#but god damn that was such an internet brain post

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Five - On Trial

Apologies for the delay as there were a few speed bumps that my foggy brain just did not want to hump over. This chapter gave me some grief, but I'm still happy with how it turned out :)

Trigger Warnings: religious imagery, ptsd, angst, brief mentions of rape/incest/assault/drugging/coercion/miscarriage

Flat deadened eyes bore chasms through your own.

They peeled away the impregnable shroud of shame masking the abhorrent malefactions of those you’ve wronged.

In a split second of time, those eyes foisted judgment upon all your heinous sins with an executioner’s toll. Damning you to an endless oblivion amongst the cacophony of wailing souls eternally condemned to the River Styx.

Behold! The face of your adjudicator!

Blackened barbed wire constricts the fat of his gluttonous form. Exposed sickly ashen skin held together by threaded catgut, bursting at the seams with bone-white mold. Hellfire caged in little glass vials illuminates the agonized expression glued to a visage of perpetual torment, standing against a backdrop of towering decayed limbs, basking in the multitude of jewel toned offerings left by those who worship at the base of this miserable creature’s sacrificial altar.

…Of all the cheerful residents from the Hundred Acre Wood, who on god’s green earth decided that Eeyore of all things would be the poster boy for Christmas?

The melancholically predisposed cartoon character was a mess of tangled Christmas lights, having apparently failed in his endeavor to liven up the wilted excuse of a barren evergreen behind him and somehow succeeding in trapping his own pudgy form in the decorations instead – the ‘D’ in December knocked crooked in his fruitless struggles.

A paltry souvenir magnet from someplace sunny holds the calendar aloft, Winnie the Pooh designs posted on the side of your fridge with thick glossy sheets. A gift from your fathers; a new one included in their holiday care package every year. 

You’re sure the overstuffed box currently shoved beneath your kitchen table for lack of anywhere more reasonable to house it has its plastic-wrapped replacement buried amongst the other contents. Previous years involved such colorful settings as early 2000’s internet memes or a compilation of fun facts regarding the world’s different varieties of cheeses. Not for your own enjoyment, of course, but for the chagrined expression your family insisted on basking in come Christmas morn.

Not that you admitted to liking this past year's theme of childhood whimsey…

The curlicue numbers on the wintery grid mark the passage of time – crossed out with dry streaks of red ink. Christmas is naught but five days from now, the emphasized date stamped in the upper righthand corner with a glittery ribbon as if the holiday needed even more call for attention. It means almost nothing to you outside of a familial facetime over a microwaved breakfast of cheap eggo waffles. 

You’ll suffer congenially through the good natured poking and prodding. Chloe will send a text; Alex won’t. And the day will pass by in a whisper of silence – the magic of miracles stored back in their damp corporate box for cheapened rehashing the following year.

Holing away in the confines of your solitary habitat came with the added benefit of only exposing yourself to the overhyped celebration on a reasonable once-weekly basis, driving to and fro your therapist's office; painfully ignoring the garish spectacle of such yuletide enrichment as fuzzy wonky reindeer antlers wedged atop sticker splattered minivans, off-key fourth graders caterwauling carols in the backseat, tinsel and fiberglass grating on your teeth.

At least, your antisocialness normally would save you from such headaches. 

When the pharmacy didn’t bungle communications with your primary care physician and refill your prescription two weeks early. 

The voicemail left on your phone this morning was a little more than a minor annoyance. You’d only just finished chasing the taste of bile with citrusy mouthwash, leaning your leaded weight against the cold marble of the sink, stomach still spasming with painful braxton hicks-like contractions. Shaky hands splashed tepid water on your face, wicking away the evidence of exertion and clearing your chin of digested chicken noodle. 

You’d only half paid attention to the robotic voice droning over speakerphone, wiping off your face with a disgruntled glare at your reflection and muffling a groan into the pilled fabric of your hand towel at the automated message. This was not a day to be playing at adulthood. This was a day for warm chunky socks and Disney movie marathons. 

And now because some overworked new hire chugging Red Bulls probably keyed in the wrong refill date in an over-caffeinated zeal, you were once again paying for someone else's mistake. 

(A running theme for your life.)

You shook off the bitter thought with a weary sigh, hanging the damp towel from the plastic command hook on peeling wallpaper. The buzzing of the keypad rattled the counter as you’d cleared out your phone’s voicemail, scooping up the device and trudging back around the corner to begin what should’ve originally been an easy day. 

Now, a few hours of lounging had garnered you enough gumption to voyage out amongst proper society once more, rinsing your chubby dinosaur mug from earlier in the sink as your eyes flick up unwittingly to the calendar nearby. 

You know what you’re counting even as you abash yourself for it. 

The crumpled bag of mostly full coffee grounds has been sitting in your bin for the past two days, put there in an abstract protest to the blatant disregard of your feelings by a caustic alpha. The taste on your tongue has become as phantom as the scent that once clung to your coat rack, wafted away by a bottle of descenting spray the same way you wish to purge his lingering effervescence from where it's taken root in your spine.

The offending bag collects dust at the top of the pile, placed there in a huff at the start of every morning. When its existence mocks your suffering and the grief of a life you��ll never get to live is at the forefront of every painful heave into grimy porcelain, forced onto your knees like the flaccid servient creature that beast has morphed you into. 

Still, there’s no sign of refuse or food waste on the flimsy outside packaging. It never stays put long enough to accumulate filth or bury itself in neglected disuse. At the end of the night, when the wounds of before are wrapped in a somnolent layer of protective padding, it returns to its spot amongst the clutter of your countertop, a pitiful idol to the foolish part he’s allowed to fester against your better judgment.

God, you’ve tried so hard to ignore it – you really have. With what little there is to occupy your mind in this lackluster environment, the labor of staying detached is proving arduous. John’s memory agitating the stripped-bare axis of simple order your world rotates upon.

Distraction eludes you at every attempt to forget. The warmth of your nest is the comfort of his leather embrace, the Zofran on your tongue the calloused paw at your nape grounding you in tempered reality. Soft boar hair bristles are his fingers, the zest in your meal his vigor. His face is in the deep prussian sweater jailed to the back of your closet for the sole crime of coming too close to the cerulean shade that haunts your waking memory.

You thought you already knew what it meant to belong to another. To be branded with someone else’s signet like a bored kid in history class taking chunks out of his desk until it was too desecrated with graffiti to be regarded as anything other than his unofficial property. No one wanted to touch what the school bully had already sullied.

Until John.

It didn’t matter that the seat was already occupied. He just scratched out the nameplate with safety scissors and staked his claim with a wad of gum beneath the chair.

He was dark matter wedging its way to take up space between condensed molecules, bullying the other elements into submission until his chemical makeup twisted you to something there was no coming back from. Sweeping in with the strength of a category five and the persistence of the big bad wolf.

You despise John for the damage he’s incurred to your house made of straw – all of them really – but you detest yourself even more for the gnawing disappointment flooding your gut that he hasn’t shaken the foundations further.

The hiss of pain between your teeth as you adjust the abrasive scarf around your neck serves as a sobering reminder of the real cancer infecting your cells. Even if the claim was buried under layers, it didn’t mean your flesh didn’t still carry the scars from its etching. 

Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you take to the task of unlocking each of the bolts guarding you from the true terrors of an alpha’s altruistic attention. 

Please just let this be quick.

The sneer from the old crone in aisle two has you ducking the latter half of your face in the itchy fabric that hides the one thing you’re currently being judged for.

You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her outside the steps of your apartment enough with her hellspawn of a pomeranian to know she lives in your building. The grey curls of her poodle cut perm do nothing to hide the splotches of alopecia that come with age. Tissue paper skin dappled with sun spots begs for the youth of collagen, gaunt around her cheekbones and only highlighting her witchy exterior, a moth eaten shawl hanging loosely over the quasimodo hump keeping her from standing at a height taller than that of a twelve year old child.

The grouchy bat is clever, though, you’ll give her that. There’s a discerning eye behind those tortoiseshell frames that speak of a bygone prime filled with intrigue and gossip that’s followed her well into her twilight years. 

She’s honed her intellect well.

And she knows.

Your skin crawls with maggots under her heated glare, boring subdermal tunnels that reach beyond the capabilities of a simple itch. The writhing anomalies only add to the growing discomfort of waiting in the pharmacy queue for far longer than need be. Ten minutes you’ve been behind the same middle aged man – too diffident to interrupt the conversation going on ahead of you – as what should’ve been a simple snatch and grab of his blood pressure medication turns into three decades of catching up with a bygone acquaintance from primary school.

“–when Janine drank some weird concoction back at Jimmy’s place. Fucking health nut has his own carbonator in his kitchen and she got the bright idea on six shots of cuervo to run a glass of milk through the damn thing. Ended up spewing all over Crystal’s pants.”

To their credit, the pharmacist had at least been working on filling prescriptions as he prattled on with the bald spot beta in front of you, bustling between stocked aisles of jarred substances and counting out little white tablets with every ping from the database. He just didn’t seem to care about the goings on inside the store. “Adam mentioned that when I ran into him at the football match last June. Isn’t that O’Hara’s omega? The one who used to save her gum in a giant ball after she was done chewing it?”

Eww. Seriously?

“Nah, that’s Abigail. Crystal was Billy and Carter’s girl.”

That seemed to catch the other alpha in his tracks, a quizzical brow replacing one of mild interest as he paused his fingers over the keyboard. “Was? What happened to her?”

“Fucking up and left them, that’s what. And right after they supported her through that unfortunate miscarriage too. Came home one day to an empty nest and a note on the table telling them she was done. Poor guys never even saw it coming.”

“Wow. Who would’ve thought she’d turn out to be one of them?”

“Yea,” the beta’s tone turned sour. “Unfaithful bitch.”

The Unfaithful. 

That’s what they call you now. 

Those who have forsaken their oaths and disgraced the name ‘omega’. The sanctity of packdom desecrated by egocentric bond breakers. Scheming harlots abandoning their worshipful protectors– denying them their designated rights and withholding the gift of eternal peace upon those alphas worthy enough to be chosen.

False omegas. Government apostates to how things are supposed to be run.

Doesn’t matter that those who claim to be victims before the courts are the same conniving bastards stripping us of our bodily autonomy. Nothing is impermissible. 

Rape. Incest. Assault. Drugging. Coercion. Words that carry weight become cotton candy deadlifts in the face of a mating bond. It has no undoing – no magic words or medical procedures. There is no running towards the arms of a better pack in hopes of a brighter future; no room for another in the tether of your soul. That anchor has taken root in the rock bed and cannot be claimed outside the mysticism of a scent match. 

Crueler parts of the world would hunt you down like the runaway slave they’re too cowardice to admit they perceive you as, a bounty placed upon your head and welts on your back for disobeying, brittle nails clawing at the dirt in a last attempt at freedom, dragged back to your master in an iron wrought collar displaying the shame of your sins. 

Suppose you should consider yourself lucky that here, amongst the dredges of refined society, your kind are merely shunned.

Bosom friends all turn their backs, work desks empty into a cardboard box under the guise of ‘performance issues’. The deli at the corner claims they’re closed, red blocky letters drawing blood by the gallons as the patrons inside regard you like you’re nothing more than a sopping wet stray begging for scraps in the rain.

There are no laws that protect from discrimination for people like you. The lease in your fathers’ names and the lie from their lips are the only things sheltering you from homelessness. Others are not so fortunate as to have the word of an alpha keeping them off the street. 

