#free virtual beat

[phantomrose96]

Prometheus

content warnings: horror. body horror. ghost show can have a little existential horror, as a treat! :)

...

Tucker and Danny sat as silhouettes in the Foley attic rec-room.

The ghoulish light of the television pinned their shadows against the back wall, pulsing in and out like fireflies at each flash of the screen. It left their backs drenched in darkness, and it made monoliths of the old furniture and piled-high boxes that wrapped the perimeter of the attic. Drafty air whistled through the gaps in the insulation. Plicks and flicks of moths beat in tone against the light of the television where the seal of the attic window failed to keep them out. Danny hounded the controller in his hands, clackering with each frenetic beat of his thumb while he mashed his buttons and leaned his full bodyweight into the assault he wrought, virtually until--

“BOOM!! Headshot!” Danny yelled with a pump of his fist. From his nonexistent peripheral vision, he could not see the way Tucker would not look at him.

“Come on, man,” Tucker said.

“Get it?” Danny asked.

“Dude, come on, like… Maybe don’t.”

Danny let out a disappointed huff of air from his nostril, spirits dampened. The wayward glow of his eye settled back on the screen: Victory blazoned across his split of the screen. You Died pulsed on Tucker’s. Danny mashed the rematch option. “Maybe get good then,” Danny said, “and then you get to make the bad puns.”

“Sorry man look I’m just—tired okay?”

“Yeah I know—”

“You can be goofy about it tomorrow—”

“I know—”

“I promise it’ll be hilarious then just—”

“Okay okay, I get it. I’ll save the jokes—”

“How much longer?”

“Hmm?”

Danny looked, and Tucker was looking now too, and it was taking all concentrated will on Tucker’s face to keep looking.

“How much longer until you’re like… You know.”

4am chimed from the grandfather clock stowed in the Foley attic. The ghostly sheen of the television splashed bright and pallid across the right side of Tucker’s face, as he stared at Danny. And it splashed bright across the left side of Danny’s face, which was the only side of Danny’s face remaining.

“I don’t know like… maybe 3 more hours, I think?” A lisp whistled from the absent flesh of his jawbone.

Tucker watched his lips. And his eyes drifted to the shadow carved dark and empty in the socket that could no longer see him, a merciful concealment of where skin turned to raw exposed flesh turned to bone.

Tucker looked forward again, and he mashed his thumbs into his own controller. Danny’s character’s skull exploded into a cloud of meat-rain before Danny had the chance to notice the match resume.

“Fine. I can do 3 more hours,” Tucker said. “And start watching your head.”

…

It wasn’t until the camping trip 4 months ago that Danny knew anything was strange.

It was a yearly Fenton tradition, which Danny tolerated and Jazz dreaded, to haul the four of them and the RV out into some swampy campground 3 hours from home. They’d roll in roaring, RV stuffed to the brim with wilderness equipment and enough mechanical monstrosities to scare away all actual wildlife. All except for the fish, who had the disadvantage of not seeing the mechanical affront to God parked with questionable legality on the campgrounds.

This year, Danny had decided he was embracing it. Because for the first time, sitting grubby and wet in the mud for 3 days sounded much nicer than his typical weekend plans, which was mainly getting his ass kicked by ghosts. He’d flagged down Valerie a week ahead of time to tell her, between gunshots, that he’d be absent for those 3 days. Valerie had taken equal offence at the request that she pick up Phantom’s slack, and the implication that she wasn’t already doing that.

But it meant the ghosts were covered for the weekend, and it meant Danny was free to do nothing more exciting than sit in the mud, which was all well and good enough for Danny. Although his hopes of leaving the weekend with the same number of scars he started with were dashed by hour 5. It was his own fault too. Jack had insisted Danny gut the fish Jack caught via a blast of the Fenton Disintegrator to the lake (unconventional, not even a fishing device, a ghost weapon he and Maddie were fine-tuning. A ranger came and yelled at them about it.) And while distracted by his parents getting told off for being menaces, Danny miscalculated the slipperiness of both fish and knife.

Luckily the RV was, among many many things, a hospital on wheels, and Jazz had quit sulking long enough to take a morbid fascination in cleaning Danny’s palm out with antiseptic that burned like acid and bandaging up his palm. For dinner that night, Danny ate his open-flame grilled fish with a little more prejudice than usual.

By Saturday, his hand hadn’t healed. Nor by Sunday. And on Sunday evening while Maddie and Jack busied themselves with packing up the tent they’d both invented and yet struggled to collapse back into its box, Danny flagged Jazz with quiet urgency.

“I think there’s something wrong with my hand.”

“Wrong how?”

“Infected, maybe.”

Jazz knit her brow in concern. “It looked fine this morning,” she muttered as she pulled Danny down onto the stump beside her and flipped open the First Aid kit latch. She unraveled Danny’s bandage layer by layer, and the concerned knit to her brow loosened to confusion.

“It looks fine. It’s barely even red.”

Danny snatched his hand back. “Yeah, and it’s barely healed at all.”

“I mean, it’s healed a little bit.”

“Yeah but. Barely.”

“It looks pretty normal.”

“Jazz my day-job is getting whacked with ghost machetes,” Danny said, tone growing a little tense at Jazz’s lack of concern. “I know how quickly cuts are supposed to heal.”

“And how quickly is that?”

“I mean. It depends. But like a day.”

“A day?”

“Or maybe 25 hours, I guess.”

“Danny, you cut yourself pretty deep.”

“26 hours max, literally.”

Jazz was staring. Danny felt awkwardly judged.

“Hey um, as a question Danny, do you remember the last injury you got before your ghost powers?”

Danny hesitated. He racked his brain and some part of him felt a little embarrassed how hard he had to search, as if it were shameful to have been so delicately uninjured before this whole thing.

“…Dash, maybe. But Dash it good at the kind of quick jabby punches that hit your nerve but don’t bruise.”

“Anything else?”

Danny fell quiet. Then brightened. “I fell off my bike last year. Racing Tucker. Scraped up my shin and knee.”

“And how long did that take to heal?”

The delight faded a bit. Danny thinned his lips thinking. “…Maybe a while.”

“Probably a few weeks.”

“Jeez, really? No.” Danny said. And he so deeply wanted to be offended, because he’d become the biggest expert in the family on getting his skin used as a ghost shrapnel canvas, which should make him the authority on injury healing. And Jazz was doubting all of that. “No. That’d heal in like. A day.”

“Maybe with ghost powers,” Jazz answered. “Maybe in ghost form. Which, currently and for the last 3 days, you have not been in.”

Danny fell quiet. He considered this information that deeply annoyed him until, with grudgingness edging to acceptance, he looked at his hand, and then his sister, and then his hand.

“….Oh.”

That night, home and showered and with the clock creeping toward 1am, Danny sat on his bed. He pooled his hands in his lap, lit by the moonlight pouring through his bedroom window. He sat an inch above his bed, in fact, hair shimmery white and his right glove removed. In the wash of moonlight he watched his palm. And there was something haunting, almost, in the way he could see the edges of the cut stitch themselves back together bit by tiniest bit. He lost himself in a grainy infomercial on his television, and when it ended, his cut was gone.

…

Phantom returned to the ghost fighting scene with an unwarranted new confidence. In truth nothing had changed. But Danny operated now with the knowledge that he was a particular kind of resilient that he’d not actually realized before. And while he did not like getting fileted by Skulker’s ghost gut-hook knife, or seared by Ember’s flame guitar, or bonked in the head by Fenton Bolas (Dad why), there was a certain delight in the “This will all not be a problem by tomorrow”-ness of it all.

Even better, he now knew that just idling in ghost mode for an extra hour or two was all it took to be right as rain again. (“This is making your Gameboy addiction worse than Tucker’s,” Sam had commented. “Well how else am I supposed to pass the time?” Danny asked while mashing buttons with one less finger than usual. “You could read a book.”)

On the flipside, it did make Danny grouchier about mid-school-day attacks, which didn’t afford him the luxury of floating around to bake in ghost mode for an hour or two watching bad tv. And unless Mr. Lancer got real chill real fast with Danny Phantom taking Danny Fenton’s English tests, it meant that any school-time fight injury had to be dealt with conventional human-style, and super-healed after school.

And Danny carried this knowledge with more bitterness than usual one fall afternoon when a fight with Technus had already gouged into the first 15 minutes of his math test, and now Danny was going to have to suck it up for the last 45 minutes if he wanted to pass geometry this quarter. Which was bullshit because that last blast Technus got on him had really fucking hurt.

Danny landed, and in his math-induced funk, he missed the particular wide-eyed way Sam and Tucker stared at him. “Here,” Danny said, handing off the thermos to Tucker, and Danny let his human transformation slip through in rings around his sternum.

“Danny stop,” Sam said, and with an urgent breathlessness that froze Danny in place. “Do not turn back.”

Confusion seeped into Danny’s blood. He let the transformation rings fade away, and he felt the thermos heavy in his outstretched hand that Tucker would not take. Heavy and wet. Heavy, and very very wet.

He looked at his hand, and his white glove was unrecognizable beneath the saturation of red. The thermos dropped from his hand, and suddenly Danny wasn’t so sure which direction was up.

“Sit,” Sam maybe said, or said something like it. Her hands were on his shoulders. He was easing in a direction that was probably down. His butt hit cold pavement. And suddenly he raked in a shuddering breath which was wet as mud.

Sam was pulling away the top of his suit, which was the worst possible place for her to do that considering how much it hurt. She was pulling right where Technus had blasted him, and Danny had half a mind to tell her off until he saw what was underneath the fabric.

“That’s not good,” he bubbled out through a lot of blood in his mouth and throat.

Baseball-sized. Like someone had taken a very large hole-puncher right to his sternum. A very good hole-puncher because it had in fact punched him straight through and run off with the little cut-out it stole. Globby flesh spilled to fill in some of the empty space. But a solid chunk of sternum, and heart, and lung, and spine, were rudely elsewhere.

Danny was in a very slippery wet dream, and his fluttering eyes agreed.

“No,” Sam said with an unnecessarily aggressive pinch of his skin. “Absolutely do not fall asleep.”

“Ow,” Danny said, maybe about the pinch but also his missing organs.

This wasn’t good enough for Sam who was a little bit ghost-shaded herself while she grabbed both Danny’s ears tight and angled Danny’s eyes to hers. “If you turn human now that’s going to be very very bad. You’re fine, Danny. You’re just in shock, I think. Focus on me. Come on, count with me Danny. 1. 2.”

“Isn’t counting sheep supposed to put you to sleep?” Danny quipped, but all the blood gurgling maybe ruined his delivery a little.

…

His heart sewed itself back together in 20 minutes. His esophagus and trachea kindly followed at the 27-minute mark, the last of the tubage knitting itself together and forming the correct kind of air-seal against anything else in his chest cavity. That was a blessing, because passing the time was easier when he could talk without re-enacting the elevator from The Shining – a joke Danny had tried to deliver several times and which refused to land.

And while he still did not have his new spine vertebrae nor sternum by the 30-minute mark, Danny could see the way the last of the white fear had left Sam’s face and the way Tucker could now face him directly. And that told him that however he looked, he no longer looked like someone who was going to die.

By the 1-hour mark, Danny sat drenched in his own blood from a fatal wound that no longer existed. And he’d missed his math test.

…

Super healing was cool. Very cool. What other kind of power lets you just walk away from fatal injuries?

At the close of a ghost fight, thermos capped, swimming in the eerie silence of a street cleared of screams, Danny stood. And he shivered. He ran his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his back his face, pressing any pain-point to discover if his fingers would sink in wet and deep. Was it safe to transform back? If he made a mistake, would he notice fast enough? Would he be able to turn back again in time?

Alone in the snow of the Amity golf course. The roof of the mall. The back archives of the library. Danny lingered. Many places were good for lingering, and so Danny would linger, wherever and whenever he could. It made that held-breath feeling of transforming back easier, to know no part of him was at risk of undoing him.

And sometimes his hand did come away sticky. And in the black of night Danny went home, mindful to step only on the kitchen tile from which blood could be wiped up cleanly. And he was tired from too many nights of this when he pulled cereal from the cupboard and splashed milk into a bowl and cleared away the nuts and bolts from the half-undressed Fenton Disintegrator (undergoing v2 upgrades) and flickered the noxious glow of the muted television to life while his liver stitched itself back together. The tremble would not quite leave his cereal spoon hand but he’d manage.

One night Walker had blasted off half of Danny’s skull. And he lay shaking hunched on the pavement willing himself to overcome the pangs of shock radiating through his body until he had enough composure to call Tucker on the phone and ask if he could come over, if they could play Man vs. Zombie maybe, and stay awake through the night while his brain matter remade itself.

One night he had to grab Valerie by the ankle before she flew off, and she probably only heeded him because the break in Phantom’s superhero bravado unnerved her so much. “Please just stay and talk to me. Something bad will happen if I fall asleep,” he said, while holding the parts that used to be his stomach. “Define ‘bad.’” “I’ll die.” “Sounds like a human.” She shouldn’t have taken pity on him. But she did. Maybe because she was a human who would die like Danny if left on the pavement with her stomach open. Valerie stayed until the sun rose.

And he was lucky, because as a human he should have died. And Danny didn’t. He just came close, more and more and more. Until the sight of a raised ghost weapon forced a very human flinch from him.

…

“…losing an edge, you’d say, Craig?” “Not exactly. As a psychiatrist who’s worked with many veterans and active-duty soldiers, it’s common to—”

“Morning,” Jack said, flipping up his welding mask just long enough to nod to Danny before re-busying himself in his soldering.

“Dad, do you think maybe you could do that in the lab?” Jazz asked over a bowl of cornflakes, with a tone one might use when asking a 10-year-old to move his basketball game outside.

“Hmm, why? The table won’t catch fire.”

“Which is what you said last time,” Jazz said, carefully plucking up a cooled bit of metal scrap from beside her cereal bowl.

“…ffered many fatal injuries on camera, who knows how many weren’t capt—”

The television drowned beneath the screech of Jack’s welding, let up to breathe for moments at a time before Jack resumed the drowning. Danny’s eyes followed. The refurbished Fenton Disintegrator had nearly reformed, bigger than its original body, with a gaping fish-mouth twice the radius of the thing which had blasted up the fish in the campground lake.

“I just think, Dad, that you and Mom have a whooooole laboratory basement to yourselves, and I have just this one dining table to eat cereal at, so—”

“But then you kids would miss out on what I’m making. See, Danny’s interested. Danny, watch this—”

Jack hoisted the monster up. He hitched it atop his shoulder, and set his eye behind its sight, and twisted at the hip to point its open maw directly at Danny.

Danny froze.

“Dad, Jesus, at least show some trigger-discipline if you’re—Danny?”

Danny could not move. He could not move or really see. The shockwave rippled through him, and he believed for the moment that surely he’d been shot until Jazz shook him. “Danny, are you okay?”

Danny’s heart was intact but still it squeezed like it had been ripped. His legs were whole but they were numb beneath him. And he was useless too. Over what? Over nothing. Over a gun pointed at him, the sort which had been pointed at him 4,000 times before.

“…Danny?” Jazz asked, more worried than before. Jack had put down the gun, and he was staring at Danny in the same way.

And it was stupid. So very stupid. Because Danny had super-healing, and a hit from something like that would heal. It could rip him apart, and he’d be completely fine.

So it was all actually incredibly incredibly stupid that he was somehow, without even meaning to, crying.

…

The fight had ended three hours ago. And three hours was longer than only the worst of his injuries took to heal. Tonight had not been bad at all, just a bit of ripping and tearing at his leg from a bear-trap Skulker had laid (despite Skulker insisting he did not know what a bear was). And that had healed up in 20 minutes flat.

Danny lingered anyway, sitting soaking cold in the snow on the golf course. He liked that it was high-up here. He liked that the lights fanned far and wide. He liked that the razed-flat golf turf allowed nothing to hide. He wiled away the hours he ought to be sleeping, because there was a security in consciousness, in his ghost form. If he slept, he could be killed. And if he sat resting in ghost form on the crest of the golf course hill, he could not.

But he could nod off. Catching his head at each dip. But his mind fizzled and faded, rubbing against the staticky edge of sleep, enough to perhaps not notice steps in the snowfall that tracked him to where he sat.

