me one last time."

"You're sure that's what you want?"

"Yes."

******

The dentist rushes out to Ginger in the waiting room.

"Where did he go?"

"Who?"

"Elvis! He's gone!" She stands up and they frantically search the office, the parking lot, and the grounds of the building, but Elvis is nowhere to be found. Ginger calls Vernon in a panic.

"He's gone?"

"Vernon, it's like he disappeared! I don't know what could've happened." Vernon is quiet for a bit.

"Come home. I'll explain everything."

Back at Graceland, Vernon holds a discreet meeting with all of the most important people in Elvis's life. The conversation that occurs has been kept secret forever.

"Elvis is dead. Or, at least, that's what we're going to tell everyone. In 1960, Elvis sat me down once and warned me that this might happen. He said that there was a distinct possibility that he might disappear and never come back. If he did, he made me promise to proceed as if he was dead."

"What if he comes back?" Ginger is hysterical.

"He won't. He assured me he would be gone for good. You know how he is. We have to do what he asked."

Vernon looks around the room carefully.

"Elvis Presley is dead." They all nod in agreement.

"May he rest in peace."

******

The hospital staff think you're crazy when you insist that your husband is going to have a heart attack. Still, they run some tests and detect a good number of things wrong with him. They admit him and are shocked when he does, in fact, have a heart attack. Luckily, because he was already in the hospital, they're able to catch it quickly and stop it from doing too much damage. Still, this begins a health journey that will last the rest of his life.

But that's the important part.

He lives.

The miracles of modern medicine keep him alive well into his 70s. He watches your kids grow up. He cheers louder than anyone at every graduation and cries like a baby when he walks Erin Love down the aisle at her wedding. He even plays with his grandchildren and watches them grow up. He never stops missing Lisa Marie, but he's so grateful for the opportunity to be the dad he always wanted to be for John Jessie and Erin.

The two of you have your fights, like any other married couple, usually about you trying to feed him a heart-healthy diet. At one point he throws a whole baking sheet of salmon into the backyard to prove a point. You want to be mad, so you put your hands on your hips, but when he turns around to face you, you both erupt into laughter. You solve a lot of your problems by laughing together.

And once he's healthier, you spend a lot of time in bed together. Your lovemaking is not nearly as athletic as it used to be, but it's satisfying and you keep things interesting in your own ways.

But one thing has changed. You notice it the first time you have sex after his heart attack. You roll onto your back next to him sweating and breathing heavily and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.

"Shhh. Honey, listen."

"What?"

"It's gone." And then you notice. There's no buzzing sound, no shimmery air.

No portal.

He sings quietly.

At last I'm where you want me

Don't you know, that's where I want to be?

I've been round for the last time

Oh, girl, what can I do?

Oh the time the web was woven,

How I fell in love, fell in love with you...

******

The End

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @rosepresley68 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @that-hotdog @eddiesgirlforever @helen06dreamer @returntopresley @rjmartin11 @noirrose21-blog @deltafalax @tacozebra051

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 16: ~

A Series of Phone Calls:

Sorry Finlay, but the Queen has arrived This is really two chapters in one, because they'd be way too short otherwise.

TW: Mention of divorce.

Part 17:

Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

'Come on. Pick up. Please pick up.'

Ring. Ring.

Ring r-

'Hello?'

'Suze?!'

'Caz?! I...Jesus. A little late, isn't it? No need to go bellowing down the phone at me.' There was a pause. Caz was at a loss for words. She answered. He was hearing Suze's voice. Nothing artificial from The Shape that tried to lure him in. But, from Suze's perspective, Caz was breathing heavily down the phone. 'Caz? Hello?' Her voice slapped him out of his daze.

'M-Maybe.' His voice was breathless. How he missed her. 'Sorry about that.' Caz's grip on the phone tightened. He didn't want to let go. Ever since he arrived on The Beria, he wanted to be back in her arms, but he knew it was for the best. 'Look, I, er.' Be brave. For Suze. Be brave. 'I want you to come and see me.'

'What?' A small chuff echoed through the phone. 'All the way out in the middle of the North Sea?'

'No. No. I'm on the mainland now.'

'W-What?' Naturally, she was at a loss for words. 'When did you-'

'Only a few hours ago.' A small lie. Depends if you count six hours ago as a few or several. 'Something happened to The Beria, and we had to evacuate. Lost a few good men, but we're back.'

'Something? What's 'something' C- Wait. Lost?' Panic began to rise in Suze's voice. It took her a moment to register what he had just said. She just replied as if she was on autopilot. 'People died? Is Roy with you?'