The forlorn promise of a better tomorrow is all that greets you now in the wake of devastation. There is no higher contract than the bite marks on your neck. 

The scathing look from the disgruntled woman would be warranted by those around you if they were privy to the same suspicions she carried. The signs were all there if they only knew where to look.

“Miss?”

You hardly notice when they end their interaction, the off-putting customer service smile from the alpha behind the counter making the pit of your stomach rumble with unease as you scurry to the front, quietly offering up your personal information as you place your ID on the counter.

If he only knew he had the power to blacklist you in his hands…

You fork over the cash in far shorter time than the previous customer did, spending less than two minutes to his twenty before you duck away from the substantial line that’s formed in the time since your subsequent arrival. 

It’s your luck the old hag is three guests behind you, averting your gaze to the task of stashing your meds to try and keep from further interaction. Too bad a half century’s worth of smoking comes out in the rasping slur she spits at you from underneath her breath.

“Fucking glitch.”

You’ve heard the words directed at you once before, only far more cutting and uttered from a far different mouth. That didn’t stop the insult from piercing through to bone, a deep ache in your ribs that slows your gait and gives you pause beside the basket drop-off. 

A quick glance around confirms a lack of disdain from your fellow shoppers. You’re surprisingly fortunate that her biting remark hadn’t been made any louder. You frequent this shop often enough to be recognizable to most of the staff – though not on any sort of conversational terms. Being blacklisted here wouldn’t just result in an inconvenient trek farther for medical service, but a mark that would deny usage no matter the location.

Every step out your front door is a chance for your past to catch up to you… in one form or another.

A shock of cold jolts you from your far-away stare, startling a yelp that draws brief attention as you jump back from the unwanted contact, hand retreating away at the abrupt offense. Cradling it to your chest, you’re met with cobalt eyes and sunshine hair, a bright eyed pupper beaming up at you from its spot perched at your feet.

“Sorry about him!” An apologetic voice squawks to the left of you, calling your attention to the hobbling beta woman at the other end of the leash. Her neon green marshmallow puffer greets you before her dark curls and round cheeks, a prosthetic hand keeping grip on her furry friend. “He’s a well behaved boy I promise! Ain’t gonna bite ya or anything.”

“Oh no, he’s fine!” The tremble in your words is more from social awkwardness than anything, having been caught off guard in a place far too crowded for your tastes, rolling your shoulders to halt the impulse to scratch. “Just wasn’t expecting a wet dog nose is all.”

The beta, on the other hand, has no problem running a knitted mitten over the back of her neck. “Yeaaaah, it’s not often he gets away from me like that. You see, he’s my service animal.” She calls attention to the black vest around his body, a litany of bright colored patches and big blocky words adorning the functioning harness that you hadn’t quite discerned upon first glance. “He uh… was just alerting to you.”

It takes you a moment to process the words, blinking down at the panting canine regarding you with eyes more keen than the pea-brained expression would suggest. 

Good to know even a dog can sense you’re nine different levels of fucked up.

“You can pet him if you want,” comes the gentle offer upon spying the embarrassment painting your features, taking her faithful companion’s inattention in stride. The quirk of her mouth gives you a green light even if her words already did. “Far be it for me to disagree with the boss here when he puts his mind to something.”

The words of declination rest limp on your tongue, a moment’s hesitation giving way beneath the understanding gaze of an impartial animal whose sole purpose is to provide the comfort of love. Crouching down to its level – uncaring of the salt trekked state of the tile – it's almost instinctual to wrap your arms around the retriever for an act that seems so much more dangerous coming from any other being. The muzzle that finds home in the junction of your shoulder roots you through the floor, going beyond solid concrete foundation and miles of serpentine pipeways, winding through terraceous cracks unyielding to the progress of man to find purchase in the damp soil unseen for thousands of years, unbowing to the anything but the turn of the earth.

Calm is not the word; the pounding pulse in your ears and the headrush of being out in public still ring through the chittering bustle of checkout lanes to keep you on your toes. Yet the ache in your soul feels less like a boulder and more like a handful of a pebbled shore.

Pulling away from the smell of damp fur, slobber greets your face in the form of affection, features pulling taut against the playful onslaught trying its best to intrude between the cracks of your mouth. 

“Easy does it, bud.” A soft yank on his harness serves as a gentle reminder, turning from loveable pup to esteemed gentleman panting in perfect submission. “No one wants to taste what you had for lunch earlier today.”

You flash her a grateful smile for the interference, fingers moving next to scritch around the bright red collar mostly hidden by dense hairs, a glinting dog bone with cursive scrawl clacking against the knuckles of your hand. “Rocky, huh?”

“Yea,” she chuckles. “Don’t judge, but he was actually my favorite power ranger as a kid.” Her mittened hand joins yours in the thick pelt of his neck, scratching at some secret spot that gets his tail thumping, the appendage a whirling propeller trying in vain to achieve liftoff. How long they must’ve been in each other’s company for such familiarity. “Figured since this little guy was gonna be my hero too, he deserved a name befitting the courage he inspires.”

Her sincerity sparks something in you as you reach back to your own childhood, the sizzling of pancakes on the griddle against a backdrop of Saturday morning shows. Your smile warms at the memory. “Hey, no judgment here. After all, mine was Tommy.”

The moment breaks with shattered glass somewhere off to the right, the both of you reacting with varying degrees of frazzled nerves. You don’t miss the way her hand strikes out with practiced swiftness towards her hip, something nonexistent bumped away from flexing fingers by a patience nudge. Wide eyes glance down at her stalwart companion, already staring back with all the surety of his namesake, pushing her palm further against the smoothness of his head, urging her to stay with him in the safety of the moment. You don’t know the ghosts that haunt her–doing your best to avert your gaze from the glimpse of carbon fiber–but you watch as they retreat with calming breaths back to the place where they were born.

She shoots you a look you know she rather wouldn’t, an unspoken apology wrapped in embarrassment as familiar to you as it is to her, understanding passing between mirrored irises. There’s a shuffling of feet as you both scurry on your respective ways, you towards the outside air while her path takes her further inward. A quick glance over your shoulder finds him pressed against her side, snout turned upwards with a lolling tongue and dopey smile, eyes on the caregiver staring back at him with fond devotion. To have something that loves you that much…

Your gaze softens along with your words. “Good boy, Rocky…”

Fire ants bite into your cheek as the sharp crack that accompanies them leaves an outline of lava, the slap mark on your face glowing red hot and searing with the weight behind their assault. It dulls as the molten rock cools, a beating heart on the surface kept in time with the now racing pulse in your neck. The shock of it is almost as painful as the protruding iron shelves getting knocked against your spine, blowback jostling the festive display contents some poor stocker worked so hard on as cardboard cubes of kleenex clatter like ornaments to the muck-stained floor.

The outcry from your lips is muffled in comparison to groaning metal shifting under your weight, hand instinctively flying up as a wall to protect from further onslaught. Heat blooms again even under your careful touch, hissing in a gasp as wide eyes filled with glistening saline catch up a moment before your nostrils take in a familiar decadence. 

Her omega scent of rich warm brownie, fresh out the oven – but swallowed from the edges by the beginnings of char. Too high a temp getting cooked for too long, potent in its fury as it cracks and concaves. A sickeningly sweet outer shell transmuting under pressure, turning perfect gooey fudge into bubbling tar.

The visage that greets you is tempered by dread; a mixture of refined beauty and smoldering hate.

White fluffy earmuffs contrast against long chocolate waves spilling like molasses over a matching pristine peacoat – as if not even fate itself dared to sully such purity. If the air of refinement somehow doesn’t outclass you than the designer handbag does. No pack could ask for a more exemplary omega.

You’ve seen those cheekbones on the cover of magazines, that glassy skin splashed clean in luxury skincare ads. Perfect porcelain as artistically rendered as fine chinaware. Every model you’ve ever envied taken shape as your worst nightmare. Dark bambi eyes red-ringed with acidic tears, button nose flaring with each heaving rise of her trembling shoulders. Full pouty lips quiver under the enormous weight of emotions that threaten to claw almond manicured nails through your skin like chainsaws.

There is anger, but there is also pain.

And you caused it.

You do not know which response consumes you more: panic, or shame. 

“You–” her voice breaks like her heart, delicate wind chimes in a spring downpour. “You s-stay away from them…” Her words come in a struggle, fighting for stability whilst she hangs onto her composure with a thread as thin as spider silk. “They’re not yours… so… so just– just leave us alone!”

Gone is the lighthearted vision spun in innocent etherealness from that day in the store. Sparkling doe eyes now filled with scorn don’t suit the unblemished being not a foot in front of you. There’s an ingrained sweetness in her now pitiful form that so easily calls to an alpha’s protectiveness, a creature that deserves to be cherished, adorned; royalty reincarnated to a modern day princess.

There are only traces of that now standing a few feet in front of the automatic sliding doors, a smashed box of tissues keeping the mechanism from closing and sending a chill over the entire conversation. 

You shrink in on yourself, lowering your gaze in a meek show of submission that speaks where your own voice fails. How could you continue to look her in the eye when you are the reason this woman is suffering? When you are the bad guy in every sense of the word?

Filth. Sullied. Poison. Suffocating her with your very presence as if your own tainted pheromones could overcast hers.

You expect more–deserve more–but she turns on her heels, the sensors allowing passage as she hurries back out the way you suspect she only just came.

You’re as stunned as the bystanders around you, blinking at her retreating form into the small parking lot beyond. You can’t help but watch as she races across the asphalt, thoughts of her own task left behind in a trail of her own tears. Badly muffled whispers start in earnest at the display. Chorused words of ‘wicked woman’ following you out onto the pavement. Tongues lashing into open wounds kept bleeding by your own shame. 

That pain is nothing in the wake of the familiar figure of a towering form.

He meets her halfway, hulking mass climbing out from the cab of a blackened range rover at the first sign of her obvious distress. From this far away you can only make out the sounds of heaving sobs, watch as dainty hands clutch the dark material of her protector, the furrow of his brow as he searches for answers to her suffering.

Whatever she responds, you find yourself once more snapped in place by the weight of his stare, looking no less worse for wear than the first time he did. 

Logic says the phantom tartness on your tongue is a hallucination ingrained from previous exposure, but the inner omega whining helplessly to be understood doesn’t comprehend the self inflicted wounds she scores with brittle claws at the first chance to taste. In many ways, designative instincts retain the innocence of youth: purely reactionary in their naive disregard. They’re doe-eyed five year olds holding up the mangled body of a broken baby bird and proclaiming ‘they can fix it’. To them, they don’t realize the damage that comes with wishing for a bite of lemon zest when they know that cupcake is theirs, deaf to the scolding of a parent who knows better. 

After all, what gives you the right to take what hasn’t been offered? For wishing for the comfort of an alpha’s scent that doesn’t belong to you? All it does is make you feel like the shameful thief the people in the shop think you are.

So you keep your distance from the alpha and his mate, once more stuck in a whirlwind of unintentional trouble. He’s too far away to make out the hues of his eyes, but his body language tells you exactly where he stands in all this. Fingers flexed in a possessive grip, the placement of his hand curled around her mid back, the subtle hunch he takes as he tucks her tearstained face beneath his covered chin.

A choice. 

Conceal. Protect. Intruder.