The whir of the charging gun kicked him to high alert.

All alert, all at once, so suddenly adrenaline soaked that Danny had no sense of orientation when he spun on spot and his eyes drank in the sight of the barrel-mouth breathing to life in his direction.

“Told you I fixed the calibration on this, Honey.”

“Well at least it’s not a fish.”

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he was paralyzed. He was dread. He was stone.

It screeched. And it roared. And with a connection of a car crash, it took greedily for itself a gibbous moon of Danny’s torso.

He collapsed. Eyes spinning. Ears ringing. Sensation like fire and like ice and like buzzing static and nothing, feeling, at all to connect to his legs.

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he needed a mouth for that. So the second blast connected.

…

It had been an amount of time. Jack and Maddie Fenton may have stooped in the snow and collected samples to study. Danny could not know, because he’d need eyes to know. They may have crunched with their boots and mused about the resilience of ecto-flesh, more resilient than fish-flesh. Danny could not know, because he’d need ears to know. They may have picked him up piece-meal and carried him in their pockets. Danny could not know. Not without touch.

He may have been on the golf course. He may not have been. There was no ‘where’ Danny could know. He needed his proprioception for that.

There was was. There was something Danny hoped was be. This was, Danny hoped, awake. This was the only awake he could be without a brain. And if this was awake, how long could he last? And if this was awake, was it enough to heal again?

Super healing was cool. It saved you from death. But maybe not always.

Was time passing…? Was the snow cold. Was the wind blowing. Was the hilltop white under pooling lights. Was it. And did it. And was he and did he.

Was time passing?

Surely, it had been just an eternity, by now. An eternity at least.

Or had it been only one second.

Or Danny wasn’t here.

He was, though. He had to exist to feel what he felt in the moment. He had to exist even if he was deprived of the mouth needed to scream the agony that was, in its entirety, him.

…

Sun glazed the snow on the east bank of the golf course down to a slushy sheen by 10am the next morning. Mitted, in snow boots, three trespassers combed the 18 holes of Amity Park Golf Course.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” Sam asked, voice hoarse with a question that had been repeated once an hour for the last three hours between heaving breaths of clearing snow.

“It has to be this one. They said golf course there’s only one golf course,” Jazz answered, and her hands trembled against the heel of the shovel she dug into her nearest snowbank.

“Do you see any foot prints?”

“They’re melted.”

“Well check the melted sides then!”

“We checked the melted sides.”

“Maybe we missed—”

“Guys shut up,” Tucker said, and he said it low, and he said it with lips the color of ash. He stood rooted. And his eyes shifted to the crown of the hill 30 feet to their right.

Jazz and Sam shut up. Because they heard it too.

Jazz abandoned her shovel in the snow. She ran. But Sam was faster.

And it was a noise. Long and piercing and deflating. Quiet. Then starting fresh from the top. Long and singular, like the note of a bagpipe. Sam rounded the crest of the hill. And she found the noise first.

And this close, she realized what it was. The noise was relief. Because the thing lying in the melted snow was finally enough of a mouth, and enough of a throat, and enough of a lung, to scream.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Google’s new phones can’t stop phoning home

On OCTOBER 23 at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most brazen lies of Big Tech is that people like commercial surveillance, a fact you can verify for yourself by simply observing how many people end up using products that spy on them. If they didn't like spying, they wouldn't opt into being spied on.

This lie has spread to the law enforcement and national security agencies, who treasure Big Tech's surveillance as an off-the-books trove of warrantless data that no court would ever permit them to gather on their own. Back in 2017, I found myself at SXSW, debating an FBI agent who was defending the Bureau's gigantic facial recognition database, which, he claimed, contained the faces of virtually every American:

https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2017/mar/11/sxsw-facial-recognition-biometrics-surveillance-panel

The agent insisted that the FBI had acquired all those faces through legitimate means, by accessing public sources of people's faces. In other words, we'd all opted in to FBI facial recognition surveillance. "Sure," I said, "to opt out, just don't have a face."

This pathology is endemic to neoliberal thinking, which insists that all our political matters can be reduced to economic ones, specifically, the kind of economic questions that can be mathematically modeled and empirically tested. It would be great if all our thorniest problems could be solved like mathematical equations.

Unfortunately, there are key elements of these systems that can't be reliably quantified and turned into mathematical operators, especially power. The fact that someone did something tells you nothing about whether they chose to do so – to understand whether someone was coerced or made a free choice, you have to consider the power relationships involved.

Conservatives hate this idea. They want to live in a neat world of "revealed preferences," where the fact that you're working in a job where you're regularly exposed to carcinogens, or that you've stayed with a spouse who beats the shit out of you, or that you're homeless, or that you're addicted to Oxy, is a matter of choice. Monopolies exist because we all love the monopolist's product best, not because they've got monopoly power. Jobs that pay starvation wages exist because people want to work full time for so little money that they need food-stamps just to survive. Intervening in any of these situations is "woke paternalism," where the government thinks it knows better than you and intervenes to take away your right to consume unsafe products, get maimed at work, or have your jaw broken by your husband.

Which is why neoliberals insist that politics should be reduced to economics, and that economics should be carried out as if power didn't exist:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/05/farrago/#jeffty-is-five

Nowhere is this stupid trick more visible than in the surveillance fight. For example, Google claims that it tracks your location because you asked it to, by using Google products that make use of your location without clicking an opt out button.

In reality, Google has the power to simply ignore your preferences about location tracking. In 2021, the Arizona Attorney General's privacy case against Google yielded a bunch of internal memos, including memos from Google's senior product manager for location services Jen Chai complaining that she had turned off location tracking in three places and was still being tracked:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/01/you-are-here/#goog

Multiple googlers complained about this: they'd gone through dozens of preference screens, hunting for "don't track my location" checkboxes, and still they found that they were being tracked. These were people who worked under Chai on the location services team. If the head of that team, and her subordinates, couldn't figure out how to opt out of location tracking, what chance did you have?

Despite all this, I've found myself continuing to use stock Google Pixel phones running stock Google Android. There were three reasons for this:

First and most importantly: security. While I worry about Google tracking me, I am as worried (or more) about foreign governments, random hackers, and dedicated attackers gaining access to my phone. Google's appetite for my personal data knows no bounds, but at least the company is serious about patching defects in the Pixel line.

Second: coercion. There are a lot of apps that I need to run – to pay for parking, say, or to access my credit union or control my rooftop solar – that either won't run on jailbroken Android phones or require constant tweaking to keep running.

Finally: time. I already have the equivalent of three full time jobs and struggle every day to complete my essential tasks, including managing complex health issues and being there for my family. The time I take out of my schedule to actively manage a de-Googled Android would come at the expense of either my professional or personal life.

And despite Google's enshittificatory impulses, the Pixels are reliably high-quality, robust phones that get the hell out of the way and let me do my job. The Pixels are Google's flagship electronic products, and the company acts like it.

Until now.

A new report from Cybernews reveals just how much data the next generation Pixel 9 phones collect and transmit to Google, without any user intervention, and in defiance of the owner's express preferences to the contrary:

https://cybernews.com/security/google-pixel-9-phone-beams-data-and-awaits-commands/

The Pixel 9 phones home every 15 minutes, even when it's not in use, sharing "location, email address, phone number, network status, and other telemetry." Additionally, every 40 minutes, the new Pixels transmit "firmware version, whether connected to WiFi or using mobile data, the SIM card Carrier, and the user’s email address." Even further, even if you've never opened Google Photos, the phone contacts Google Photos’ Face Grouping API at regular intervals. Another process periodically contacts Google's Voice Search servers, even if you never use Voice Search, transmitting "the number of times the device was restarted, the time elapsed since powering on, and a list of apps installed on the device, including the sideloaded ones."

All of this is without any consent. Or rather, without any consent beyond the "revealed preference" of just buying a phone from Google ("to opt out, don't have a face").

What's more, the Cybernews report probably undercounts the amount of passive surveillance the Pixel 9 undertakes. To monitor their testbench phone, Cybernews had to root it and install Magisk, a monitoring tool. In order to do that, they had to disable the AI features that Google touts as the centerpiece of Pixel 9. AI is, of course, notoriously data-hungry and privacy invasive, and all the above represents the data collection the Pixel 9 undertakes without any of its AI nonsense.

It just gets worse. The Pixel 9 also routinely connects to a "CloudDPC" server run by Google. Normally, this is a server that an enterprise customer would connect its employees' devices to, allowing the company to push updates to employees' phones without any action on their part. But Google has designed the Pixel 9 so that privately owned phones do the same thing with Google, allowing for zero-click, no-notification software changes on devices that you own.

This is the kind of measure that works well, but fails badly. It assumes that the risk of Pixel owners failing to download a patch outweighs the risk of a Google insider pushing out a malicious update. Why would Google do that? Well, perhaps a rogue employee wants to spy on his ex-girlfriend:

https://www.wired.com/2010/09/google-spy/

Or maybe a Google executive wins an internal power struggle and decrees that Google's products should be made shittier so you need to take more steps to solve your problems, which generates more chances to serve ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Or maybe Google capitulates to an authoritarian government who orders them to install a malicious update to facilitate a campaign of oppressive spying and control:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonfly_(search_engine)

Indeed, merely by installing a feature that can be abused this way, Google encourages bad actors to abuse it. It's a lot harder for a government or an asshole executive to demand a malicious downgrade of a Google product if users have to accept that downgrade before it takes effect. By removing that choice, Google has greased the skids for malicious downgrades, from both internal and external sources.

Google will insist that these anti-features – both the spying and the permissionless updating – are essential, that it's literally impossible to imagine building a phone that doesn't do these things. This is one of Big Tech's stupidest gambits. It's the same ruse that Zuck deploys when he says that it's impossible to chat with a friend or plan a potluck dinner without letting Facebook spy on you. It's Tim Cook's insistence that there's no way to have a safe, easy to use, secure computing environment without giving Apple a veto over what software you can run and who can fix your device – and that this veto must come with a 30% rake from every dollar you spend on your phone.

The thing is, we know it's possible to separate these things, because they used to be separate. Facebook used to sell itself as the privacy-forward alternative to Myspace, where they would never spy on you (not coincidentally, this is also the best period in Facebook's history, from a user perspective):

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

And we know it's possible to make a Pixel that doesn't do all this nonsense because Google makes other Pixel phones that don't do all this nonsense, like the Pixel 8 that's in my pocket as I type these words.

This doesn't stop Big Tech from gaslighting* us and insisting that demanding a Pixel that doesn't phone home four times an hour is like demanding water that isn't wet.

*pronounced "jass-lighting"

Even before I read this report, I was thinking about what I would do when I broke my current phone (I'm a klutz and I travel a lot, so my gadgets break pretty frequently). Google's latest OS updates have already crammed a bunch of AI bullshit into my Pixel 8 (and Google puts the "invoke AI bullshit" button in the spot where the "do something useful" button used to be, meaning I accidentally pull up the AI bullshit screen several times/day).

Assuming no catastrophic phone disasters, I've got a little while before my next phone, but I reckon when it's time to upgrade, I'll be switching to a phone from the @calyxinstitute@mastodon.social. Calyx is an incredible, privacy-focused nonprofit whose founder, Nicholas Merrill, was the first person to successfully resist one of the Patriot Act's "sneek-and-peek" warrants, spending 11 years defending his users' privacy from secret – and, ultimately, unconstitutional – surveillance:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2013/03/depth-judge-illstons-remarkable-order-striking-down-nsl-statute

Merrill and Calyx have tapped into various obscure corners of US wireless spectrum licenses that require major carriers to give ultra-cheap access to nonprofits, allowing them to offer unlimited, surveillance-free, Net Neutrality respecting wireless data packages:

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/09/22/i-have-found-a-secret-tunnel-that-runs-underneath-the-phone-companies-and-emerges-in-paradise/

I've been a very happy Calyx user in years gone by, but ultimately, I slipped into the default of using stock Pixel handsets with Google's Fi service.

But even as I've grown increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of Google's Android and Pixel programs, I've grown increasingly impressed with Calyx's offerings. The company has graduated from selling mobile hotspots with unlimited data SIMs to selling jailbroken, de-Googled Pixel phones that have all the hardware reliability of a Pixel, coupled with an alternative app suite and your choice of a Calyx SIM and/or a Calyx hotspot:

https://calyxinstitute.org/

Every time I see what Calyx is up to, I think, dammit, it's really time to de-Google my phone. With the Pixel 9 descending to new depths of enshittification, that decision just got a lot easier. When my current phone croaks, I'll be talking to Calyx.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/08/water-thats-not-wet/#pixelated

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[wearysparrows]

(Never) Let Go of Me

ao3/masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 (here)

Summary: Memories of that summer when you silently asked Sylus to take your life.

CW: no use of 'Y/N', AFAB reader implied but no pronouns are used, reader is MC, suicidal thoughts, eating disorders mentioned, minor hallucinations, mentions of self harm, references to depression, guns, Hurt/Comfort, hurt no comfort, angst, not beta read 5.4k

A/N: Please read the tags, as this work contains content that may be distressing or triggering to some readers.

Could you miss something that you’d never had? Sylus was never yours in the first place. His body, lying still in its expanse beside you. But you missed him. It was your shame to harbor these tender feelings. You watched the sleeping flutter of his eyelids. How rare was it to see him sleep?

No, I don’t want to embarrass you with the thought of myself.

  Neither of you had ever left. Above all, there was nothing. From each of you. How you had grown to love the space where there was nothing at all! Even in your dreams, he walked hand in hand with someone else who was not you, and he was happy. You reached out to touch him as he slept. The open junction of his fore and upper arm, the place for insertion of a needle. You put a single finger there, on the soft skin. You weren’t sure if the pulse you felt was yours or his. You couldn’t draw anything from him, nor take away. And so nothing in you had anywhere to go. There was the earliest sound of a bird outside. Too early, just before the heralding of the sunrise. He looked at you now, eyes opening like fresh wounds.

“Listening to the birdsong?”

A voice, warm and roughed with his sleep.

“Yeah.”

The two of you walked in that wheatfield. Above you, the horrible emptiness of an expansive blue sky. The sun beat down on the back of your neck, and you felt it pulse with the heat. His hand wasn’t in yours, but it was around your waist, which was close enough. You were sweating underneath your clothes where he touched you, and you hoped he couldn’t feel it. He was white against the stalks, and they seemed to reach for him in the wind. He was looking down at you, stopping in his movements.

“You’re burning me with your eyes.”

Teasing you. He was smiling.

“Me, and not the sun?”

You didn’t know why he insisted on coming with you in the daytime, even when the sun hurt his eyes so. Nevermind that he forwent the time he had to sleep entirely to be here. The summer wind tousled the sterling of his hair. He pushed it back into place.

“Mm. What’s the difference?”

This plot of land belonged to Sylus. It was somewhere on the outskirts of Linkon city – you never could quite get a handle on the location, because the roll of the drive always put you almost to sleep. If you stepped through the swathe of trees, still bitten with the fresh green of summer, you’d reach a large lake. Sylus came here to fish sometimes, but he hadn’t brought the pole on this occasion. You had mentioned wanting to get away from the city – both Linkon and the N109 – and he had offered this solution. Sylus always had a solution.

The lake opened a great blue maw of lapis before you, and the highness of the midday sun cascaded shining reflections of its light off of the surface. It was virtually untouched by man – well, all save for Sylus. But you could hardly lump him in with other men. He stood silently next to you, looking out over the water with his hands free by his sides. Coming here allowed you to see another side to Sylus that you were certain had only been revealed to your eyes. Or at least, you hoped. He had on a white button up, the first few buttons of which were undone, revealing the kiss the sun had given him that summer. He had a silver chain around his neck – a humble gift from you, courtesy of your Hunter’s salary. It wasn’t anything expensive, and it certainly paled in comparison to the other things he owned. Still, he wore it so frequently that he had worn out the clasp and had to replace it with a sturdier one. He wore a pair of blue jeans, which hugged him in all the right places, and a pair of tailored leather boots. He almost could have passed for a cowboy, if cowboys came from other worlds. 

There was sweat gathering underneath your breast, running down your ribcage, soaking your clothes. This summer had been unreasonably hot, the sun punishing with its heat. The calmness of the water was calling to you. Your clothes stuck to you, feeling like they were trying to become one with your skin. Not wanting to merge with them, you began to peel off your shirt and shorts. While you had the former over your head, covering your eyes, Sylus spoke.