'Yeah. Yeah. Big man's safe and sound with us.' He managed a light chuckle. He didn't know it, but Suze had also tightened her grip on the phone. She was so happy to finally hear his voice again. All the anger she had built up since August just vanished, replaced with all the good memories flooding into her brain and making her heart skip a beat. Her finger wrapped around the cord. 'How are you and the weans?'

'We're okay. Christmas didn't feel the same without you. Ma had to make a fool of herself, though. Bloody forgot to put the handbrake on.'

'We need to sell that old banger.

'Aye. Her and all, too.' The pair shared a laugh. Something they haven't done for a while. It was good.

'How are you, Caz? You sound...' Suze paused to find the right word. 'Different.'

'Well, being on a rickety oil rig in the middle of the North Sea will do that to ya. I'm fine, though, really. Made some new friends out there. You'd like them.'

'Are they with you now?'

'Some are. Most went home.' Suze frowned. That wasn't the right thing to say. The anger didn't return, but small specks of frustration did. Still, she gave Caz the benefit of the doubt.

'Then, why aren't you coming home?'

'I will be, but first, I want you and the girls to come here.'

And where's 'here?''

'Braemar'

'What the hell are you doing all the way out in Brae-'

'Please, Suze. I can't hog the phone for much longer. Just please. Bring the girls here. I'll give the address. Please?' Silence. Caz's heart dropped. His foot began to tap, and he bit his lower lip. How could he have possibly made their situation worse? Did she not believe him? Then again, he can't blame her. She hadn't hung up the phone, but had he lost signal? Was she actually talking to him, and he didn't know? 'Suze?'

'Alright, Caz. Give me the address.' Her voice was one of defeat, but Caz had hope. It's all that kept him going. Might be the only thing that kept him from turning.

'Trust me, Suze. All will be explained when you see us.' A pause. 'I love you.'

'I love you, too.'

Well, it could have been better. Caz knew he had been brave, but he would be a fool if he didn't feel some tension. As for Suze, she hunched over and covered her mouth when she hung up the phone, not knowing if she'll cry or scream until the windows shattered. Maybe both. She was still angry. Her emotions were a hurricane residing in her stomach that she tried to control. Nothing was easy anymore. She was tried. So tired. Her eyes were still heavy. Slowly, Suze controlled her breathing and stood up straight with a long sigh.

'Right,' she muttered. 'Okay.' Then, a small smile graced her face. 'Silly sod.' Once again, the good memories came back. With the living area of the flat being open planned, she turned to the cheap kitchen table, where a brown file containing the crisp divorce papers lay in wait. They'd been there since last Monday. Dust had gathered. Now, the question was, will Suze leave them to collect more?

Caz exhaled all the air in his lungs. He felt better, but at the same time, he wished he could just deflat like a balloon. Roy had been listening the entire time from the stairs. 'So, how did it go?'

'I dunno, Roy,' he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Caz often did that when he was either indecisive or stressed. 'Good. I think? Do you want to call anyone?'

'Nah. I'm gonna sleep, but,' Roy nodded to the front door. 'I think they'll want to speak to someone.'

'Aye.' Caz turned and walked down the corridor. 'Alright.' He opened the door. 'Who wants to use...' Nothing else needed to be said. Everyone was huddled on the porch, waiting for their turn, except for Innes and Muir. Seems no one could decide on who could go first. The infected, except Trots, couldn't fit inside, yet they kept Raffs, Brodie, and O'Connor from reaching the entrance. Poor buggers were freezing, unlike the infected. The cold didn't affect them. Another small positive from The Shape. Caz sighed at the sight. Good to know he was working with children the entire time. 'We go alphabetically. Addair, you're first.' And guess who was going to be the handler?

Caz turned around whilst Addair tried to get inside. The keyword is 'try,' because Caz instantly shoved him back out when he knocked over a picture. Just like with Bernard, he quickly realised this was going to be a long night. The method was simple; give Caz their number, he dails it, and gives the phone to whoever.

The calls were like clockwork. Just like him, everyone asked for their loved ones name in surprise before sighing in relief and explaining what happened without the infected telling them that they'd been turned into fleshy blobs. Then, they invite them all to the farm. Addair. Gibbo. Ren-

'Not answering?'

'Eh,' Rennick motioned something akin to a shrug. 'My son travels for work. I'll try again later.'

O'Connor, Trots, and finally Raffs, who told his mum he and Brodie will be home soon. Brodie went last, and that was just to get in touch with the train station to figure out when was the best time and day to get back to Skye.

