#but even more questions and what ifs and theories and fuck it I’ll do it myself

[rist-ix]

The sparxshipping teasing from Iginio got me wondering.... if we ever did get canon sparxshipping explored, whether in a reboot or new adaptation, how would you like it for it to be done?

I'm gonna try to answer both of these in one post cause they overlap a little, but first of all thank you!

Buckle up fellas I'm bringing discourse.

This is gonna be a bit of an unpopular opinion I think, and it’s that I don’t want sparxshipping to be canon at all.

Feel free to get the pitchforks, but until then imma talk. I have villainships that I think not only add something to the overall plot, they kind of define it too. Reylo for examples, with its themes of redemption, masks and compassion, or Darklina and how important their relationship is to the war and Grisha oppression, or Lotor and Allura with its symbolism of breaking the cycle of abuse, making peace, reclaiming a heritage thought lost and so on.

To put it very briskly: an established Sparxshipping relationship adds nothing to the plot. It would have to be a plot of its own, and while there are tons of fascinating plot threads you could weave back into Domino, Bloom's family and the war before the Fall, it is simply, plainly, and rightfully so not the story Winx Club is telling.

Winx Club, at its core, is about the girls and their friendship. That is the show I love, and that is the show I am invested in. Fanfiction is a separate thing, I’ll get into that later. But canon, commercially produced and globally aired Winx Club is what we are talking about now. And the one defining truth of Winx Club is that it’s about the Winx. Their boyfriends are the side note, the Kens to their Barbies, to cement them as the cool popular teenagers younger kids are supposed to see them as. If Bloom and Valtor had a lasting serious relationship, Valtor would inevitably have to be shoved into that category as well, and that would ruin the entire appeal of him.

To boil it down even more: if sparxshipping were canon, either Winx Club would have to shift away from its intrinsic premise and formula, or Valtor would have to be diminished beyond recognition. So my longstanding opinion has always been: don’t make sparxshipping canon. Just don’t.

What I, personally, would do if I were ever to gain access to the mythical and likely overcrowded writing room at Rainbow SpA, is this:

Tease the fuck out of it.

Lean into their fucked up little hate-obsession. Every time they share the screen they have to be radiating unresolved sexual tension. Their chemistry has to be so off-the-charts it sparks a million fanfics before the season even ends. If there aren’t so many crappy amv's set to angsty Taylor swift songs it brings down the YouTube servers by midnight you have failed. Because canon is bound to certain limits, but fanfiction is NOT. The goal of any show should be to create something that will awaken an inescapable need to build on it, to continue where it left off, or to wonder but-what-if? To make people text incoherent keysmashes to their fandom buddies with shaky hands in the middle of the night and be unable to sleep until they’ve confirmed their buddy has seen it too.

I would want to see Bloom go fully I-have-lost-sight-of-everything-but-revenge until her friends manage to pull her back, I would want them to fight so vehemently the structures around them collapse and they don’t even notice. They should be in situations where they are UNDENIABLY going to die if they fight on and they still do it, they literally CANNOT stop, they don’t care to. To the point that everyone around them is seriously concerned and talking about their terrifying obsession with each other, more or less out in the open. And after a season full of epic fight scenes, high stake conflicts and frankly obscene tension between them, I would want Bloom to kill him.

Straight up.

Give her that moment of calm self assurance, at peace and perfectly in control, while Valtor tries to gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss his way out of this, contrasting the way her support network and genuine, unconditional friendships strengthen her while Valtor, who is always sabotaging everyone around him, is forced to confront his own powerlessness in the face of the power that created him. His manipulation attempts have nothing to latch on to. They have one last exchange where Valtor is visibly furious at her denial of him / his own failure — to really drive home that this is Bloom's triumph — but the last words they exchange are cordial. Maybe a comment at her growth, or a warning about his mothers, or another way to foreshadow future threats — if he couldn’t defeat her, no one should. He ends on a high note, but he does end, and it’s at Bloom's hands. She retakes the corrupted spark into the Flame she is guarding, and that is that.

And then, and this is important. He fucking haunts her for the entire next story arc. The next season, the next two seasons maybe, because she has learned a fuck ton of things from him and it is really, really difficult to move on knowing everything she does, knowing everything he implied or hinted at, or simply knowing so many really, really cruel ways to get her way now, which isn’t who she wants to be, but it would be easy, quick and effective for the greater good, right?

Boom, character conflict for the next season established, lots of potential for future flashbacks or visions, Valtor stays on his high horse of forever-the-juiciest-fucking-villain-of-the-franchise and the story can move on.

The End

Cue three decades of mind-blowing fanfiction. We all say Thank you Rainbow and cry ourselves to sleep thinking about what could have been.

[thelowlysatsuma]

alright dipsticks, hear me out

taz balance au where everything is the same except that lucretia and barry have each others’ farspeech frequencies

it all starts about a year after lucretia voidfishes the plane. she’s poking around goldcliff, hoping to find some way to con some rich shit into paying for her gigantic moon base, when she runs — literally runs headfirst — into some bespectacled nerd in denim

barry, for his part, doesn’t know why this complete stranger is offering to buy him lunch as an apology for spilling his Fantasy Starbucks all over his oldass shirt, but he sure as shit isn’t complaining. especially when something, something about this kid feels so... familiar

in a spur of the moment decision, lucretia gives him her farspeech number. barry doesn’t think anything of it at the time

...anything, that is, until he’s rising, spectral and flickering, over his battered corpse, and he begins laughing hysterically, tears glimmering in long-gone eye sockets. he may not have lup back, but he’s got his little sister.

so they start texting. is barry furious at lucretia for what she’s done? sure, a bit. but he understands her logic, and his temper is soothed when she point-blank tells him that she’s going to help him find lup. they may be working against each other as far as the relics are concerned, but if lucretia can locate at least one more shred of her former family, then by god is she going to. barry understands, he thinks, and so they help keep each other a little less lonely over a long ten years

lucretia keeps barry updated on how the other birds are doing, as best she can. they rejoice together as magnus and julia take back raven’s roost, and when glamour springs is shadowed by a mass poisoning barry has to do everything up to physically restraining lucretia from beating the ass of whichever motherfucker did that to taako. wait, he tells her. physical pain is temporary. a lich, on the other hand, is in a prime position to make some douche’s life a living hell. lucretia grins and offers to fund his plots in any way she can.

barry, for his part, keeps lucretia up-to-date on the search for lup. they have matching little cork boards in their respective offices, each filled with maps and theories and half-baked what-ifs. they aren’t any closer to finding out what happened to her, but they will. they have to.

speaking of things happening, barry is the first one to find lucretia after wonderland. he hadn’t been able to reach her for a month, and so when he feels the enormous surge of pure magical despair explode outwards from the felicity wilds, he transports himself there as quickly as he can. he finds his baby sister at the centre of a mile-wide crater, twenty years older and countless sacrifices poorer, and he holds her as gently as he can without physical hands, and makes her promise to never deal with wonderland again. fuck, he’ll get the animus bell for her, he doesn’t care. he just can’t see lucretia in that state ever again. (never again, that’s what they told themselves, in a group huddle late one night the dawn of cycle 66. he’d failed her once. he couldn’t do it again.)

as she builds up the bureau, lucretia starts getting questions about her best friend on the stone. lucas asks her point blank who it is one day early in their acquaintance, and she answers “b- uh, b-j” “that tells me basically nothing. what does that even stand for?” lucas demands. “uh,” lucretia says, “🅱️amazing jrace”

thus begins a fine tradition of bureau employees trying to get any info they can on the mysterious “bj”, including his actual name. so far some of the top answers they’ve gotten from madame director include “bitchin jackass” “burger joint” “beetlejuice” and “banjo jimboree”. once, robbie asks her if he’s her secret lover, and lucretia has to summon a bucket before retching in disgust, which puts paid to that particular theory fairly succinctly

barry, for his part, adores these rumours. he keeps asking if lucretia will lift the lich barrier, just for a day, so he can come and stir up even more shit. lucretia, while admittedly very tempted, denies.

when he finds out that lucretia has been telling bureau employees that the red robes are evil, barry is understandably insulted. the next group of regulators that touch the ground are covered in fantasy cheez whiz for the duration of their mission.

lucretia gets him back by replacing all the denim in the jeans at his base with silly string. barry moves bases, and the prank war escalates

(no one has the courage to tell madame director that her hair has been turned rainbow at the last candlenights party. privately, lucretia thinks she looks bitchin)

every now and again, lucretia will text barry in a panic. these texts tend to look like this:

“barry.” “barold aid me” “barry I fucked shit up real good this time” “barry” “barry” “barry I was at the fantasy Olive Garden and the waiter said ‘enjoy your meal’ and I said ‘you too’ barry kill me n o w “

barry can and will mock lucretia mercilessly for this. he also insists for weekly video updates on fisher and junior.

he also has biweekly fantasy skype sessions with davenport

booyah: I saw a woman so beautiful I started crying???

bear-old: oh mood

booyah: and then I hired her and her son (who’s a little bitch) to work on my secret moon base and I think I’ve made a terrible mistake???????

bear-old: oh my fucking god this is why I don’t trust you to stop the apocalypse

when the thb start working as reclaimers, barry demands weekly updates on them, as well. it goes about as well as you’d expect

booyah: magnus ate the philosopher’s stone

bear-old: he fucking w h a t ?

booyah: he used the glutton’s fork, and he ATE the philosopher’s stone. taako and merle used stone skin and stone shape to get the damn thing out. happy fucking candlenights.

when barry finds out that taako’s DATING the fool who’s been chasing after him wile e coyote style for over a decade, he loses his s h i t. he and lucretia have a girls’ night where they bitch about taako and eat shitty chocolate to cope

bear-old: you HIRED a BABY???

booyah: he’s ten! that’s plenty old. and he’s certainly competent, seeing as he found my organization when even you couldn’t.

bear-old: creesh please. please do not Irreparably Fuck Up A Small Child

booyah: hey, at least I’m not the one who threw him off a moving train!

bear-old: I never threw anyone off a

bear-old: lucretia

bear-old: who

bear-old: who in your employ threw ANGUS MCDONALD, a LITERAL CHILD, off of a MOVING. VEHICLE?

booyah:

booyah: taako

bear-old: fucking fantasy CHRIST

(they have quite a few girls’ nights eating shitty chocolate and razzing on taako, actually)

team sweet flips goes to the director’s office one day to give a status report and find her red-eyed and coughing. she says she has allergies. the cute cat video barry just texted her on her stone, however, begs to differ

lucretia preps the boys for refuge, yes, but her mind is filled with texts and tomes and the letters “l u p” carved into a bureau wall. she passes countless sleepless nights with barry on the line, trying to decipher what it all means

but they emerge from the woven gulch unscathed, and that can only mean one thing: wonderland

she doesn’t tell barry where she’s sending them. she can’t let him interfere out of some misguided attempt to save her from the place. her texts grow few and far between

she doesn’t have to tell barry. he knows

the day they get sent out, as lucretia breaks down in her office, surrounded by a dizzying vastness that could envelop her very being if she would just let it, her stone buzzes.

four words: I’ll keep them safe

and then?

well, then it’s the end of the world

(but when lup emerges from her decade-long cage, phantasmal and resplendent, lucretia and barry share a look)

(and when the hunger is consuming the only home she knows and she’s flying out in one last attempt to face is, barry is on her stone)

(and when the dust settles and they’re finally, finally free, when the world hears a story and a song and former and current bureau employees alike learn just how important the mysterious “bj” really is, when lucretia looks at the wreckage of her life’s work and home and family — when all that happens, barry is the one to beckon to her with open arms.)

(they’ve been beside the other for a hundred and ten years, after all. that’s not gonna fucking change now.)

anyways yeah folks barry and lucretia texting au play with me in this space

@littlemisscritical @thatcoldfeeling and you know what? @herbgerblin what the hell

[teawithkpop]

[M] - PhysCom - Pt 5

pt 1 - pt 2 - pt 3 - bc 1 - pt 4 - pt 5 - pt 6

Pairing: BTS - OT7 x Reader

Rating: Mature [18+]

Length: 9.1k words

Genre: PhysCom AU - smut with dashes of angst, and a shitload of romance and complicated feelings,, uhuhu (porn with plot??)

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, swearing, mentions of sexual abuse/manipulation, mentions of non-consensual sex - (these are both mentioned very briefly in the chapter and do not center around any of our main characters, but please be cautious if this is a sensitive topic for you!)

*meme voice* ah shit, here we go again.

thank you everyone for your patience regarding this update!! <3 I appreciate you for waiting patiently and for all your love in the meantime! I hope you enjoy ^^

-------

"Please, will you take this vacation?"

You stare at Namjoon, at the desperation written on his face as he begs you to accept his offer, and a war wages within your heart.

On the one hand, you have no good reason to believe him, not after you’d heard him and his members discussing you behind your back like they did. The key could be a fake, his little theory could be a ruse to let your guard down so you won’t put up a fight when he finally sends you packing.