“What are you up to?”

He sounded pleased. Soft, like the wind could carry away his voice if it had chosen to. Sylus had seen you like this many times before. Though you harbored a sense of embarrassment in your nakedness around him still, you knew it didn’t matter to him.

“Getting in the water. It’s hot.”

You waded in, taking in the sight before you. The sun drove its horses over the open span of the prairie, casting it in a bright golden haze. You were up to your ankles in the cool water, the pebbles underneath pressing against the soles of your feet. They were smooth and round, not painful to the touch. You turned at the sound of a shuffling of fabrics. Sylus was unbuttoning his shirt with practiced ease. He tossed it aside carelessly on the bank. His pants and shoes came similarly. The sound of the zipper seemed strangely loud, out here in the wilderness. He was left only in his boxers. You had seen him this naked before – but it was never something that you quite got used to. You knew that he must have felt your eyes on him, but he never showed any signs of being bothered, nor did he mention it. The powerful animal of his body rippled towards you with singular purpose. Just underneath the lowered waistband of his boxers, you could see his tanline. The skin underneath was pale. As he walked towards you, you walked backwards into the water, silently beckoning him to follow. He obliged, his lips parting into a curious smile. You stopped when the chill of the water had reached your clavicle. Your heart fluttered with a soft quickness in the water.

The water parted for Sylus’s body as he approached you, sending ripples outward away from him. He came closer, closer, until you were nearly chest to chest. You desperately wanted to feel the contrast of the heat of his body under the water. He would have to reach for you first. The sun had turned his pupils into pinpoints in a crimson sea as he looked down at you. You pushed a gentle wave towards him with your palm.

“I thought you didn’t like the water.”

Sylus’s hand found your upper arm under the water in response, and traveled up until it was on your shoulder. The flat of his thumb stroked your collarbone. The wet traces it left felt cool against the open air.

“You’re in the water.”

His palm touched the side of your neck, fingers brushing your nape. The blunt of his nails scratched your scalp, there. You showed him your empty palms under the clear water.

“I don’t have a sword to offer you, or anything like that. I don’t have anything to give.”

Sylus laughed, a sound that was like the fire of light over the prairie. He closed the last distance between you, and his lips were suddenly speaking against the skin of your neck, his fingers maneuvering your head to the side to expose more of it to his mouth. It wasn’t a kiss at all – more like a touch, so chaste it burned. His other hand snaked around your waist, pressing your abdomen to his under the water. You could feel all of him against you. Somewhere in the distance, a whippoorwill called.

“Do you think I can only take? Haven’t I always given you everything you’ve wanted?”

A wry expression that he couldn’t see faced the sky on your face. The only thing you truly wanted was the one thing he couldn’t give. Everything else could have returned to ash, could he have given it. You had begun to understand that shame and passion were the same creature wearing different faces. To love was to be humiliated. To roll over and show your soft belly. Everything else he consumed, and there was not the blue of the water nor that of the sky. There was only a red sea left behind.

Your feet ached underneath you, keeping you steady on the treadmill. They no longer pounded the machine as they once had – you had learned to make your steps light, your breathing quiet. Even after a day like today, which had required you to push your body to its utmost limit to dispose of wanderers, you did not forgo the gym. You could exert control in this way. When nothing else could be tightly in your grip, your body could be controlled. Movements that punished kept your mind at bay. Without the pain, without the control, the thoughts would return. You had developed minute control over each muscle – knew how to isolate it, how to activate it independently over the others. You knew each connection point, each tendon. Your body was the most familiar stranger to you, collared with a choke chain. 

Sylus had recommended this gym to you. It was always strangely empty, which suited you just fine. The gym itself was of an unusual sort – it looked to you more like something that should have existed in the N109 zone than Linkon City. Its internals were all deep shades of blacks, the space wide and dark. You never wanted for amenities. Some of the machinery you lacked names for – and you avoided using them. They appeared just a touch too close to torture tools for your liking. The woman at the front desk, a svelte, mink like creature with a pointed face, had developed a silent camaraderie with you. She greeted you by name when you came, and offered you the occasional compliment on your physique. You had forgotten to get her name – and it was long past too late to ask, now. 

In your periphery, you saw your phone’s screen light up in your hand, and slowed your pace to a walk on the treadmill to check it. Even after all this time, seeing his name still gave you the same fluttering of wings in your stomach. The numbers on the treadmill let you know that you had been running on and off for around two hours. They blurred in your vision, and you stopped trying to focus on them.

Sy:

Your heart rate has been fast for a while now. Still working out?

7:27 PM

A text that from anyone else would have been disturbing in its implications – but from Sylus, it merely made your insides twist with delight. He was checking in on your wellbeing. You had long known he had kept tabs on your vitals, likely through your hunter’s watch, which hardly ever left your wrist. Of course, you had similar tabs on him. Sylus had purposefully chained himself to you with that necklace he wore – it had a GPS tag in it. You never doubted where he was – though you tried not to check too often. You frequently failed in that regard, though. You walked on as you typed out your reply. 

Me:

Yeah. I’m almost done tho. What’s up?

7:28 PM

Sy:

Im coming to pick you up. Don’t argue

7:28 PM

The prospect of seeing him made your heart rate speed up all over again. It quickened even more when you remembered he could see its pace.

Me:

I’m drenched and smell bad. You don’t want to see me lol I’ll get your car dirty

7:29 PM

Sy:

You’re arguing. Im on my way

7:29 PM

This threw a wrench in your plans. A beautiful, towering wrench of a man. You wanted to scowl at your phone, to be annoyed with his persistence – but your chest glowed with warmth at his insistence, instead. Although Sylus maintained a severe boundary of friendship with you, you knew you must have monopolized most (if not all) of his free time. Your heart, ever possessive, purred with pleasure. You quelled the feeling to focus on the task at hand. Sylus had seen you sweaty before – covered in dirt, blood, all manner of other horrible things. He had held your hair for you while you had emptied your guts onto bloodied grounds, dry heaving until nothing but stomach acid remained. Still, you wanted to avoid it if it was possible. You were usually adverse to using public facilities to shower after working out, but it would have to do just this once. You pulled the clutch of the treadmill, killing its internal workings, and gathered your belongings, making your way to the showers. 

Fortunately for you, this gym boasted high quality amenities. Clean towels, a working hair dryer – even the shampoo and conditioner seemed of higher quality than what you kept at home. You squinted at the labeless bottles, examining them. You didn’t know much about this place, other than that Sylus had adamantly insisted on paying for your membership, despite your protests. Another recurring payment of yours that was on his card. It had very nearly caused an argument between the two of you. He had insisted that if you were going to punish yourself in the gym, you should at least use his gym. This had disarmed you, for it felt like he was exerting some sort of claim on you, in his own roundabout way. He frequented the gym with you, when he had the time. Getting to watch him lift weights was its own kind of pleasure. Sparring with him was a ritual that allowed you to touch him in a way you couldn’t allow yourself otherwise.

Even the showers here were black, wide, ominous and empty. They were tiled from floor to ceiling with sleek obsidian, and the showerheads were of the waterfall type. You scrubbed yourself furiously in the heat of the water, trying to speed the process along as quickly as possible. You hadn’t the foggiest as to where exactly Sylus was coming from, but you didn’t want to keep him waiting. 

You inspected your face in the mirror, flushed from the heat of your shower. A face looked back at you with a crease in its brow. You picked up the blow dryer, clicking it on. It pushed hot air through your hair, and threatened to make you sweat all over again. You raked your fingers through it, a makeshift brush. Thankfully, you had brought a clean pair of street clothes along with you. Your years as a hunter had drilled a sense of preparedness in you, even when completing the most mundane of tasks. You changed swiftly in the locker room, with only the sound of the overheads to keep you company. Yours was the only combination lock that had a permanent place here, hanging there by its lonesome. You no longer bothered to bring it home with you – no one had ever tampered with it. You took one last glance at yourself in the full body mirror of the locker room, adjusting your clothes. It didn’t matter, you knew. Sylus didn’t care what you looked like, for better or worse. You cast your eyes from the image, and made your way from the gym. The woman at the front desk gave you a friendly wave on your way out, which you returned.

Outside, you stood under the eaves, waiting for the appearance of Sylus’s vehicle. The last vestiges of the sun were disappearing behind the towering buildings of Linkon City. You weren’t waiting for long, however, as Sylus pulled up nearly as soon as you stepped outside. Whether it was fortuitous or a plan on his part, you could never be quite sure. He was always punctual with you. Endlessly reliable. He honked the horn, as if you wouldn’t recognize the body of his black sports car from miles away. You jogged towards him, unable to stop the laugh that forced its way out of your chest. For someone who lived so deeply in the shadows, he loved to make his presence known to you.

You slipped wordlessly into the familiar passenger seat, and were met with Sylus’s raise of an eyebrow. He had a habit of always raising his left one – the same side as his dominant hand. You weren’t sure he was even capable of raising the other side. You denied the compulsion to ask him to try.

“I seem to recall a promise that someone would get my car dirty. But you’re looking suspiciously clean.”

Sylus’s voice, no matter how familiar it became, was always like stepping into hot, dark waters. You nudged him with your elbow over the console. 

“You want me to dirty up your nice ass car?”

He grinned in response to your question, revealing to you the canines that you had imagined sinking into the flesh of your neck so many times. He nudged you back, elbowing you for room on the console.

“Sure, it might be fun.”

You prepared to ask him what exactly would be fun about getting his car dirty, but Sylus leaned in, reaching over you to buckle you in. His hands drifted over the belt as he pulled, just shy of touching your breast and stomach. As he lifted himself away, you pushed at his shoulder gently. 

“I’m not a kid, Sy. I can get my own seatbelt.”

“I know. But you’re still my…”

He trailed off, sitting back in the driver's seat. His left hand had a confident grip on the steering wheel, his right on the gear shift. He kicked the car into gear, and led it onto the road to your apartment. It was a short drive. 

“My responsibility.”

What you had done to earn the title of responsibility, you were unsure. It sounded uncomfortably close to burden. You felt yourself shrink into your seat. Your hands hung onto your knees, holding them together in front of you. There was something nauseating about the awareness of being a chosen burden. You had long since accepted the place Sylus had chosen in your life as your closest friend, but it was ever a struggle to accept the place he chose for you. He discarded anyone else who came even remotely close to earning a similar title without a second thought.

My responsibility.

“Do you think you owe me or something? Because–”

Sylus cut you off.

“No. I’m here right now of my own free will. Do you think I’d do anything I didn’t want to do? Surely you know my intentions by now.”

There was a sort of boyish impetuousness hidden just underneath his usual tone. Being a chosen burden was better than being one that was forced upon him. He needed something to care for, maybe. That something just so happened to be you. You were the wrong person for him, at the right time. Still, you clung to his choice, claws deep in his skin. Kitten, he had dubbed you. Something that purred in his presence, that swiped at him and drew his blood. You stole a glance at him. His hard lines and dark colors. You saw the way the last of the daylight made him squint his eyes as he looked out the windshield, the dark sweep of his eyelashes trying to keep the offending stabs of sun out. His eyes, devoid of melanin to protect him from the sun. His hair always shone a little whiter in its light. You wondered what sort of childhood must have formed the man sitting beside you. One full of suffering and strife –  of that much you were certain. An image of a young boy with pale hair, his right eye sliced open with a scalpel held by hands so much larger than his own appeared in your mind's eye. You heard the squelch of the implantation, saw the struggle of his too-thin body against metallic restraints. There was no anesthesia. Only pain.

 Sylus avoided the subject, often giving vague and cryptic answers when you had tried to pry in the past. You didn’t press him anymore. There were things you couldn’t tell him, either. How you wanted more from him. More than the chaste touch of a friend. You wanted the consumption of a lover, for him to take you in his mouth and sink his teeth in. To not let go. The only thing that bit you was guilt at your heels. Being slowly devoured alive was a small price to pay to keep him in your life. A selfish price.

Sylus stopped the car at a red light. He titled his head towards you, eyes sliding in your direction. His hand drifted to your knee, displacing your own from it, and gave it a playful squeeze. 

“What are you thinking about?”

His thumb idly stroked the bony junction just below your outer kneecap. Even in the summer heat, his skin still burned your own with its touch. Shameful heat boiled in your stomach. You brushed your index finger over the bony protrusion at the outside of his wrist, and watched as his arm raised gooseflesh in response to your touch. Sylus exhaled through his nose. You liked the sound of his breathing. It was somehow tinged with his voice – you could have recognized the sound of his breath anywhere. Occasionally, you considered telling him the whole truth of your musings on him, but the thought of Sylus’s disgust towards you stopped you. You felt your mouth fill with excess saliva. The desire to shower again came over you, as if he could sense how dirtied you were by your own thoughts of him. You told him half of the truth, instead.

“What you were like as a kid.”

Sylus was quiet for a time, driving the car onward through the green light. His hand didn’t leave its place – but the forward movement of the car made it drift down onto your thigh from your knee. Seemingly unbothered by its new position, he didn’t adjust his grip. His disregard for the implications of his touch were a continual reminder of his lack of romantic feelings for you. You stared at the place where he touched you, his large hand enveloping the taut flesh of your thigh. There wasn’t anyone else who touched you like this. Even by accident. And there probably never would be.

“If you’re thinking of feeling sorry for me – don’t. Everything that happened led me here. Exactly where I want to be.”

You didn’t bother to formulate a response, feeling the finality of his statement hang heavily in the air between you. The rest of the drive was comfortably silent, the only sound the soft classical music Sylus had playing from the radio. It rose and fell in stabs, sometimes sounding triumphant, at others despondent. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, keeping time.

Sylus pulled the car into its familiar spot at your apartment complex. It was here so often that this spot remained empty even when it was bereft of his bike or one of his many cars – like it was waiting to be filled with him. Once, Sylus had gone radio silent for a week. No texts, no calls. You found yourself sitting in the empty parking space. Strange looks from passers-by had rolled off of you, meaningless in his absence. Everything was. Sylus had found you there soon after, and crushed you up into his arms so hard you thought you might snap in half. You would have accepted it gladly. 

He exited the car, and came around to open the door for you on the passenger side. He never let you get out on your own, and today was no exception. When you stepped out, you were standing nearly flush with his broad chest. He ran a hand through your hair, still just slightly damp from your hurry to get clean before you saw him. You spoke to his chest rather than his face.

“Are you spending the night?”

You fiddled with two of his belt loops, hooking them in your index fingers,  tugging him towards you. Sylus took a little step, though he could hardly get any closer without pushing you up against the car. You leaned against the vehicle, and he leaned into you. 

“If you’ll have me, of course.”

His hands enveloped your forearms. Not stopping you. Just holding you, letting you play with his clothes. His thumbs rubbed the aching muscles in your wrists.

“Do you even have to ask, anymore?”

Slipping out from his grip, you walked towards the direction of your apartment door, knowing he would follow. His response came from behind you.

“I’ll always ask, sweetheart.”

This was how you ended up in your bed with Sylus, laying across the expanse of his body. The closeness of the flesh was always a sharp contrast to the distance of your feelings from his. He was idly stroking his fingertips up and down your spine, head propped up on one of the plushies he had won you at the arcade, a makeshift pillow. By now, the room was completely dark. Sylus, ever the nocturnal animal, seemed to have no trouble seeing in the lightless space. You wanted to relax, to sink into the beckoning peace of his heartbeat, but something held you back from fully letting go. You needed things that were cold and hard to keep you from losing yourself to his entirety. 

Without the pain, without the control, the thoughts would return. Rumination spirals. Thoughts that plagued you when your body was unoccupied, when your hands weren’t around your gun, when your feet didn’t pound the earth. Had you really unplugged that heating element? What if you had forgotten, and the apartment had burned down in your absence? Was that ingredient label really correct? What if they were lying about the contents? Was there something inside of your body now that you hadn’t properly vetted? Had something dirty touched you, making you need to shower again and again and again? Shadows flitted in the corners of your vision, escaping just when you tried to look. You continued to try to follow them with your eyes, unsuccessfully. Sylus had been quiet. You heard his head turn against the fabric of the plushie. The backs of his fingers brushed your cheek.