When all was said and done, Caz took himself to the sofa he was given as his bed and instantly crashed, along with Trots, who took the armchair and leg rest. Which was ironic. Neither slept well last night, but now, both could finally breathe. Everyone else soon followed.

Where was Muir's family during all this?

Muir had brought his parents and brothers to the furthest point of the garden. He cradled a now sleeping Grace and Bonnie in his arms whilst Innes leaned against the fence. It was late, but he wanted to tell them because he wasn't going to be subtle. He's done that enough. 'Okay. Everyone. I need to tell you something. I'm...I-I...' He glanced to Innes, who smiled and nodded in return. That gave Muir the confidence he needed. 'I'm gay. I like men, and I have since I understood what that meant.' He shuffled back and forth between his crab-like legs. 'And Innes here is the one I want to spend my life with. Dad, you said you'd never stop loving me, and I hope this doesn't change anything.'

'WHAT?!' Harris yelled. Muir retracted for a moment before it clicked that Harris was being sarcastic.

'Oh no,' Angus continued with equal sarcasm. 'Ewan's gay? Jesus Christ. Who could have guessed?'

'Okay, I get it,' Muir mumbled. He stared at Innes when he heard him trying not to laugh.

'We've all known for years.'

'The only girl you've dated was Ivy Bradshaw from year 6.' Of course, Harris continued his life goal of being the little shit sibling.

'Yes, thank you, 'arris.' Muir could feel the blood rush to his cheeks.

'And, you didn't dance with anyone at either of our weddings. Instead, you were eyeing up the bar - Either out to desperation or just get one over on Harris, Muir quickly slapped a tendril over his mouth.

'S-Shut up!' Sadly, being red in the face and hissing through his teeth, just gave his younger brother the motivation to keep going through heavy muffles.

'Harris!' Fiona snapped. Nothing else needed to be said. She had that stern look in her eyes that even made Harris, a thirty-three year old man, stop whatever shit he was pulling. Muir still kept his mouth covered.

'Ewan,' Logan began. 'You've been turned into a five meter tall hermit crab. Even if we didn't know, do you think we care?'

'W-Well, that's a relief.' Muir glanced to his mum, who was just smiling. He returned the smile. Now, all the weight had gone from his shoulders. Innes stepped forward and held his hand out for Muir to take.

'Now, can we go inside, please? It's freezing out here.' Gently, Harris, now free from Muir, and Angus took their daughters and began to walk back to the house. Fiona approached and kissed her son on the cheek before looking to Innes.

'You look after him, okay?'

'I promise, mam. He won't be leaving my sight.'

'I think that's impossible.' And cue Muir literally buring his head in the snow. A low groan could be heard, causing the pair to snicker. He was always easy to embarrass. Fiona found it cute whilst Innes just mentally jotted that this was payback for nearly taking his head off with the piping. 'Well, goodnight, you two.' They had given Innes a bed, but it was obvious he wasn't going to be there.

He knelt beside Muir and gave him a pat on the exposed flesh from the helmet. 'Proud of you, ya big lug.' A tendril wrapped around his waist, yet Muir still kept hidden under the snow. He'll come out when his cheeks stop being red.

[magnoliasandarson]

Voicemail + One Missed Message (combined)

Jason isn't really sure why he does it. Dickhead had never really been his biggest fan, and maybe they had kinda been getting along recently, but that didn't erase all the bad. But Bruce had taken Robin away from Dick, and now he had taken it away from him, so he calls.

Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail. Jason swipes a hand over his sweaty forehead, Ethiopia is a lot warmer than Gotham. The phone beeps, and he pauses for a second before saying, "Hey, Dickface,"

For some reason, he tears up, but he takes a shuddering breath and says, "I just wanted to let you know that B kicked me out, so you can go back to the Manor or whatever. No more replacement," he swallows down the old rage and sadness that claws its way up his throat, "Sorry. It's just- whatever. I found a lead on my birth mom. I'm gonna find her. She's a good person, you'd probably like her,"

He kicks some dirt, trying to find a way to say what he needed to say, "Anyway, I called because," there had to be dust in his eyes, "because I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I wasn't a good Robin, I should've never worn the stupid suit. You were good. You- uh- you made me wanna be good. Whatever- I'm not gonna be hanging around anymore bothering you, but I wanted to tell you- I wanted to say that you were a good brother- the best. I wish I was better. It doesn't matter," he scrubs the tears off his face, "see you around, Dickhead."