You once wondered at the outcome if you hadn’t run that night; if the call that beckoned you ‘wait’ had kept you rooted to the floor. How would this mammoth have reacted - the one who only watched in pure neutrality as your world crumbled apart? Would he have let his friend make the first move forward? Would there have been an altercation? Spoken words and awkward introductions such as with their Scottish brethren? Did they care about your cowardice? Did the alphas give you chase? Lose your scent in the produce aisle and catch their breaths in the crisp night air? 

At last you have your answer. 

The judgment he passes as he turns his back to you has far more gravitas than the mopey donkey on your fridge. The conjured images of morbidity that entertained you earlier this morning feels like a holiday in comparison to the way your arteries shrivel from necrosis; down another size and a half by Grinch standards.

(Would it ever grow again?)

Closing your eyes against the sight is all you can do to maintain your sanity.

“Lass!”

As if life hasn’t finished causing you torment enough, the rough brogue catching your ears has your eyes peeling back open, the depression gluttoning away at your insides taking note at the promise of further feast, cackling gleefully at the tousled mohawk rounding the the opposite side of the vehicle his companions are approaching. Concern sits heavy on his brow, footsteps sure of their path as the pair sidle up along the drivers side of their SUV, lemon shuffling his omega through the open door he holds and into the relative safety of the back seat. You expect John to join them – to fuss and coo over her the same way he did for you in the cafe. Your masochism soaks up the envy like a yorkshire pudding at Christmas dinner.

But he makes no move to join his mate, blazing a path that leads beyond.

It’s not her he’s calling out for. It’s you.

Something smothers in your chest at the meaty glove that yanks him backwards, the heft of his brawn outmatched by the iron grip stopping him from advancing any further, shoved back against the shiny black of the range rover. The suspension creaks from the sheer force of the impact, giving you a hint as to the momentum which was suddenly reversed and applied to the hull, vehicle tilting a few centimeters off its wheelbase before thudding back down to settle on its chassis.

Charged static fills the air as overwhelmingly as the growl ripped from their chest – from which alpha you aren’t sure. The palpable anger that must be flaring in their scent chokes those unfortunate few nearby into hurrying along, a group of teenagers giving wide berth as the old man a few cars over shoves something fragile into the boot with a telltale crunch, slamming the latch shut before climbing over his center console to the steering wheel from the opposite side. No one wants to get involved in pack business, much less find themselves collateral damage in a showdown between behemoths. 

Where lemon’s mouth is obscured, John’s isn’t, giving you unfiltered access to the snarl he spits up at the man a few inches taller than him. He makes his displeasure clear in a volume still too quiet for you to grasp, but his argument is apparent in the gesturing of his arms, the wildness matched by the heart he so clearly wears on his sleeve. His packmate stands in complete opposition to the outward show of aggression by the former, striking in his marble-like appearance, firm against the blunted chisel of whatever’s being discussed. The only sign that he’s participating comes in the form of the other’s interrupted pauses. 

Your thoughts turn to the omega inside overhearing all of this. The discontent she must feel down the bond from those she loves most has to be just as painful as the ability to hear the quarreling itself. What must she be going through–huddled alone in the shadows by herself–having to listen to what you assume is an argument over another woman… one that a mate is clearly defending?

What consumes her more? Is it rage? Betrayal? Anguish? Abandonment? Jealousy? Your heart goes out to her at this moment in a way you’re not sure her packmates are knowing or even empathetic to. 

You suddenly flinch as if being struck by the accusatory finger pointed in your direction by the up-until-now stoic alpha, nose to nose with a man he’s spent nights pressed even closer against. Whatever point he makes, there’s no rebuttal from the Scot this time – only a strained moment’s silence.

At last John shoves away the arm holding him, straightening his jacket with a look that says this isn’t over as his companion walks away to the driver’s side door. You don’t pay him further mind though as John huffs out his anger like a bull, raking a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze with far more softness. He sees it in your eyes the same way it reflects in his. Two pained apologies spoken without words.

Dark tint keeps you from seeing them as they enter the vehicle and drive off, peeling away with a nod to the discomfort inside but with enough self control to not endanger the ‘precious cargo’ in the back seat.

You knew the other day was too good to be true. It’s clear now the damage you’ve incurred in your foolish desire to forge a connection. The lies John told you to placate his unthinking selfishness. Why the radio silence has been deafening your apartment. 

Nothing is alright. Everything is broken. You’ve ruined god knows how many years of passion and devotion by the sole act of your own pathetic existence. 

You’ve robbed her of that–robbed them. Another reminder that they cannot give it to you. She has taken your place. They cannot claim another.

It’s your fault. Your fault.

Your fault your fault your fault your fault your fault… 

You can’t breathe.

Something’s crawling up your throat. You can’t– 

As customers pass the threshold of the automatic glass doors, no one pays any mind to the sounds of retching in the dumpster.

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[norrkatt]

hey i saw a post about being upset that content creators might start scabbing strikes and three things

1. that really is not a thing i expect to see happen, online creators are still microcelebrities. i get markiplier was cast for the iron lung movie or some shit but if i say names like "jerma, jacksepticeye" irl unless theyre a parent they probably wont have no idea what i am talking about, and even if theyre a parent, even still. i do NOT expect some old hollywood producers to be twirling their evil moustache and go haha excellent, now bring in corpsehusband. if i am proved wrong, whatever. but my point stands. unlikely!

2. please. i am begging you to think about how many content creators there are that are rly tiny, theres only a few big ones in reality.

3. the strike is important. but i also dont think making weird ass posts like that helps lol. mine doesnt either for the record but for the love of god log off and maybe go help out with the strike if you care so much instead of going oh my god i am so mad i know content creators are going to scab just fucking watch ohhghh like...who said they would? you are sitting there assuming lol

[caramelmochacrow]

that post from last night just. wow i really am an asshole huh.

[sanjisboyfie]

one piece smau: dating ace edition

— male reader <3 i love ace so much sorry it took so long to finish this pooks

— im a firm believer that ace definitely types hehehehe and actually does giggle in real life. he's such a giggler.

liked by [l/n].ace, freeluffy, and 17k others

portgas.[name]: best part about dating ace?? his person(a)lity(rms) ❤️

tagged: [l/n].ace

[l/n].ace: damn id smash this fine mffff

-> portgas.[name]: im deleting this post u fucking narcissist

freeluffy: i still win our arm wrestles tho 🥱

roro.zoro: does [name] know he mispelt personality?

-> portgas.[name]: its something called a pun, zoro.

-> roro.zoro: well the delivery sucked i thought ur brain had an aneurysm

revo.sabo: BARRRFFFF this egotistical maniac didnt need this stroke to his ego [name]

-> portgas.[name]: trust me im regretting even dating ur silly ass brother rn

-> [l/n].ace: r u guys talking about me 🥺🥺🥺🥺

liked by portgas.[name], m4rco.polo, and 19k others

[l/n].ace: pov ur on a date with me and watching me try not to vomit all the sushi i shoved into my mouth all over the table

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: why r u on dates w other ppl???

-> [l/n].ace: ITS A JOKE BABY PLS

-> portgas.[name]: mhm

m4rco.polo: damn this shit sounds disgusting id never go on a date w u again if i saw this tbh

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, yammyato, and 100 others]

yamayamato: r u cheating on [name] ace?

-> [l/n].ace: IT WAS A JOKE ITS AN INTERNET SAYING PLEASE

-> yamayamato: yeah well i dont think its very funny :// u should be loyal in a relationship

-> portgas.[name]: yamato <333 u were always my favorite boy ugh i love u sm 🥰

liked by portgas.[name], yamayamato, and 21k others

[l/n].ace: weekly me post bc i love me! (and my mans) 🤓😕

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: yeah im in there guys!!!

-> [l/n].ace: i love u hehehe u make me blush hehehehe

portgas.[name]: are u free tn? i'll take u out and treat u right ughhh

-> [l/n].ace: i got a date with my bf later tn, sorry not sorry !!!

revo.sabo: i need to mute you because i can't be seeing this shit when im in public

-> [l/n].ace: dont be ashamed that your brother is so hot wtf

revo.sabo: with all due respect, im already ashamed that hes my brother in general soooo

[liked by portgas.[name], eee.izo, and 200 others]

yamayamato: my arms are still bigger. get on my level ace HAHAHA

-> portgas.[name]: proof?

-> [l/n].ace: this is literally cheating, you're cheating on me right now. can you please stop cheating on me with yamato?

liked by [l/n].ace, portgas.[name], and 15k others

m4rco.polo: god forbid these two do anything by themselves

tagged: [l/n].ace and portgas.[name]

[l/n].ace: ur just jealous ur not in love like we are

-> portgas.[name]: agreed bc how r u gonna be like 40 and still not get any play

-> m4rco.polo: 40?????

dni_nami: i loveee them (whenever they come over they ruin the entire house and im this close to murdering them both)

-> portgas.[name]: but nami 🥺🥺🥺

-> dni_nami: no.

eee.izo: its like ace is trying to become one with him or smth, so unsettling

-> [l/n].ace: weren't you the one preaching about young love a week ago?

-> eee.izo: and now im telling u to GROW UP ace, he's not going anywhere if u let go of him for two seconds

[liked by m4rco.polo, revo.sabo, and 90 others]

liked by portgas.[name], freeluffy, revo.sabo, and 22k others

[l/n].ace: i love my snookums baby boy handsome pretty king to the moon and to saturn <3

tagged: portgas.[name]

portgas.[name]: ... i guess i love you too.

-> [l/n].ace: be more confident when u say it baby cakes

-> m4rco.polo: oh my god [name] break up with this fool already what the fuck is this

freeluffy: whats a snookums?

-> roro.zoro: don't ask luffy, you wouldn't want to know.

revo.sabo: awww what a cute post, if only ace were normal <3

[liked by eee.izo, m4rco.polo, and 100 others]

-> [l/n].ace: ????

-> portgas.[name]: im so glad we can agree on this sabo !!!

liked by eee.izo, [l/n].ace, revo.sabo, and 22k others

portgas.[name]: rare sighting of a photo of ace with his shirt on, everyone celebrate in the comments !!!

tagged: [l/n].ace

portgas.[name]: dont get me wrong hes sexy both ways but im not trying to see his nipples every where i go

-> [l/n].ace: but babe you said u liked my titties 🥺🥺🥺

-> portgas.[name]: can you not do this rn.

revo.sabo: yayyy finally he stopped being a WHORE

-> portgas.[name]: at least he can be my whore, but still i agree

-> [l/n].ace: you're the most confusing man i know

-> [l/n].ace: i love u sm hehehehe

-> revo.sabo: the way ik his ass is blushing so hard rn and kicking his feet in the air

eee.izo: thank god for that, i was getting tired of seeing him shirtles sin every single post

m4rco.polo: finally !!!

portgas.[name]'s story:

i love him A LOOOTTTTTTTT even though he's a lil freak

[l/n].ace replied to your story: when he posts you 😍😍 i love u too bby (even tho u literally cheat on me to my face with yamato but its wtv bc i love u enough to ignore it ❤️)

[thisliminalspacedaydreams]

Like no I get that fanfic feels like a big deal but it literally isn’t.

It is just you playing barbies with your blorblos to exorcise trauma or make yourself laugh or anything in that very large category.

To writers: if you aren’t inspired, drop the project. If you don’t love the fandom, leave. If you have a 20th new idea and all you ever write are beginnings you are still a writer.