“What are you looking at?”

You shook your head, knowing he could feel the movement from where you laid on his chest.

“Nothing.”

Sylus hummed, sounding unconvinced by your lie. A big, warm palm came up to cover your eyelids. Suddenly, you were cast into red darkness under his touch. You could smell your hand soap on his palm, for it nearly eclipsed your face in its entirety for its size. His voice lowered to a whisper.

“Don’t look. Just focus on me.”

You knew you could trust Sylus’s senses more than your own. In that regard, he was something like a walking pillar of truth when you were unsure of reality. He never begrudged you for sometimes being unable to tell the difference between dream and the waking world, for being suspicious of your own mind, suspicious of others. Suspicious of inanimate objects, of anything that existed in your vicinity, of anything that entered your body. He chased the shades away with his gentle touch. Stripped of your sight, you did as he commanded. His warmth sank into you in all the places your skin connected. There was the sound of his breath, coming deep and easy through his nose. The rise and fall of his chest. His scent, a linger of vetiver and a hint of his cigarettes. Between all of these sensations was something else; the swell of love for him was like a return to the womb, cast into the warm wet of the darkness, his footsteps, his heartbeat, becoming as a child, these things are all you hear. His sensations were your reality, even without the need for a resonance. 

“Better?”

His voice, a deep and familiar anchor. You nodded against his palm. Your lips brushed his skin with the movement, a pale imitation of a kiss. A thought occurred to you, then. If he moved his hand down just a little further, it could wrap silently around your neck, and quietly squeeze your life away. It would be easy for him – as easy as taking a breath. Sylus was so strong. You had seen him take the lives of men twice your size without even using his evol, the breath of life snuffed out of them. You curled your fingertips around his hand, and guided it to the soft flesh of your neck, so it wrapped around there. He turned to you on the bed, supporting himself on his other elbow. Though you weren’t looking at him, you could hear the undercurrent of confusion in his voice. 

“Kitten?”

Just for a moment, you felt an increased pressure from him, the twitch of his fingers against your skin, against the place where he could crush your windpipe, cut off the flow of blood to your brain, send you into an endless sleep, let you pass away from this world by his hand. You pressed down on it, encouraging him to squeeze, to let you go, to finally free you from this. You couldn’t do it on your own – but if it was him, it was easy. You wanted it from him. You swallowed under his palm, feeling yourself sink into acceptance. This could be your final sprint, because if you finally stopped running, his absence would come to meet you with open arms.

But no such mercy was to be at his hands, because you were being lifted, then, your eyes snapping open, lifted not by his arms but by his evol. Sylus was sitting up in bed, and his evol deposited you in his lap, straddling his strong legs. And then your gun was inexplicably in your hands, and you couldn’t drop it – it was chained there with the black and red mist, the barrel pressing against Sylus’s chest, your finger on the trigger against your will. You struggled against the iron grip of the ephemeral spirit that chained you to no avail. His eyes were narrowed at you in the dark, slits the color of violence.

“Sylus,” you choked out, wanting to say stop, what are you doing, stop, I can’t do this again, please, please, please, please, but nothing came. The back of your tongue felt swollen with the asphyxiation of fear, the replaying of events you so hated, of your greatest terror. Your body shuddered with the rapid coursing of adrenaline.

His free hand stroked the barrel of the gun, pressing it harder into his chest. He tilted his head to the side, voice a thoughtful whisper.

“This is my hand around your neck. Can you do it?”

You shook your head fervently, bile rising in your throat. You didn’t have Sylus’s death in you for a second time. Once was already too many times. The trembling of your hand was making your finger click against the trigger. You heard the sound, and fought the jagged heaving of your chest, breaths coming uneven and hot. Again, you shook your head. Each movement took more and more effort, for you were outside of yourself, no longer your body, merely the embodiment of fear.

And suddenly the mist was gone, the gun cast aside, landing with a heavy thud onto the carpet of your bedroom. You slumped forward into Sylus’s chest, and he caught you in his arms, wrapping them around you in a grip that crushed. Your mind was exhausted, emptied of everything but him. Your body was limp, supported only by his boundless strength. Loss, in a sense, filled everything, and nothing filled everything. Only the beating desperations of your intertwined lives remained, thumping with the red of a base existence.

“Your death would mean mine. You won’t leave me. Not this time.”

tags: @xxfaithlynxx @cutestnursingstudent @crowskitten22

[seat-safety-switch]

Now that the Olympics are over, I can tell you all about my part as an understudy on the Canadian table tennis team. No, not "ping-pong." That's a derogatory name issued to us by the tableless tennis players, the sweating bigots. Sure, I didn't get a chance to actually go toe-to-toe against the best in the world, but I got to hang out with the people who did.

In Canada, virtually all of our good table tennis players are imported. And it's easy to see why. Let's say you're the number 300th-best table tennis player in Japan. There's a lot of competition, and, even if you're crispy-good, you may never get to break out of your shitty Chiba beer pong league before you've aged out.

In Canada, where we have many fewer people, you might be like the ninth best. That's a lot of improvement for the cost of just one plane ticket. Sure, you could accuse these nice folks of being carpetbaggers looking for an easy route to the Olympics, but let me tell you: Canada absolutely does not pay shit for table tennis. That's why I'm there. A lot of the world's second-best talent takes a look at Canada and goes hmm. Maybe Australia. Third-best pretty much gets roped in here if their significant other gets a job as a realtor in Vancouver. And then there's me, who is there to eat the free snacks at the Olympic table-tennis commencement ceremonies (put on by realtors in Vancouver.)

Which is not to say I'm decent. Sure, I can beat a toddler pretty well at The Good Game (that's what we call it.) Most six-year-olds, however, have the hand-eye coordination and a good enough long game to put my ass in the ground. Even the drunkest university student can hang a beating on me, after I get tired of running back and forth and just lie down in a corner, moaning about how much my feet hurt. Do any of those folks sign up for the Olympic try-outs? No. They have to have jobs, because they want to keep their houses. They can't just be flittering off to Monaco for the World Invitational Small-Plastic-Ball-Striking-Championships (sorry, the translation is not great.)

Sure, it's not an easy life. I do have to trick sponsors (realtors from Vancouver) into paying for all my flights, fancy uniforms, and room and board. Staying in the Olympic Village is difficult whenever the host country decides to try some wacky shit like making a bed entirely out of compressed, dehydrated cactus. And I'll probably never actually get to be on camera, because my coach tells me that even holding a flag might be beyond my skill-set.

Am I happy to represent my country? No, but it's this or become a realtor in Vancouver.

[faustiantales]

𝖆 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖛𝖗

Dark Descent: Info-kun X fem/afab!Reader

Twisted Truths: incest, dubcon, headcanon info-kun name, underaged sex, fingering, vaginal penetration

Synopsis: Kenzo's little sister sought his help for a VR game. Since the game she's playing is an 'immersive' visual novel romance, with his aid, the line between reality and fantasy blurred — as well as the line between siblings.

Shadows Lengthen: 2.6k words

        The room was bathed in the soft glow of the computer monitor, casting an eerie light on [Y/n]'s focused face as she navigated through the virtual world of 'Amorous Abyss.' It was a game she'd heard whispers about, a visual novel rumored to be so immersive it was like living a second life. Her heart raced with excitement as she approached the moment she'd been eagerly awaiting for weeks.

        [Y/n] had chosen her love interest carefully: Kai, the brooding, mysterious hero with a heart of gold hidden beneath layers of angst. His digital eyes seemed to gaze into hers, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was time for their relationship to take a steamy turn, and she was more than ready.

        But there was a problem. The game's latest update included a feature she hadn't anticipated: a full-body immersion system that mimicked intimate contact with the characters. The game's description called it 'revolutionary,' but she knew she needed help to authenticate the experience.

        Her thoughts drifted to her older brother, Kenzo. He was the closest person she had to a confidant, and she knew he'd be able to keep a secret. Plus, she'd caught him playing games with mature content before. He'd understand. She took a deep breath and picked up her phone, and the decision was made. Her thumbs danced across the screen as she composed a text message, her cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment.

        "Niisama, I need to talk to you about something...it's kind of weird," she typed, hitting send before she could second-guess herself. The anticipation grew as she waited for his response, the game's romantic background music swelling around her.

        The redhead's reply was swift. "What's up, [N/n]? You okay?"

        Her heart skipped a beat. She knew that her brother was stuck on gadgets 24/7, though she never expected him to reply to her message this fast, especially when he deemed it 'insignificant'. Most of the time, he would just ignore her message or leave it on 'seen' when he's busy doing his shady dealings. Thankfully, this time, he seems free to acknowledge her.

        "Can you come to my room? It's about this game I'm playing. I need some advice," she responded, pursing her lips in anticipation.

        She heard his footsteps in the hallway, and a moment later, her bedroom door creaked open. Kenzo's face was a mix of curiosity and concern. Though the second emotion appeared only for a split second — by the time his narrowed, red orbs landed on her, intrigue and annoyance masked his features.

        "What's going on?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

        The girl swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her older brother's gaze on her. Kenzo was always a man of few words, but he had a knack for making his presence known. His arms were folded across his chest, and he waited for her to speak, his curiosity piqued by the urgency in her message.

        "It's about the new VR game I got," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want to... experience it fully, but I need your help."

        The bespectacled male raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

        Her eyes darted to the floor as she gathered her courage. Her older brother's gaze was heavy, but she knew she had to ask. So, with whatever little courage she had, she gathered everything and stared straight at her brother's ruby orbs, which were looking at her intensely, making her feel small and vulnerable. 

        "There's a... scene coming up, and I need a stand-in for the physical part. It's just for the game," she rushed out, hoping he'd understand.

        Her brother's expression morphed from confusion to surprise and then, to her relief, to amusement. [Y/n] felt her heart leaped with hope, knowing that her brother would be willing to listen to her trivial concerns and give her the advice she needed.

        "You want me to... help you with that?" He chuckled, his voice low.

        She nodded, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. "Please, Niisama. It's important to me. I've never felt this way about a game before."

        He studied her for a moment, his eyes softening as he stepped into the room. "Okay, but you have to explain everything to me."

        With trembling hands, she demonstrated the VR setup, showing him the controllers and the headset. She explained the intimate scenes in detail, her voice growing softer with each word. Kenzo's smile faded, replaced by a look of understanding.

        "Alright, I'll help you," he said finally, his voice a gentle rumble. "But only if you're sure this is what you want."

        She nodded, a spark of excitement igniting in her chest. "I'm positive."

        "Let's get this over with, then," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of something she couldn't quite place. The redhead took the headset from her, his eyes meeting hers.

        As the headset slipped over her eyes, the real world faded away, and she was transported into the arms of Kai, her virtual lover. The sensations began to overwhelm her, and she reached out, her hand brushing against something warm and solid.

        Her heart jumped up in her chest. It was Kenzo, standing next to her, his hand hovering awkwardly in the air. [Y/n] briefly removed the headset, looking at her redheaded older brother with an apologetic expression, which he only responded with an unreadable expression.

        "Sorry," she murmured, her cheeks flushing even deeper. He snickered, his hand dropping to his side.

        "No problem," he said, his voice thick with something she hadn't heard before—desire?

        [Y/n] put on the headset once more and the VR game began to play out, and she felt the digital whispers of Kai's breath against her ear. Her body responded instinctively, her breath hitching in anticipation. Kenzo's hand found hers, and she squeezed it tightly as the scene grew more intense. The fabric of her pajamas felt rough against her skin, a stark contrast to the soft caresses she felt in the game.

        The tension in the room grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires. It didn't take long for the siblings to move to the bed, mirroring the scenario played in the game. [Y/n] could feel her body reacting to the sensations, and she knew her brother could feel it too. His thumb began to trace circles on the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm. Her heart raced in her chest, thudding like a bass in a dance club.

        The moment arrived. Kai's digital hands began to undress her, and she felt Kenzo's own hands mimic the movements. His touch was gentle but firm, his skin warm and real against hers. The game's graphics were stunning, the fabric of her dress sliding away to reveal her naked body. She gasped as she felt her brother's hand cup her bare breast, his thumb brushing over her erect nipple.

        The line between reality and the game blurred as she leaned into his touch. The VR world swirled around them, the only sounds were the sighs of the virtual lovers and their ragged breathing. Her body arched off the bed, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan as Kenzo's hand traveled lower, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her pajama bottoms.

        The game's narrative grew more heated, and the girl felt her arousal mirror Kai's digital passion. Her brother's touch grew bolder, his fingers delving into her wetness, exploring her folds. She couldn't tell if the sensations were coming from the game or her brother's hand, but she didn't care. All she knew was that she wanted more.

        Her hips began to move in time with the rhythm of his fingers, her body undulating like a wave in the sea of desire. The VR world melded with the physical one, and she could feel Kai's mouth on hers, his tongue probing deeply, as Kenzo's kissed her neck. It was as if the two men were one, their passion intertwined in a dance of flesh and pixels.

        The climax built within her, a crescendo of pleasure that she'd never felt before. She threw her head back, her moans echoing through the headset. Her brother's other hand found her hip, holding her in place as he drove her closer to the edge. The room spun around her, a whirlwind of sensations that left her gasping for breath.

        And then it hit her, the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced, tearing through her like a tornado. She bucked against the redhead's hand, her body convulsing with pleasure. She could feel his arousal pressing against her leg, and she reached out, her hand wrapping around his hard length.

        As the last waves of her climax subsided, she opened her eyes, the VR world fading away. Kenzo's eyes were dark with lust, and she knew at that moment that their relationship had shifted forever. The game had brought them together in a way she'd never dared to dream of.

        But now, as she looked into his eyes, she knew that this was just the beginning of a new chapter in their lives—a chapter filled with passion, secrets, and a bond that was no longer purely familial. With trembling hands, she removed the headset, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the sultry embrace of the virtual world.

        "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse with desire. Kenzo's eyes searched hers, the intensity of the moment weighing heavily on them both. He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek.

        "Don't thank me," he murmured, his hand sliding from her hip to the back of her neck. "This is just the start."

        Without another word, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was every bit as passionate as the ones she'd shared with Kai in the game. His tongue danced with hers, the taste of him intoxicating. It was like nothing she'd ever felt before—real, raw, and all-consuming.

        [Y/n]'s hand tightened around his shaft, her movements growing more confident as she felt him respond to her touch. She could feel his pulse racing through his veins, the beat matching the frantic rhythm of her own heart. His kiss grew deeper, more demanding, and she met him with equal fervor.

        They broke apart, panting, their eyes locked. The air was charged with a tension that could have powered the city outside their window. He stepped closer, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers.

        "We should..." she began, but he silenced her with another kiss.

        Kenzo's hands slid down her body, peeling away her pajamas. Her skin was alive with sensation, every inch of her yearning for his touch. He paused, his eyes raking over her naked form with an appreciation that made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

        "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice a gruff whisper.

        And then, with a hunger that was both terrifying and exhilarating, he removed his clothes, throwing them across the room like a sack of potatoes. His body was a sculpted masterpiece, a stark contrast to the softness of hers. [Y/n] could feel her own pulse hammering in her throat, her eyes wide with a mix of lust and awe. She could feel the heat of his arousal pressing against her, and she spread her legs, inviting him in.

        Their bodies moved together in a dance as old as time, a dance of passion and need. Kenzo's kisses grew more urgent, his hands exploring every inch of her skin. He knew just where to touch her, just how to make her gasp and arch her back, her body a canvas for his desires.

        And as they became one, the barrier between the game and reality shattered. The digital world of 'Amorous Abyss' faded away, replaced by the very real sensation of her brother inside her, his movements driving her towards another peak of pleasure. The lines blurred until she couldn't tell where the game ended and her new reality began.

        "So this is what you truly meant by help, huh?" the redhead sneered, cleaning his glasses while thrusting into his little sister's tight hole without mercy.

        [Y/n] nodded, unabashed, feeling the warmth spread through her body. Her cheeks were flushed with a perfect pink hue, her tresses damp with sweat and sticking to her forehead. She let out a couple of wanton mewls, her inhibition gone when her brother continued his relentless assault on her poor cunt.