On the other hand, you’ve never had reason to doubt Namjoon up until an hour ago. He seems to have always looked out for you, always appreciated your work. This could be a genuine plea for your cooperation in a bigger picture, like he claims.

But the shadow of doubt still covers you. The sound of him and his boys squabbling so carelessly, taking a vote on your future. You can’t let that memory go so easily.

“Never trust your client. They will only betray you in the end.” The words of Madame run through your mind again, as if confirming your fears.

You want to believe Namjoon. But you need to protect yourself before anything else.

You slowly break away from his grasp, taking the key and tucking it into a pocket on your belt. “Kim Namjoon...” you say, your eyes cast downwards.

He seems more relaxed now that you’ve taken his peace offering, and he tilts his head to the side, listening intently. “Yes?”

Your brain claws desperately at a strategy, at anything you could use as leverage. But all you have are words. What can you say? What protection do you have left? You’re putting yourself at his mercy.

“During my time in this house... I have learned many things about you and your members. Things I don’t think you want the public to find out about.”  Lies. He knows it. You know it. The only secrets you know are their kinks, which aren’t exactly damning to their characters. Even if you did have dirt on them, who would listen to you? 

You continue, though your voice sounds uncertain, even to your own ears. “If you’re lying to me about any of this, then I swear...  I’ll do what I have to, and... ensure that you pay for your mistake.” You try to imbue strength and determination into your words, but your heart isn’t in it, and you’re sure he can tell. You can’t even meet his eyes. You have no fight left in you. You’re like a frightened animal that’s been backed into a corner.

Fuck. You’re just so tired of this, of everything. You’ve been through too much recently with not even a moment to catch your breath, and you’re just… exhausted. You’ve tried, you really have. You’ve done your best, you’ve gone down swinging. But you can’t do it anymore, it’s all too much...

You feel numb as Namjoon wraps you into his arms. When did he come over to your side of the table? You don’t remember, you can’t think clearly.

“It’s okay.” Namjoon’s breath is warm against your cheek. “You can rest now.”

Can he read your mind? You must look so pathetic, your body shaking as he holds you tightly, like you might float away.

But right now, you don’t care. He’s seen you at your worst already. You choke on a quiet sob and your fingers twitch, longing to reach up and hold him, to reciprocate...

“Alright, has everything been sorted?” Yeji’s arrival carries away those ideas, and Namjoon pulls away from you with a gentle pat to your shoulder.

“I believe it has,” he says, and he stands up to greet her as the two of them start to wrap up the details of your agreement. Their words turn to buzzing as the rest of the meeting passes by in a blur. You're too dazed to pay attention, too numb to feel anything but a vague sense of resignation as papers are signed, handshakes are given, and your fate is placed in his hands.

Before you know it, you’re back up in your room again. Whatever farewell that Namjoon had probably wished you as you shut the door had fallen on deaf ears. You can’t process anything more right now.

-------

The first few hours of your sentence pass by in silence, tears slowly trickling down your face as you lay on your bed. Your brain slowly works through its state of catastrophe. Dimly, you worry that you might never pick up all the pieces. Some have blown away in the recent whirlwind of disaster, some are stained, irreparable, all of them worn from being taped and glued back together, over and over again.

You feel broken.

Is this what they wanted? To break you?

You roll over onto your other side, uselessly wiping the tears from your face as fresh ones spring to your eyes to replace them.

You know, somewhere inside yourself, that you can’t just sit here and throw a pity party all week. But damn it, it’s been a while.

You just need a little time. Soon, you’ll be back on your feet, you tell yourself. You’ll bounce back, just like always. You’ve never failed before.

But what if you do? What if you fail yourself, fail the boys? Fail your family, yet again? You want to curl up and never move for the rest of your life. The craggy void of failure at your feet has you nearly paralyzed, afraid to misstep. Afraid to get that last strike and finally be sent home.

You groan. You’re so exhausted and frustrated of picking yourself apart like this. There's no point in agonizing over what ifs.

You’re here. You’ve arrived at rock bottom. Now the question is where to go?

It feels eerily calm as you sit up in bed and survey your surroundings. No noise pierces the utter stillness of your bedroom apart from your own breathing. It’s stifling.

By now, it has to have been at least a full day since you came upstairs, right? You feel like you’ve been laying on this bed for ages. You grab your ComGear to check the time, and whimper in despair.

It’s only noon. About two hours since the meeting.

After another brief bout of agony at this revelation, you take a second look at the screen and are surprised to see over a hundred notifications. You expect it to be due to the group chat, but a fair amount of them are actually from your clients. You don’t bother to open each conversation, but merely look over their previews - the most recent messages they sent you.

[   Kim Seokjin   ]: please try to get some rest, alright? [  Jung Hoseok  ]: I’m sorry… truly. please enjoy your time off. [     Park Jimin    ]: just let me know! ^^; [  Kim Namjoon  ]: Promise. [    Min Yoongi    ]: you know where to find me [  Kim Taehyung ]: enjoy your vacation, jagiya~ ♡ [ Jeon Jungkook ]: are you coming down for lunch?

All of them messaged you, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. It hurts to see them pretend like everything’s fine and see if that makes it better somehow. It looks like most of them didn’t even try to apologize for what they did to you. Maybe you really aren’t that important to them after all.

Could they see through your attempts to befriend them all this time? Did all of their kindness to you mean nothing? Is that how they treat all of their employees?

You feel tears threatening again, and you wish you had a friend to talk to about all this.

Then it occurs to you that maybe… you do.

You flick over to the group chat, where you see that the other PhysComs are now talking about some webtoon and sending memes to each other. You tap on Sascha’s profile again. The same page greets you, the same blank profile picture and call button as before.

Yeji had said that the chat was real. If that's true, then the people in it must be who they claim they are, right? You do trust Yeji’s word, but you need to find out for yourself. You’ll never be able to fully accept this undercover group chat as a reliable resource until you know for sure.

Hey, if you’re suspended anyway, what’s the harm right? What are they going to do, fire you?

You bark out a sob of a laugh, and your finger hits the button before you can stop yourself. Yes, this might be a bad idea, and yes, you shouldn’t risk putting yourself out there on the hope that it’ll connect you to a friend, but you need to know the truth. You’ll feel better if you know that there’s still someone in this world that truly understands you.

It rings. And rings.

As the ominous buzzing stretches on through the silence, your worry starts to return. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. If the chat room is somehow compromised, you might have just given yourself away, someone high up in the industry could be tracking your location at this very moment from your cell signal or something, or maybe-

“Hello?” Sascha’s voice rings clear as a bell through the phone, and you almost start crying right then and there with relief.

“Sascha?” You can barely utter her name as all your memories of training together hit you like a sucker punch in your already fragile state.

“Oh! Hey, sweetie! How’s it going?” she replies in her chipper way, a smile in her tone.

“... It’s really you,” you whisper, pressing your fist to your pursed lips to keep your emotions at bay. “Sasch.”

“Of course it’s me, silly goose.” Her laugh is bright and airy, just like you remember it. “Who else would it be?”

You wait a beat, scouring your mind for a test to prove your paranoia wrong, just in case. “What… what did I give to you on our last day together?” You ask imperatively, waiting with bated breath for her answer.

It was not something either of you would easily forget, though most people probably would. It’s also the best test you can think of, as anyone else would assume such an important day would go hand in hand with a meaningful keepsake or an important gift.

“A sandwich,” she laughs. “Pastrami and mustard on rye. You shared it with me to celebrate reaching our target weight that month. Though you never let me pay you back. I would have preferred ham, you know.”

Your shoulders visibly relax. It’s Sascha, all right. Compliments and complaints in the same breath. It’s as if hearing her voice, hearing the confirmation that it’s really her, turns on a faucet inside you that had long since dried up.

“Sascha… so much has happened.”

You didn’t fully realize how lonely and isolated you’ve been until this very moment, now that you have some true company. Your story comes spilling out, every sordid detail, and Sascha listens attentively to what you have to say, just like she used to during your training days.

“So, now I’m in my room, and… I don’t even know how I’m going to get through today, let alone a whole week,” you confess, hugging your stuffed rabbit to your chest.

“Let me get this straight.” A while into the call, you’d switched to video chat, and Sascha appears to be doing some yoga stretches while catching up with you. “You have seven men in that house, all of whom you’re supposed to pleasure sexually, and they’re giving you a paid break from pleasuring them?”

You nod. “Awful, isn’t it?”

Sascha’s face twists. “You know, I think you may be viewing this all wrong.”

Your brows furrow. “Excuse me?”

“Hear me out for a second,” she continues, now angling her warrior pose so she’s facing her camera. “When was the last time you had a real break?” She quirks an eyebrow, dipping out of frame to switch poses, her blonde hair spilling over one shoulder in a loose braid. “One where you didn’t even think about work?”

You stare blankly at the camera. You’ve had no such days. You’re always looking to improve yourself to maintain your high marks. “Um…”

Sascha laughs and flashes you a fond smile. “You were the same way in training. You know how many days a week I work?”

You feel shame start to curl in your gut. “How many?”

“Three,” she replies. “And the reason why is because we have like six Primary PCs here at the dorm.” She blows a stray lock of hair out of her face. “There are thirteen boys to satisfy at any given moment, so we each only tackle two to three at a time, and our coverage is considered thin! Most groups have at least one Primary per client.” She reaches down to touch her toes, her ass shimmying in the air, and you snort. “And that’s not even counting our Secondaries! We're practically a fucking harem over here!”

You sigh, chewing on your lip crankily. “What’s your point?”

She pokes her head up to shoot you an equally cranky glare. “Remind me, how many boys do you tackle?”

“Seven,” you mumble. You know what she’s getting at, but it’s something you don’t want to admit, even to yourself. Maybe… objectively… you do need a break, even if you don’t want one. Maybe you’ve been overworking yourself, biting off - or in this case, perhaps swallowing - more than you can chew.

“Right! That’s half the amount of our clients. Doing the math, you should have at least three Primaries there, but it’s just you.” You see Sascha’s leg rise up behind her in some sort of bizarre stretch, and her voice sounds strained with the effort of holding the pose. “I’m not saying you can’t handle it, babes. I’m just saying that... you do a lot for them. Maybe this will be good for you.”

Hearing someone put it so rationally makes you feel like maybe you’ve been overreacting. Namjoon did tell Yeji he wants to keep you, but it all still seems... off, somehow.

“What about the whole vote thing? And Namjoon’s deal?” You bring up your last few defenses at her argument, your hand resting subconsciously on the pocket of your belt containing the key to his studio.

“Oh no, that’s all highly suspicious.” Sascha blows a lock of hair out of her face as she comes back up and lifts her arms over her head. “But what’s happened has already happened. So I think you should make the best of it, and take this time to rejuvenate yourself. Just keep an eye out, and if those bastards try anything, you send them to me.”

You laugh. “Rejuvenate? How am I supposed to do that?” You roll your eyes at her playfully. “Yoga?”

Sascha props a hand on her hip. “Don’t joke. Yoga is a very valid form of rejuvenation.”

You giggle at her stoicism and she cracks a smile too before continuing. “But seriously, honey! It breaks my heart that you’ve been working so hard, you don’t even remember how to have fun. Come on, what did you do in your training days to relax?”

You think back and try to remember. Most of your memories from training are a blur of hard work, endless studying and practice. You’re about to confess that you really have no idea, when a single memory breaks to the surface, and like a dam, it releases a flood of other times you’d taken breaks. Sneaking out to get snacks, late night adventures, stargazing on the rooftop, all of the rare little pockets of time that you could call your own, and they all had one connecting factor.

“Music,” you breathe, feeling like you just stepped out of a time warp. “Listening to music, really, really loudly.”

Sascha laughs, a proud smile adorning her dimpled cheeks. “I think you know how to kick off your vacation, then.”

You find yourself grinning, too. “Thanks, Sasch.” You feel like maybe you should stay on the line a bit longer. You two really have some catching up to do, even though once you’d started talking, it had felt like no time had passed since you’d last seen her.

But Sascha makes your decision for you, blowing you a kiss. “There are tons of music streaming apps. Go crazy. And call me if you need anything, okay?”

The simple act of her being supportive of your wellbeing has you feeling overwhelmed all over again, but this time, it’s not from emotional distress. “Thanks, Sascha. Same to you.”

You’re about to end the call when you hear a door open on Sascha’s end of the line. She looks off camera and a smile pops up on her face. “Antione, come over here!” She yells, running off screen and returning a moment later, dragging a boy behind her, who seems to be grumbling in protest of her manhandling. “Antione, say hi! This is Antione from the group chat.”

The guy seems more than a little ticked off at Sascha, but when he catches sight of you on the screen, his mouth falls open.

“Oh… hello.” He flashes a smile, and his icy blue eyes are now filled with wonderment. “You’re the Primary for BTS?”

“Hi,” You wave a little awkwardly. “Yup, that’s me.” You can’t help noticing how strikingly similar he and Sascha look. With those crystal eyes and buttery blonde hair, you could mistake them for twins, the only difference being Antione’s thinly framed glasses next to Sascha’s 20/20 vision. But you suppose he wouldn’t really need glasses to have sex, they’d surely get knocked around or broken if he left them on. He probably wears contacts for work.