______________________

FIFTEEN DAYS LATER

______________________

Dick Grayson was going to vomit.

He had been off-world when the JL sent a message to him and the Titans; Robin had been murdered. Within the hour he was back on planet, back in Gotham. He expected to Jason to be waiting for him in the cave, laughing and saying, "Gotcha, Dickhead."

That doesn't happen. Alfred greets him, face solemn and voice wavering. Bruce hadn't wanted to call him, Jason had died two weeks ago. He was already in the ground.

Dick's feet are moving before he realizes where he is going. He's in front of a new grave in the Wayne family plot before he understands that this is real. He lands hard on his knees. The dirt is dark and cold and Jason must be so cold.

He reaches for his phone, he has to call Roy- Wally- someone. There is one new notification. He has a voicemail from fifteen days ago from Little Wing. He immediately retches into the damp grass beside the grave.

"Hey, Dickface." Huge, ugly, violent sobs rip open Dick's chest and throat- and he's gonna pass out- he can't listen- he can't stop listening, "I just wanted to let you know that B kicked me out, so you can go back to the Manor or whatever. No more replacement,"

His hands dig into the tilled earth that rests over his baby brother's corpse, "You were never a replacement," his voice is desperate, shuddering. His brother died thinking he was a replacement.

"Sorry. It's just- whatever. I found a lead on my birth mom. I'm gonna find her. She's a good person, you'd probably like her," what did he mean birthmother? Dick didn't really care- he was too busy hurling up the last of his stomach's contents because Jason was dead and he died thinking he was a replacement.

"Anyway, I called because- because I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I wasn't a good Robin, I should've never worn the stupid suit." Dick was seconds away from crawling into the grave with his brother.

There was snot dripping out of his nose and mingling with his tears on his chin, "Oh- Jay- Jay," he's not sure if he's even breathing, too busy pressing his hands down into the dirt, "fuck, you were the best Robin."

"You were good. You- uh- you made me wanna be good. Whatever- I'm not gonna be hanging around anymore bothering you, but I wanted to tell you- I wanted to say that you were a good brother- the best." Nothing about Dick felt like the best. Hunched over his brother's grave, mourning the brother he didn't know needed saving.

"I wish I was better. It doesn't matter, see you around, Dickhead."

Dick Grayson wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

[aquatark]

My previous post made me realize that not a lot of people here are aware of Endless Ocean's bowmouth guitarfish glitch fiasco, which I think is a shame because 1) it's an interesting look into this game's history, and 2) I find it really funny... long-winded explanation incoming!

So! you see this guy?

You can place him in the game's aquarium, right? I bet if you've played the game, you've done it without even thinking twice!

...Well, in the initial Japanese release of Endless Ocean (known over there as Forever Blue), you couldn't. In fact, attempting to place this little scrimbly in the aquarium crashes your game.

Now this isn't too bad, since you can just press the reset button and continue your game normally, right? well... if you happen to leave the aquarium and save the game after having opened the creature placing menu, selecting a bowmouth guitarfish, and then closing the menu without placing anything... then congrats! you can never use the aquarium again, because it autoplaces whatever you left in that menu on your next visit! :D

In case you're wondering what this looks like in action, this video taken around the game's launch showcases it well, while also using the game's MP3 playback feature to put some anime music in the background, which I think adds to the experience:

So... how does this happen? How could something like this make it into the final game?

Turns out, this is due to how Endless Ocean categorizes creatures internally. Each creature in the game falls into a category, depending on the movements and behaviors the developers wanted to give them. For example, "migrate" type creatures follow a set of coordinate points creating a route around a stage, whereas "swim" type creatures simply swim around the area in which they are placed within a certain radius. Think of a whale shark's movements versus that of a butterflyfish - they have very different AI telling them how to behave.

Now, trying to load a creature of one type as a creature of another... does not make the game happy, to put it lightly. It doesn't know how to handle the request, and so crashes to prevent further weirdness from ensuing. There is only one byte (literally the second smallest unit of digital information storage you could use) per creature responsible for telling the game what type to load the creature as, and this includes when placing creatures in the aquarium. A slip of the keyboard caused a dev to type the wrong number in this byte, making it attempt to spawn bowmouth guitarfish placed in the aquarium as "swim" type rather than their correct "migrate" type. Literally one wrong number caused the game to crash, and for ears to bleed across Japan.