        Kenzo's strokes grew stronger, more demanding, as he watched his sister's body respond to his touch. He'd never seen her like this—so open, so vulnerable, so desperate for release. It was intoxicating, and he found himself getting lost in the moment, forgetting the taboo nature of their situation.

        "Such a slut," he growled darkly, ruby eyes narrowing to a judging glare, his signature smirk adorning his lips. "But you're mine now, aren't you?"

        [Y/n] nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built up within her. Her body was a symphony of sensations, each stroke of Kenzo's cock sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her core. She felt his grip on her hips tighten, his pace quickening as he approached his own climax.

        But amidst the whirlwind of passion, a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered a warning. This was her brother, the person she'd grown up with, the one who'd protected her from monsters under the bed. Yet here they were, sharing the most intimate of moments. Would this change everything?

        The question was forgotten as Kenzo's hand found her clit, his thumb rubbing it in perfect time with his thrusts. She threw her head back, crying out his name as the orgasm claimed her once again. The room was a blur of lights and sounds, their cries of pleasure melding together in a symphony of lust.

        And when it was over, when they lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat, she knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They'd crossed a line, and there was no going back. But as she felt his heartbeat against her chest, she couldn't help but wonder if this was the start of something incredible, something that had been hidden within the pixels of a game all along.

        Kenzo rolled onto his side, his arm draped around her waist, and she could feel his breath against her neck. His cock was still hard, still buried inside her, and she shivered with the aftershocks of pleasure. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the only sound the steady thump of their hearts.

        "That was..." he began, his voice trailing off.

        "Incredible," she finished for him, her breathing still ragged.

        "Should we make this a regular thing?" he teased, humping his hardening cock against her entrance.

        The sensation of his thickness sliding in and out of her was so real, so intense, that she could hardly believe she'd ever lived without it. [Y/n]'s eyes widened with surprise and a thrill of excitement, biting her lips to prevent a shameless moan from escaping her lips.

        "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice breathy.

        Kenzo leaned in, his eyes gleaming with sinister mischief. "You know what I mean. Every time you play that game, I'll be here, bringing those scenes to life. What do you say, little sis?"

        The girl felt a rush of conflicting emotions—shock, arousal, and a hint of fear. But the excitement won out. She nodded, her voice a whisper. "Okay."

📜— Return to the Shadowed Archive

[aventurineswife]

im under the assumption that requests are open, so uhmmmm

ahem-

can i request Aventurine giving Reader a hug or whatever physical affection, and Reader starts crying because of that? (Reader is crying because it's been a long time since they were last touched/held, and the thought of someone wanting to touch/hold them is very scary. even the sensation behind being touched/held is almost overstimulating, despite how badly they want to be held)

i know my request is, uh, oddly specific ?? hope that's ok with you tho 🧍‍♂️ im one of the few dorks out there that is so touch-starved that i cry when it happens lol,,, it's not that i hate touch, my brain just can't register it.

“If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did”

Summary: After a long time without any physical affection, you’re overwhelmed when Aventurine gives you a comforting hug. The sensation is almost too much, and you break down, finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Aventurine reassures you with gentle words and a steady presence, letting you know he’s there for you whenever you need.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Emotional Overwhelm, Touch Starvation, Reader Crying.

A/N: Don’t worry, Rose! My requests are open, so feel free to drop yours whenever you like! ;) And don’t worry, your requests aren’t weird or anything—actually, they’re cute and wholesome. 🤧🥺 I can also relate to the touch-starved feeling, though I’m uncomfortable with people touching me without consent (trauma). I’d be fine with holding hands or arms, though. :') Hope you enjoy this! And remember, you're valid! 💖🌹🫂 *Sending virtual hugs <33*

Sorry this uh rushed and I didn't edit it properly and got to your request late :')

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the city outside. Aventurine led you in, his gentle hand resting on your back. You felt your pulse race as he guided you to sit on the sofa, his easy confidence steadying you as you took a shaky breath. Tonight, he’d traded his playful banter for a quieter presence. His usual grin softened, and his eyes were filled with something far more tender.

You sat beside him, hands twisting nervously in your lap, feeling that comforting warmth radiating off him. Despite how close he was, you couldn’t shake the distance you felt from it, as if an invisible wall held you back. It was as though you were tethered to a feeling you couldn’t escape—something that had kept you from letting anyone close for so long.

“Are you alright?” Aventurine’s voice was low and gentle, his words laced with concern. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture simple, yet it felt like a landslide of emotion.

And then, without another word, he drew you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. The sudden warmth, his touch, the feeling of his heart beating steadily—it was too much. A wave of sensation hit you, so foreign yet so needed, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision.

You hadn’t been held like this in so long, hadn’t felt this kind of closeness. It scared you, left you trembling in his embrace as the ache in your chest spilled over into silent sobs. Every part of you was screaming that this was wrong, that you couldn’t trust it, that you shouldn’t let yourself need it so badly. Yet Aventurine held you tightly, his presence unwavering, silently urging you to let go.

“Hey… you’re safe here,” he whispered, a hand rubbing slow circles along your back. “I’ve got you.”

You felt his hand press against your back, steady and comforting, grounding you with each small touch. His other hand cupped the back of your head, cradling you as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His words, low and close to your ear, were soft promises that left no room for doubt.

The tears came harder, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his coat against your cheek. You clung to him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as though he might disappear if you let go. Every part of you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying, yet liberating.

“I’m sorry...” you managed, voice muffled against him.

“For what?” He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, were filled with nothing but understanding and warmth. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Your words choked up, and you simply shook your head, a fresh wave of tears welling up. You couldn’t explain it; it was too raw, too deeply ingrained in every wall you’d ever built around yourself. But Aventurine seemed to understand. He stayed, hands gently brushing up and down your back, thumb tracing soothing circles along your shoulder.

And in that moment, for the first time in ages, you felt safe. The warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his hold—it reminded you that maybe it was okay to let yourself be held, to be cared for, even if it was overwhelming. His hand found yours, fingers entwining, grounding you in the here and now.

“Whenever you need this,” he murmured, his voice steady and filled with reassurance, “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise lingered in the quiet, like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. You let yourself lean into him, allowing the tears to finally fall as he held you, the world slipping away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, safety, and an unspoken promise of more moments like this—of a love that was patient enough to wait.

This is so Aventurine 😪💛

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

( ʚɞ ) online profiles

yn ln

literally just living her life but always gets caught up in something with shidou

ryusei shidou

a fucking menace who keeps getting him & y/n into trouble

seishiro nagi

a popular twitch streamer whenever he’s not playing football

mikage reo

nagi’s best friend & is struggling to beat the gay allegations

yoichi isagi

also a streamer in his free time but gets cancelled every other week

meguru bachira

streams with isagi & nagi because he thinks it’s fun, everyone loves him

navigation. virtually yours

author’s note. i’ve already wrote the prologue so that’ll be coming out later today!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd

[thethiefandtheairbender]

as a lifelong ATLA fan who narrowly had ATLA dethroned as my top show by The Dragon Prince steadily over the past 5 years, the similarities between the two have very little to do with the surface level parallels that get regularly drawn between them.

Like ATLA, TDP has Books for seasons and chapters for episodes, but unlike ATLA, which only touched on storytelling sparingly as a theme, TDP is obsessed with interrogating storytelling and history and the presence of unreliable, biased narrators throughout many of its episodes (most notably 2x05, 2x06, 3x06, 4x04, and 4x07 among them). Half of what you learn in the 1x01 intro ends up being a lie once you reach S3, with more being steadily deciphered.

Yes, TDP has different magics with people living under those umbrella terms... for the elves. Humans are coming culturally at things from a completely different angle, and the elves' connection to their primal sources are discussed philosophically in detail, informing their practices and their culture first hand, including the way they chafe against humans, who are arcanum-less. Many animals in the world are also connected to magic, which influences both their design and which ones get hunted for humans' more 'clever' solution in dark magic, including each other.

The core issue of the Puppetmaster, down to being a coercive magic formed by someone deeply resentful of their imprisonment? Said puppetmaster is the main endgame antagonist of the entire show with all of S4 onwards being exploring the ethics of controlling people against their will in various methods, and the entire show itself being a thematic battleground of fate (imprisonment) vs free will for virtually every single character.

Where ATLA mostly concerns itself timeline wise with ending the war, very little thought is shown by any of the characters as to what they'll do after the war. This isn't a problem (as it reflects the sheer domineering scope of the conflict) but even Zuko being firelord is only ever really addressed with 2.5 episodes left till the finale. TDP, meanwhile, ends its 'war' in s3 and s4 opens up with dealing with the old wounds festering between people with centuries of history, the struggles that come when people aren't able to let go and believe they're safe or mourn in a healthy manner, and the religious/cultural clashes that may occur when trying to integrate different groups of people.

TDP also has an evil father with a devoted daughter and a brother who eventually defects, but it explores the reality of an abusive parent who loves/will sacrifice for you and your right to leave regardless, even if that means leaving the sibling you truly deeply love and who loves you in turn. Which means that when you and your sibling are on opposite sides of a deep ideological conflict, it actually really fucking hurts bc we've seen first hand just how much they love each other and also how and why everything fell apart not in spite of that love necessarily, but also because of it.

Is this to say that TDP is a 1:1 with ATLA or that it's better? No, not at all, and the latter is subjective. I prefer TDP, but I think they're about on equal ground when you look at each show currently as a whole (although TDP has two seasons left to go).

But TDP takes a lot of what ATLA was doing thematically with some of its most interesting beats and then builds or expands upon them further. It talks further and more consistently about the cycles of violence; in many ways, Jack De Sena's character, Callum, begins the series largely where Sokka had ended (and he's not the most like Sokka anyway; very much his own thing); we get Faustian bargains and centuries' long grief and fucked up people who are trying both succeeding and failing at not doing fucked up things. There are antagonists, but it is very hard to actually label anyone at this point a straight up villain. Moral greyness is where the show starts, and it just continues from there.

That's not to say the show is nothing but dark and depressing - like ATLA, there's a steady thread of hope and humour even as the show gets steadily closer and closer to its 11th hour point - but the show is usually emotionally heavier. There's more blood and potentially disturbing imagery with body horror and on screen death. There's so much foreshadowing you basically can't go more than 5 minutes into any episode without having something that's going to come back around or be referenced again like 3-5 seasons later.

Just to be clear - TDP is like ATLA, but it's like ATLA in interesting ways beyond the more shallow surface level that usually gets attributed to it, while still very much being its own show and its own thing. And that is why I tend to recommend it to people who like ATLA.

Thank you and goodnight

(Also, the fandom doesn't have any ship wars, and the show is queer as fuck)

[glossdebut]

take a bite | myg ★ 2

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: more social drinking in this chapter, horny thoughts from y/n, seokjin is a warning of his own tbh

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.2k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: yoongi being sweet, y/n being terrified, and jin cameo to celebrate his return <3 btw if you're noticing a theme with the chapter titles, let me know teehee. taglist is up, so feel free to join if you want to be tagged in future chapters! clover beat you all to it

CH. 2: Tell Me What You Want From Me

Unsurprisingly, it’s less than twenty-four hours later when you run into him again. It tracks, now that it’s clear that the universe is dead set on throwing Yoongi in your path, that you’d see him in person before he’s even gotten the opportunity to text you. If he actually was planning to text you, that is.

It’s a little past four in the afternoon, and you’re both making it home from work. It seems that way, anyway, based on the bag slung over his shoulder and his business casual clothes. No one looks good in business casual, but he does. You hate him, you decide.

He’s also holding a huge bag of tangerines, which is… Well, you guess it’s a talking point. If you’re going to be forced to interact again (although you’re very much considering doing the rude thing and just running inside without saying a word) you might as well make up for the last time you saw each other. Last night. Or, this morning, really. You, drunk and drooling over him. Him, stupidly charming and a very good sport.

You’ve been hungover all day, but it started to wane on your way home from work so you decide to do the neighborly thing and talk to him.

“That’s a lot of tangerines,” you say, and you feel a little smug when Yoongi visibly startles at the sound of your voice. Serves him right after making you practically jump out of your skin last night.

He pulls out one of his headphones and grins, raising the bag triumphantly.

"I have a thing about tangerines,” he explains. If that can even count as an explanation. "You want one?"

You can hear your mother in your ear chastising you for taking food from a virtual stranger, but you reason that just because you take one doesn’t mean you have to eat it, and you walk over to his door with your hand out.

“Sure,” you say, eyeing the bag warily. “Only because I’m not convinced you could eat all of those by yourself.”

He hums, staring at your hand as he pushes his door open, tilting his head toward the inside of the apartment in invitation. 

Your eyes widen. You open your mouth to protest, to tell him he could just hand you one, but Yoongi already has his back to you as he walks inside, kicking his shoes off at the door. You linger lamely in the doorway of his apartment. 

“Oh—Uh, are you sure?”

"Would I have invited you in if I wasn't sure?" You continue to linger as Yoongi sets the bag down on the kitchen island. He opens a cabinet, procuring a plate. "I don't bite,” he calls, turning on the tap of his sink to wash his hands.

You tentatively step inside, shutting his door behind you and setting your bag by his shoe rack. You follow his lead, toeing your shoes off before joining him in the kitchen. You watch as he starts peeling the fruit across the island, shifting awkwardly. 

Yoongi's eyes dart toward you for a moment as he continues to peel.

“You're acting like you're scared of me or something. You know I'm not gonna murder you, right?" he asks with a laugh, now starting to separate the sections of the tangerine.

“I know you’re not going to murder me,” you assure him, visibly relaxing a little so as not to look like such a hopeless, awkward freak. 

"Good. Just checking." He holds out a section of the tangerine, offering it to you.

You take it, smiling gratefully, but you let him eat his own piece first. It’s the least you can do, for your poor mother’s sake.

You do a shit job of being subtle as you glance around Yoongi’s apartment while you chew, but it’s not like you’re trying very hard to hide it. It’s a natural curiosity, to be in an apartment with a structural layout identical to your own, but so differently decorated. You feel like it’s not weird to look. 

"What?" he asks as he eats his own section of the tangerine, and when you look back at him his eyebrow is raised in question. 

“Your apartment is cleaner than I would’ve thought,” you say, laughing a little.

“Did you think it would be gross?” Yoongi asks, amused. “Do I give off a gross vibe?”

You snort, because he absolutely does not. If anyone gives off a gross vibe between the two of you, it’s probably you, the sloppy drunk that almost threw up on him last night because he was so hot and so close and you were so wasted. But you keep that bit to yourself. “Not gross. Just… messy?” you offer, snatching another section of the tangerine from his hand. “Not gross, though.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” he teases, starting to peel another tangerine and dividing it in half, sliding one half to you on the plate. “That you don’t think I’m gross, I mean.”

“No, it’s very neat in here,” you hum appreciatively, taking the plate. “The constant bedhead thing you’ve got going on is very misleading.” You point at his mussed hair. If you were a different person, maybe you’d touch it.

He does it for you, though. You watch as he ruffles his hair, smirking at you. “You don’t like my hair?”

“I didn’t say that,” you say. Something about Yoongi makes this back-and-forth come easily for you, and it feels dangerous. You should leave it alone, but you can’t. “Putting words in my mouth.”

He hums, and you watch his gaze flick down to your lips as you say the word ‘mouth.’ “You… have a little…” You watch as he brings his hand up to his own lips, rubbing his thumb at the corner of his mouth to indicate where you have something, apparently.

You hurriedly bring your own hand up to rub at your mouth. He shakes his head, laughing in a way that’s more of a sharp exhale through his nose, and then he’s rounding the counter. 

When he gets to you, he holds your chin, and you hold your breath in return, looking at him with wide eyes as he wipes it away himself.

Something shifts. You can feel the charge in the air as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and your heart does that stupid flippy thing again. This is a bad idea, you think. Since when did your life become a cheesy romcom? You don’t have time for this. Based on the sympathy in his eyes last night when you told him that, he doesn’t either. You both just got home from working on a Saturday when you were both drinking last night, for fuck’s sake. But you can’t bring yourself to pull away even as every cell in your body screams at you to run out of his apartment right now, future awkward hallway run-ins be damned. 

And then Yoongi’s apartment door is swinging open, and you’re flying away from him like shrapnel as a broad-shouldered man in a fuzzy pink sweater walks in like he owns the damn place, brown paper bags bundled in his arms.