In fact, his similar appearance to his coworker can’t be a coincidence, especially if they’re both Primaries for their clients, and it leads you to believe that perhaps all of their Primaries bear a resemblance to each other, so that any combination of fuck dolls could be considered a set. From this, you suspect that their clients may be into incestuous role play, or perhaps they like the idea of fucking someone’s “sibling”.

Not concrete evidence, but it’s not a far reach. You’ve seen plenty of stranger kinks.

You’ll have to ask Sascha about it on your next call with her, as you’re sure she’ll ask you more about what things your clients usually request of you. With one girl among seven men, she might presume that they enjoy gangbanging you.

She wouldn’t be wrong, of course.

Kink talk was a common pastime among your peers during your training. You all had been trained to analyze a person, what makes them tick, and how it’s related to their psyche. It had always fascinated you from an academic standpoint, even though some of your fellow trainees would prefer hearing about the dirtiest cases, regardless of the psychological factors that went into it.

“Is all going well? You feeling any better about all this?” Antione’s kind voice tears you out of your thoughts, and you give him a brief, grateful smile.

“I’m getting there,” you reply. “Thank you for all your help. It’s been… a lot to take in, and I’m glad that you recognized that, and helped me ease into it.”

“Not a problem. I’ve been in that position before, and it takes some adjusting, for sure,” he replies.

“That’s what she said.” Sascha snickers. “Alright, stop flirting, you two!” She shoves Antione offscreen, and the boy yelps at once again being pushed around. “Call me if you need me, babes! Have fun! Bye!”

Sascha reaches over and ends the call, and you’re once more on your own. But you don’t feel as isolated as before.

As long as you have your ComGear, you’ll never be alone again.

The thought makes you feel warm inside, though you scold yourself for being so sentimental. You need to recharge, or how did Sascha put it? Rejuvenate.

It doesn’t take long for you to find a decent music streaming app, though it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the buzzing as your clients keep messaging you. You realize that the notifications might interrupt your music once it starts playing, so you reluctantly open all their chat threads, only to mute them.

There. Now it won’t buzz anymore. They shouldn’t care if you left them on read. They want you to rest, right? You huff derisively and start searching the vast music library, trying to recall what you used to listen to back in the day to pump yourself up.

It dawns on you while you browse that you haven’t listened to any music for the past six months, apart from whatever the boys are rehearsing at any given time. The sound always reaches you whenever they practice, even if they’re rooms away. Though their songs aren’t too bad, they’re still not something you had chosen to listen to.

You hadn’t taken any time to be yourself, since you were so busy trying to be what they want from you.

You feel a vague sort of sadness when you think about it like that, imagining it happening to someone else, but you’re too subjective of the situation to really feel sad for yourself. You hadn’t take time for yourself, however you still climbed the ranks, earned their favor, became their only Primary. You’d achieved your goals.

But at what cost, asks a little voice in your head. What did you lose to win your dream job?

And are you even happy with it? Or is it just the satisfaction that you crave? The satisfaction that you would feel after achieving any other goal? The satisfaction of a job well done?

You shake your head. Whoa there. Too deep.

This is the most mental airspace you’ve had in forever, and it’s starting to show.

You don’t waste any more time trying to remember your old favorites, and instead tap on a “Hot 100 Hits” playlist. It’ll be interesting to see what people are listening to now. Maybe you’ll find some new favorites.

Sure enough, the first song that comes on is a pop rock tune, with a catchy beat and heavy drums. It makes you bob your head and you feel a surge of instant regret at not making more time for music. You’d forgotten how it can take you somewhere else, clear your mind and help you forget all your worries in a way that sex never can.

You’re a bit jarred when the lyrics kick in, though. They don’t rhyme at all, and they seem a little… stilted, like a robot is trying to sing. Damn, is this what kids are listening to these days? You knew that those singing hologram voice programs used to be a thing, but this seems almost unintentional.

You check the screen and sure enough, it’s a Korean title staring back up at you.

Your auditory auto-translation chip is changing the song into verbatim English.

You start to laugh. The unintended consequence strikes you as ridiculous. It seems that reminders of your job are everywhere.

With a sigh of exasperation, you head into the settings of your ComGear and access the language screen. You turn off the auditory auto-translation, and the song reverts back to the original lyrics, which are much easier on the ears.

Now that that’s taken care of, you turn the music on full blast and stand up.

Alright. Music, check. Now... how to leisure?

You look around and assess your room. It’s relatively tidy, and cleaning it won’t take more than ten minutes. You could work out, you have plenty of equipment. But that’s what you usually do on your days off. Improve yourself for work the next day.

What would Sascha say? Maybe… guilty pleasures? You put your mind to coming up with the most self-indulgent thing you can imagine.

Of course, you immediately think of chocolate.

But you’re not really hungry. To be honest, your stomach is still a little knotted up from the meeting.

Maybe not that kind of self-indulgence. You’ll just feel guilty afterwards. Maybe… maybe something pointless. Something that’s fun just for the sake of being fun.

You whirl around and take a long look at your bed as the music sweeps into the chorus.

Fuck, why not? Who’s going to stop you?

You climb onto the mattress and start jumping. You feel pretty silly at first, but the longer you jump, the lighter your worries feel. It’s as if you’re leaving them in the air with every bounce. The music blasts from your night table and you get a little bolder with your jumps, really putting power into them.

You’re lucky you have high ceilings, as you go higher and higher, you could swear you’re flying. You start to laugh, throwing some twirls into your leaps, and as the music blares, you sing along, off-key and with nonsensical phonetic lyrics.

Your cheeks hurt by the end of the song, and you’re out of breath, giggles falling from your lips as you finally jump down into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

When was the last time you jumped on the bed like this? Must have been when you were young, with your sister.

You feel the same dull ache you always feel when you think of her, though you normally make it a point not to do so. The memory must have slipped past your defenses while you were enjoying yourself.

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t hear the insistent pounding at your door, the music and thick walls muffling the sound. You had mistaken the noise for part of the lyrics, as they sounded like gibberish to you. But finally you noticed the person trying to get your attention, and you hurry over to the door as they continue to speak in tongues.

“Neo geogi an-e issni? Yah, mun-eul yeol-eola.”

You pull open the door and are met with the unreadable face of Min Yoongi.

“Gwaenchanh-a? Jeonhwaleul an bad-eusyeossneyo.” He continues to drawl in gibberish, and you merely stare at him, immensely confused.

It clicks for you a moment later, and you hold up a finger to him. “Um, hana… uh, shit, one sec.”

He gives you an equally confused look, and you hasten back to your ComGear to turn the auto-translate back on as well as pause the music. “There, that should do it.” You turn around to see him peering curiously at you.

“You were speaking English,” he says it halfway between a question and a statement. He must be used to hearing you speaking auto-translated Korean, just like you’re used to hearing his words in English.

“Yeah... I forgot to turn my translator back on.” You explain halfheartedly, your shields already locking back into their familiar place. It was a nice, if brief, moment of total freedom, just jumping around to music, but the carefree bubble has popped, and you're once more faced with reality.

Yoongi's eyebrow raises at the mention of the technology, but he merely shrugs a shoulder.

A few awkward moments of silence pass before you realize that he isn't going to explain himself on his own. Something about that, about the expectation for you to move things along, has your hackles raised in irritation.

Just like always, he's expecting you to do all the work.

"Did you need something?" You try to stay professional, even now, but you can't keep the edge out of your voice. All traces of your previous enjoyment have shriveled up and vanished in the face of the man who told your other clients that you were something replaceable.

He prods his cheek with his tongue, his face mask shifting from where it rests below his lips. "You weren't answering your phone," he says by way of an answer.

You stare at him, already growing weary of this interaction. Does he expect you to be as accessible as you were before? You don't plan on contacting any of them if you can help it, at least, not for right now.

Wait, did Namjoon tell them what happened? He must have. But if he didn't, then maybe that's why Yoongi is here. There’s no point in having any more misunderstandings; you have to make the situation clear.

"I'm suspended." Your voice grows quiet, and you look off into the hallway, shame coloring your cheeks. You know you shouldn't be, but you still feel a sting from vocalising your current demotion.

Yoongi gives a hum of affirmation, confirming that he already knew, as his eyes roam over your body. "Forbidden fruit..."

You tense, your body reacting involuntarily to his offhand comment as heat rushes to your core. Your most primal senses want him to give into the temptation and pin you against the wall... No, snap out of it. You’re still mad at him, no matter how attractive he may be.

But thankfully the moment of tension passes just as quickly, and his gaze returns to your face. "It’s a shame I already ate, unlike some people.” A flicker of humor in his eyes. “Here."

He hands you a paper bag, with a takeout logo on the front. You can't do anything but stare at it. It seems that your processors are still down for maintenance.

“You didn’t have breakfast.” Yoongi finally says, after it becomes clear you aren’t saying anything. “You’ve been up here since the meeting.”

It finally dawns on you, though the logical conclusion seems hard to believe. “You were… concerned about me?”

He tugs the face mask up over his mouth, concealing most of his expression. “Jungkook,” he corrects you with a slight cough. “He sent me up here. Poor kid was worried sick about you.”

You hesitate to take the food, even though your stomach is curling with hunger. Is this an attempted peace offering? Does he think this will make things better?

Before you can question his motives, he sighs and shoves the bag towards you. “Take it. You still have to eat, you know.”

You’re tired of fighting, and take the path of least resistance by accepting the bag. “Thanks,” you say, half-hoping that this will be the end of it and he’ll just leave. But the other half still holds the whimsical notion that he actually cared enough to check up on you.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi shrugs again, looking off to the side.

You'd only ever known Min Yoongi as a salacious dom, stuffing you full and showering you in filthy praises. It feels surreal to be standing here now, holding a normal conversation.

After another moment, it becomes clear that his business here isn’t finished, and quite frankly, you’re getting impatient. “Is there anything else?”

At this, he seems to remember his reason for coming. “Ah, yeah. Can I come in?”

Into your room? You blink in dismay, the answer should be obvious to him. “No.”

You think you can see his mouth lift into a smile beneath the mask. “Good. That’s the spirit.” He gives a slight nod, as if appraising your disobedience.

You aren’t sure if this is normal behavior for him, as you’ve barely spoken to him out of character. You know probing him about it will only drag out this interaction, but your curiosity gets the better of you. “What… what are you talking about?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m just glad to see that you have some backbone. You’re usually so willing to follow orders.”

You bristle at this. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he says, lifting an eyebrow. It would have looked like a challenge if it had been more deliberate, but the way Yoongi carries himself is effortlessly casual and careless. "He gave you his key, right?"

It takes you a moment to discern that he’s talking about Namjoon. You nod once, and he scoffs.

"I knew he would. Poetic bastard." Yoongi sighs, then fixes his gaze to you once more. “That means I have to share my studio with him until all this is fixed.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

You aren’t sure how to reply, or if he’s even looking for one. If he wants an apology from you, he’s out of luck. Namjoon’s questionable decisions are not your fault.

But he doesn’t wait for any words from you, and instead turns around to go back downstairs. “Anyway, enjoy your break.”

“Wait.” You aren’t sure why you stop him. Maybe because he doesn’t seem like the type to bullshit you. “Min Yoongi.”

He pauses and looks over his shoulder at the sound of his name, an indiscernible expression in his eyes.

Your resolve turns to steel, using the last ounce of your strength to try and get some answers. “Tell me what’s going on. Why is he doing this?”

Yoongi glances up to the ceiling as though thinking of what to say.

His next words do not inspire confidence.

“I have no fucking idea.”

Your shoulders slump down a fraction. You aren’t sure you believe him, but it’s too much effort to hope for anything beyond his word. You can’t handle any more disappointment right now.

Yoongi scratches the side of his temple and gives a weary sigh. “If I could look inside his mind, then maybe I’d have a clue...” He stares at you intently, and his gaze trails down over your body again. You resist the urge to cover yourself, though now you realize you don’t have to resist. Your body doesn’t belong to him right now, and it won’t for the next several days.

Your arms cross themselves protectively over your chest, testing the waters of your newfound independence. “My eyes are up here, byeongsin.”

His eyes widen a fraction at your cheek. He tugs the face mask down below his chin again, a bewildered smile twitching onto his face, no doubt surprised to hear you cursing him out in Korean. “Who taught you that?”

“Taehyung.” You smirk, proud of yourself for catching him off guard for once. You remember when Tae had told you how surreal it sounded to hear you swearing in his language.

“Doesn’t it sound the same?” You ask him, confusion furrowing your brow. “The translator…”

Taehyung shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear and practically bouncing from excitement. “It sounds different! Like… like you have an accent,” he giggles. “Say it again.”

“Shibal.” You repeat the word hesitantly, the syllables feeling strange on your tongue. Mouth shapes for Korean are so different compared to English.

Taehyung bursts into a fit of laughter, clutching his sides as he rolls onto his back. You whack him with a couch cushion. “That’s not fair! You already know all the English profanities.”