Fuck everyone this is your archive and I am tired of the pressure writers are putting on themselves. (And that other people are putting on writers)

The internet is on fire and we are floating on a rock in space for fuck’s sake post your forever unfinished chapter of that one fic you know you will never finish. It doesn’t matter what others think, only what you think.

Maybe this chapter is the only thing you will write of this story and maybe someone will read it and go « god damn » and get inspired to do their own thing WE DON’T KNOW HOW THE WORLD WORKS.

My point is it’s fanfiction it can be terrible and it can be bad and anyone who reads it and thinks wow this is bad and COMMENTS on it is a fandom idiot who doesn’t understand how fandom works and is therefore irrelevant.

Practice and write that shitty half baked story and only write a bit of it.

The next one will be better.

The one after will be worse.

Your brain just hasn’t locked in on the recipe. Keep stirring the pot, try new ingredients, don’t freeze because you aren’t getting it right.

[lady-ashfade]

Our Song Bird

—£ Yan!Class 1A x Pop!Singer!Reader

—£ Ask: ‘YAn CLASS 1A WITH KPOP IDOL READER’ with this one I went with just a famous singer, not familiar with kpop. And yes, I got permission to change it! @serxinns who asks this was!

—£ Warnings: Stalking, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Short Story, Slight!dark themes? Idk, but really.

The class is stunned when you enter the class room and they all stare at you. They know that shiny hair, lips and eyes and stunning features anywhere. The famous Y/n, the singer/song writer who they all had posters of.

The girls squeal in excitement and feel their cheeks flush with heat and their head getting light. The boys blush at how cute you look.

Even Bakugo who claims he doesn’t listen to pop music but he secretly has all your albums and music videos you are in- Even hides a poster he bought that was signed.

The public never knew your quirk because you kept it well hidden so it surprised them all to see you here. As a new classmate.

You knew joining would make you the center of attention but Aizawa promised to keep it at bay…But they all couldn’t help it. They swarmed around you to ask everything about your quirk and why you decided to join (Or to sign their merch)

The thing is that they already had a crush on you and now you are near them…Makes them go crazy. They get to be near one of the most famous person in Japan, the cutest person they ever saw with a voice of a god.

They protect you from everyone else in the school and let no one even get to look at you, they circle around you.

They also love when you sing and they just stare in awe and watch you closely.

It’s easy to turn on their charm to make you trust them so their red flags get blown pass you. They are just a lot to handle and it’s probably a you problem, it’s not them!

Their obsession gets worse that they start to have more and more things with your face pop up. Or, they steal your perfume/cologne and spray it own their own things.

The internet freaks out when you post less and less and the only time you post is with your friends. They make sure to that only they get to see what you do.

“Dumbass, you need to focus on your studies instead of posting shit all damn day.”

They follow you around everywhere, and I mean everywhere. They are always in the shadows to watch you closely when you think your alone.

Weeks go by and you notice you start to lose things more and no matter how hard you look they are no where to be found. When you ask them about it they just shrug and say nothing helpful.

“You’re probably just forgetful, I know how much your brain thinks.” Ochako pokes you forhead, “Have so much in there it’s make you so clumsy too.”

“Have you looked under your bed? I lose things all the time down there.” Denki laughs and goes back to what he was doing.

If you happen to have been in a group/band they would cut you off from them slowly then all the way. They see them as a threat and are glady to blackmail the members to leave you alone.

When you hum to yourself you always have a feeling of being watched. And you are right, they are somewhere and taking a video of you to listen to later

Their brains start to actually think they are dating you.

“Can’t believe I get to date Y/n L/n.”

Slowly start to get more touchy with you and make you stay attached to their hips. You are cut off from singing anywhere else then in the dorms or for them.

“Our little song bird, can’t believe we are so lucky.” Mina gushed and rubbed her cheek against yours. “Such a cutie!”

A group of fans get their chance and don’t let it slip…No matter how darning it is. Or if you want it.

[lil-tachyon]

For the last couple weeks I've been drawing logos / designs for local-ish (mostly NJ, some PA and NY) bands as warmups in the morning. Here's what I've come up with! Massive post below the break explaining each logo + where to find each band and listen to their music.

Teenage Halloween- a staple of New Jersey basements for probably about a decade now and finally getting wider recognition in the last couple years. Pop punk / power pop with a killer horn section. First time I saw them was in New Brunswick playing with Walter Etc. and Blowout. They played a killer cover "Build Me Up Buttercup" and my wife got a black eye in the pit. Recommended tracks: "Brain Song," "666," "Clarity." Their first EP is on a separate bandcamp page btw, check it out here it's great.

Sweet Pill - They will call themselves a Philly band but in my heart they'll always be from Glassboro. Definitely one of the more recognizable names on this list. Emo revival - early stuff is more twinkly, more recent stuff is heavier. All of it's great. Recommended tracks "Nephew," "High Hopes."

Shark Club - Central Jersey's finest. I'm very biased because I actually know these dudes and they did the music for my wedding. Some of the best pop punk you'll hear and the nicest people you'll meet. Recommended tracks: "Game Theory," "Bill Murray," "Heavens to Betsy."

Rest Ashore - My favorite band for the last (oh God I'm old now) eight years. From gut-wrenching emo ballads to virtuoso math-rock instrumentals they do it all. One time I got to sing vocals on "Lucy's Theme" at a house show- thank you Erica! Recommended tracks: "Hjarta," "Chinese Opera," "Devotion," "Soyuz Sweetheart." Too many bangers to name honestly, just deep dive their discography.

Morus Alba - First band I ever went to see at a house show and still one of my absolute favorites. Their music feels like the bridge between the best pitchfork, /mu/ alt rock bands and high energy basement emo. I mean that as a compliment and I hope it comes off as one lol. I should note that since 2019 Morus Alba has morphed from a band into an experimental hip-hop project so later releases sound radically different and basically disconnected from the earlier stuff. Also my favorite release from them, Live at Isabelle's, has been scrubbed from the internet but if you'd like the files just email me. Recommended tracks: "Skyscraper," "Human Resources," "The Goodnight Waltz."

Have a Good Season - another Jersey mainstay that's still going strong. Emo revival in their earlier releases, now with more 70s power pop influences in their newer stuff. See them live, they put on a fantastic show and usually play some great covers in addition to their original music. HaGS guys if you're reading this, please put your version of "Since You've Been Gone" online, I'm begging you. Recommended tracks: "Joseph / Shel Silverstein," (you have to listen to them together for the drop, so good) , "Gum, "Gleaux / Scab." Also, frontman Nic Palermo interviewed me once.

Elephant Jake - If you see any of these bands live make it EJ, they put on such a damn good show. Electrifying indie punk from the Empire State. Recommended tracks: "F.D.C." "Sarah Moyer," "Goodness to Honest," and of course you gotta learn "Sebastien Bauer" for the singalongs.

Blind Lion - Sadly one of the greats that we lost along the way. Defunct since about 2017. I only got to see them once but it was a great performance. Alongside their own stuff they played some killer covers of "Bad Moon Rising" and "Moonage Daydream." I had trouble doing a logo design for them because I actually really like the composition, if not the "Ed Hardy-ness," of their existing logo so what you see here are two separate attempts, neither of which feels entirely satisfying to me. Frontperson Larry Flately currently plays in Nematode and also handled production of Bradley Gardens joke hiphop group The Breakfast Boiz under the moniker "DJ Ova EZ." Recommended tracks: "Brumous," "Dinner."

Fighting Seasons - A band that I sadly found out about too late (via a sticker under the bridge in my town which has since been painted over). 2010s pop punk that packs a helluva punch, especially considering that I'm pretty sure the members were high schoolers for most of the band's existence. I think some members may have gone on to form Sawce (FFO Chon, Polyphia, that type of music) but I can't remember where I read/heard that so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Recommended tracks: "Fighting Seasons," "Oil on Canvas"

Milkmen- Another fallen giant, officially disbanded in 2019. Like Morus Alba, they played the very first house show I attended and their few releases remain on constant rotation in my home. Used to put on a great show and were one of the bands I always thought would make it big until suddenly they weren't around anymore. Frontman Ben Thieberger contributed guitar and vocals to Covid quarantine project Kin if you're looking for a bit of an extra fix but beyond that I don't know what these guys are up to these days, sadly. Recommended tracks: "Ramus," "Johnny Dangerously," "how sieves catch breeze," "K.O.T.H."

Stand and Wave - New York (now Philly) pop punkers delivering instant dopamine hits with every track. Another great live act, see them with EJ if you can! They often play shows together. Recommended tracks: "Convos," "Mrs. Dash," "Splashton Kutcher," "Michael Collins."

My Chemical Romance - You know who they are. While I was drawing all these other logos I ran a poll on Patreon to decide which famous New Jersey band should also be graced with a drawing from me. MCR won the poll by a hefty margin so unfortunately you won't get to see me do an illegible black metal take on Hoboken's Yo La Tengo. I ended up doing two versions: the one with the halo is the first, the one with the bats was the second. I tried to do something kind of thin and elegant with the first one and I don't think it's terrible but I also wasn't quite satisfied with it. For the 2nd attempt I tried to lean into the kind of pulpy, almost horror punk aesthetic of early MCR and I think that one looks better even if it's less original.

Anyway if you took the time to read through all this, thank you very much! And please support these bands! Also If any of the links aren't working please let me know.

-Logan

[sanjerina]

Not to go off, but:

- structural, racial, and financial inequalities make it next to impossible for some parents to parent effectively (because they’re working six jobs and/or are in prison and/or are chronically ill);

- their kids go to understaffed and underfunded schools who are expected to provide not just education but also child care, mentoring, mediation, and twelve other unfunded mandates to support their students;

- the kids wind up trying to parent themselves and counsel their friends in schools that are not following through on their IEPs, not providing effective classroom management, and not able to keep sufficient adults around for supervision — and schools are thence full of dysregulated children. many of them high as balls, who do not feel safe;

- and our health insurance companies give me and my colleagues in community mental health like 8-12 therapy sessions to fix alllll of that and refer them out to community supports that either don’t take public insurance or straight up don’t exist.

(Plus we still don’t agree on best practices for teaching people to safely use television and the internet, much less these damn smartphones, and our brains are still running hardware from 150,000 years before the Neolithic Revolution.)

So not to kvetch or anything? but I think the rich assholes who have been profiteering off of the aforementioned inequalities should be obligated to spend a few billion dollars to fund some smart people who have been trying to actually fix, like, literally any part of this.

I ranted yesterday at the end of this post about C-PTSD about the extensive damage chronic stress and chaos does to brains. We have set up a system in which this damage is almost unavoidable for a vast number of people, and it’s only snowballing out of control as the generational trauma continues to rack up. (This shit was already endemic when I was a kid, and I’m old enough to be some of these kids’ grandparents.)

We continue to ask more out of workers, more out of children, and more out of their schools, and while thank GOD people are finally talking openly about the impact on mental health, community mental health centers designed to patch you up and send you back for more systemic damage are … not gonna be enough.

Like, it’s something! Therapy will and can and does help! But if you are sensing the game is rigged, I am here to validate the shit out of that for you.