“Yoongichiiiii,” the man sing-songs. “Your Seokjinie-hyung is here to make you dinner, you cretin!”

Yoongi, who hasn’t moved, who didn’t fly away from you like shrapnel at the interruption, finally breaks eye contact with you to look at the man. Seokjinie-hyung, apparently. 

“Do you have to barge in here, hyung?” he says, with the type of tiredness that can only come from a person who endures this kind of thing five days out of the week, minimum. Can’t relate , you think. There’s nobody breaking down your door to make you dinner. “Can’t you knock, like a normal person?”

“I didn’t anticipate you’d have company, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin says, waggling his eyebrows and looking at you. “I’m Seokjin. But you can call me oppa.” He smirks. “Unless, of course, you already call him that.”

Ew, for one. You stare at him, your lips parting in shock, because what the fuck do you say to that? You’re completely dumbfounded by this beautiful, broad, gross man. 

“Hyung,” Yoongi says sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, and you finally find your voice.

“I’m Yoongi’s neighbor,” you say quickly, because this complete stranger does not need to think that you are sleeping with this other complete stranger and calling him oppa, of all things? What planet did you just beam to?

“Okay, Yoongi’s neighbor,” Seokjin says, walking further into the kitchen and setting the grocery bags down on the counter. “That’s a beautiful name. Is it French?”

“Hyung, ” Yoongi repeats, louder this time, smacking the back of Seokjin’s head. “Don’t be an asshole to my guest.”

“Yah, when did you become so disrespectful!” Seokjin says, surpassing Yoongi’s volume, smacking him right back, waving his hands around as he speaks. “Am I not a guest, too? Here I am, selflessly providing you with dinner, because god knows you’re incapable of feeding yourself properly. Don’t think I don’t see the tangerines, Yoongi-yah. Was that dinner?”

Okay, yeah. You are officially a spectator to whatever the fuck this is. You’re convinced that if you try to intervene in any way, you’ll lose an arm, and you can’t seem to get your legs to work to walk out the door, as much as you may like to. You’re frozen to the spot, entranced. 

“You’re an unwanted guest,” Yoongi hisses, smacking Seokjin once again. “And I am a grown man, fully capable of feeding myself.”

“Yes, a grown man whose height topped out at five-foot-seven because of his horrific eating habits,” Seokjin retorts, narrowing his eyes at Yoongi as he starts unpacking the grocery bags. “Do you think these broad shoulders were bestowed upon me by god? They weren’t. It was kimchi-jjigae.”

“Yah, you’re only three inches taller than me, hyung. Don’t get cocky just because of a few inches,” Yoongi complains, and you swear you see him lift onto his toes for just a moment.

“Oh, but a few inches can make a world of difference, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin practically purrs, and at that you find your voice, because really, enough is enough.

“I should go!” you blurt out, and both of their heads snap in your direction comically fast. Seokjin looks amused, but also like he forgot you were there entirely, which you think is fair. Yoongi, however, looks incredibly guilty. You’d think it’s cute, if you could think anything besides ‘get out while you still can’ right now. 

Yoongi steps a little closer to you, lowering his voice so it’s only for you. You can feel your change of heart before you even process anything he says.

“I’m sorry…” he says, glancing back at Seokjin for a moment. “…For that.” He sighs. “Look, I get it if you want to bolt right now. Seokjin-hyung has that effect on people.”

You hear Seokjin’s cry of protest behind Yoongi, which Yoongi ignores.

“I just don’t want to intrude,” you say. Polite. To the point. Your last line of defense, which Yoongi is quick to crumble with his soft voice and earnest words.

“You wouldn’t be. Despite being a pain in my ass, hyung is a good cook. And he makes enough food to feed an army even when it’s just the two of us,” he continues. “I… You can stay and eat. I’d like it if you did.”

What the fuck is happening to you right now? You can’t even begin to understand why you can’t seem to say no where Yoongi is involved, despite only meeting him less than twenty-four hours ago. 

The only thing that you can tell is that it’s not just because of your attraction to him, as undeniable as it may be. You may be an introverted homebody, but you’re still a woman who gets hit on semi-frequently. If that’s what this was, no matter how pretty Yoongi is, you’re sure you’d still be able to say no. But you’re not saying no.

“…This is all very, very weird,” you say, and Yoongi breathes out a strained ‘ I know, ’ which makes you relax a little. “I’ll stay, if you insist.”

“He insists,” Seokjin says, not even bothering to look up at you as he chops vegetables.

To your surprise, Yoongi doesn’t make any kind of cutting remark in Seokjin’s direction. He just keeps his eyes on you, nods in agreement. 

“I insist.”

So you stay.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin is very insistent about not letting you help in the kitchen.

“Unless he’s chopped off a limb to get out of it in the past ten seconds I haven’t been looking at him, Yoongi-yah has two fully-functioning hands and knows his way around a kitchen. So you just sit and look pretty, and let your oppas take care of everything,” he tells you. 

You hate the delivery of that, really. But you do as he says, and it’s actually pretty nice.

Plus, you get to see just how fully-functioning those hands of Yoongi’s are. You have a fucking front row seat to the capability of those hands. 

It does not help that Seokjin insists on refilling a wine glass for you every time you take a sip, but what does help is focusing on Seokjin’s weird, kind of cute pinky fingers instead of Yoongi’s fucking sinful everything that you want in your mouth more and more as the alcohol warms you. 

The bickering between the two even seems to die down as they cook. It’s clear that the two of them have done this together before, and it even makes you wonder if they lived together for a point in time.

You learn a lot about Yoongi, too. That he works too hard, which he himself had alluded to last night, but Seokjin confirmed with a gusto that makes you think it’s probably worse than you assumed. That he’s completely powerless to his dongsaengs, which Yoongi didn’t even try to deny. That there are seven of them altogether, a close-knit friend group that will always be the seven of them barring death, and maybe even then. It’s all very sweet. 

You’re in the middle of fantasizing about what it would be like to have six friends who love you so much when Seokjin turns the conversation to you suddenly.

“What do you do, Y/N?”

“I’m a music journalist for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, starting to straighten up with pride just as you did last night when you told Yoongi, but something in Seokjin’s expression makes you freeze.

He looks pleased as fucking punch, and you’re beginning to realize that is probably never a good thing.

“Oh, are you?” he purrs.

“Hyung,” Yoongi says warily, but he looks just as confused as you feel.

“You know, our Yoongi makes music.”

“Yes, he told me,” you say slowly, your eyebrows furrowing.

“He’s very good,” Seokjin continues. “Back in college, he used to write all of these raps about eating pus—“

“YAH! Stop!” Yoongi interjects, and when you look at him he is completely pink. You were already pink from the wine, so you would guess you’re fire engine red right now, if the heat in your cheeks is any indicator. 

“You weren’t ashamed of it then, Mr. Tongue Technology,” Seokjin sniffs, doling out rice into three bowls like he didn’t just drop a bomb that you’ll be thinking about for the rest of your life, maybe. Tongue technology.

“I was twenty,” Yoongi complains. “I was young and cocky, and I had an awful group of friends who never told me how fucking stupid I sounded.” He turns to you, although he is barely able to hold eye contact. You’re in the same boat. “Please forget you ever heard that.”

You nod, stiffly. What else can you do? Say you’d like to take that tongue for a spin, right now preferably? No, no, no, no.

“How about we talk about something else?” you offer, quickly. “What do you do, Seokjin?”

That seems like the right thing to say, because even when the three of you finally sit down to eat, Seokjin is still happily going on about his aspirations as an actor.

★ ★ ★

Seokjin rubs his belly happily, slumped against his chair.

“God, I’m good,” he sighs. “Tell me how good I am, Yoongichi.”

“You’re so good, hyung,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Thank you again, for having me,” you say, smiling a little. Despite your apprehension towards Seokjin at first, dinner was surprisingly pleasant and, to his credit, really fucking good. “Both of you.”

“Ah, you should come next time all the kids are around,” Seokjin says, grinning. “It’ll be a hoot.”

Yoongi stays quiet across from you, but he meets your eyes and nods. Flip.

“Well… I’m only two doors down,” you say softly, looking down at your empty bowl.

“Just wait until Jiminie and Jeongguk get ahold of her,” Seokjin says to Yoongi. You don’t know what that could possibly mean, could mean a lot of things coming from Seokjin, but Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“It’s getting late. We should probably clean up,” Yoongi says, starting to stack the bowls. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’m not an invalid, Yoongi-yah,” Seokjin scoffs. “I can take the bus.” He stands up, snatching the bowls away from Yoongi. “Let hyung clean up and I’ll be on my way.”

Yoongi doesn’t put up a fight, handing off the bowls, and then Seokjin is in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone for the first time since tangerines and Yoongi’s thumb on your lip.

“Thank you,” you say again, this time just for Yoongi. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a night like this.”

“I wouldn’t have any nights like this if it weren’t for Seokjin-hyung and the rest of my friends,” Yoongi says, brutally honest in the way you’re figuring out he always is. “When you love what you do, it’s hard to remember that there’s anything else.”

You nod, because you know exactly what he means by that.

“I really know what it’s like. I know we just met last night, but if you ever need…” He shakes his head, putting his words together. He looks unbelievably shy, not for the first time tonight. “Ah, I’m not used to being the one to give this speech. Look, we can hang out, is all I’m saying.”

You realize then and there what Yoongi is offering, and something clicks into place. Friendship. Despite the charged moments, the clear attraction, he’s offering to be someone you can go to. Someone who gets it and won’t judge. It doesn’t feel like pity, either, strangely. This is why you can’t bring yourself to say no to him, you realize. He’s offering you something you desperately need.

You smile, despite the fact that you kind of feel like crying.

“Only if you show me those raps Seokjin was talking about.”

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

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@dollfaceksj

PREVIOUS CHAPTER ✧ MASTERLIST ✧ NEXT CHAPTER

[stele3]

Jason Todd killed a bunch of people and put a duffle bag of heads on Bruce's doorstep READ THE FUCKING COMICS!!!! He is not being lobotomised by them, he shot Tim and shot Damian

He did not put the duffle bag full of eight heads on Bruce’s doorstep. He threw it in front of the eight drug lords who were bosses of the people whose heads Jason cut off. (Source: Batman #635, Under the Red Hood, which I have read.)

I have not read any comic in which Jason shoots Tim, but that doesn’t mean it can’t have happened at some point. Would you mind providing the name or number of the issue where he does so? Jason absolutely does shoot AT Tim in Battle For the Cowl (which I have read), after Tim hunts Jason down to his underground lair and attacks him. Tim initiates the fight, Jason shoots at Tim several times, Tim beats him in the head (with a crowbar, of course), and Jason stabs Tim with a batarang, incapacitating him. Again, I haven’t read every single Batman comic, so it’s possible that you’re thinking of a different issue—would you mind providing the issue # where Jason shoots Tim? Because in BFtC #3, Tim shows up to ambush Jason, and Jason responds with self-defense.

To my knowledge, the only time Jason shoots Damian is also in Battle For the Cowl, after Jason rescues Dick — who is badly injured— and Damian from gunmen who have them cornered. Dick tells Damian to hide, then tries to draw the gunmen’s attention because he’s too injured to run away. Just as the gunmen are preparing to fire at Dick, Jason arrives on the scene and kills the gunmen; Dick and Damian then attack Jason, and Damian threatens to kill him, telling him “the hole in the ground should fit you just fine!” At which point Jason shoots Damian in the shoulder and quickly leaves. Again, maybe there’s a different time when Jason shoots Damian that I haven’t read; but in this case Jason shot a whole bunch of people to SAVE DICK AND DAMIAN’S LIVES, they responded by attacking him, and he defended himself.

I will admit the “lobotomy” is not literal: in Gotham War (which I have read), Bruce purposefully alters Jason’s brain chemistry with fear toxin, removing his free will and leaving him virtually incapacitated. Jason can literally not even stand up, making him a sitting duck. In a way, it was worse than a lobotomy — it was a death sentence, in the current world of Gotham. Indeed, Jason is almost immediately at the mercy of Scarecrow and the Joker, and the only reason he survives is due to the latter’s perverse sense of humor.

Do you remember the time that Bruce killed Jason? Because I do.

Frankly, I’d ask you to actually read the fucking comics, anon. Because it doesn’t seem like you have.

[tera-rabbit]

Kinito needs a virtual buddy. (steam key, should be region free) : 6TTWX-TCK7F-X6RDJ (hopefully it'll work, if not, just scream really loudly ༼ᕗຈل͜ຈ༽ᕗ )

thank you very much for the game! I beat the game to one of the endings and really liked it. Kinito and Buddy really have a lot in common

I named my buddy Bill : )

[fluffytriceratops]

𝐈 𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮 - 𝐑𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 [𝐛𝐚𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞]

notes: part one? will probably make a very spicy part two- hehe. ;) if you know, you know. also- i imagine y/n as english here, but that's literally just me lol. there's no real hint or anything saying that she is or isn't. :D also also, i want raphael to choke me like he hates me but he loves me. :P

warnings: mature language/swearing,

tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1 [if i've forgotten anyone i'm so sorry please comment or dm me and let me know and i'll add you right away so i don't forget in the future!]

(if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!)

i love you all sm! i'm sending all the virtual hugs and well wishes to you!! <33

---

She didn't understand what she had done. From the moment she met him, Raphael acted as though he hated her. Y/n was for at a loss. No matter what she did or said, there was always this wall between them. After a while of trying to befriend him, she eventually gave up. If he did not want to be friends, then so be it. She would spend her time with his brothers.

But that only seemed to make matters worse.

It was terribly confusing and Y/n didn't know if she could take much more of it.

She had tried so hard to please him. And despite all her efforts he pushed her away. Treated her as if she was nothing. So she turned to her actual friends, and that only seemed to anger him more. Did he not want her around at all? Did he not trust her with his family?

The thing that was the most frustrating, was the fact that no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't get rid of her love for him.

---

It wasn't as if he hated her. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Raphael had a hard time expressing his feelings. He had an even harder time when he believed that those feelings weren't reciprocated.

Y/n was beautiful. She was as sweet as honey with warm skin as soft as silk. Her eyes shone when she laughed. She always wore this lip gloss that made her lips the perfect shade of pink. And she smelled amazing. Like vanilla and cedar. A warm and comforting scent.

There was no way she liked him as much as he liked her. Raphael was so certain of this. So he did the only logical thing he could think of.

He pushed her away.

Because he knew he would never be able to love her. And being in the same room as her, knowing she would never be his, was excruciating.

The only thing he could think of doing was keeping his distance. Which was hard when she was always approaching him. So he avoided her like the plague.

That didn't mean that he didn't get jealous.

---

How could he act like he knew her? He didn't know her at all! Raphael was like a stranger to her! The only things she's learned of him was from his brothers. And even if they had been telling him about her, it wasn't the same. Her gaze narrowed at him. "I'm sorry? Can you repeat that please, because I don't think I heard you right."

Raphael gazed at Y/n from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, biceps bulging. (she would have been drooling if he wasn't such an ass-) He moved his toothpick to the other side of his mouth with his tongue. Head tilting ever so slightly as he studied her.

"I said, that your actions don't surprise me. Figures someone as pristine and conceded as you would do somethin' like that." He didn't skip a beat. Didn't hesitate with his comment. Even if it was uncalled for.

Y/n blinked. It was almost worse hearing it for a second time. It made her angrier, at least. She was absolutely gobsmacked. Surprised he had the balls to make such an assumption and voice it so simply.

Raphael pushed himself off of the wall and stalked towards her. "Cat got your tongue, princess?" His lips twisted up into a smirk as he loomed over her. Staring down at her with his eyes made of gold.

Leonardo, who she had been talking to moments before- opened his mouth to intervene, but Y/n cut him off before he got the chance.

"You have no right to make any sort of assumptions about me."

Raph hummed, "Ain't assumptions if they're true."

Y/ns gaze hardened, her hands balling at her sides. "You clearly don't know me at all."

"I think I know ya well enough."

"And I think you're an ass!" She snapped, face red with anger. "If you have any other false assertions about me, I'd rather you kept your mouth shut!"

"And I'd rather you not be here at all!" He growled in return. Golden gaze burning down upon her like fire. "You're always around! Do ya not have anywhere else to be!? Any other friends besides us!?"