Since the aquarium is unlocked so early in the game, people discovered this on day one, in their first play session... and since Endless Ocean was a launch game for the Wii in Japan, that's even worse. It's not exactly a great look for your brand new console to have a game break so bad you can't use a mechanic anymore. And Wii game crashes are not pretty. So, Nintendo put out a statement on the day of release, notifying people of the problem, how to avoid it, and saying that a recall would be put in place. A week later, they released another statement, which stated people could apply to have their games replaced with an updated version, which would be mailed to them free of charge, by either phoning in or filling out an application online. This service continued up until 2020, over ten years after release! They really didn't want any copies of the broken version around... good thing we have archives of it!

The updated version even has different box art, with an added blue bar at the bottom, showcased in this incredibly crunchy image:

I love picturing Nintendo executives freaking out after a humble diving game causes such a mess they have to print the game again, losing them a lot of money and causing the game to get a lot of negative press...

I've seen old forum threads talking about the game as if it's garbage before it even came out internationally, because this situation was pretty much the only major news coming out about it. Can't have helped sales, at least...

Anyway, the game was patched to fix this glitch, along with a few other minor tweaks, and it was this version of the game that got translated worldwide. Japanese fans love joking about the whole ordeal, and I can see why! For example, on the bowmouth guitarfish's Niconico Pedia page (for which the closest equivalent in English would be something like Know Your Meme), this is recounted comedically as "...probably the most notable moment for the bowmouth guitarfish in the history of the internet", which is probably true! There's even image macros about it!

So yeah. The bowmouth guitarfish's reputation was forever tainted, and some Nintendo execs to this day probably wince when they see one.

tl;dr - A developer for Endless Ocean typed one number wrong in the code, making the game explode if you place a bowmouth guitarfish in the aquarium. Nintendo had to recall the game, and that specific fish has lived on in infamy among Japanese fans ever since.

Next time you use the aquarium, try putting a bowmouth guitarfish in there, and be grateful you can at all!

[14dayswithyou]

Hello!! I've been reading through Leon's stuff and??? I love him??? I'm a sucker for childhood best friends turned to lovers. The slow burn, the pining, and the yandere potential! I was also wondering what would Ren/Redacted do if they found out that Angel loved or had a crush on Leon? I'm assuming that Leon beloved would end up 6 ft under :[ Mostly because it'd be hard to replace the memories Angel has with him, or to make them distrust and dislike Leon so much so that they'd pick a stranger over him.

Anyway tysm for making such great characters!! I legit cannot choose between [Redacted] and Leon rn. And Violet is so sweet, I'd love to play Final Fantasy XIV with her or smth!! Though her account might get mysteriously hacked if we have too much fun or get too close 😪

I have many, many thoughts. I hope this was understandable!

✦゜ANSWERED: I think a lot of people tend to forget that Ren was also your childhood friend as well, so he'd 100% know about Leon's small crush on you when you were all kids!! >:3c

And while technically Leon was the one who proposed first, it was only out of the desire to protect you and fulfil those childlike fantasies he read in books -- not because he had a crush on you. Ren was the one who had genuine feelings and greatly admired you, which was why he proposed (with a ring!!) as well. But obviously knowing Leon for a bit longer, you listened to him instead.

But Leon was also very stubborn and clingy when he was younger, and didn't want you befriending others or replacing him as your best friend. He only wanted you to rely on him to protect you, and always saw Ren as a threat because they were always lurking behind the swings and staying hidden inside the slide like a scary, fantasy monster.

When in reality, Leon was the one encroaching on Ren's only safe haven (the playground) and disrupting the peace.

I've mentioned this before, but Ren would always sneak out and visit the playground on the nights where his family got a little too much, and that was where he would always find you -- alone and huddled up in one of the brightly-coloured tunnels with tears in your eyes. It was then when Ren would start leaving jackets and little toys for you to find, and always got happy when you'd do the same in return. But the moment Leon turned up (most likely out of you telling him about the playground), everything started to go downhill for Ren.

I also don't think a lot of the newer people know about this, but Leon moved away when you were both around 9 years old!! So they only way he kept in touch was through hand-written letters and occasional texts/calls once you both got older and had access to phones. I like to think in an AU where he still had feelings for you, he'd write cute lil love letters and send cheesy Aussie postcards/souvenirs of things you'd enjoy.