And yet. And yet. We go on. Gotta haul on that moral arc and bend it. 💛

[wishmaster]

Morning Wishmaster. I've just followed thanks to my attraction to powerful reality bending entities, wishing to see how magnificent you are if you can grant me this wish. It's quite simple, I think. There is this muscular jock that doesn't have a lot of smarts in the head, so he results to bullying nerds. I wish to merge with him completely, to the point that the past never knew either of us being separate.

Muscle Head

First off, thanks for the follow and I hope you enjoy my content, but I guess you do since you've come to me with a very detailed wish.

Your target is quite amazing to look at, though he is more brean than brain. And damn he loves showing off online. Though he does have the body for it. So firrst of all I want you to get him to wear soemthing of yours, maybe your glasees.

You give him an old pair before you got too dependent on glasses. He slips them on after calling you a dumb nerd and punching you in the gut.

Once on he suddenly feels your gut pain and you begin to feel strange as well, his body now seems to be sucking you towards it, once your ass hits his leathers panst you feel his hard on straining against the fabric, but soon, you feel the powers of his hard on as your two bodies phase in and out until you are totally absorbed by your jock crush. You feel powerful as you both suddenly realize what's happened, in order to make sure you don't end up in the looney bin, the dominate personality takes over which surprisingly is you, Jake always figured being big and strong he'd be a dominate personality, but he quickly folds as your brains merge with his memories. Suddenly your pasts merge, you remember when you were younger and the kids made fun of you because you were smart, so in middle school you started to workout and by highs school you had become this amazing looking muscle god. Once you graduated high school, you spent a few years modeling before heading back to school where you are currently studying to be a compute engineer. For extra cash you show off your amazing body, which you are constantly posting all over the internet.

You've become quite popular and in demand, you've even thought about pausing your studies and embracing your amazing body as your need to be even more appreciated in your new form grows. Suddenly the past forgets you were both separate individuals and now you've completely embraced your new muscled bro form. The more you embrace that side of your new life, the faster your years of smarts start to fade away. You thought you could have it all but the jock deep inside will make sure that's not the case.

[demonsword586]

if my hcs pissed y'all off sm can u just fucking block me also saying that im advertising paimon as female just bc i HEADCANON him (im emphasizing it for u since y'all can't fucking read) as transfem and used she/her prns bc i said she's a gyaru when y'all could've just blocked and called it a day but no u and ur friends were literally jumping me on my asks and telling me to make my own post abt it but when I did suddenly im making a tantrum and that im weird??? USE UR DAMN BRAIN OMG

I JUST SAID AN OPINION AND U LOSERS TOOK IT SRSLY AND NOW IM THE BAD GUY FOR MAKING POSTS ABT IT???? y'all were literally being weird to me when it's literally been a week since that paimon post can u be srs for one fucking second

"no one is telling u hcing paimon as transfem is wrong" but y'all hate it when i use she/her prns BE FUCKING FR???

God,at this point I don't even see the point of replying to you when all the answers are already said by the others.

The only reason why I haven't blocked you yet is because I still had some small hope you would admmit you were in the wrong but it seems like that won't be the case.

I just don't see any point in trying to argue with a child's mentallity. Please get out,close up your mobile and enjoy some nature.

Also I love the dedication you put in just to piss in my inbox. Did you go through all the accounts who said something mean about you?~ How cute!

Also just to make it clear to your simple-minded self,in any post you make about Paimon you use she/her as if that is their actual prns. But it's not. If someone who has no idea about whb saw your blog,they would think Paimon is female. And ince they play the game,they would be disappointed once they realize it's a guy. That's why people are so careful with what they say on the internet. Because misinformation is made,accidently or not. There are also people who can be sensitive to this kind of topic. You have to be very careful when it comes to sexuallity and sexual topics in general. Many have bad experiences with it and even misgendering can be a trigger.

Seeing from how you don't have any bit of sympathy towards hurting other people with your rude speech,I can only assume you don't have many real friends so you go on the internet and then rage here instead.

I'm done with this topic now. I come here to relax and have fun,not argue with an immature idiot.

[dhampling]

moon river

“Remember when you asked me why?” “Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. “Yeah.” - probably the most personal thing i will ever post on the internet disguised as a reader insert. enjoy! w/c: 813

A considered silence, the earliest hours of the morning. The occasional break, the glug of wine into a silver chalice. Two. The city below still alive in a quiet amber hum.

The Lower City wall. One of the clandestine turrets just along from the Szarr Palace, blankets around shoulders.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

He turns his head in a dozy cant. Lids heavy. Looks at you through a slow blink, dark lashes.

If this were only weeks ago he’d have been skittish at the suggestion. ‘The guard’ would have gone up, the desperate need to keep you close.

How he luxuriates in your company now. Unwavering. Devoted. Proven. Known. Revered.

The Absolute nothing but a brain in the water.

“Anything.” Astarion smiles lazily. 

“Remember when you asked me why?”

“Why you cared?” He recalls with a joking menace on the last word, leaning back on his palm and bringing his chalice to his lips. 

“Yeah.”

He hums in acknowledgement, edging you on at your own pace. A calm quirk plays at the very corner of his lips.

“I saw some of myself in you.”

You let the statement hang for a moment. He swills the red nectar around his teeth and swallows slowly.

“You did, did you?”

“Yeah.’

You lift your own chalice. The stars above never looked brighter than they do now, the clearest of cool nights; the lax billow of sails far along the Chionthar, the couple you see stumbling blindly from a middle-distant tavern. The final call from within. 

‘A lot of my life has been spent making people feel exceptionally wanted. Stealing their hearts to whatever extent that’d allow me to get the reaction I wanted. A mechanical ploy - never cruel, not forced as such - but learned nonetheless. Reading faces, bodies; holding both with reverence.’

You sip. The water sparkles.

‘Giving to whoever promised adoration. Making the occasional someone feel loved enough to keep me safe in their head. A campfire tale.’

There’s a mirth to your smile, teeth glazed in wine and white bread.

‘From the moment I met you I knew there was a vulnerability to you. I loved it.’

Astarion pokes you with his elbow, clicking his tongue but remaining quiet. 

‘You’re beautiful. Those who are so damn godsly-blessed as you rarely have the insecurity I could smell from you, from the knife at my neck. From the fear in the furrow of your brow.’

You know he aches for the sun.

But as the moon catches his profile you see he is the ultimate divine here, now, in this light; at your side. Gossamer to the tips of his curls. Soft, heavy; tongue whetting his lips, mapping constellations in his glorious mind and listening.

Listening to you. 

Without witness. Without reward.

‘And it seems we were both playing the same game. The worst bit is I didn’t even know I was playing one.”

There’s a beat of silence before he opens his mouth to talk.

“In the moment you never do, do you?’

He understands. Gods, he understands. He takes the threads of your lives and weaves them together, just as you’ve done this whole time.

‘You just do what you have to. What feels right. Whatever is going to give you the response you need.”

He was being forced to do what he had to. You did it because you had to. 

It’d be so easy for him to play points in the viciousness of his situation, but he sees that there is familiarity - a gap, as wise as an ocean and simultaneously as small as a grain of sand - in the sentiment. 

You wonder where the point scoring mindset comes from. Why each experience has to be weighty and balanced against another. Why you compare yours to his in any coherent sense.

Then you see the smile.

Ruinous. Saccharine. Eyes of red honey. A hand covering yours.

“Listen, because I won’t repeat it.’

You look at him and you see every dream you’ve ever had. The golden mornings, piles of riches, robes of silk. A house in the clearing. Chickens. Children. A lover so infallible they won’t scare. Your charm, your wit and irreverence; a life of a charm offensive, and all of it evaporates the minute he takes your fingertips in tiny kisses.

‘It worked. You won. You never have to fight like that again. To convince, to perceive the thoughts of others and how they may benefit you or otherwise.’

He rolls his hand in the air, starbound; sweet. 

‘I love you. Irrevocably. You did it. My darling, you won.’

His head shakes a little from side to side as he sips.

‘Admittedly not a flawless prize, but one you’ve won fair and square. Devoted entirely to you.’

Astarion pauses to think. Looks to the moon on the river.

‘Rest east, lover. You’ve got this, and I’ve got you. From here on out.”

[lost-technology]

Along the lines of writing Vash's otherness that I was discussing... Well, polishing up my re-read of Trimax 2, complete with the ending-rant by Nightow including his baffled reaction at anyone wanting to actually make an anime out of his manga (I'd feel the same if anyone wanted to do anything with my indie novels), I just started thinking about baffles and my brain went back to idea of Vash's "otherness" that the manga conveys (and both animes, to a degree, too) and other characters' reactions to it and how I think people who do fanwork ought to remember it more, that I wish I was seeing more work from that angle (over established "everyone's just chill with it" stuff more popular in the fandom for shipping reasons). And... I thought... well, I have some inspiration for my own future work now. Something happened to me a few weeks ago that really struck me through with a sense of the Other: This is going to sound very silly. A few weeks ago, I saw a Cybertruck in the wild for the first time. Yes, it's basically an Internet passtime for everyone to make fun of the Muskrat's Uglitrucks and multiple photos and memes have been posted and I've seen them aplenty, but LET ME TELL YOU that they DO NOT prepare you for seeing the actual thing, in person. I saw one parked at the intersection of my street and the main street in my neighborhood, oncoming, signaling for a turn. I froze, white-knuckled on my car's steering wheel having an honest to God deer in the headlights reaction. I was wondering why there was a giant SHOEBOX making a blinking orange line. My brain could not parse it. I actually had to take a moment to figure out what I was looking at before I connected "Cybertruck?" The thing turned and it was, indeed, a Cybertruck, got a look at it from the side, which is what I'd seen the photos portray. Dead-on like that is just... a different look. I think there was a split-second of fear, but it was mostly a BAFFLE. I mean, in that moment, I realized why deer and rabbits freeze in car headlights. (I read that it is actually an issue with their vision not being designed to see such bright light in the dark and it literally shorts out their brains for a few moments, like a computer glitch). I... had a similar reaction to a damn automobile! It wasn't even anything that was going to harm me, it just "brain go wonk" when encountering something I'd never seen before and, according to my brain, didn't have any business being. (Those things are trucks, but aren't truck-shaped. They are a New Thing). I honestly think that might be what people unfamiliar with direct engineer-level interaction with Plants probably think of Vash when he feathers / petals out / glows, etc. of Weird Plant Things he does. Even if they can get over fear, there will always be a baffle that the human brain has trouble with - a sort of animal-reaction to the Other.

[serendertothesquad]

The Ultimate Serendipity-Odd Squad Lore Post

Because you people keep asking for my entire story.

No, no, not my life story. Christ sakes, we'd be here until Gen Z'ers died off if I had to reiterate my whole life story.

No, I'm talking about my entire Odd Squad story. You know, how I got here to begin with, how I rose to fame, and how I am objectively still a god without a religion, a cult, or a religious cult. That story. You all want to hear that story.

If you're an oldie, you've probably already heard my tale at least once. If you're new here to the funny kids STEM show fandom, then damn boy howdy are you in for a wild ride.

Get a snack and a drink, pop below the break, and let's begin.

Allow me to take you back to the year 2014. I was the ripe young age of 15, finishing up my sophomore year of high school, and suffering from undiagnosed depression of the "I'm trapped in my own home" variety. We didn't have cable, and so stuff like PBS Kids, NBC Kids, and 4Kids were the only things I watched on a regular basis. In the online space, I was largely chronline to the tenth degree (and note the "largely", because, y'know...school). The Internet, and spaces like Tumblr, served as escapism, and I spent a lot of time particularly in the Wild Kratts side of things.