Tae’s eyes dance with laughter as he sits back up. “All thanks to Namjoon-hyung. Shit, bastard, damn it to hell, and of course...” He sticks out his tongue, running it over his lips. “Fuck you.”

There’s a flutter in your stomach from the look he’s giving you. You snort and whack him with the pillow again. “Yup, you got all the highlights.”

His hand slides over your thigh. You meet his gaze, that flutter returning as you see the lust swirling like smoke in his pupils. “Jagiya...” His hand grazes farther up your thigh. “I want to fuck you.”

Things had obviously escalated after that, and you might have gotten lost in the memories if Yoongi hadn’t let out a low chuckle, bringing you back to the moment. “Wow. What else did he teach you?”

You grin, about to let loose a string of foul language, but he holds up a hand before you can, waving off whatever you’re about to say. “Nah, forget it. Leave it a surprise.”

“I’m full of them, you know.” You can’t help feeling a little proud.

“I know.” He stares at you for another moment before turning and heading downstairs. “Make sure to eat,” he calls over his shoulder, and soon enough his footsteps fade away.

A warm feeling fills your chest in his absence, and you can’t quite explain why. His last words prove that he must care about you a little, even if he doesn’t try to show it. The Yoongi you just spoke with feels like a completely different person than the one you overheard in the kitchen. Different even than the one at dinner, who suggested Seokjin should use another slut in your absence.

The memory taints the feeling of warmth, and you sigh. Why are things so fucking complicated?

You head back into your room and devour the takeout with less grace than would be expected for a seductress such as yourself, and mindlessly scroll through your ComGear, which is now more of a standard cellphone, exploring all the newly accessible features.

You’ve missed a lot of news, both locally and globally. Celebrity gossip. Politics. Entertainment.

Wait, whoa. What?

New Witness “B” Comes Forward About Sexual Manipulation in the K-Pop Industry

Sorry, what?

You click the article, your mind reeling with morbid fascination. Why would there still be any “manipulation” now that groups are given PhysComs? Why would they need any other sexual outlet, when they’re given vessels that are willing to serve?

  Our witness, who wishes to remain anonymous, has independently corroborated with Witness A’s story. “B” has told us that, like “A”, they weren’t given a choice when it came to filming private sessions with their clients.

  “[Group] told me that it was my job. That it was what I was there for. But they filmed me without my consent. They posted the videos online and made money from it. It’s not right. I got out, but there are still others like me who need help. It shouldn’t matter that sex work is against the law. What these people are doing, taking advantage of us… it should be just as illegal. We need a voice, too.”

  You may recall that Witness A’s shocking story from earlier this month sparked rumors about illegal sexual companions being provided to entertainment companies, a practice which up until now had been considered hearsay.

  However, with this new testimony, it seems that “A” may have had some truth to their story. We tried to contact [Group]’s agency, but they were unavailable for comment.

Holy shit… you had no idea any of this was happening. Thinking on it, it stands to reason that not every PhysCom is treated equally, given the vast multitude of people who have access to them. But where are these PhysComs’ handlers? Why aren’t their networks helping them?

You find polarizing comments beneath the article, most angry that the companies would allow the sex work to take place, very few praising B’s decision to speak out, and some disbelieving that PhysComs even exist. There are also a few very lengthy comments that catch your eye, demonizing the witnesses and making threats towards other companies, should the commenter’s “oppas” be caught in this scandal, too.

You feel uneasy as you click away from the article. The rest of the takeout is put away in your mini fridge, your appetite gone as you try to make sense of things.

That article gives you the feeling that something is happening, not just here in this house, but in the world. Like floating pieces of a magnetic puzzle, you know they’ll all come together somehow, eventually, but you still can’t see the big picture.

You send the article to the group chat, and they confirm that they’ve seen it.

[ PCsv02_svt  ]: scary, right? TT-TT [ PCsv02_svt  ]: I don’t know what I’d do if I were them, poor thing [ PCsv03_twc ]: they should’ve gone to the police [ PCsv04_blp  ]: why did they wait until now to come forward? [ PCsv03_twc ]: if my clients ever treated me badly I would have done something [ PCsv09_$px ]: it’s not always that simple [ PCsv01_svt  ]: yes consider the repercussions… [ PCsv01_svt  ]: an illegal sex worker reporting nonconsensual sex? [ PCsv01_svt  ]: that’s like a robber reporting another robbery

You mull over this as you let them debate the topic. You imagine what it must be like to be in that position, taken advantage of by your clients… you shiver at the cold injustice of it.

There is a certain degree of trust that's employed in any kind of sex work. You're still offering intimacy in some form, which can't be fully given without trust. It must be utterly horrific to see that trust broken and be unable to stop it.

You want to help these people somehow, but right now you need to help yourself. One sea of turmoil at a time.

You click out of the chat and switch to each conversation with your clients, copy and pasting the same message to each of them.

Please don't contact me for the rest of the day. I need time alone.

Since you're suspended, you figure they can't punish you for making yourself unavailable. Though it pains you to think of them relying on the other PhysComs at their disposal. Seokjin already has. You forcibly push away the thoughts every time they bounce against your mind.

With the boys out of the way, you assess your options. You need more information about what the hell is happening, and the most likely place you'll find it is obvious. What did Yoongi say? If he could look inside Namjoon's mind… then he'd have an idea.

You happen to have the key to his mind right in your belt.

-------

It's surprisingly difficult to sneak out of the house without alerting anyone. You left your door locked and music blaring. Between that and the text you sent, you thought leaving from your window would be a piece of cake.

You neglected to account for the height.

Your room is on the third story, too far to jump without damaging yourself. Thankfully, you've seen enough movies to have the idea of fashioning a rope out of extra bed sheets. Unfortunately, bed sheets are not the best rope material. Too slippery.

You mull over what to do for a few moments, and you laugh out loud when you realize that the solution is absurdly simple. Hello? You have literal ropes in among your sex toys. Even better, they're designed not to give the user rope burn, while still knotting like a dream.

It doesn't take long to shimmy down from your window to ground level, and you stash the end of the rope behind some bushes, planning to use it later to return to your forbidden tower.

Disguised in a hoodie, you feel like a spy in an action movie, or a runaway princess, and the thought makes you giggle as you make your way towards the nearest subway station.

It's been too long since you've ventured out of the house. You had nearly forgotten how invigorating the bustle of the city could be. You feel like you’re breathing fresh air for the first time in ages, though the pollution in the distant sky would say otherwise.

It only takes a quick search on your jailbroken ComGear to find the address of the building where Namjoon's studio is located. BigHit Entertainment.

You'll have to be careful not to encounter the others. They probably frequent their record label, and the last thing you need is to bump into one of them. You would have no explanation for yourself as to why you're here. You'd rather avoid the questions.

Unfortunately, it proves harder than you’d think to get into the building. A fingerprint ID scanner meets you just inside the auxiliary door.

Fuck. It’s too much to hope that they have your prints in their database, right? You place your thumb over the scanner, and it buzzes, the sensor light turning red. No go.

Well shit, what are you supposed to do now? You’ve come all this way, and you wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Namjoon’s stupid key.

Wait, why the hell did he give you the key if he knew you couldn’t get into the building? Bastard. You groan and kick at the base of the door. You try your prints again, but none of your fingers grant you access, the scanner buzzing mockingly with each failed attempt.

You’re about to give up when you hear a voice behind you. “Here, let me.”

You swivel around and see Jeon Jungkook place his thumb on the scanner, a to-go cup in his hand and a duffle bag on his shoulder. The light turns green and the door whooshes aside to let him in. The lift in his brows tells you he recognizes you through your flimsy disguise, but he merely gestures for you to go ahead. You sheepishly walk through, knowing better than to question this stroke of good fortune.

Or bad fortune, as it turns out.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook asks quietly, once you two are inside the sleek lobby. "You said you wanted to be left alone."

"I did," you confirm huffily, still embarrassed about your struggle to get inside the building. "I do."

"Then... why are you here?" He takes a look around the lobby, where a handful of people are milling about. “It’s not really a good place for being alone.”

You chew your lip. This is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you. You consider coming up with a story, but it occurs to you that you don't actually know where Namjoon's studio is located inside the building. You’ll need a guide.

"Namjoon said I could use his studio," you explain, deciding to include as few details as possible about your reasons for being here.

"For what?" His brow furrows.

Why all the questions? You’ve always thought of Jungkook as timid, more the type to stay out of the way if someone is up to something, rather than grilling them. But for all you know, maybe he gets assertive in the workplace. It doesn’t matter. You have bigger concerns right now. "To release my first single, obviously,” you snark, crossing your arms. "Look, I’m here for research, okay? You can either help me, or stay out of my way."

His eyes widen. He's never heard you speak to him as yourself, let alone this brazenly. But to your surprise, he nods. “Okay. What can I do to help?”

Well, damn. You didn’t think he would actually agree. It could be that he wants to report what you do to the other boys, acting like a spy. But you’re only here because Namjoon gave you that key. He can’t fault you for using the collateral that he gave you, right?

Fuck it, you’re tired of second guessing. Now is the time for action. Fuck the consequences.

“Where’s Namjoon’s studio?” You ask him, an edge in your voice. “Show me.”

Jungkook hesitates for only a moment, and then nods. He looks wary, almost nervous, and you have to wonder why. Even with your confidant demands, he still has the power in this situation, as always. You’re a nobody who couldn’t even get in the door without his help, and he actually works here. He could have you thrown out, if he wanted.

The thought sends a bolt of worry right to your chest, and you decide to do everything you can to not remind him of that fact.

After a strangely tense elevator ride, Jungkook silently leads you down several corridors until you come across a frosted glass door.

“Here,” he says, gesturing towards the door.

“This is it?” You ask to confirm, and he nods.

You take a deep breath and retrieve the key from your belt. His eyes widen as you slot the key into the lock, and with a gentle twist, the handle turns.

“Where-” Jungkook’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, and you turn around to shush him.

“It was a gift,” you explain icily. “Now, if you’re going to help me, then stay right here and make sure no one comes in, got it?”

His lips purse in suspicion and his eyes narrow, but he nods. “Fine.”

Satisfied, you turn back to the door, and it’s only then that you notice the keypad beneath the lock. Clearly the silver key Namjoon gave you isn’t the only way into his studio, as he had previously implied. Some collateral.

More and more doubts fill your thoughts, but you have no energy left to hesitate as you carefully pull the door open and slip inside their leader’s forbidden sanctuary.

-------

It’s much smaller than you thought. Really, only the size of your walk-in closet.

The silence in the room is palpable, the only noise stemming from the gentle purr of electronics. Your gaze gets stuck on all the collectibles he has on display, all around the room, in glass cases and on shelves. Mickey Mouse bodies, with skulls and crossbones for heads. Everything is black, white, and shades of gray.

They make up the only distraction in the room, but they’re everywhere.

You then notice the only clear surface, or relatively clear, as his desk, opposite the door. A grand computer screen sits front and center, with various equipment stacked around it, and a piano keyboard on a tray beneath the glass desktop.

You hasten across the carpeting, and gingerly pull out his desk chair, plush leather with a high back, ergonomically designed.

It feels like a siren will go off at any moment. You aren’t supposed to be here. You’re intruding.

But you need answers. He gave you the key.

You shake off your sense of foreboding and sit down, swiveling yourself into place. A quick shake of the mouse wakes up his computer.

Fuck.

You need a password. Of course. Nothing in your life can be simple.

After a few moments of muttering and seething in frustration, you try to calm down. Okay, so maybe this won’t be an in and out procedure, maybe this will take a little more thought.

Okay, think, think… what would he use for his password?

“It’s ‘monimoni0613’.”

The voice scares you shitless, and you swivel around to see Jungkook poking his head in the door. He gives you a half smile. “And that’s in Korean. You want help?”

You clutch your chest. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that!” You snap at him, though he doesn’t seem particularly intimidated. How does Namjoon even work with his back to the door like this? You’d be constantly looking over your shoulder. Is he really that trusting of people?

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your answer and comes inside, letting the door fall gently shut behind him. “It’s after his dog,” he says, leaning over you to access the keyboard and quickly type in the password. He smells like shampoo.

Your heart picks up the pace as he hovers over you, his eyes trained on the screen. He’s only inches away from you, his necklace dangles in front of your face in a way that you should not find tantalizing.

“His dog’s name is Moni?” You ask, trying to tell your heart to kindly get a grip. You’re on a mission, no time for horniness.

“Well, ah… yeah. Let’s go with that.” Jungkook makes a slight noise of triumph as the computer unlocks, Namjoon's desktop wallpaper greeting you - yet another skull-headed Mickey.

"Wait, how do you know his password?" You can't help but ask. After the ordeal you went through just to get to his inner sanctum, this feels too easy.

"He lets me use his computer sometimes, for gaming, and stuff…" the boy trails off, looking elsewhere as though embarrassed.

"Okay…" You stare at him. "Thanks for helping."

"You're welcome."

There's an awkward silence.

"Go wait outside." You say.

"Yup." He ducks back out of the room, leaving you to your investigating once more.