"You aren't my friend!" Y/n's eyes stung with tears, and she did her best to hold herself together.

"Thank fuck for that!"

"Raph, enough!" Leo seperated the two by physically putting himself between them. His ocean eyes were glued to his brother. "Take a walk." He demanded, nodding in the direction of one of the sewer tunnels.

Raphael's veins burned. He hated the sight of Leo coming to the rescue. Because of fucking course he did. It was always the wise and powerful Leonardo guiding them through their problems. He would have fought more. Pushed back harder. Let his anger consume him. But his gaze caught the sight of tears trickling down Y/n's face. Like stars falling from the sky. His heart ached and squeezed. He wanted to drop to the floor and beg for her forgiveness. Kiss her feet and worship the ground she walked on.

Y/n was a moon goddess. Made of pure starlight.

And Raphael was a brutish soldier, stuck on Earth while he watched her dance with the stars.

It was better if she hated him. It made things easier that way, he reminded himself.

Raphael didn't say anything else. He simply turned around and walked away. Afraid that if he stayed a second longer, he'd do one of two things.

Beg for the goddess' forgiveness.

Or break her.

---

Leonardo let out a heavy sigh before turning to face the h/c haired girl. "Are you okay?" He asked, planting his large hands atop her shoulders. They covered them entirely, showing just how much bigger they all were than her.

Y/n nodded, reaching up to wipe at her eyes quickly. It felt like Raphael had attacked her out of nowhere. It wasn't like she was doing anything besides talking to Leo. (Okay, maybe she had been flirting with him a little bit, but could you really blame her? Have you seen the guy, he's fine as hell-) It felt unwarranted. She didn't feel like she deserved his hate, but no matter what she did, he always seemed hostile towards her.

Leo didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

Y/n let out a quiet sigh. "Yeah.. Is it okay if I just go and finish my book in your room?" She reached towards the couch and grabbed it, clutching it to her chest.

"Of course. No one will disturb you there."

She forced a small smile. "Great. Thanks, Leo."

"Anytime, Y/n."

Leonardo watched as she padded away in the direction of his bedroom. Lips pressed into a thin line. He turned and moved in the direction Raphael went in. He wasn't surprised to find him in the dojo, absolutely wrecking the punching bag.

"Raph."

Said male glanced in his direction for a split second, grunting in acknowledgment.

"What the hell was that?" Leo gestured behind him, blue eyes hardening into a stern glare.

Raphael clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Nothin'. Just leave it alone, Leo." He continued to slam his fists upon the bag, watching it jolt and sway with each lethal hit.

"Y/n doesn't deserve the shit you give her. If you gave her a chance, maybe you would see that. She's a nice girl, she's our friend. You need to give her an apology."

Normally, Raphael would have fought with Leo. Arguing with him to the point where their verbal hits would turn into physical ones. But his motions stilled at this. He knew Leo was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He hated seeing Y/n look at him like that. With wide teary eyes and a wobbling lip. Staring at him like the ferocious monster he was.

Before either of them could say anything else, Mikey popped his head in the room. "Hey guys, dinner's ready!"

Leo nodded and turned back to Raph. "Go tell Y/n dinner's ready. You can apologize whilst you're at it." He didn't leave room for argument as he left the dojo. 

Leaving Raphael looming next to the punching bag. He lifted his arm and hit it once more. That was the final blow, the bag snapped off the chain and smashed against the ground. It's contents pouring out.

He'd have to try and fix it later.

---

Y/n sat on Leonardo's bed. Back pressed against the wall and chin propped up on her palm. One of her favourite books sat open on her lap and she read it contentedly. She did her best not to think about Raphael and his actions and words. How he was so distant and vile towards her. She had done nothing but be kind to him. To try and have a decent relationship with him. But he refused to have even a decent relationship with her. It was beyond frustrating. It made her want to rip her hair out. 

She let out a long slow sigh, tilting her head back till it hit the wall and she was looking up at the ceiling. Her mind was a mess, and while she had told Mikey she would stay for dinner earlier, now she was regretting her choice. She contemplated trying to sneak out. But that was near impossible when the lair was full of trained ninjas. Y/n couldn't sneak past them no matter how hard she tried. 

There was a rap of knuckles on the door. She assumed it was Leo, or perhaps Donnie. Mikey would just barge in, and she highly doubted she'd see Raph for a good long while yet. 

She pushed herself up and went towards the door. Yanking it open, but whatever she was about to say died on her tongue. Lips parted and throat dry. She couldn't say anything as she gazed at the mutant in front of her.  Y/n stepped back from Raphael, studying him with an intense gaze silently. Being unable to find any words to speak. 

Raph cleared his throat. "Leo sent me to get you for dinner."

Y/n dropped her gaze with a heavy sigh and turned away from him, shaking her head in disappointment. She was hoping for an apology, or something along those lines. She wanted him so bad but it felt like he was miles away. 

"Y/n?" Raph stepped further into the room, looking at her in confusion. "Are you not hungry?"

"I do not want any dinner!" Y/n spat angrily, running a hand through her hair in agitation.

Raph looked taken aback by her outburst. But he stayed silent, allowing her to take in a couple deep breaths and try to calm herself down. He understood anger better than most. And Y/n had every right to be angry with him. 

Finally, she turned to him. "I have spent so much time wanting to be alone with you. Wanting to talk to you! Wanting to know -" she cut herself off with a sharp inhale, dropping her gaze to the floor. Cheeks warm and tips of her ears dusted in red.

She shook her head again. "I understand that you do not wish to see me... That you would prefer to stay in any other room-"

"That's not true." He cut her off quickly. Molten gold gaze staring at her. Piercing her soul. 

Y/n brought her eyes back up to him. Not believing his words. "Raphael-"

"You're wrong." He said again. Voice sharp.

Still, Y/n did not believe him. "You have avoided my presence." She stated, quite simply. It was a fact. Raphael could barley stand to be in the same room as Y/n, let alone hang around just the two of them.

"In order to give you space." He muttered, swallowing thickly. She watched the way his throat bobbed with the action. 

Y/n's eyebrows dipped in confusion. "You've.. Said all but a few words to me."

"To stop myself from sayin' the wrongs things." He said, taking a step towards her. Raph wet his lips with his tongue, not missing the way her eyes followed the action. His heart pounded at the sight alone. He had caught himself staring at her eyes many times, so to find hers glued to his - she had no idea the kind of chokehold she had on him.

Y/n stared at him in disbelief. "You've barley been able to look at me in the eye."

"Because I can't stand to see the misery I have caused you!" He snapped, clearly agitated. Pacing back and forth in front of her. Like a caged animal. Skin crawling at the way she watched him. Those eyes of hers... They were paralyzing. In the best way possible.

"You did not..." She whispered, hesitantly taking a single step forwards. "I am the one who has trapped you in your own home. I should have been more understanding of your space-" 

"I'm the one who trapped you." Raph cut her off, growling out the words. "I have spent the last few weeks in agony." He admitted, glancing over towards her for only a second before he resumed his pacing. "Unable to talk to you. Unable to be alone with you because I knew you wanted nothing to do with me." 

Y/n opened her mouth to protest but he continued. "Which makes sense, I mean look at me! I'm fucking scary. I'm a freak. I have a bad temper, it ain't pretty when I'm angry. I get jealous and envious easily and I'm not the best with emotions. I'm not the best guy, my brothers are ten times better than I will ever be." 

"Raph-" 

"I see the way you look at them. I see how much you care for them. Leo especially. He's the hero. I'm the villain. That's how it's always been, that's how it always will be. If yer gonna love any of us, it's understandable that it would be him." His shoulders sunk, and he finally stopped pacing but had yet to fully turn towards Y/n. His chest was heaving with much needed air after the amount of word vomit he had spewed. 

"Leo's your perfect love match..." 

"You're right in the sense that you and Leo are different. You cannot be anymore different. You're practically polar opposites." She breathed, studying him carefully. Heart aching from the words he spoke. "But who said I ever wanted Leo..." 

Raphael slowly looked towards her. Eyes boring into her own, trying to see if she was telling the truth or not. Trying to understand the meaning behind her words. 

He was silent for what felt like a long time. They both were. The silence was thick, suffocating. They both had so much they wanted to say but neither of them had the courage to say it. 

"I can't stop thinking of you," Raph started softly, "From the mornings when I wake up, to the evenings right before bed. To the dreams I have of you.. My thoughts of you never end." His hands shook ever so slightly and he balled them into fists to control it. 

"I am yours, Y/n. I have always been yours." 

Y/n took in a heavy breath, chest rising as she sucked the air into her lungs. "I.." Her eyebrows dipped again as she tried to comprehend his words. Was he saying what she thought he was? "I don't understand.." 

Raphael shook his head in frustration, "I don't know how to be anymore clear." He huffed, lifting his arms up and turning away from her. 

Y/n's gaze hardened and she moved towards him. "Do not get angry-" 

"I am not angry!" He snapped. 

"You look angry. And bothered. Look at you, you're all flushed." She gestured towards him and Raph grit his teeth, face warm in embarrassment. 

"Yes, that is what happens." 

"When one is angry." 

"When one burns for someone who does not feel the same!" Raphael hissed, closing the distance between them. Towering over her. He lifted a hand and ran it down his face, biting down on his lip.

"You.." Y/n could not bring herself to look away from him. "You burn for me?" 

"Why do you think I got angry at you for flirting with Leo?" 

"Why do you think I was flirting with Leo?" 

Raph seemed confused by this, brows pulling together. "If you even bothered to look at me, really look at me. For longer than two seconds.. You would have seen.." What small bit of distance left between them she closed by taking a final step forward.

 "I burn for you." 

[ohitsjae]

Skz as your Long-Distance Boyfriend...(Pt2.)

tags: Stray Kids x gn!reader, set in canon, sfw

summary: How Stray Kids would be as your long-distance boyfriend (Maknae Line)

(Part 1 with the Hyung line can be found Here)

Jisung

watching the same film at the same time over video call so you can talk while you watch

ordering the same takeout as well (depending on the timezones) so you can pretend you're having a proper dinner date

him sending you loads of song clips either of potential songs or random things he's sung/made when messing around/procrastinating/in a slump etc

you send him flowers each week with a little notes that have bad puns or jokes/you wishing him a good studio session/telling him a fun fact/etc

watching the same anime/documentary series at the same time, or just the same pace if the time difference is too big, so that you can send call/send each other voice notes about your thoughts and theories

you send each other your schedules each week so you know when you're both free.

Felix

playing multi-player games together or playing 1v1 against each other. Laughing at the each others' failures and just catching up whilst you play.

sending each other things off of your guys' Amazon wish lists - sending them with the 'gift notes' option so you can send little jokes or memes with each gift.

sending each other tiktoks. You find and send him loads of dance challenges and funny trends he and the members could do as well as finding Felix/skz edits that you think will make him laugh. In turn he sends you his favourite tiktoks of your favourite animals/shows/games/etc.

buying each other's favourite perfume, buying diffusers with the same scent and sending each other stuffed toys that have been sprayed with your perfume/washed with your laundry detergent.

sending each other silly BuzzFeed/quotev quizzes and finding couple questionnaires/quizzes to do together over video call.

going on cafe dates together! When you both have the time you video cal and each of you go to a cafe and order drinks and food. You find different cafes to go to each time and sometimes you make him jealous by going to cat/dog cafes and showing all the cute kittens/puppies there.

Seungmin

putting together personalised boxes of goodies for each other to be delivered. You each send the other reminders of you, their favourite snacks from your country, one of your hoodies or shirts to sleep/lounge in, etc.

virtual karaoke nights! Either through a a game/app or just setting up a video call and taking it in turns singing and dancing to your guys' favourite songs.

putting together a playlist for your karaoke nights!! Adding all of Seungmin's skz-record songs just to see him get shy and flustered when you sing and dance to them!

getting videos of him making the other members jump/of him pranking the other members and sending him ideas for his next jumpscare/prank

video calls when you have things to do - just existing on call together and not needing to talk. Seungmin just preparing for his next schedule whilst you do chores/get some work done/etc and just enjoying each other's company without needing to fill the silence.

getting photos or screenshots of potential lyrics, clips of him singing covers and little bits of tracks that 3racha have made asking for your opinion or sometimes just giving you a pre-view of soon-to-be-released content.

Jeongin

fashion runways!! After one of you has been shopping you always call the other one and put on a fashion show for them. Asking for styling advice and clothing recommendations - and reminding him that he doesn't need 200 pairs of shows!!

depending on the time difference, having a spa day together. Doing skin care, face masks, etc while on call and just relaxing while catching up.

bowling date! Each of you going to a bowling alley and video calling each other. Taking it in turns, trying to beat each other and laughing when he inevitably falls over!

you two definitely have at least one app where you can play against each other/take turns so even when the time difference stops you from having dates or when his schedule is really busy you can still have fun together by playing a game.

sending him loads of selfies, photos of friends and family and any skz meme/tiktoks you find when you know he's busy/had a bad day to cheer him up and give him something to look forward to looking at after the long days.

he sends you videos from all the photoshoots he does, little clips he has the members film when he's recording, dance practice photos/clips where he asks for any advice and also just little voice notes and videos of him in the 'normal' part of his life doing chores/shopping/etc

---- Hope you enjoyed this!! 🦦

[py-dreamer]

So... I know I'm late...

But yea! I said I was coming back with some stickers and I kept my word! I would've hoped that I could've completed the sheet in like a day but as you can see...that didn't work out

I know I've been a bit MIA lately but burnout sucks. I do have a lot of WIPS I really want to work on but again, it seems that the ProcrastiNation hath struck my feeble mortal brain again.

But anyways:

I headcanon Aroace Mei, just a personal headcanon (disagree if you like) I also like lesbian Mei but thought I'd give some aroace appreciation

Silktea was only given 1 episode but OH BOY did it fuel our wild shipping habits. And I jumped on the bandwagon. It's a reference to that scene in She-Ra where Scorpia tells Catra she 'didn't want to do this' then wraps kitty up in the blankey and cradles her like a wee baby. And Sandy would do that for any friend, I will die on this hill

Saw a fanart where Mk had a pig nose themed pacifier and I just yoinked that idea. The pig hoodie and the pacifier seems like something Tang would do for Pigsy (also to get away with free noodles cause who can say no to that face?~)

Mac showing Wukong the lantern. What can I say, mans' fascinated by them pretty lights. Though our little performer's eyes seem to be straying from the show (^u ')

I know many people have issues with shipping with Nezha and such and I know the two had a rough history but y'know what fans do; they love to make the people who kill each other soulmates (platonic, romantic or otherwise) Even if it wasn't romantic, I still love the idea of them being buddies and just chilling, the danger noodle prince and the angy prince snuggle and watch a movie (mainly from Nezha 2019 but I also saw New Gods and can I just say, I want those two twinks to bicker then kiss awkwardly and I want Yun Xiang to BEAT. HIS. ASS) but in case anyone asks, I do perceive Nezha to be a consenting adult in general outside shipping drama and if the two are adults, it does make my heart squeal when I see these two hold hands and whatnot

HOW COULD I EVER FORGET MY SPICYBOIS, inspired by that one Ponyo kiss scene. I was actually gonna make a bigger piece but then I saw someone do it already in a much better fashion than I ever could and I just gave up on the idea but Ig here, its just like the two cakes mentality and I gave it a go. Hope I could do the concept justice

Have spider queen or scorpion queen ever interacted before? No. But they are both queens and I believe Spider Queen's confidence could rub off on Scorpion Queen and she'd appreciate the company of Spider Queen's children henchmen. Also she give yummy food so lesbian venomqueens for the win

Redraw of that moment with Peng and Azure. I normally detest that bird but these two do get some gears grinding and whatever anyone says. Neither of those two are straight. I'll tell ya that.

Toxicinsanity is another rarepair that had like 1 sec screen time. I don't think they'd ever work out in canon and had virtually no chemistry. I still love all the fluffy ship content I can find of them though and if it ever were to happen. I think the mayor would scare the sh!t out of Syntax

Let's get at least one hetero couple here, Chang'e and Hou'Yi are a couple of favorites ngl, I took most of their outfits from Over the moon cause both of them looked stunning, Chang'e especially. I've seen people ship mah girl with other people and while I do agree it's healthy to move on, in my heart she will always long for Hou'Yi

Also irl, on valentines, my mum took us out for lunch, she treated us to bubble tea and donuts. We walked home so I waited to drink mah drink in my room while I drew and I accidentally finished it all... I'm so sorry mum

f*ck I forgot ironbull. Uhh....I'll draw something later, rn I need to go to bed before I get yelled at...

click pic for less sh!ty quality!