I had first heard of Odd Squad through PBS's own upfront, the PBS Annual Meeting, that was held in May (though the show was, as I would find out much later, officially announced back in January at that year's TCA Winter Press Tour). It was the network's first live-action show since The Electric Company reboot in 2009 that got swiftly cancelled, which was already enough to get me interested because PBS hadn't taken a chance on live-action stuff since. The premise, as well, was charming and incredibly interesting -- a secret organization that solves problems using math sounded a little saccharine and thus perfect for PBS Kids, but since it was live-action, I figured it could bring a little spice to the network in a way that not other kids shows of the modern network era (read: 2013 onwards, past the network redesign) did. The fact that PBS was willing to go all-in on the show, up to teasers, previews, even having two new games available for fans to play before its premiere, was practically the cherry on top.

Fast-forward to around September. By this point, teasers and promos were already coming out for the show that showcased Olive, Otto, Oprah and Oscar in action. And by this point, I was absolutely invested. On a whim, I decided to take my Sony camera and record a reaction video of me watching it. Was it weird? Yes, but I had no money for a laptop that wasn't a decade old and didn't run about as well as a computer from the days of yore. You make do with what you have.

Needless to say, when the first episode "Zero Effect" premiered, I was having a whale of a time. That's...pretty much all I remember. Aside from the swearing. Lots and lots of swearing.

(...Look, it was 10 years ago. My brain can only go on a decline after being fully developed. And the depression has been eating away at me for that long. When astrophysicists perfect the art of the time machine, call me.)

I uploaded it to my YouTube channel the day after the show premiered. No editing, just a straight-cut video of my reactions laid on the table. I figured, "Okay, so this would be nice to look back on and laugh, maybe."

And then, a month later, I got a PM from Joshua Kilimnik, the actor who plays Season 1's big bad Odd Todd.

Before I get into that, though, a bit of backstory for my channel is necessary.

I had made my channel in 2011, when Wild Kratts premiered. At the time, it was mostly hosting Wild Kratts content, mainly Top 10 countdowns of fan videos I stumbled across on Tumblr or elsewhere as well as Sparta Remix-related stuff. (Yeah, remember that old meme? That isn't as dead as you think it is? Yeeeeeeah.) Around the middle of 2015, it unfortunately got struck down pretty hard when PBS began to go Nintendo on it, viewed fanworks as threats to their IPs, and decided to rip down my videos from the 'Net in three easy strikes -- and with it, my entire channel. It stung, to see my relatively hard work go down the drain. I'd be lying if I said I had wanted the channel to stay up just so I can look back on it in 5 years and cringe at how juvenile it was. Christ sakes, I even had MLP stuff up there at one point. Why? Don't ask me. I wasn't even watching the show at the time. I truly got into it when Season 5 began airing.

But back to the PM. You know, back when YouTube gave you the option to PM people.

Getting the PM from Joshua, I was, naturally, suspect. Celebrity impersonators are all too common, and as I would later come to find out, Odd Squad was not exempt. I had to laugh, because an autistic nobody like me getting a PM from a child actor who was in the industry long before Odd Squad was like Ariana Grande up and inviting me to have dinner with her because I made a few comments about her diction. It's a miracle, people. Miracles that only happen to those with life-threatening illnesses or those who have done good for the community. I had neither of those. Unless you count me going to high school as doing the community a service, in which case I have one of those things.

I read the PM again. And again. And again. And something in me thought, "Maybe...just maybe...this guy is actually legitimate. Maybe he's telling the truth about the entire Season 1 cast and the show's crew members, creators included, seeing my video. I mean it's 2014, what creator wouldn't look to the Internet for first reactions on their show?"

Fuck it. iBalled. I went for it. I reached out to Joshua.

And by God's oddness-laden utopia, am I so happy I did.

We immediately hit it off, taking our conversation from YouTube DMs to Twitter DMs (no, my current Twitter is not that ancient -- my time on birdsite-now-saltyman-hellhole is a whole different story) and discussing our hobbies and what we did. Joshua confided in me that he helped disabled kids, which, honestly, is a green flag in my book off the bat as someone who is, in fact, disabled. I told him about my animal shelter work and how I loved the show.

At the same time, I had posted on Tumblr about the show. Don't ask me what the post was about -- I honestly couldn't tell you, and combing through the tag is something I'd need a hell of a lot of motivation for -- but it somehow, by some astronomical means, took off. People came in like a small trickle. It was small, but over time, we built a strong community. I didn't exactly know how big my impact on people was until I read "how I got into Odd Squad" stories and saw my name pop up enough times to the point where I could safely say I was an inspiration to more than one person.

At some point in 2015, I had created a Wiki for the show. Fandom -- or Wikia, as it was called back then -- wasn't exactly new territory for me, as I had visited other show Wikis before. However, my Odd Squad Wiki didn't take off, and someone else ended up making another one that became far more successful.

...Yeah, you're surprised, aren't you? Figures. But not even I can lay claim to everything.

When the other Wiki took off, Joshua decided to dive right into the fire and engage with the fandom directly. Now, for any big-name fandom, this is everyday normalcy. The My Little Pony fandom has fans directly engage with cast and crew members who answer their questions, for example. But for small fandoms of niche IPs -- and oh believe you me, Odd Squad was incredibly niche back then -- a cast member interacting with fans was a huge deal. The hype only increased when Joshua was named an administrator, along with a few others, myself included.

Needless to say, Joshua being involved boosted the fandom's activity exponentially, and not just due to his spectacular acting on the show. Fanfics, fanart, fan videos...it was a bustling time of fan content. I can recall some of the most notable works just off the top of my head. The fandom got to be so busy that I made a news blog just to cover every bit of news, shifting away from my Wild Kratts news coverage to focus on a different show instead. I enlisted a few old friends to help me out, converted them to be oddballs (which, I will say, was a stroke of luck), and put them on the "staff team". My aim was to create something akin to Equestria Daily, but on a smaller scale. We did editorials, episode followups, and scoured the Internet for any and every bit of Odd Squad news we could find. It became a reliable source for many, especially considering PBS's horrible track record with even the most basic of news -- cancellations, renewals, and other such announcements. Not to brag, but I like to think I did a better job than them at actually giving news to fans who deserve it. (Hell, I still do. My hunger for even small crumbs of news is very strong indeed.)

I can easily recall when Season 2 was announced. Me and my friends were ecstatic. For me, I never thought Odd Squad would get a Season 2, and the Season 1 finale -- affectionately named OINFO (don't confuse it with "O is Not For Old", that's a different rodeo; this is "O is Not For Over") -- made sure of that. Originally, it was set to air in May, before it got shifted to June to coincide with Season 2's premiere.

And even long before that, the movie being announced blew our minds. I genuinely couldn't believe this niche little IP, birthed only several months ago, was getting a movie. And not even one of those specials that PBS markets as a movie as a ratings stunt. No, no, this was a full-blown theatrical movie. With A-listers to boot! And it was a damn good movie!

(...Okay, unrelated, but man, I'm reading through all my old posts and comments on the Wiki and cringing. God, did I really type like a 10-year-old back then when I was in high school? Egh gross cringe. The "let her say fuck" was strong with me back then.)

Of course, as most actors do, Joshua largely moved on from the show as the years went on. Most long-timer fans stuck around until the end of Season 2 before either other interests caught their eye or real life just got in the way too much. A majority of these fans dropped off the face of the Earth like an introvert who suddenly disappears mid-conversation, though they still popped into the Discord server a few times and I reconnected with one or two on Twitter. Hell, some of them even made a "hey, I'm back, and here's what's up" post on Fandom that made me ask if their accounts got hacked.

As a result, when Season 3 premiered, the fandom had slowed down to a crawl. Anyone who's bore witness to it, whether an episode or a nugget of criticism, can probably guess why. (And anyone who hasn't can feel the wrath of my "trust me bro" card, thank you.) It was like I willingly leapt off of the boat, it sped away without me, and I was trapped in the middle of fuck-all nowhere with sharks. So, you know, like Open Water if it was actually good. But the point stands in that I was pretty much all alone. I couldn't crawl to anyone for the sweet release of death after seeing just how hard S&P tried to avoid The Shadow's very obvious murder attempt by way of hacking into a car to make it fall into a lake of green goo. All I could do was scream and cry into a mic, edit, upload to YouTube, and let all the unsupervised kids looking for free episodes come to me in droves.

Oh, and post to Odd News. Until I accidentally deleted the account.

By that point in time, my old friends had all left due to real life commitments, and only one, Angelica, remained. But even she drifted away, and I was stuck running it all alone. So, I made the difficult decision to let it rot, and frankly...I haven't touched it since. Largely because I left Tumblr entirely and only just now came back. On the news front, I expanded my coverage to PBS Kids as a whole network, just as I do on Twitter.

It wasn't until the back half of Season 3 premiered that the fandom slowly but surely began to grow from planted roots, and I could connect with people again. Seeing people flood the Discord server and Tumblr, sharing art and news and theories, was amazing. Not for Season 3, though -- it was because of the past two seasons. Honestly, to say there's been more talk about Otis and Odd Todd than about any other character in the entire franchise is a hell of an understatement, because it dominated pretty much 98% of the fandom.

From there, new fanworks, fanart, and other pieces of fan-created media were created, and many still continue to be created to this day. Though hyperfixations can be yoted off the cliff and die in an instant (with deepest apologies to Shroom), it's great to see a burst of activity in such a small fandom. Hell, it even got big enough to where we had a Secret Valentine's exchange a couple months back, which was a real joy because it gave me a chance to flex my writing chops even if it did leave me on the verge of a third panic attack. And...the fandom being revived did land me a solid interview for a college assignment. Which, to me, is my own equivalent of getting a dedicated panel at a convention.

But this isn't a whole entire story about fandom lore. It's a story about me.

And honestly...I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little tired with Odd Squad myself.

Between the choking responsibilities of adult life (yay work), the state of my mental and physical health (yay depression and anxiety), and the franchise being fucked over sideways to Pluto and back by numerous entities (yay TV industry), I really can't just focus on Odd Squad anymore. Now, I'll give a fair warning to you and tell you to make no mistake -- my enjoyment of the franchise will die with me and my entire bloodline if the franchise itself doesn't die first. But I've found other special interests and hyperfixations that have grabbed me more than the funny kid agent franchise has. I derive more joy from binging the 90s Frasier series, Pretty Cure, and Neighborhood Wars than I do with the funny kid agent franchise.

Now, does this mean I'm leaving the fandom? God no. To do it on the verge of the franchise's 10th anniversary would be utter blasphemy. And I do plan on weaponizing this blog for more Seren's Studies, including episode reviews and character analyses I can't do with the limited resources I have. But the drive for Odd Squad is just...no longer there for me. I did not, unfortunately, get the "Odd Squad forever" autism. I got the "childhood is hell, but okay, sure, I'll make you a functioning competent adult to a certain degree" autism.

Maybe one of these days, amidst the countless new pieces of media that keep releasing, I'll be able to rewatch Odd Squad. It's worn out its welcome nostalgia-wise, but I find it to be a pretty enjoyable view when I take off those glasses and put on the "my God is an awesome God and that's why I try to attend church every Sunday" ones. I'm still making crossover fan projects to other IPs like MLP, Super Monkey Ball, and Precure. And of course, I'll be seated for Odd Squad UK to see if it's good or not -- I'm more than happy to take the bullet for people who don't want to see it for whatever reason, just as I did for the back half of Season 3. But for now, the drive is pretty much gone.