You exhale once you're alone again. Okay, where to start? You scan his desktop, but the icons are surprisingly neat. A few programs, a few shortcuts, a few folders, all of which prove fruitless.

The folders contain music program files of what appear to be songs still in the works. Although interesting, not really what you're looking for.

Jesus, how could he trust you with all this? You could leak these to the public. You could sell them, and never have to worry about job security again...

He must be fucking desperate to put his entire career in your hands.

Just like your career currently rests in his own.

You shake off the idea of selling the insider information. Although tempting, right now all you really want is answers as to why the fuck he's doing any of this in the first place. Why did he suspend you? Why did things stop? You had a spotless record up until last night, so… what changed?

You check his recent files next, and happen to find exactly what you're looking for.

Theory - draft for proposal

Seems like a solid lead.

You click the link, and a word document opens up. Unfortunately in Korean.

Of course. Of course he would write in his native language, and of course, it’s only your ComGear that translates messages from the boys, you don’t have bionic vision. There are a few random English words scattered here and there, but not nearly enough to make heads or tails of what the document is about. You could use an online translator, but you need a full understanding of this material, there’s no room for error here.

Should you ask Jungkook? No, you should not. He seems innocent enough, but your sense of self-preservation now overrides any trust you might have once given him. You bite back a groan of frustration and instead mutter a few choice expletives through a heavy, weary sigh.

Then you get an idea.

If your ComGear is what usually does your translating, why not just send this there?

You fumble to highlight the document, then copy it and head over to Namjoon’s email. Yikes. Lots and lots of unread. Well, you can’t blame him with his hectic schedule. You skip over a couple of emails at the top that appear to be from law firms, and instead click to compose a new message.

Fuck, this will leave a trail, won’t it? If he checks his sent emails, he’ll see that you saw… whatever this turns out to be.

It doesn’t matter. He gave you access to this room. He knew the potential consequences.

You paste the body of the document, type in your email address and hit send. Not moments later, there’s a chime on your ComGear, and sure enough, an email has arrived. You don’t get much correspondence these days, apart from your network. Well, your old network. Now your phone constantly has notifications from the chatroom. It feels strangely comforting.

Without another moment’s hesitation, you tap the email and anxiously wait for it to load, praying that the automatic translation feature doesn’t fail you now.

Soon, the English text appears, and your worries are put to rest within the first line.

We must build a brighter future for PhysComs.

[matty9370]

Misogyny & 1D Shipping

Misogyny and ziam / larry shipping go hand in hand.

 Misogyny's an 'entrenched prejudice against women' it’s more subtle than systematic sexism. It’s finding fault in what women do all the while excusing men. "Misogyny" is personalised, intrusive and often sexualised. And what makes the misogyny I’m about to talk about more repulsive & potent is that “hatred” and “prejudice” is coming from a group of young women aka“The Shippers”.

One Tumblr/Twitter/YouTube/Instagram post after another the names and places, dates and scenario’s might change but the narrative is identical:

The woman is the attention and/or money whore revelling in playing the beard while the closet man is the vulnerable victim being “forced” into a web of lies by the invisible men in suits!

Even when the "beards” in question have their own fortune and fame they’re STILL relegated to ruthless predatory media whores. Taylor Swift and Gigi, for example, are at the top of their game, yet they were/are using Harry & Zayn.

Gigi ...

who grew up in an $85 million custom built mansion in the hills of Bel Air to a  billionaire developer father and a supermodel/reality TV star mom

whose personal net worth exceeds $45 million,

who's been modelling designer labels since the age of 2

who's raised with the who's who children of Hollywood A listers

whose stepdad was an Oscar & grammy winning producer

who year in, year out makes Forbes most lucrative models list

is with Zayn for his fame and money? 

Of all the men in Hollywood Gigi would pursue and continue a relationship with for PR she’d select one of the most reclusive, introverted and private men in the music industry for that charade? Really?

And when her dad Mohammed reminded people that his daughter is with Zayn 'cause she loves him and is successful with or without him, Ziams ridiculously twisted his defence of his daughter as an attack on Zayn. How dare a father say his already millionaire daughter isn’t a gold-digger!

Now let’s go to Taylor Swift, a woman:

With a net worth close to half a BILLION dollars (quadruple that of Harry)

Who had already won multiple grammy’s and every music award there is to win,

Topped almost every chart in the world and whose songs and music video’s crash the internet

Who rose to fame without the aid of global TV show or the backing of a huge producer

Yet not only are Larries arguing she’d resort to being a beard, but ...wait for it... she had more to gain from faking a relationship with Harry Styles than he did from her!!

Take the Liam and Cheryle scenario, I can count in one hand the number of interviews where Cheryl even talks about her son or Liam. Yet during their relationship and even immediately after it Liam (positively) did countless interviews where he mentions her and their son. 

But if Ziams are right and she pursued the relationship for PR wouldn’t she be the one doing the talking? 

I also lost count of the number times I’ve read a post by a Ziam that “she’s after his money”, again if she’s contractually a beard and the baby is fake who’s she gonna pull that? 

“East, she’ll pimp the baby all over social media and get magazine deals", hands up if you’ve seen Bear’s face, no, anyone?

What’s weird is that Ziams are quick to dismiss Cheryl’s net worth of $40 million when they tell everyone she’s after Liam’s $50 million!!

Their next move is the ageism, “oh her biological clock was ticking so she used Liam to have a baby!” so now we’ve established she didn’t use her relationship for PR and she’s rich on her own right, so we’re gonna switch to her wanting a baby. There’s a thing called surrogacy, IVF and adoption.

If all Cheryl was after was a baby she could have gone for insemination as other celebs do!!

Spare a thought for poor Briana Jungworth! An ordinary girl who’s been inundated with hate throughout her pregnancy and long after it. And unlike Taylor, Gigi or Cheryl she doesn’t have fame and money to defend her herself or even her child’s paternity!!

Larries dumbfoundedly kept switching the narrative from her being a beard to her being a gold-digging groupie who purposefully got knocked up to milk Louis for everything he’s got. But which is it? If she’s a beard whose pregnancy is fake or whose son isn’t Louis’s how could she possibly milk him? If Freddie isn’t Louis son why would Louis have been splitting his time between LA and the UK as his mother was dying, to do what spend time with his beard and fake baby??

I said it before and I’ll say it again..

FOR A FAKE CLOSET GAY MALE STAR/BEARD THEORY TO BE TRUE THERE’S NO INSTIGATOR AND VICTIM. THERE’S SIMPLY TWO CONSENTING ADULTS AGREEING TO DECEIVE THE PUBLIC. IF THERE’S A CHILD INVOLVED IN THAT DECEPTION THAN THEY’RE BOTH CULPABLE! PERIOD!! NO BUTS, NO IFS.

If Freddie and Bear aren’t Louis and Liam’s sons then both these grown-ass men in their late 20s are consciously and publicly playing with minors paternity! And come September the same standard will apply to Zayn! PERIOD! As a Larry, Ziam or a Zerrie a simple question why are you stanning men doing a despicable thing like lying about a childs paternity, and you'll get drivel about A. them being forced to do so (misogyny type 1) and/or B. shift the blame on the "beards" (misogyny type 2). I repeat again, if you're a shipper who believes in the fucked up theory that those babies aren't Louis's, Liam's or Zayn's than immediately unstan those men!!! You can't have it both ways, you can't say the babies aren't theirs than in the same breath try to argue that's not immoral and they're not culpable.

And what’s more tragic about this level of misogyny is that the majority of the shippers are women. Women who pounce on everything other women do or say to debunk and ridicule it, just to keep a fictional ship alive!

However subtle or harshly executed, publicly relegating other women as mere beards, diminishing their accomplishments, faking their reliance on the men, attempting to debunk and twist everything they do and say, doesn’t make you an ally to supposedly closet gay men, it makes you a the worst kind of misogynist, a female one!

[kom-wanheda]

What a Catch

Evan Buckley Week

March 26th - Day 4: “You want to marry me?” + love

Maddie’s looking at him with a strange expression, almost secretive, almost… guilty? Chimney is standing off to the side, hands shoved so far into his pockets that he’s about to lose his elbows in there.

Buck straightens. “Maddie? What’s going on?”

“I found… something I probably wasn’t supposed to see,” Maddie winces out.

Read on ao3 or under the cut.

“Hey, Buck, can you give me and Chim a hand in here?”

Buck looks up from the poker game he’s playing with Bobby, Athena, Hen, and Eddie towards the kitchen doorway. Maddie and Chimney had mysteriously disappeared there almost thirty minutes ago.

“Uh, Mads, I’m kind of in the middle of something!” he yells, concentrating on his cards, eyeing up his opponents playfully. The center of the table is a mess of poker chips and actual chips from when Buck got a little too… enthusiastic. Buck makes a note to clean that up later.

“We all know you’re not going to win, so just save us all the theatrics and come here, will you?” Maddie calls back.

Everyone at the table laughs at Buck, who manages to look affronted for a few seconds before he deflates and throws his cards face-up on the table. It was a shitty hand, he has to admit. “Fine, maybe, but they didn’t know I was going to lose!”

Hen scoffs, knocking elbows with Athena, who is smirking over her cards at him. Hen looks back towards Buck when she says, “Buck, I’m sorry to say, but your strategy sucks.”

“Okay, rude, I hate you all,” Buck huffs out, standing from the table dramatically. That gets a good chuckle out of everyone, even Eddie, the traitor. Buck can’t help but grin, losing any believability he had for actually being upset.

As Buck passes Eddie, he reaches out and squeezes Buck’s hand, a silent acknowledgment. It’s just a quick squeeze of hi yes hello, but it sends a thrill up Buck’s spine, anyways. Buck’s smile turns a bit dopey.

He passes by where the kids are stationed around the sofa. Albert’s got every single one of them entranced in a story about South Korea, including May, whose attention has strayed from her phone for so long the screen’s gone black. Karen abandoned poker a long time ago, and she’s sitting next to Denny, stroking her hand across his back, baby Nia nestled securely in her lap.

Buck leans down to give Chris a quick kiss to his head, and while Chris doesn’t look away from Albert’s gesticulating hands, he does reach up and touch Buck’s cheek gently. Buck’s heart melts a little more, like it does every single time Chris does something so obliviously sweet.

As Buck gets to the kitchen, he grabs onto the door frame and swings into the room, eyeing up his sister. “My dearest Maddie, what is it you needed my help with that could not have possibly waited until I lost fair and square?”

Maddie’s looking at him with a strange expression, almost secretive, almost… guilty? Chimney is standing off to the side, hands shoved so far into his pockets that he’s about to lose his elbows in there.

Buck straightens. “Maddie? What’s going on?”

“I found… something I probably wasn’t supposed to see,” Maddie winces out.

“Found something? What do you mean?”

Maddie’s words start coming out in a rush. “We were just cleaning up after dinner, and your bag was sitting on the counter, so I went to move it and then it fell off the table and some stuff rolled out.” Maddie wrings her hands together before gesturing to the island in front of her. Where a small, dark purple jewelry box is sitting.

A very familiar jewelry box.

Buck springs forward, snatching it up. “Maddie,” Buck hisses, “you went through my stuff?”

“I didn’t mean to! It just fell out with all your dirty clothes when I picked your bag up!”

“The box was in a sealed pocket, Maddie, there’s no way it could have just ‘fallen out’! You were snooping!”

“I was not! I’m not twelve,” Maddie says indignantly, “Also, how was I supposed to know that you were hiding an engagement ring in your work bag?”

“Shh!” Buck says, frantically waving his hands at her. “Keep your voice down!”

Maddie covers her mouth, perhaps just now realizing that the hopeful recipient of said ring is just in the other room.

Buck glances down at the box in his hands, runs his fingers over the familiar velvety soft exterior before clicking it open, just to check. He must have done that a thousand times already since he picked it up that morning on his way in to work. Both rings are still nestled there safely. He catches the pair watching him, and he snaps it closed, hiding the box behind his back, as if Maddie and Chimney — who has remained questionably silent this entire time — have no object permanence, and once hidden, the knowledge of the box’s existence would be gone as well.

Maddie switches gears, eyes going all soft. “Buck, how long have you been carrying that around with you?”

“I just picked it up today, that’s the only reason why it was in my bag to begin with. I bought it a few weeks ago,” Buck mumbles.

Finally, Chimney seems to get his voice back. “I know you guys have been dating for a while, but you really think it’s time?”

“Remind me, Chim, how many months was it again before you asked my sister to marry you?” Buck retorts, raising an eyebrow.

Chimney laughs, right hand ghosting over to touch the metal band around his ring finger. Buck isn’t actually upset, of course he can’t be, not when Maddie and Chimney are so obviously perfect for one another.

Maddie wraps her arm around her husband, smiling softly down at the ring on her own finger. It makes Buck happy to see his sister and friend happy, but he can’t deny how desperately he wants a taste of that, too.

“It’s only been about a year since we started dating, but I know it’s what I want. I’m pretty sure it’s what Eddie wants, too. But god, Maddie, I’m so nervous. The last thing I want to do is move too quickly, especially since all of this is totally new territory for me. I’ve never been married before, but Eddie has, you know? I don’t want him to feel like I’m trying to replace Shannon, especially when it comes to Chris.” Buck says more than he planned to, but now that both of them know, he needed to talk to someone. It’s not like he could confide in his best friend for advice, since it’s his best friend he’s going to pop the question to.