I also can't really explain what Ren would do if Leon started getting closer because that's part of the premise of the game (and I don't wanna spoil anything), so I unfortunately can't fully answer your question, I'm sorry!! >.<

[lesb0]

I don't think we can expect everyone to know a lot about art on a deep level, but I do miss more info in art museums. If there are texts I find that they tend to be very surface level. I think it would be nice if either there just was given more info on the plaques in the museums, or that there would be also a sort of digital tour you could follow on your phone where you could access the info. The digital tour on your phone gives you the possibility to give way more info than you would ever put on a plaque in a museum and you don't have to try to read it with 7 people at once. I just remember that two summers ago I was walking through the National Gallery in London constantly looking up paintings and the historical events/stories they depicted. I do think, with the internet in our pockets, that the people who are interested have so much more access to art and info about them, but I still think that for permanent expositions museums could put in some more effort.

Having info about the painter, the event/story depicted, the symbolism (or interpretation of it), and some info about the materials used per painting would be nice, but I am also aware that that would end up being a huge amount of work. Non-academic people just often don't have access to academic publications, or simply don't know how to access them (I'm writing here in English, and in my experience publications in English are way easier to find for free in some way than those in Dutch, German or French, at least those I've needed, but you still don't find everything).

Interesting! There is an ongoing critical restructuring of the art museum, as they grapple with changing the ways they function. being colonial institutions invented to create a civilizing effect for the uneducated masses who suddenly are no longer at work 15 hours a day is pretty bad, right? the 18th century ruling class was extremely worried about what poor people would do with all the new leisure time + human rights they had gained after all those pesky revolutions. so enter the public, free, national art museums.

This crucial book by Duncan first criticized national art museums as a ritual space to replace the power that the church used to have: you get dressed up nicely, walk into a museum and perform an act of pseudo-worship by ascending up the giant steps, you follow a map that leads you from one room to the next, in chronological order with Italian renaissance art as the most valuable in this little micro world, and the other cultures ranked lower (looted african art at the very bottom, unless its with a picasso). You speak quietly, never point, don't stand too closely, follow the map, and NEVER run. if you step out of this order, the guards and the other guests will get angry and yell to correct you.

The museum takes the low uneducated dirty working class and teaches them how to act proper through a civilizing ritual.

Last night I told my friend a story Barbara Kruger mentions on Katy Hessel's podcast, that she gained her visual culture education in the lowest way possible, in a basement as one of the copy-paste girls who put the ads together at conde nast.

She wanted to go to museums and teach herself more about art, but felt like she could never feel clean enough to go in, her clothes felt too dirty and old. she felt like she needed to be lint rolled first. Many of my students feel exactly the same, "I can't go to the museum in sweatpants"

As a museologist, there's an idea of removing this authoritative condescendingness to art museums, and that starts by making didactics have as little of the curator's voice as possible, with just a tombstone. I'm trained to look at an artwork and immediately know the things you mentioned: the era, materials, iconographies, and the artists biography. communicating that to a student takes an entire hour every week. I do not look at didactics because I already have immediate basic info and context of every artwork, and I want to spend my time looking at the art itself. About 1% of this info is available on google/wiki.

You think museums should have a digital didactic for each object in a permanent collection? That'd be a fun initiative, essentially digitizing the work of the docent educator.

How would you feel about other visitors, instead of lining up to read a long didactic, were lining up to look between their phone and the art for a 10+ mins lecture that theyre playing at volume level 100?

Now how do you feel when I tell you the British Museum alone has over 8 million objects in its permanent collection, and doing a digital explanation for each one would take centuries if every qualified artist historian in the world worked on it.

To bring up Katy Hessel again: she does a great job at bridging this gap! She only has an undergrad level of understanding art but that actually makes her a great art communicator and instagram docent, she explains really basic things every art historian already knows, the 1% of art history you get on wikipedia but through her great voice. Museums Without Men accomplishes what you propose on a one woman level; an audio guide to the best women artists in a museum collection:

[daydreamgoddess14]

Hi there! I would like to make a request for Merry Fic-mas. Can I request the prompt "Sneaking a gift into a pocket" for River? You can use one of your OCs, reader, a new character, or a character from the show/books. It can be sweet, fluffy, silly, hot, whatever you want. I just would like to see River get something nice after the shitty life year he's had. Thank you!

Kellie, my darling, you would not believe how excited I've been for this one! The reason it's taken me so long to get to is because it was so important to find the right gift. It took a lot of thought, but I think I've cracked it 🤩

There's already plenty of fluff and smut already released for Ficmas, and more still to come, so I went on a bit of a River journey for this one.

Notes at the end to avoid spoilers!

River Cartwright x Reader Insert (no use of y/n l/n, no specified gender)

Oyster

The hardest part shouldn't be taking it from him. That would be easy enough. 

He trusted you, you were a colleague, an office mate. 

A friend. 

More than a friend?