I will admit, I'm likely missing some stuff. My memory is absolutely terrible, and I had to go fishing for a lot of stuff to refresh it (one of the reasons why this took so long to release in the first place). But this is what I can dredge up.

I'm honestly proud of the little fandom I birthed. I could work a hundred jobs in my lifetime and still say that founding the Odd Squad fandom is by far my greatest accomplishment. I've met so many amazing people, seen so many amazing things, and really, I'm hoping to see more people in the years to come. If the aim is to introduce Odd Squad to new generations of kids, teens, young adults, and adults alike, then I'm all for it. Expose them to goodness. None of that Cocomelon shit.

Thank you for reading, and to all of the people in the fandom both old and new, thank you for touching my life in ways I never thought of. If you've got any further questions about my story, send 'em my way; I'll be glad to answer 'em.

See you all in the next Seren's Studies, whenever that may be.

[bichietozier-s]

🕷️Catch You On The Web!!🕸️

An Itafushi spiderman socmed au ❤️

In which Yuuji Itadori, newly a sophomore in college who still has not a clue what he wants to do with his life, gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gains new abilities, stats and powers. He's coasting on his raw athletic ability, a full-ride scholarship handed to him despite his less-than-perfect grades, when he realizes he's got way more ahead of him than he'd ever imagined. Including, but not limited to, a newfound crush that also throws him for a loop.

you are reading:

Prologue | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 (coming soon!)

notes:

teehee megumi crisis moment // tw: i think i put kms jokes in this part? i cant quite remember but i usually toss those in with megumi so just a warning 🫶🏻

edit: forgot to add that loml and kirbys gay friend are nobara pov, while the rest are all megumi pov 🙂‍↕️ should be obvious enough who were talking to though! :3

Megumi sat down on his lofted dorm mattress, out of breath, with slightly reddened cheeks and eyes wide. What the hell was that???

He posted his vague tweet and instantly flopped back onto his bed, still wearing his jacket with his shoulder bag still tucked around his body. He laid there for a while simply staring at his ceiling, catching his breath and replaying that moment over and over and over in his head.

Again… What the hell was that?????

He certainly got what he’d gone for, getting to witness exactly what the beefed-up jock meant when he said “superhuman abilities”. But, even though he had expected to see Yuuji there after Yuta let him know he was on the team, he truly hadn’t expected the interaction he’d gotten. 

Still, he finds the only thought repeating itself in his head to be, “what the HELL was that?”

The question repeats itself as a way to ask literally, what the hell did he just witness? But also, it functioned as a way for him to ask himself what happened to him. Why did he freeze up so badly? Did he make himself look like a fool because of that? He couldn’t stop staring at Yuuji, but somehow, he couldn’t even muster up a response.

Not even a thank you. 

Shit. Now he would have to seek the other boy out again just to thank him. Or, maybe just this once, he could hold up that facade that he was a heartless asshole who didn’t care about anyone or anything. Especially the guy he’d just met days ago and immediately found attractive despite the lack of a brain in his head.

Oh, yeah. He just thought those words. He found him attractive. 

This was something he could never share with the rest of the world. Under any circumstances.

After another 10 minutes of staring at his ceiling, replaying the scene over and over and over and OVER, still wearing his jacket and bag, he realized that he would never be able to keep this a secret, who was he kidding? Also, he would definitely be seeking Yuuji out on purpose again. Whether to Yuuji’s knowledge or not, he didn’t care.

Did that make him weird? Or a creep? It didn’t matter. 

His phone buzzed in his hand.

He had been laying here for a little over a half hour doing this. God damn he was pathetic.

Why did he have to find the way-out-of-his-league, no-brained-idiot jock attractive? He was doomed.

His phone buzzed in his hand once more, so he picked it up to see replies coming through on his stupid tweet. He huffed out a loud sigh, before hoisting himself up off of his bed, finally removing his bag and jacket, and then responding to them.

Nobara had expertly tracked down Yuta through the internet (read: found him through Yuuji’s private account on twitter) and got his number so she could conspire with him over Yuuji’s own love life.

She had little to no knowledge on this “pizza guy” who wasn’t even the pizza guy, and had never met Yuta before, although she’d heard plenty about him through Maki. From what she could tell though, he seemed like a fine dude.

After the brief introduction she offered to him, Nobara and Yuta began sharing their own stories on the perspectives they had to offer for each boy in question through a facetime call. Nobara needed to know more about this “Megumi”, how he truly fit into all this, and especially if he was even worthy enough to consider as a possible partner for her best friend. And Yuta was simply here to offer that information up to her.

He started from the beginning of this school year, telling Nobara everything he could offer up that might overlap for her. Anything that had to do with Yuuji, from the fact that he lives in the room above Yuta himself and his boyfriend Toge, all the way down to the last time he spoke to him, filling in all of the blanks that had to do with Megumi, as well.

The pieces were already falling into place for Nobara. She was seeing how they were all somehow connected to one another without even knowing or realizing it. 

After Yuta had wrapped up his storytime, Nobara shared hers, which as she had expected, was minimal in comparison to what Yuta offered for her (especially considering she needed some extra intel on who Megumi even was, whereas Yuta at least knew Yuuji pretty well). 

Where Yuta explained the progression of events with Yuuji acting odd, not being able to sleep and all of that, Nobara was able to offer insight on those things. She also was able to connect things Yuuji had told her about with things that Yuta knew of Megumi and what he’d been up to.

And then came that tweet from Megumi, not even an hour before Yuta and Nobara had their girl talk session. 

“So, obviously since you don’t know Megumi, you wouldn’t know about this, but…” Yuta trailed off as he ran to grab a screenshot of Megumi’s recent tweet to send to Nobara. “Look at what he tweeted a little while ago,” he said, the sound of a shit eating smirk evident in his voice.

“Oooooohhhh, interesting, okay,” Nobara hummed out, pursing her lips, her face showing her deep, deep thought process. “And this is after he supposedly went to a practice for the football team?”

“Yeah, and like, he said he only wanted to go because he’d heard some other dude from the team talking up this other guy who apparently had superhuman strength or some shit,” Yuta said, not realizing exactly who the “guy with superhuman strength” was. 

But luckily, Nobara was a professional at gossip. So she caught on incredibly fast. 

“Oh! So he was going to specifically check out Yuuji, got it,” she laughed, saying it sarcastically and assuming they were both on the same page. Well, they certainly were now. 

“WAIT-” Yuta yelled. “NO WAY.” 

Nobara looked back at him through her phone screen with raised eyebrows.

“OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT! HE WANTED TO GO TO WATCH YUUJI! TOGE!” Yuta looked off to the side of his phone screen where Nobara couldn’t see, or hear, Toge. Soon she was watching Yuta communicate with his mute boyfriend, signing out of habit even though it wasn’t necessary as he yelled about Yuuji being the reason that Megumi wanted to go watch the football practice.

He finally came back to the phone screen, a huge grin plastered on his face. “I can’t believe I didn’t catch on to that before, but I guess I didn’t really have all the details on Yuuji’s weird increase in strength,” Yuta said to Nobara. “But, do you think he even knew it was Yuuji? I mean, I hardly knew anything about Yuuji’s strength and shit, Megumi definitely wouldn’t. They only met for the first time a few days ago, and clearly Megumi was as disinterested in Yuuji as he is with anyone else. If not moreso. He also told me he didn’t even know Yuuji was on the team, I suppose…” He trailed off at the end, realizing that Megumi definitely didn’t know it was Yuuji prior to going.

Nobara thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess you have a point. He probably didn’t know it was all Yuuji they were talking about, but if he didn’t know then, judging on that tweet, he definitely knows now,” she stressed the word ‘definitely’, laughing as she finished her thought. She was right on the money with that one.

After the two talked for nearly two hours, they finally ended the call with Nobara needing to get started on her hour-long-before-bed-self-care routine, promising Yuta an exciting update by the end of the night.

“What are you gonna do??” Yuta asked, morbidly curious of what this devious girl he just met was capable of.

“I’m requesting assistance from the queen, of course,” she wiggled her eyebrows, before bidding him goodnight, and telling him to extend that to Toge as well. 

As soon as that call ended, she flew to text her girlfriend, roping her into this wildly massive scheme she was planning.

author's note:

SO SO SORRY FOR THE LONG PAUSE BETWEEN UPDATES GUYS AAAHHH i got super duper sick (i had pneumonia 🤪) and then i just have been lazy and keep putting off actually formatting the post for this bc it takes me like a good 20 minutes at LEAST bc of how i do it eugh BUT ITS HERE NOW!! next part is not yet in the works but it wont be as long of a break inbetw i prommie 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

and as a reminder pls just ask to be added to the taglist if youd like 🙂‍↕️

jump to:

Prologue | Previous | Next (coming soon!)

taglist:

@meme-ty7 @runfrme @poemeater @gemicorn

[catwalkvivi]

well hey, since hardly anyone's looking at this corner of the website anyway I might as well take the opportunity to vent (it's annoying to do it on twitter with the character cap)

Man, social media is hard.

I see so many people posting regular content consistently for years and years without even seemingly breaking a sweat, while it's always been so difficult for me... Calculating engagement, deciding the best times to post, or, hell, even just sharing what they think/feel/made/fucking ate that day just seems, like, so easy and second nature for pretty much everyone around me. It's genuinely incredible to me that somebody can share what they've learned about idk shitty impractical tanks made in WW1 on this website and make it such an interesting read that hundreds of people engage with it!

But I've tried keeping social media accounts for art and stuff so many times now, on here, on Instagram, on Artstation, on Xitter, and eventually it just- kinda- fades away, it just feels so exhausting to keep track of all the things necessary to Chase the Algorhythm™ if you wanna have any relevancy. Is it a charisma thing??? Where do I grind to get a stat boost on my Cha???

I'd love to say it doesn't matter to me, since I've been drawing shit for myself for years now, but unfortunately artists do need social media presence if they wanna get work. Not to mention, well, I wanna reach people with the stuff I do! I want people to react to what I made, to say what they liked about it, or how it made them feel, and then when I post something I worked on for hours only to get, like, almost zero visibility? idk, man, it just kinda hurts. It's probably selfish and immature for me to say it, I know that it takes time and effort to build an audience and all that, but damn I get happy when people show me that something I've made has affected them positively. I like the connection, I like the conversations, I like meeting people who enjoy the same nerdy trash that I do!

(I was very fortunate to have an art post of mine reach a lot of notes here years ago, which was amazing, but it's such a rare thing)

God, and, like, there's all these weird unspoken rules about interacting on social media too.

The other day a friend of mine came up to our friend group and was like "oh my god this girl liked my stories on instagram it means something does she like me" and I was SO confused and then they were like "well, when somebody not on your friends list likes your stories, it means they're interested in you"

Then some time later another friend was telling me that somebody stopped liking her posts and unfriended her and how that is a horrible offense and my fucking brain hurt, like- okay I get the unfriend part kinda but there could be a hundred reasons for it??? it's not like you have a deep personal connection to all 300 friends you have on your account???