“Well, I don’t have much advice for you there,” Chimney says, “We were just doing the dishes one night after dinner and it just kind of… popped out.”

“Yeah, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes. “The least romantic engagement story I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey!” Maddie laughs, gazing up at Chimney with obvious love in her eyes. “It worked on me, didn’t it?”

Buck shakes his head, turning his attention back to the box cradled in his hands. “I just love them both so much, you know? I love our life together. I just want to make sure all three of us are ready, and when the time is right, hopefully I’ll know what to say.”

It’s then, when all three of the kitchen’s occupants are either distracted by each other or distracted by what ifs, when Buck hears a choked sound coming from behind him.

All three of them turn quickly, and Eddie is right there, a collection of empty beer bottles in his hands. “I, uh, was just coming in here to recycle these,” Eddie explains haltingly. He thrusts the bottles forward, as if to prove his story. “I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.”

Buck is a little dumbfounded. As soon as he turned around, he had shoved the ring box into his front pocket, and it’s a tight fit and so obvious he almost wants to cover it up with his hands. As if that would help.

“Why don’t we grab those bottles from you and take the other trash outside, huh, Maddie?” Chimney says quickly, moving forward and collecting the bottles from Eddie’s lax hands.

“Sure, sounds like a two person job, definitely,” Maddie rambles a bit. She pats Buck on the head as she scurries out the kitchen door with Chimney, and despite her having to stretch to even reach his head, it still feels a bit condescending. But mostly comforting.

Good luck, Buck.

He’s left face to face with his boyfriend. Maybe more, his brain unhelpfully supplies.

“Hey, babe,” Buck stutters, a nervous smile on his lips, “How much of that did you hear?”

Eddie takes a step closer, and it’s so easy for Buck to fall into Eddie’s orbit, to lean into his embrace. “Enough, I think. You want to marry me?” Eddie murmurs softly, eyes not traveling any higher than Buck’s neck. They’re so close now that they could bump noses if one of them tilts their head right, so Buck does, trying to get Eddie to look at him. Ah. There they are, those warm brown eyes Buck loves so much. Eddie still looks hesitant, uncertain, and that hurts Buck a little.

“Eddie, of course I do. You are my most favorite part of every day. Chris, too,” Buck adds, leaning down to maintain eye-contact as Eddie tries to duck away. “I know we haven’t talked about it in so many words, but… in theory,” Buck stresses, and Eddie laughs a little, “would you want to do… that, one day?” Fuck, he needs to practice saying those words if he’s stumbling this hard right now and it’s not even real.

Eddie can’t fight the hesitant smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do,” he whispers, and hearing that combination of words jumpstarts Buck’s heart.

“Good, because that’s going to happen one day. Not tonight, I haven’t even gotten the rings engraved yet,” Buck complains, “but someday. We’re going to get married, I’m going to move in, and then we get to plan the rest of our lives together.” It all sounds like a dream, a dream Buck never would have known he wanted just a few years ago, but god, he does want it, and he wants it with this man standing in front of him. Buck can’t help it: he leans in and presses his mouth to Eddie’s, gently biting on his lower lip before pulling a hair's breadth away to speak. “How’s that sound?”

Eddie’s never been good with verbally expressing himself, and Buck knows he’s been trying. He can see the thoughts as they race across his face, can almost read the words desperately trying to get out, but they never quite make it to his mouth. That’s okay, Buck doesn’t mind. As soon as Buck gets those rings on both their fingers, they’ll have the rest of their lives to work on it. Together.

“Sounds like something I could get used to,” Eddie finally settles on, pulling Buck’s face back to his, stealing another kiss. Buck presses closer, feels the jewelry box cut into his hip as Eddie pushes into him. Buck opens his mouth to bite Eddie’s lip again, but that’s when Eddie pulls away.

Buck makes a face and Eddie laughs at him, his hands ghosting up from where he was cradling Buck’s neck to his cheek, thumb brushing gently along the end of Buck’s eyebrow.

“I don’t really want to get too out of hand at your sister’s house. Especially not with all of our friends in the other room,” Eddie explains.

Oh, Buck gets it, but he still pouts a little.

“Come on, cariño, I want to watch you lose at poker again,” Eddie gently jabs, smile never leaving his face.

Buck allows himself to be pulled back into the living area, and it appears the rest of the world kept on spinning as Buck’s spun into a new orbit. Buck and Eddie are quickly welcomed back into the casual joviality of the group. Buck catches Maddie peering around the corner spying on them, and he sticks his tongue out at her. You know, like an adult. She smiles gleefully back.

“Can’t we just play go fish or something?” Buck whines, tugging on Eddie’s hand.

“Why, you wanna lose at a child’s game, too?”

Laughter erupts as everyone apparently catches that. Buck can’t even pretend to be mad, the presence of that box in his pocket making him feel damn near weightless.

[waveypedia]

Have anything else for that Team Spyience au you made ages ago? Some writng or a bullet list? I crave angst.

The AU in question

Yes!! Aaaaahh i was so excited when I saw this ask because i’m so happy people still like it!! I’m definitely still thinking about it, don’t worry. The old AU hinges on the fact that FOWL doesn’t have a way into Scrooge’s company and family but uhhhh that’s not how it is now lmao. So I’ve been thinking about revamping it for a couple months now. I don’t want to do anything concrete until we know a little more about FOWL and how it works. We know who its agents are and a little bit about its goals but we really don’t know anything about its inner workings, what the Board’s dynamic is with their agents, what their dynamic is with modern SHUSH (if it even exists), etc etc. all of which are things that would probably be addressed in the Team Spyience AU! It is an AU but I’d like to build on canon as much as possible (unless there’s something that I really don’t vibe with) since it’ll be cleaner and less confusing that way. Like if I threw 2019 Team Spyience AU at you guys rn it would 1) be confusing since the FOWL structure and motives are completely different from canon and 2) be less interesting since there’s SO much potential for angst and drama with the Board, Rockerduck/Jeeves, and Gandra as part of FOWL. (and oh boy I’m so excited to work with that!!!)

(sorry for that long block of text sdfgfds i wasn’t sure how to break it up)

that being said I have built a bit of a shaky foundation for a redone Team Spyience AU for when we learn more!! and ahhh i’m so excited to share. For bullet points, here are some ideas swimming around in my head. these all could change with new information from the show or just if i think of something better tbh

so this might change when we learn more about the Board in general and the nitty-gritty of FOWL’s plans, but right now I’m thinking that the Board realizes that 1) Gyro and his ragtag band of science nerds are powerful and stubborn, and will most definitely get in the way of their plans 2) Gyro already hates the Board, and if anyone in McDuck Enterprises were to pick up on their treason, it would be him 3) They have a strong foothold for control in the company, second only to Scrooge (and even that’s debatable), but they have minimal control over Gyro and the science department. So this time around it’s less about needing to spy on Scrooge and more about wanting to control Gyro and Team Science. how that translates to “capturing them and forcing them to spy on their boss and his family” is still up in the air, but i’ll let you guys know when i figure it out! (and if you all have any ideas lmk)

we all know Gyro dislikes the Board but it’s mostly just annoyance/spite since they always shut down his inventions. Here, though, he would hate them. He would probably start like smack-talking them to everyone he can, especially Scrooge, which is his own way of trying to get them to realize the Board is evil without tipping the Board off to his treachery. Scrooge would be confused and it would be like the first crack in the Board’s carefully built facade, but it wouldn’t work for him. He probably just thinks Gyro’s being his mean self.

Huey, though... I’m pretty sure Huey’s gonna end up researching FOWL since it’s his season, and he spends enough time around Team Science to notice how off they’re all acting, without being too busy to pay it much mind (like Scrooge). so one of Gyro’s snarky remarks will tip him off, and he’ll start to view the Board with a little more suspicion each time. Until he comes to the conclusion through his research, and SHUSH resources like Beakley and Webby, that oh god that was an allusion to FOWL the Board is FOWL-

and then- wait is Gyro FOWL?? is Team Science okay?? this goes deeper than I thought-

so essentially the B-plot of this AU is Huey (with the help of the rest of the kids, but especially Webby, Boyd, and Violet) researching FOWL in the background and trying to figure out why Team Science is acting so weird lately, and there’s a lot of dramatic irony

FOWL definitely threatens Boyd to get to Gyro because I love me some quality Boyd & Gyro family content 😌

I originally thought about working a “Gyro is a former FOWL agent that got away by the skin of his teeth” aspect into the AU since I was really fond of that concept when it was a theory, but now it’s been disproven. It does make for a lot of extra drama and angst, but I don’t think it quite fits, so I might just make that an entirely separate AU. I might add some non-canon bonus content with this concept though!

The majority of Team Science’s dynamic throughout the AU stays the same - they’re all incredibly stressed and on edge and just in a really sticky situation, so they snap at each other and have a lot of petty arguments. But at the same time, they’re all in the really sticky situation together, and so they come out of this mess a whole lot closer. It’s sort of a “You’re the only ones I can be honest with without dire consequences” situation.

also re: that last point - CUDDLE PUDDLES. i’m so soft for them. i’m thinking maybe on a night when FOWL makes them all stay in the cells overnight as a punishment or smth, but they’re all in one cell, they just fall asleep all on top of each other and it’s just a really sweet moment made bittersweet by the circumstances. it’s also a testament to how far their relationship has come under pressure and how much they trust each other now.

Gyro is the only target originally (I’m thinking maybe Fenton, Manny, and Lil’ Bulb catch the Board in the act and it’s very dramatic and terrifying. i think they’re originally gonna kill Team Science, since FOWL has a very take-no-prisoners leave-no-loose-ends sort of mindset, but Gyro convinces the Board that the majority of Scrooge McDuck’s research team mysteriously dying in one fell swoop would be extremely suspicious, especially since Scrooge has an in-house former SHUSH agent. so they live, miraculously, but the Board lets all of them know in no uncertain terms that if it happens again, the other person dies. No ifs, ands, or buts. So Team Science is all very, very nervous and careful about what they let slip. They want to tell everyone, especially Scrooge, but they can’t because they care too much. (Hence Gyro making passive-aggressive comments about the Board to Scrooge.) and of course everyone else gets suspicious and resentful since they know Team Science is hiding stuff from them. so that leads to a lot of drama and arguments.

speaking of the drama and arguments from the outside, the kids are doing their own investigation, but I headcanon Della as friends with Gyro from before the Spear of Selene, and she has a budding friendship with Fenton too. So she’d notice they’re all acting really weird and bailing on all her plans, so she storms down to the lab and tries an aggressive tactic to get them to fess up. They don’t, obviously, so she goes on a little investigation of her own. I’m thinking she might drag Launchpad and Donald into it - Launchpad since he’s good friends with Team Science, and Donald because I love him and I want him involved they’re the Duck Twins and they work best together.

I have this scene floating around in my head where, in the very beginning, FOWL agents/Eggheads capture Gyro and drag him to FOWL HQ underneath Funzo’s to be briefed on his new situation. He’s stuck in one of those glass cells Launchpad and Dewey were in when Steelbeak brought them back in the Double-O-Duck episode. The Board knows he’s there, but Gyro has no clue they’re villains. So they come to the cell to brief and belittle him (let’s be honest here, they’ve never liked Gyro) and he just. He’s pissed. Spitting mad. He’s always resented the Board but never like this; never pictured them as actual powerful villains. He may be spiteful of them because they shut down his projects, but at the end of the day, they’re good guys. They’re on his side, and more importantly, Scrooge’s side. Right?

So Gyro is like, up against the glass, trying to punch them through the airholes. He’s just so fucking furious. He’s not really thinking straight and he doesn’t care about any dignity, he’s just angry. The Board is just overly smug and pleased with themselves. It’s a very stereotypical “You’ll never get away with this, you villain!!” picture, and very dramatic. And then the Board just walks away after giving him a bare-bones explanation of the situation that he doesn’t really process because he’s so mad and terrified. And they turn off all the lights and let him stew in there overnight.

Once Huey and the kids have finally put the pieces together, Webby comes to the Bin one day with Scrooge, and she goes to the meeting room to look for him. Only he’s not in there - The Board is, and they’re berating Gyro for sassing off about them to Scrooge or smth. Webby, with all her trained spy skills, hears their conversation and is able to avoid detection (although the Board is suspicious, and they start investigating to tie off any loose ends). Their conversation, though, would be suspicious to any oblivious passerby, but from all the research the kids have done, they know what’s going on.