The watch, he told you one day, was exactly ninety years old.

It had belonged to his great-grandfather, David Cartwright Snr, who had given it to David Jnr in anticipation of the younger David's marriage to Rose. 

It was in bad shape. 

And that was putting it lightly. 

The glass face was scuffed and scratched, the leather strap was disintegrating by the hour, and the mechanism lost more time than River did fights. 

He kept it in his pocket at all times, no longer willing to wear it on his wrist, lest it fall between the gap between the train and the platform edge. 

A real Rolex.

You'd never seen one before, you weren't entirely sure what the fuss was about, but it clearly meant a lot to him, and therefore it meant a lot to you. 

You had one chance really. 

Take it on a Friday, replace it the following Monday. 

Hope and pray in between that he'd either not notice - not likely - or, that he'd assume it was at the office and leave it there over the weekend - risky. 

You did what you could whenever you had the opportunity.

Step one

Enlist a watch expert. Particularly someone who knew about the Rolex Oyster.

David - why were they all called David? - was based outside London. Most inconvenient. But after exchanging many (many, many) emails, it became clear that he was your man. 

You were able to confirm the age and make of the watch initially, and could confidently tell David the watch guy that it was battered. Through your detailed description alone, he was able to understand what he'd be working with. 

Step two

Take photographs of the watch. 

All of the extra work necessary to determine that your watch guy could do what he needed to do within your short window of time. 

River generally left it on his desk when he was at the office. Neatly lined up alongside his coffee mug, the cracked leather straps straightened out. He's too quick in the loo, he's a bugger for not making the tea, and he has no concept of fresh air unless he's running from someone. 

When Lamb's signature thud summons him upstairs, you know you have your golden opportunity. 

You whipped out your phone and took a raft of photos from just about every angle. 

Your thumb brushed over the faint engraving on the back, unreadable in the limited time you had. 

You're back in your seat as he swings into view, his arm around the doorframe propelling him into the room. 

“Alright?” 

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah. Going out.”

He takes the watch.

Step three

David the watch guy assesses the photos for actual, usable information. You'd sent over every photograph you'd taken, not wanting to miss anything out. 

I can do that in two days, he assures you. 

He'd better be bloody right. 

“You're not bullshitting are you?” You ask on the phone when you slip out of the office for a walk. 

“It can be done. I could do with pictures of the mechanism, but I think it'll be OK.”

“You think? I can't come all the way to Cambridge on a whim, David.”

“I know I can do it.”

“How much?” 

This is where he hems and haws - obviously. 

“£300.”

“Fucking hell, do you wear a mask?”

“A mint condition one would be over 2k, you're getting a bargain there. I'm only doing it cos it's Christmas and you're weirdly invested in this. I'm curious, why all the sneaking around?”

“Because I don't want my… friend to know I've done this. He keeps it with him all the time. It's important to him.”

“Fair enough.”

“Trust me, if I ever need a watch guy again, you'll be the one I chose.”

“Thanks for that. Come into contact with many antique Rolexes, do you?”

“Not really,” you admit. “OK, I'm going to get it to you on Friday. I've booked some dodgy hotel by the train station for Friday and Saturday night. I have to get back on Sunday.”

“It'll be ready, don't panic.”

“I am panicking, David, I'm stealing it for a weekend.”

You feel sick at the thought of River finding out it's missing, the added stress he really doesn't need piling up. 

“Chin up, it'll be fine. See you Friday.”

He hangs up, leaving you with your tormented thoughts. 

Step four 

Stealing the watch. 

You had to leave it as late as possible on Friday. 

You had to leave after him.

He pulled on his coat, ready to face the torrential rain which bounced off the pavement.

The watch remained on his desk for the moment. 

He left the room to wash his coffee mug and you swiped it. 

It burned in your pocket as he came back in.

“You not leaving yet?”

“Just got to send a couple of files first,” you lie brazenly. 

“See you Monday then?”

“Yeah, you have a good one.” 

He doesn't look at the blank spot on his desk where his watch usually is. 

He assumes it's in his pocket already. 

He hesitates in the doorway.

“Do you… would you want to,” he puffs out a nervous breath. “Want to get a drink? Or something?”

The ‘or something’ lingers in the air. 

You'd love to say yes, but you can't. 

“I would, but I've got to visit some family this weekend -”

“Right, course. Last weekend before Christmas,” he fumbles. 

“I'd like to -”

“No, no, it's fine. Totally fine.”

It's not fine, he looks a little bit… crushed at the rejection. 

You feel crushed for rejecting him. 