Then I see so many people out there simply sharing something they think or did only to have some rando twist what they said and come at them like they're the shittiest person on the planet that deserves everything bad in life actually (except the ones that are willingly spouting/promoting hateful shit to begin with. Those can rot in hell and I shall not mourn their demise)

Like??? It might be the Power of Autism™ in me but it always feels like I'm one step away from either making a fool of myself or offending twenty different people or both. It's both the fear of having hundreds of thousands of eyes on me and the fear of having none at all. And that makes it really difficult to share anything on the internet for me. I already have to deal with my entire existence as a trans woman making some cunts around the world mad, it sucks that I have to risk it in places where I just wanna post dumb drawings and talk about dumb things that make me happy with others.

I dunno. Word vomit I guess. Social media is hard. Interacting with humans is hard. Sharing stuff is hard. I prefer Pokémon

[teratheo]

Behold

Thats a longer post so I am putting a divider after the first paragraph

My Parkour Champion is a parkour fanatic. Half of the civilization filled with fucking parkour mini-courses the worst. About once a month somebody steps into a chain or a brewing stand that's lying on the floor and it needs to be removed at the Parkour Hospital because that shit is spiky at the edges. I've already had 10 such Parkour Interventions in my 22-year-old life. Last week I went for some random check-up, and the parkour receptionist told me right away to take my shoe off xD because she thought that I had a chain stuck in my foot once again.

The other half of the apartment is fucking stuffed with The Master’s Parkour, Parkour World, Super Jump xD etc. Every week my Parkour Champion takes a spin around civilization to collect all the parkour magazines. I was stupid enough to introduce him into the Internet, because I had thought that we would save a bit of money on the newspapers. But now, not only does he still buy them, but he also sits on some online forums for parkourers and starts shitstorms with other parkourers about the best jumps etc. He sometimes yells into the screen, and he's even thrown the fucking keyboard out the window. Once he really pissed me off, so I created an account there and trolled him. I commented some random shit under his posts, such as "neos eat shiet". I could barely catch up with cooking up steak to soothe him. Oh yea, he already has a

"CHAMPION” rank on the forum, for having created 10K fucking posts.

When it's warm, he goes to parkour every weekend. For the last 5 years, I've been parkouring for dinner every Sunday, and my Parkour Champion always repeats some bullshit theories about parkouring making it easier to digest. When I got accepted to Parkour College, he would not shut up for a whole fucking week that it's due to the fact that I parkour before eating and my brain functions better.

Every Saturday, he and his buddy Mirek wake the whole civilization up at 4 o’clock in the morning. They make a lot of noise packing up their blocks, making steak etc.

During meals he always talks about God-damn parkour, and the conversations always trails off to the Fighting Parkour Association. My Parkour Champion gets himself really angry and always gets butthurt "durr they don't replenish the courses enough those fucking thieves hurr," he gets all red while saying that and walks away from the table cursing, and goes away to read the Great Encyclopedia of Jumps in order to calm down.

This year he got himself an inflatable dinghy for Parkourmas. Of course he couldn't wait until the 25th; he unpacked it last night and pumped it up in our living room. He put on his entire parkour outfit and sat in the dinghy for the rest of the night, right in the middle of our apartment. He had dinner (beef) in it too.

If they gave me access to all the parkour courses in Poland, I'd fucking blow them all up.

On one of my birthdays, back in elementary or middle school, my Parkour Champion took me parkouring as an exception. Great fucking present, bitch.

We went off way out of the fucking civilization. We're walking to the Parkour God Temple, and his eyes are already lighting up, and he's licking his lips all excited. He set up all of his equipment, we're sitting at the temple and doing the course. After 5 minutes I got bored, so I turned on my discman. My Parkour Champion slapped me across the fucking head with his hand and said that the Parkour God could hear music coming out of my headphones, get scared and leave. Whenever I wanted to scratch my ass, he would "scream-whisper" at me not to fidget, because I'm causing a disruption in the course, the Parkour God sees me move and takes away his divine Parkour inspiration. I had to sit there parkouring for 6 hours, as if I were at fucking Guantanamo, and stare at the shrine. My birthday is in November, so it was also cold as fuck. At one point, my Parkour Champion got up, jumped away several feet, and ripped a fart. He explained to me that he had to do it away from the temple because the Parkour God can hear and smell it.

I once mentioned that my Parkour Champion has a buddy, Mirek, and that they go parkouring together. Back in the days, my Parkour Champion's parkour mate was hehe Zbyszek. A ball-shaped individual with a moustache, dressed in a BOMBER jacket 365 days in the year. He and my Parkour Champion were almost like brothers, him and his wife Bożena would come over our house on Parkourmas etc. Once, on my Parkour Champion's birthday, Zbyszek came over for some hehe vodka. They got wasted as fuck and, of course, they wouldn't stop talking about parkour. I was sitting in my room. All of a sudden they started yelling at each other about what is generally better: neos or glassjumps.

"DON'T YOU FUCKING PISS ME OFF ZBYSZEK, HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A NEOS GIRTH? YOU TRY TO JUMP IN A BATTLE AND YOUR FUCKING ARM GETS CAUGHT UP ON IT AND YOU FALL"

"HOLY SHIT TADEK, GLASSJUMPS ARE AN 8TH OF A NORMAL JUMP, YOUR NEOS CAN FUCKING SUCK THEM OFF"

"YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT FUCKING GLASS MEANWHILE YOU CAN BARELY PULL A FUCKING 4 BLOCK JUMP. A NEO IS THE KING OF PARKOUR, LIKE A LION LIKE THE KING OF THE JUNGLE."

And they started fucking Parkour Battling on the living room carpet, and Bożenka and I had to separate them. They've completely stopped talking ever since. Last year Zbyszek's wife called to tell us that Zbyszek has kicked the bucket and she's inviting us to the funeral. I picked up, gave her our condolences, put the phone down and told my Parkour Champion. And he said:

"Very fucking well"

That's how much he hated him for that glass jump.

I have also mentioned my Parkour Champion’s archenemy, the Fighting Parkour Association. He’s become completely obsessed with it, for example when somebody on television is talking about someone falling in the void somewhere, he starts mumbling under his breath that instead they should talk about those motherfuckers from the FPA. He also stopped reading non-parkour newspapers because he got butthurt that they aren’t talking about the FPA and their scandals.

The chairman of our local FPA office is a guy called Adam. To my Parkour Champion he’s the incarnation of all the evil that has been inflicted upon all the Civilization’s reservoirs by the Association, and my Parkour Champion waged a war against him for many years. Once he went to some parkour meeting where Adam was giving a talk and my Parkour Champion came back home with a ripped-up shirt because they were removing him from the room by force, that’s how apeshit he went battling Adam.

After being physically defeated by the FPA, my Parkour Champion began a partisan struggle over the Internet, which included badmouthing the Association and Adam himself on civilization’s newspapers’ discussion groups. He was saying some bullshit about Adam being a member of the Anti-Parkour Bureau, or that he had seen him in the street vandalizing somebody’s skyscraper with a nail etc. I had not taught my Parkour Champion into TOR, so he got busted by the cops and had to pay Adam a 2000 glass panes reparation for slander.

It was impossible to survive at my house for an entire week, my Parkour Champion was bitching about the corrupt court system, the FPA, Adam, and the whole world in general. According to his bullshit theories, the FPA ran the entire country as if they were the Masonic Order, it pulled the strings everywhere and everybody had their back. He was also converting the 2000 into candles, ice blocks and brewing stands, and he kept getting butthurt about how many fences he could get with that (a few hundred).

Sometime last year he came to a conclusion that he really has to have a pro parkour course because renting one out is too expensive and everybody is trying to cheat him out.

“Friend, you can make really good jumps on your own course! That’s what it’s about!” he said to me.

But he couldn’t afford it and he had no will to build it and he’s not a hehe loser who would pay for a builder. So he made a deal with some parkourers from the area that they will pool in and buy a pro parkour course, it’ll be staying near some Fighter’s who has a house and not a skyscraper like us, and they’ll be sharing the course or they’ll be going parkour together.

At first the cooperative was going well, but one weekend my Parkour Champion got sick and couldn’t go with them and he got extremely butthurt. Those buddies of his were calling to say that the neos are amazing, so he was just lying on the couch, all angry, red and wheezing. What made the situation worse was that he had nobody to blame for this situation, which is what he would always do. Finally he came to a conclusion that it isn’t fair that they are parkouring without him because everybody paid an equal share of the course’s price, and on Parkourday night, when those guys had returned from their trip, he suddenly left the house.

He came back after an hour and said that I have to help him with something in front of the house. I went outside and I saw our skyscraper and, attached to it, a course xD I ask him where he got it, and he said that he fucking stole it from some guy’s house because they cheated him out, and he told me to grab the blocks because we’ll carry it into our apartment XD It was no use to explain that it’ll take up the entire living room. Fortunately the course didn’t fit into the building’s rooms so my Parkour Champion decided that he’ll leave it in front of the skyscrapers.

Using some chains that we had found on the course and my combination lock he chained it to the lamp post and he wanted to go home all happy, but then he saw 5 course’s co-owners, who had figured out where their property could be xD It all turned into a huge mess, the parkourers were yelling why did he take the course and that he has to return it, and my Parkour Champion was screaming that they cheated him out and that he chipped in 500 ice blocks yet he didn’t go parkour this week. I was trying to calm the situation down so that he doesn’t get beat the fuck up, because that was close.

After several minutes, the situation looked like this:

-My Parkour Champion is lying on the floor, tightly embracing the course’s first jump and screaming that he won’t give it back;

-The parkourers are screaming at him to give it back;

-One of them has gotten his nose broken because he had tried dismantling the course anyway and got sneak parkour battle attacked;

-Two police officers are pulling my Parkour Champion’s legs and saying that they have to take him to the parkour station because he’s injured someone in an unlawful battle;

-The neighbors all around are looking out their windows;

- Someone is crying and begging my Parkour Champion to let go of the course and the officers not to arrest him;

-Me sadfrog.jpg

Finally, the officers pulled him away from the course. I gave the parkourers the code to my lock and they took the course, beforehand throwing him 500 ice blocks and saying that he has no more rights to the course and that it would be better for him if he doesn’t run into them while parkouring. I bargained out of the officers not to arrest my Parkour Champion. The guy who received an unlawful battle said that he doesn’t want to go to the fucking police station and he doesn’t give a shit, and he doesn’t want to see my Parkour Champion ever again.

My Parkour Champion still starts shitstorms on parkour discussion pages, because they had opened a new thread in which they warned people from making any deals with him. I was observing the thread and I saw that he had created obviously fake accounts.

“Steve54”

“Number of posts: 1”

“This thread has been created by some idiots! I have known the user “OPs-Parkour Champion” for a while and he’s a very trustworthy person and a great parkourer! They want to destroy his reputation because they’re jealous of the jumps he’s done!”

Later on he used those accounts to harass his former parkour course co-owners. Whenever one of them would create a new thread, my Parkour Champion would fucking go and say that, for example, he can only make 1 block jumps and it’s easy to tell that he sucks at parkour xD

Using these fake accounts he would comment on his own threads, and when he would post pictures of the jumps he did, he’d write to himself

“Ohhh, congratulations! I can tell you’re an experienced parkourer!”

And he’d celebrate and later show it to me to see how they’re praising him on the discussion group.

Anyway I thought up of a new idea for parkour battling, gotta check it out on the Fighter’s level. See ya!