That’s not the actual reveal - I think thematically that should go to Huey, since he’s the closest to Team Science and it’s his season. This would just chase away any last doubts the kids may have. And maybe Webby gets a voice recording as evidence? I just love those; they’re so dramatic.

this is one part that might not end up aligning with canon but I’m REALLY fond of the Akita FOWL theory. So in this AU, I’m thinking Akita was a really casual member of FOWL all along that recently got an updated agent commission. So there’s even more potential drama there, since Gyro utterly despises Akita now. And a bigger incentive to keep Boyd safe, since Gyro knows FOWL would be more than happy to program Boyd into a mindless attack robot.

in the old AU I was toying with the idea that FOWL didn’t know Fenton’s Gizmoduck until a big reveal, and it was a secret weapon of Team Science’s (but also a point for a lot of arguments, since Fenton desprately wanted to be out there protecting people at the cost of his own safety) but uhh... they definitely know now. In a bid to stop FOWL from taking control of Gizmoduck, Fenton claims the armor is out of commission and sabotages it. So Fenton’s heroics are temporarily halted while Team Science frantically tries to figure out how to keep FOWL from hacking/taking control of a new and improved Gizmosuit.

As for writing... I don’t have anything done, least of all anything for the revamped version of the AU, but I do have this wonderful writing prompt from @advisortotheadvisor that I started back in January 2019, when I was working on the old version of the AU, that I really want to do with the revamped AU. (it just fits so well ahhhh!!!)

["If you won’t do it, I’m sure your friend wouldn’t mind being in your place." + your FOWL team spyience au?]

Gyro crossed his arms across his chest, scowling to hide his fear. He’d gotten pretty good at it over these past few months.

Watching the halls was basically useless. Fowl was careful to keep Gyro and his team within the same halls, as to not be able to find their way out on their own. And Gyro knew the way to Steelbeak’s office well. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been marched here.

At least he wasn’t cuffed anymore, though he suspected it was only because the agents and their minions knew there was too much at stake for an escape attempt. It had been too long, anyway. That was an amaetur move. Even though he loathed to admit it, Gyro cared too much about the consequences - the people at stake - to even try.

It was just a well-aimed mockery. Like everything short of punishment seemed to be these days under FOWL’s watchful eye and careful thumb. Gyro scowled deeper and crossed his arms tighter and pretended in vain it didn’t bother him.

That was all he could do, really.

Okay that kind of got away from me haha. thank you so much for the ask!! It means a lot to me that people are still interested in this AU. definitely motivation to work on both the AU and that fic haha!! I’ll talk more abt this soon when I have more info/content

[thatyanderecritic]

Are the girls from School Days even yandere considering the first actually harmed/killed Makoto?

Hey there anon. Kai here.

Not going to lie, when I first saw your question I couldn’t stop myself going “Who the fuck are the girls from School Days again?” I’m at the point where all these kawaii anime girls from these harem/dating sims stories are all blending into one grotesque creature lmao. Where’s that post on tumblr about kawaii anime girls being a different species?

Anyways, to the serious point, I’m highkey confused about how many girls are the main love interest. Just two? Ah, whatever. I’ll just talk about these two girls: Kotonoha Katsura and Sekai Saionji.

First on the chopping block is Kotonoha. I recognize this chick on every other yandere AMV on youtube lmao. But on the question if she’s a yandere or not, the quick answer is no. Here’s why:

- The multiple endings. Julie and I always say this but we hate reviewing stories that have multiple endings. It makes the water muddies and tosses around “what ifs”. Here at ThatYandereCritic, we only like solid facts; not a multiple universe theory. If there’s multiple endings, the yandere has to say consistent. But seeing how the wiki clearly states that “depending on how the protagonist treats Kotonoha, she can end up as a sweet girl or a sex crazed manic”. I don’t like that wide variety here fellas. 

- Kotonoha is a cuck~ That’s right lady and gentlemen. According to the wiki, Kotonoha doesn’t really give a shit of the protag fucks other women as long as he stays with her (in one of the routes). Of course she doesn’t like it but she still lets him. We got another Deathless scenario here!!! This automatically knocks her from the running but the list continues!

- Kotonoha can develop a semi-bisexual relationship between her, Sekai, and protag-kun. At first I thought this just meant sharing but nope... that gif of Sekai and Kotonoha was very eye opening. We already established here that we don’t believe in polygamous yanderes. Once again, knocks her out of the running. (Man the Deathless flashbacks are strong with this one).

- The wiki really likes to toss around the term “yandere mode”. I know not to take the opinion from wiki as fact but I do take it as the “general opinion” of School Day fans about Kotonoha. We stated this in our yandere criteria: Being a yandere isn’t something you “clock in and out” from. It’s not a job and stated in our post, Yandere Actions 1, just having a “yandere snap” doesn’t make a yandere. Just snapping doesn’t turn on a “yandere protocol”. I know that Kotonoha is dependent on protag-kun and she does have her moments in rejecting him dumping her, but the story really seems to focus on the sexual nature of things... doesn’t look that great buddies. 

As I read her wiki page, Kotonoha gave me a more “yangire” vibe than a yandere one. She pretty much just snaps under emotional trauma and that’s all there is to her character (besides the sexual part). If I squint, I guess I can see her yandere parts but it’s rather weak in my opinion and I see this more of a “hentai yandere” (Some men want to stick their dick in crazy) than a proper yandere. She only goes crazy at the sign of a possible (or very real) break up. That’s the catalysis here for a yangire snap. Yes it’s romantically charged but this was the point onwards that Kotonoha started “acting like a yandere”. If you want to call her a yandere, fine. But here? We’re considering her a yangire.

Now let’s move on to Sekai. Is she a yandere? The same as Kotonoha, no she’s not a yandere but more of a yangire. Here’s why:

- Multiple endings

- She hooked Kotonoha and protag up in the first place and started the chain reaction of events. If Sekai “possessively” liked protag-kun up until this point... why hook them up??? Especially if she’s a “yandere”??? Sounds like stupidity to me and not very yandere like. There’s also the fact that she even tried to keep her distance while the two are dating. Constancy is important here~

- “Yandere mode”

- That three way relationship with Kotonoha and protag. 

While Kotonoha is a hot mess, at least there’s a weird semblance of a yandere from her. But With Sekai, she just had a mental breakdown after get pregnant, dumped, and being forced into having an abortion while all this other shit in her life is going on. Who wouldn’t crack? And no, this isn’t “yandere mode” it’s psychotic break... a yangire snap. That pregnant and abortion thing was the trigger. Just like with Kotonoha’s trigger being the break up. 

TL;DR- the girls from School Days aren’t yanderes but yangires. “Yandere mode” is fake af. All these girls look the same. The protagonist is the scum of the earth and School Days sounds like a psuedo-hentai with plot. 

[deniigi]

ms matt, how do you deal with confidence issues? I’ve always wanted to write stories, but I have never been able to write a creative story for more than two paragraphs before erasing the whole thing. And I can’t stand to look at things I’ve had to write before unless it’s to revise the whole thing. Also, any tips on humor? In writing or in general :)

Hello my dear!

This is a difficult question to answer because it is going to be different for everyone. (AKA Long post ahead!) I can only speak about my insecurities/writing methods, so if they don’t work for you or they give you anxiety when/if you try them, that is a-okay! You are not broken or wrong or anything like that if they don’t work for you.

I put this disclaimer here because confidence in creative work is a super sensitive issue and I don’t want you to feel discouraged if you put yourself out there and don’t get the results that you want.

SO.

Confidence. Is. Hard. Like the hardest. For fucking sure, I promise you. If someone says they are always confident in putting their work out there, they are either lying out their ass or you need to get the fuck away from them because they are an unfeeling sociopath.

I spend a huge amount of time writing, putting all this effort into some of these pieces, and then a lot of times, I second-guess myself in the last third of the writing or in the middle of posting, so a lot of that content doesn’t actually make it anywhere beyond my flashdrive, so yeah. It’s fucking hard. For real. You feel like you’ve wasted your time and you feel frustrated that you can’t just make that picture in your head–and it always feels like a straightforward picture–come to life in front of you. God, how fucking hard can this be right?

Wrong. It’s super hard. And people don’t really think about how hard it is because all those art pieces and fics and books look so finished and lovely and effortless.

This kind of thinking/thing happens all the time in the creative process. You, my dear, are absolutely not alone. The only way to learn how to manage it, for me, is to do more of it. You only learn how to cope with shit after you’re standing in the middle of it. All the theory and all the what-ifs and the anxiety–that just builds you up into an emotional mess.

The things which hold me, as an artist and an academic, back the most are the anticipation of the process, the anticipation of the response, and my own ridiculously high standards.

You will never meet your own standards. If you do, you aren’t aiming high enough. And that is okay. that is actually good sometimes. It means that your taste (like, your perception of what is good and interesting) and your skill do not match at the present time. That is absolutely fine.

Watch THE GAP by Ira Glass below for more on this process.

The thing which is not conveyed in this video is that there are times when your taste and your skill will finally overlap and they’ll do that for a while. And you will feel like a god among men. But then they’ll diverge again and you’re stuck back at this point of frustration. Like you’re wading through shit again.

And all I can tell you, my dear, is to keep going (fun fact, the header of my blog is a reference to this.)

If you hate the two paragraphs that you’ve written: cool, good, same. I hate my paragraphs a lot of the time, too. But do your best to resist the urge to erase them. Save them and come back to them the next day and then, if you can, keep going on the work or start up a new page and rewrite them until you’re feeling a little better about them. But don’t stop there. Keep going.

I only have 2 more things to say for this (sorry I’m so long winded on the process, it is important to me that artists know that this is normal and they are not shit for struggling with it).

1. Have fun with your writing.

If you aren’t having fun, what are you even doing? Write that scene no one else can, will, or has. Put all your shitty jokes and headcanons into the piece. Who the fuck cares? It makes you happy, it makes you laugh, it fits into your own version of canon and the relief of that is so great. It’s fic. It’s low stakes. You’re literally writing for pleasure–so have some for yourself! The more fun you have, the more fun your audience will have.

2. Remember that you are the only one who has expectations of the piece.

This is like being presented with a pie. If someone just handed you a piece of pie, you are fucking delighted that you are now holding pie. It is AMAZING. Someone made this damn pie. You have no expectations of this pie aside from it being edible and guess what? It has lived up to that purpose and it even tastes nice.

A+ pie. Good job, pie.

Now, when you’re the one making the pie, you’re over there in the kitchen listing out all the expectations you have of pie. You’re making your dream pie in your head. You gotta have spices, and fancy crusts, and like, laminated butter or some shit (I have made 2 successful pies, don’t look at me); you gotta have the perfect organic fruit from the local farmer’s market, you gotta have raw sugar, and a fucking pie tin (I don’t have one, stop fucking judging me. I have one pan people, I make do). And at the end of all that, you can taste every damn flake and morsel of fruit in that pie.

B- pie. We averaged out your A for effort and C for execution, pie.

But you know what? Your audience is troop A. They’re just fucking stoked because there’s surprise pie to be had.

Post the piece because most folks just want some damn pie. Their expectations are almost always lower than your own. And, as an addition note, folks are, on the whole, a hell of a lot nicer, kinder, and more enthusiastic about your work than you could ever imagine. You’ll only know if you put it out there though, so take the leap friend! You can do it.

And finally, I’ll just say a bit about humor so I can end this fresh discursive hell we have found ourselves in.

I am so much funnier in text than in person, I guarantee it. And a lot of that is because I’m my own audience, so I write all the shit that is hilarious to me, regardless of whether it’s funny to other people. Humor’s just kind of like that, people will either get it or they won’t. Slapstick and dry humor is my thing, so people who are into slapstick and dry humor will think my shit’s funny.

If you’re more of a situational irony or awkward type of humor, just go with it. Write it. Make yourself laugh, if you did then someone else will.

And I’m done for now, my dear. I hope this all helps somehow. Feel free to send me more asks or to message me in the chat for more individualized discussion if you’d like!