He's out the door before you can say anything else. 

Your hand curls around the soft leather watch strap, and you keep it there all the way to Cambridge. 

Step five

The repair.

David's a nice chap.

About twenty years your senior, trim goatee, and a dapper collection of ties which you come to appreciate over the three days. 

You'd spent the train journey trying to read the faint inscription on the back but can only make out a couple of the words. 

David brings it back to life. 

He hands it back to you over a lunchtime pint before your train home. 

You swap him for £300 in cash. 

“Bloody hard work that was,” he grumbles. “Though, I don't think I've ever seen a better example of a 1930s vintage Rolex Oyster for sale than this particular watch.”

You feel irrationally proud of that. 

It's not yours, but you're proud that he's taken such good care of it. 

“Did you know, it still retains its original screw down winding crown?” David tells you. 

You did not know that. 

If River happens to find out that all of this was arranged by you, you want to be able to tell him all of this, so you take a napkin from the bar and scribble down some notes. 

“... The threads on both the winding crown and the case tube are in superb order,” David continues, your hand flies across the napkin as you write. 

“The dial on this piece is totally original in every respect and once I cleaned it thoroughly, the piece winds very smoothly, and its hands set precisely, with no noticeable wear to their geared mechanism.”

“Hang on, slow down,” you mumble, your writing getting more illegible.

“Honestly, it's completely authentic down to the last internal screw, in every way exactly as it left the Rolex factory in Bienne, Switzerland before the outbreak of World War II. Astonishing, really.”

“It looked battered,” you examine the now pristine watch carefully.

“Oh it was, I've replaced the strap with an original from another Oyster. I don't use replicas.”

“It's beautiful,” you murmur. 

“See the engraving?” He turns it over in your hand. 

Forever yours, every moment

It brings tears to your eyes. 

“It's perfect. Thank you, David.”

“Thank you for letting me loose on such a lovely piece. It's not often I get to see an original in such good condition anymore.”

He goes to shake your hand warmly, but you're so overcome with emotion that you hug him tightly. 

“Merry Christmas, I hope your friend appreciates your doing this.”

“So do I. Guess we'll find out.”

“Well, I know a wonderful jeweler if he finds himself requiring a reciprocal gift.”

You blush furiously. 

“I doubt it very much, but thank you.”

You can hardly take your eyes off it all the way home. 

It sits on your nightstand next to you all night. 

Step six

The tricky bit is returning it to him. 

He's bound to know it's missing, expecting it to be on his desk. 

He's there before you on Monday, remarkable considering you're an hour earlier than normal.

“Fall out of bed?” He asks. 

“Did you?”

“Couldn't find my watch. Thought I'd come in early to make sure it was here.”

“And?”

“It's not.”

“Oh, shit. Where is it then?” Your thumb runs over the engraving, the watch deep in your pocket.

He's rooting through his desk drawers, piles of crap accumulating on his desk. 

“Wish I fucking knew. If some grubby little scrote has nicked it -”

“I'm sure it's around here somewhere. Coffee?”

He accepts distractedly.

By the time you place it on his desk, he's looking distressed. 

“Catherine -” he pulls away from his desk, takes the stairs two at a time. 

You slip the watch into his coat and take off your own. 

He doesn’t recheck the pocket. 

He goes downhill as the day goes on. 

“Secret Santa time!” Catherine declares.

It's nearly hometime.

The gifts are passed around, a couple of books, boxes of biscuits… you get a bottle of specialist gin. 

From you, River opens a small, well worn book on the history of Rolex you found in a second (third, fourth) hand bookshop. 

His smile of thanks is more of a grimace.

“I'm sure it'll turn up,” you tell him kindly, putting your coat on. 

He takes his from underneath yours and slides his arms in. 

His hands automatically go into his pockets. 

The look on his face as he feels the watch is so beautiful you could cry. 

He brings it out slowly and stares at it. 

Just stares. 

He turns it over, checks the engraving. 

You can hear the change in his breathing. 

The lump in his throat that he tries to disguise with a cough. 

His hands tremble as they delicately hold the watch. 

It's so quiet that you can hear the frantic ticking of the watch. 

“Did you -” he starts, his voice catches. “Was this you?”

You can hardly see him through the tears in your eyes, they spill down your cheeks and into your scarf. 

“Merry Christmas, River,” you whisper, holding onto his arm as you reach up on your tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his pink cheek. “Maybe we could go for that drink? Or something? I can tell you all about it.”

If you wanted to read more about the watch I chose, there's a full history here.