[voltronaubot]

vampire shance au

lance is not exactly a night person. he’d rather go to a pool party than a night club, which is why all his instincts are screaming in his head to not go inside the crowded pub his friends are dragging him to

the neon lights and artificial smoke are dizzying, and the scent of drinks and sweat is very very noticeable. lance wants to go home but he’s been dreading going out with his study group for a while now and he doesn’t want to be one of those guys who are always giving lame excuses 

lance takes a long, deep breath. a few drinks won’t hurt, right? 

he’s on his fourth drink and the neon lights are somehow worse than before and the music isn’t loud enough until a tall guy tries to talk to him, a patch of white is the only thing that really registers in lance’s head 

the guy is very handsome, as far as lance’s tipsy (he is not drunk) brain is aware of so he doesn’t really objects when he is pulled to the dance floor, he’s drank enough to dance without being self-conscious 

the heavy hands on lance’s waits and hips feel nice, and so do the muscles under his palm. there’s little space between them, mouths half open, eyes looking into one another laze and lustily

‘what’s your name, big guy?’ lance high pitched screaming voice isn’t really the most charming, ‘shiro. and yours, pretty boy?’ and oh god, shiro’s voice is so smooth against his ear ‘the name’s lance’ he doesn’t shout this time and he can feel shiro’s gaze changing intensity. that’s good, right? 

right. cause now shiro is taking him to a far corner and pressing him against the wall. lance has sobered up a little and now he’s able to really take in shiro’s features and god, he is so very handsome. lance’s ready to be attacked by those beautiful lips 

‘can i kiss you, lance?’ at any other time lance would have found that sweet but right now he just wants to be kissed into oblivion 

shiro kisses like heaven and soon enough lance is trying his best to hold on to his last bit of reason, hands grasping shiro’s hair and shoulder tight. lance can’t think, he just feels. feels shiro’s hands holding him steady, feel his tongue hot against his own, his chest going up and down as fast as lance’s

lance grunts when shiro pulls away but his lips are hot against lance’s neck the next instant

he’s only half aware of the pain on his neck, the pressure there so strong it makes lance even dizzier. maybe it’s the alcohol because he feels like his blood is being sucked out, which is impossible. right?

when shiro’s lips are against his again, lance tastes blood. now talk about kinky

as hot and good at kisser shiro is, lance is too tired to keep going. his limbs weight more than his drunk self can handle at the moment

‘but i gotta get going, big guy. thanks for this, it was great’ ‘wait you have anyone to take you home?’ 'how considerate, but not really, i’ll find my way on foot’ 'let me walk you home, just walk, nothing else’ 

so shiro walks him home. lance rambles when he sober and completely babbles when drunk. he’s talking about politics in a second and the next he’s theorizing about the ancient gods or yelling about space 

what he talks about when he’s drunk barely makes any sense to most people, but somehow shiro understands all of what lance is saying, he even joins in the space talk 

lance trips and stumbles on nothing on their way to his house, shiro is there to catch him every time 

‘i think this is where i ask if you wanna come in’ 'will you?’ 'do you want to?’ shiro shrugs 'do you?’

yes, lance does. it’s probably really fucking stupid to bring a random guy into your house, especially when he specifically asks you to invite him in with all the formal speech, but shiro is hot and pretty nice and lance is still a little drunk and he doesn’t mind making out a bit more 

they limit themselves to the couch in lance’s living room. the couch is small and they barely fit but neither of them really care about that shiro trails kisses from lance’s mouth all the way down his neck. once again lance feels the pressure, this time a lot more painful than before 

'dude, take it easy’ but shiro isn’t answering 'take it easy on the neck’ shiro isn’t stopping either. the pain grows stronger by the second and lance is gripping on shiro’s shoulders, screaming his lungs out until he blacks out 

when lance wakes up the next day he’s still in his small couch, his back and neck hurt from sleeping in such awkward position 

as he lays there, extremely hangover and sore, lance remembers last night. the hot guy - shiro, how lance brought him home and lance passed out probably from exhaustion. he curses himself for being so careless last night

lance forces his body and mind to function and ignore the annoying sunlight, he has to check if nothing is missing, take a shower and eat something - he’s starving 

but before he can take two steps away from the couch, his stomach is turning and he’s vomiting all he has left in his stomach from last night

he hurries to he bathroom after that first batch on the living room’s floor. lance feels so sick, so nauseous and weak. his eyes are glossy and his mouth tastes like gutter, every time he thinks his body is done rejecting its content he goes back to stuffing his head in the toilet 

when lance undresses and looks at his miserable reflection, he is genuienly scared by the bruise on his neck where shiro had obviously abused of. the patch of skin is of a dark shades of purple and black, lance has never seen such a monstruous looking hickey in his whole 25 years of life, even his veins are a little marked

he takes a shower in the darker, finding the lack of light a lot easier to think. he makes his monthly ‘i’m never drinking again’ promise under the hot water

the sunlight really fucking bothers him okay, it just. burns his eyes to look and for some reason it makes his skin itchy 

his head hurts like a bitch, his mood is the fucking worst 

he tries everything; bread, apples, milk, tomatoes, noodles, everything tastes like cardboard and he throws up whatever he manages to swallow 

lance is having the worst hangover ever. did he drink that much yesterday? did that shiro guy put something on his drink? 

he spends the rest of the day hungry, with a killing headache, buried under the covers in the darkness of his room. he should be doing homework due to the next day but he couldn’t care less about college at that moment  

he can’t sleep at all during the night, only drifting off into sleep when his alarm rings and it’s day outside. fuck insomnia 

lance’s hangover isn’t even a little bit better; he still can’t eat, the light still bothers him, he is cold and now his teeth hurt for some forsaken reason

lance reluctantly goes to campus (not before buying some medicine at the nearest drugstore), wrapped around his fave hoodie and sunglasses on 

for some reason he’s hyper aware of everyone around him, their breathing, their pulse. everyone smell really good, people really are investing in cologne these days… 

‘dude, you so pale, are you sick?’ ‘i’m fine, just really hangover’ 

lance is halfway through his classes (the day’s been exhausting he just wants to sleep for a decade) when someone approaches him, this someone turning out to be shiro, he’s also wearing sunglasses and he looks even paler in natural daylight 

‘how are you?’ ‘utterly hangover’ he laughs dryly 

'thank you for not like, stealing all my stuff while i was blacked out’ ‘you were lucky i’m not this kind of person, please be more careful next time you go out’ ‘always so considerate’ 

lance questions shiro about the black hole he had sucked into his neck, but after seeing shiro blush and stutter, lance takes pity on the guy and drops the subject

‘are you even a college student?’ ‘you could say that’ ‘what does that even mean’

lance can’t sleep that night either, he blames the insomnia again. his stomach is still rejecting anything he tries to eat. making it the second day he’s somehow functioning without eating or sleeping

when shiro and him stumble upon each other on campus again, lance looks even worse than before. he’s pretty sure the guy would run away if he took a look at lance’s dark circles. but they just talk. if shiro looks concerned, he doesn’t mention it. which lance is thankful for 

its been a whole fucking week and lance is pretty sure hangovers aren’t supposed to last this long. so he goes to the doctor, a.k.a. google. all he finds is some stuff about vampires. which is complete utter bullshit because that’s just not realistic 

he (begrudgingly) goes on with life. yet this his inner self in love with conspiracy theories can’t shut up about the vampire thing. what ifs keep circling his head and he’s going fucking insane (proof: he’s starting to believe he’s a goddamn vampire) 

the next time shiro and him meet lance has never looked worse. this time shiro doesn’t let it slide. ‘we, hum, need to talk’ ‘i’ve got some questions myself, big buy’

turns out lance isn’t as insane as he thought. or maybe he’s been blacking out and doing drugs and not remembering a thing because shiro just looked at him straight in the eyes (those beautiful, beautiful grey eyes) and told him that he accidentally turned lance into a vampire

apparently, shiro couldn’t stop himself even after trying with all his willpower to stop sucking on lance’s neck (which said that in way sounds way too wrong). he died, shiro fed him vampire blood, bla bla bla now he he’s immortal and forever banned from churches 

‘what am i going to say to my family on sunday masses?’ ‘i can’t believe that’s what you’re worried about’

first thing shiro does is properly feed lance. thank god, because lance is starved. (is he even allowed to say god now?) 

shiro works at the blood bank (fucking convenient), so it’s easy for him to sneak some blood bags home and give it to lance. turns out that’s how shiro’s been feeding himself all this time. he promises no human blood has been in his system for over two hundrer years. which lance assumes is... good. he’s not ready to go on about killing people for their blood, that might be too much for him

lance is freaking out about all this okay? he is, just- internally (for now). he’s getting to know the perks of being a vampire which include, amazing speed and strength, all his senses are 10 times sharper, and he incredibly doesn’t need reading glasses anymore

of course shiro and lance make out. with no boundaries now.  with all the vampire powers allowed, their make out session are a bit... wild. they accidentally break two tables, and there’s a crack on the opposite wall of lance’s bed now. but it’s all incredibly fucking hot for lance to care. when he kisses shiro all his body can register with his new peter parker senses is shiro’s everything. it drives lance insane. 

they make out sessions turn into cuddling sessions that feel a lot more intimate. they talk about all kinds of topics and shiro is - as lance suspected since the beginning - a real nerd about space. which just brings them even closer. they marathon shows and movies and it’s really... domestic. 

when shiro smiles, lance thinks that if he still had a heartbeat, it’d be going crazy 

‘can vampires love?’ ‘some do, when they don’t lose their humanity’ ‘did you?’ ‘i have a hunch i didn’t’

they become that one power couple that look stunning and intimidating (they are deadly supernatural beings but that’s not the point). 

there are perks in this whole vampire thing, of course. but there are also downsides. lance just panics this one (and a bunch of other) time because he keeps thinking about his family, how they’re all going to just- die. and he’ll still be alive. hell, he’s probably going to have to fake his own death and keep moving cities, countries forever 

shiro always comforts lance when he has this wave of really bad and negative thoughts. but he doesn’t lie to lance, saying that that’s not how it’s going to be. it is exactly how it’s going to be. but they have each other now, they always will

‘are we going to be together for, like, forever?’ 'i’ve never done this before but turning someone kind of links your souls for- well, eternity.’ ‘i’m fine with that’ lance smiles big. because if one things he’s absolutely fine with about all this is that shiro, this big kindhearted amazing man, will be his (and vise versa) forever 

[nettheworldonfire]

Prognosis Pressure Popping Point

Every few months, after my scans, I have a telehealth appointment with my highly respected Penn oncologist -- Dr. Ursina Teitelbaum. She is a warm, knowledgeable, and down-to-Earth doctor.  I love her.  However, I like brashness.  I like clearly defined diagnoses and treatment plans. I like explicitly calculated timelines and direct answers to my wildly disorganized stream-of-mind questions.  In the medical world, no one EVER wants to give you this.  Why is that?  Well, science (something many people have recently been taking as theory, rather than researched conclusions) is constantly criticized for it’s ever changing rules.  Those in the medical profession are never given the benefit of the doubt -- always ask for a second opinion, right?  Medicine, by nature, is one of the most complex guess-and-check industries in the universe.  So how can you blame doctors for giving vague responses, rough estimates, and a lot of “let’s cross that bridge when we get to it” mentality.

Does that make me any less of a psychopath demanding to hear the kind-hearted Dr. T. identify a date of departure like she’s a fortune-teller?  No, no it doesn’t. 

On my 39th birthday, after discussing a lot of “what does this mean, what does that mean” with the good doc, I bluntly asked her about my prognosis for the gazillionth time, to which she obliged. 

My tumors are growing, ever so slightly, as a good NET does.  The medicine is likely slowing that growth down tremendously.  It’s working right now.  At the rate it’s working, it would appear to keep working, enough that nothing else needs to be done, for 2-3 more years.  This means, I don’t need to do anything other than scan, inject, inject, inject, repeat for quite some time.  When the lanreotide injections stop working, some form of targeted liver treatment will occur (like embolization). On average, that works for 2-3 years and in rare occasions, it works a second time (so 4-6 years maybe).  Then there are more “last ditch effort” treatments such as PRRT and a new trial that is in the works (and so far so good) right now.  All of this information, I have been told, and told again -- but it still was so vague and didn’t really answer my question...

How long do you think I have?

Of course, I peppered in the assurance that I wouldn’t hold her to anything and wouldn’t be upset if she was wrong, but that I simply wanted someone with more knowledge than me, to give their best guess so that I could prepare for a life that will end early and the life of a family who will have to continue without me. 

Dr. T. said, in five years, she thinks I’ll be “comfy” but she’s a lot less sure about ten years from now.

I wanted to hear this.  Well, no.  I wanted to hear that I was on a pilot episode of a Punk’d reboot and this was all some kind of sick, decade long joke.  But if something is going to kill me, sooner than I should be killed, then I’d like to know when.  Or at least I thought I did.

Maybe it was because it was on my birthday and turning 39 feels like the end of something.  Maybe it was looking at my kids and thinking, I might not see them hit their teens. Maybe it was dealing with multiple trauma-related issues that arise in the students I teach daily.  Maybe it was just the gravity of my situation, finally sinking in, after keeping it ever-so-slightly distant in my mind for the longest time.  But it hit me hard.  

I’m not ready.  Not ready for death.  Not ready for sickness.  Not ready to plan for either.  I’m so tired and drained by daily life, that I don’t have the energy to think about the what-ifs, even though they are more like the when this happens...

It’s hard to think about a timeline when it’s as long as this is.  If someone said you had 6 weeks or even 6 months, you could say, well fuck.  I’m quitting my job, traveling, spending every moment experiencing life with those I love.  But 6 years, or 10, is like..well, I still need to put money in a 403B, just in case, and I need to plan for the hubs and kids during the A.D. years, too.  You can’t go buck wild on life for 8 consecutive years while having kids, a full-time job, and general adult responsibilities.  So, I go on with the daily rituals.  I have stress and anxiety, I battle with weight and aging, I argue with people who have different beliefs, I worry about things I cannot control - and then I reflect on whether any of this even matters or if I’m just wasting my time.

I live for the weekends and down time, revel in the end of a marking period or semester, and feel a sense of relief as I get the kids to sleep -- and then I think about how stupid I am for letting time slip away so carelessly.  

In the past two weeks, I’ve tried to think more about the positives, the things that I accomplish, the wins.  

I asked for a definite prognosis and the remainder of my life was given a numeric value.  Now, it’s my job to increase the actual value of the life I live. 

Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined. - Toni Morrison