[shellsarepretty]

Reconnected

a/n: requests are more than welcomed <3

summary: walker and you had a thing for eachother in seventh grade. you were both really awkward, but then covid hit. you grew appart, but then walker landed his breakthrough role, Adam Reed in the Adam Project. would you guys start talking more?

warnings: none <3

Y/n had always thought about Walker, but she never expected to hear from him again. Seventh grade had been a whirlwind of emotions—awkward glances, shared smiles in the hallways, and that brief, silly crush that only lasted as long as school dances and the fleeting days of middle school. It felt like another lifetime now, especially after everything that had happened in the past few years.

Then came COVID.

School shut down, and the world seemed to slow to a halt. Y/n and Walker drifted apart just like everyone else. Virtual classrooms, chaotic schedules, and the strange isolation that followed made it hard to hold onto friendships, especially when people were stuck inside their own worlds. So, it wasn’t surprising that communication between her and Walker ended as quickly as it had started. They never had a dramatic falling out—there was no fight, no grand goodbye. It was just the inevitable separation of time and circumstances.

But in the back of her mind, Y/n had always wondered what had happened to Walker. She had seen the rumors and glimpses of his face in the news, always curious but never digging too deep. Then one afternoon, her phone buzzed with a notification: Walker Scobell liked your story.

It wasn’t a direct message, just a like on an Instagram story she had posted to celebrate Walker’s recent success. She had seen that he landed the role of Adam Reed in The Adam Project, a Netflix movie starring Ryan Reynolds. Y/n had always been proud of him—even from afar. She remembered how passionate he’d been about acting when they were younger, and to see that he was living his dream made her smile.

She opened the notification, not expecting anything beyond a simple acknowledgment of her post. But there, in the comments, was Walker’s familiar face emoji, followed by the words: Thanks so much for the support, Y/n!

Her heart skipped a beat.

It was the first time they had spoken in years, and it was almost as if the past had never happened.

Walker liked my story!

She stared at the screen, unsure of what to say back. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she typed, Of course! You’ve worked so hard for this, you deserve it.

Before she could second-guess herself, she hit send. Then the conversation started flowing, slow at first, like two people testing the waters of a friendship that had been dormant for too long.

A Week Later:

It didn’t take long for their conversations to become a regular occurrence. Walker had reached out again after that first exchange, and the two of them picked up right where they left off, as if no time had passed. They texted each other every day—sometimes about the movie, sometimes about school, and other times just about the random thoughts that popped into their heads.

Y/n found herself grinning more than usual whenever her phone buzzed with a message from Walker. It was strange, but comforting, to hear from him again. He was still the same—kind, funny, and easy to talk to. He had changed in some ways, of course. He was no longer the boy from seventh grade who fumbled his words in front of her, but the confident young actor who had a growing fan base and a life full of opportunities.

But he still had the same spark in his eyes, the same goofy sense of humor that made Y/n laugh until her cheeks hurt. They had both grown up so much, but some things remained unchanged.

Then, one day, Walker mentioned that he was coming to town for a promotional event related to The Adam Project. The movie had just been released, and there were interviews, press tours, and all kinds of events happening. He had asked if she wanted to hang out when he was free, just the two of them. The invitation was casual, but Y/n could tell there was something more to it.

She had a nervous flutter in her chest.

What if he didn’t feel the same way anymore? What if this was just a friendly gesture? Her mind ran through a thousand scenarios, each one more confusing than the last.

But she couldn’t say no. She was already in too deep.

“I’ll be there,” she typed back. Her fingers trembled as she hit send.

January, 2025. Walker was 16 now, and Y/n was (sadly) still 15. It was strange to see how much they had both changed—physically, mentally, and emotionally. She noticed the way Walker carried himself now, the subtle confidence that came with having achieved something most people only dreamed of. He wasn’t just an actor anymore; he was a star.

When they met up at a café near his hotel, it felt like no time had passed at all. He greeted her with the same warmth and energy she remembered, that goofy smile spreading across his face when he saw her.

“You look exactly the same,” he said, and Y/n could tell he wasn’t just saying it for the sake of being nice. He genuinely meant it.

She smiled, trying to hide the blush creeping up her neck. “You, too. Still that same old Walker Scobell.”

He laughed, a sound that felt like home to her. “I hope so. Don’t want to lose my charm.”

They sat down at a table by the window, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything—their favorite memories from middle school, their experiences during the pandemic, their lives since they’d last spoken. Y/n was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him again. It was like they had never stopped being friends.

But there was something different now. A subtle tension in the air that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Walker kept looking at her with a softness in his eyes, his gaze lingering just a little too long. Y/n could feel it, too—the way her heart beat a little faster when their hands brushed, the way her stomach fluttered every time he smiled.

It was clear to her now. Walker wasn’t just friendly anymore. He was… interested.

Later that Day:

They walked around the city after their lunch, talking about everything and nothing. As the afternoon sun began to dip, casting long shadows on the ground, Walker pulled her to a quiet spot near the water.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice suddenly serious. “I’ve missed you. A lot.”

Y/n stopped walking, her breath catching in her throat. She turned to face him, unsure of what to say. The words hung in the air, unspoken, between them.

“I know we were just kids when we first met,” Walker continued, “but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. You’ve always been so important to me, even when we lost touch. I… I don’t know, it’s just hard to explain.”

Y/n could feel her pulse quicken. This wasn’t just a casual hangout anymore. This was something else, something bigger.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said softly, her heart racing. “I didn’t think I would, but I have. A lot.”

Walker smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Really?”

She nodded, a shy smile creeping across her lips.

Walker stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until there was only an inch of air separating them. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think… I think I might like you, Y/n. A lot.”

The words hung between them, and Y/n’s heart fluttered. It was the same feeling she had had all those years ago, back in seventh grade, but stronger now.

“I think I like you too,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

And in that moment, everything felt right. All the years of silence, the time apart, the confusion—it all melted away. They were here, together again, in a place where nothing else mattered except the way they felt in that moment.

Walker smiled, a grin that reached all the way to his eyes. “Then let’s not let anything get in the way this time.”

Y/n nodded, her heart soaring. “Yeah. Let’s not.”

And just like that, the past melted away. They were no longer the awkward seventh graders who barely knew how to talk to each other. They were two people, reconnected by time and chance, ready to see where this new chapter would take them.

As the months passed, Y/n and Walker grew closer. Their bond strengthened, and what started as a simple reconnection blossomed into something deeper, something that neither of them had expected. Walker continued to juggle his acting career, but he always made time for Y/n, and she supported him through it all.

It was like they were picking up the pieces of a puzzle that had been left unfinished for years. And now, they were finally putting them all together.

Y/n smiled to herself, thinking about the journey they had taken to get here. She had always known that life had a funny way of bringing people back together, and with Walker, she had never felt more sure of anything. Their story was just beginning, and this time, they weren’t going to let it slip away.

a/n: i tried to sound more like third person for this one tehe. lmk if you like this style of writing better than the other fics ive been doing.

[ryin-silverfish]

JTTW Discord Summer Contest Entry: South Seas Sojourn

AO3 Mirror

-In collaboration with the amazing @ejaysstuff, who did the art!

-I'd say "This is mostly me nerding out about folklore", except that sums up all my recent one-shots.

-An LMK fanfic about Wukong going on a vacation, set between S3 and S4. 

---

"I'm going on a vacation!"

Before anyone in the noodle shop could let out a groan or a cry of "Again?!", Sun Wukong immediately added, "And you are coming too, MK. I ain't leaving my disciple out of the fun, not after, well, everything."

"But it's okay to leave me out of the fun?" Mei sulked, as she tried to make the tea inside her cup rise up, yet only created a little ripple. 

"Hey, I'm not the one who signed you up for that internship at your uncle's place." Sun Wukong said. "But maybe we can drop by once we are done! Take a break from the heat in the cool air of the North Sea."

"Yeah, the nice, cool, sub-zero-degree air of the arctic zone..." Mei sighed. "Don't wanna beat on that dead horse, but I'm so, so sick of icy stuff."

"Aw, bummers. Guess you won't be a fan of my new tea recipe, then." Sandy poked his head out from inside the kitchen. MK could hear ice cubes clinking inside a glass, and so did Mei, since she perked up within seconds and looked like she was on the verge of backflipping over the counter.

"Sandy, Sandy my man, I'll never not be a fan of your tea recipe!" 

"Uh, where are we even going?" MK asked, in between the sound of icy lemon tea being slurped through a twisty straw. "Don't get me wrong, I'm super duper up to it! But Mr. Tang had been complaining non-stop on MeChat about Pigsy's decision to drag him to Chang'e's virtual concert during summer break, where every major tourist spot is packed with kids. I hope we are going somewhere...quieter, that's all."

"Oh, no worries. It won't be deserted, but it ain't gonna be nearly as crowded." Sun Wukong paused, striking a pose. "We are going to the South Seas, bud!"

"...Where?" MK and Mei asked in unison, drowning out Sandy's faint "Wait, like, Guanyin's place?".

"Out south. In the oceans. Duh." 

"That explains nothi——"

"And no, my big blue friend, I won't be knocking on her doors at Potaloka unless someone needs saving! She's gonna be real busy in the next few weeks anyways." Sun Wukong continued. "For you less geographically gifted kids: it's where Lion City and Betel City are. Ring any bells?"

Mei made an "Oooo" noise. "You mean the place with the mermaid lion? Man, I was so disappointed when I found out it wasn't a real critter working for the South Sea Dragons." 

"I still have no idea what you are talking about!" 

"Ah well, MK, you'll be finding out soon enough." Sun Wukong said. "So go give your Dadsy a holler, and start packing up! We'll be leaving next week or the week after that, depending on when Nezha gets off work." A pause. "Yeah, he's coming too."

...

"We aren't really going on a vacation, are we?" MK asked, as he dragged his luggage up the creaky wooden walkway near the Megapolis harbor beach. 

Dangit, who knew that mosquito repellent and sunscreen could weigh so much? (Tang and Pigsy were very adamant about the importance of taking enough of these, once they heard the news over MeChat.)

"What makes you think that?" Sun Wukong replied, swishing his tail at the daring seagulls who kept trying to peck it. 

"Well, last time you said you were going on a vacation, you weren't really telling the truth." MK let out a nervous chuckle. "And Nezha's coming too. I don't know him all that well, but he doesn't sound like the kind of guy who'll, uh, join in on the fun just because?"

"Yeah. Sorry again, MK," he sighed. "But you are half-right. It's not a complete vacation, and more of a vacation-slash-summer school, slash-free exposure therapy..."

"What was that last part?"

"Nothing!" Sun Wukong exclaimed cheerfully. "Basically, you are gonna learn how to be a god, MK."

"I——WHAT?!"

"Relax, bud! It's not as serious as you think." A pause. "How do I put it...hmm, it's like being a hero, but more down-to-earth. Where, instead of people asking you to save them from big bad demons, they are asking you to solve their personal problems."

"Like?"

"Win lottery tickets. And discipline their kids for them."

"Speak for yourself."  

A familiar voice echoed through the evening air. The next second, in a blaze of pink fire, the Third Lotus Prince was standing tall on his wheels, his sash flowing in the wind. 

"Oooh, what did I just hear? Good ol' Brother Nezha, Electro-Techno Third Prince, The Other God You Go To For Lottery Tickets, acting all uppity and serious!" Sun Wukong stuck his tongue out at the new arrival. "Nice entrance, by the way. Very flashy." 

"You know very well I don't answer every desperate addict who doesn't know when to quit, nor do I play games of chance for fun! I play them to win!" Nezha retorted. "Also, thanks for the compliment, Great Sage."

"You are welcome, Laodi."

"Are we really going on a vacation to...help people gamble?" MK nervously raised a hand. "Isn't that, like, against the law?"

"Goodness, what have you been telling your disciple before my arrival? No, what have you left out?" Nezha groaned. "Well, since your mentor clearly hasn't explained our goals properly, I suppose I'll have to substitute for him. Again."

"Hey! Professor Sun is getting to it, Teaching Assistant Nezha——"

"In the next week, we shall be visiting and staying in multiple cities of the South Seas. Now that my true body isn't guarding the Samadhi Fire, I can finally start answering the more tricky prayers," Nezha sighed, "Which will only continue to pile up, since the Seventh Month is imminent."

"Seventh Month?" MK asked, reaching into his pocket with one hand. "But it's August the third already! Lemme check the calendar again..."

"Lunar Seventh Month. Also known as the Ghost Month." Nezha shot a look at Sun Wukong, his expression a mix between annoyance and slight concern. "Someone has picked a great time and place to take his student on a trip."

"What could I say? It sure is less depressing than Qingming nowadays. And they won't fine you for burning paper effigies in the South Seas, or so I've heard!"

"I…no matter." Nezha's look softened a bit, but not by much. "Back to what I was saying. Once the gates of the Underworld open, all the spirits will come out, go visit their families, enjoy the offerings as much as they can under the watch of Dashi Ye, Lady Guanyin's ghostly manifestation."

"We'll be assisting him, much like my brother and all the local gods. Keeping order, giving directions, and all that. In between these shifts, I’ll finally get to perform my duties in my actual physical body instead of the youthful manifestations mortals expect to see, and your mentor is free to monkey around with you and his worshippers at his own temples. All clear?"

"So we are gonna be, like, tour guides and security, but for dead people?" MK asked. "That doesn't…sound too bad, actually! Also, you have a brother, Nezha?"

"No, I pop out of a rock, just like your master." Nezha said flatly, then added, "Goodness, I wish. Muzha can be a bit much, but he's a lot more bearable while on the job, so no worries."

"Someone's getting jealous again, I see," Sun Wukong reached over to pat him on the head, and received an annoyed glare. "Oh, and don't let Nezha's sour attitude fool you, MK. We are still on a vacation, it ain't gonna be all work and no play! And the work won't start until several days later, so we'll have plenty of time."

…

This didn't seem like a great start for our vacation, MK thought. 

Okay, it did, for about three minutes, after they got off the somersault cloud. 

The palm trees were swaying in the wind, the two-story buildings with red-tiled roofs were glowing under the tropical sun, and Nezha reluctantly glamoured a lotus-patterned T-shirt and some baggy pants over his armor after rejecting Sun Wukong's more outlandish suggestions ("You should totally change your wheels into flaming flip-flops!"). Not a single dangerous, vacation-ruining, world-destroying threat in sight.

Then a giant rain cloud appeared out of nowhere, driving most of the crowd indoors and leaving the unfortunate ones seeking shelter under the nearest rooftops and bus stations. 

Not that it helped much——MK felt like he was standing behind the waterfall at Flower Fruit Mountain again, as raindrops slammed into the ground with a fury and created splashes of watery mists.

"Okay, Nezha, Did you anger the local dragons again?" Sun Wukong asked, holding the monkey-hair-turned-umbrella over MK's head.

"Nonsense! Not even the East Sea ones hold a grudge for this long, and I've never seen a South Sea dragon other than their king," Nezha said, then added, "and my brother's co-worker. Are you sure you have a temple nearby?"

"Eh, maybe. I saw a bunch of faith beacons up there, all clustered together." Sun Wukong shrugged. "Some of these have to be mine."

"Have to be yours? Oh, that's rich, coming from someone who hasn't visited the South Seas in person since the 19th century——"

"And they still love me, bud. Deal with it."

"Um, what's a faith beacon?" MK wiped the water droplets off his phone screen with one thumb, trying and failing to steer his luggage away from the puddles. "I'm not seeing any on CloudMap."

"Well, you won't, unless you are a patron god of IT workers or some other technology-related stuff!" Sun Wukong said. "How do I put it, hmmm…after people have prayed to you for a while, offered enough incense, you can just sense the places they are doing it at. Usually, it looks like a beam or a glowy aura, but some gods can smell or hear it too."

"Wow, that's so cool! It's like a mystical VR goggle. Is it something you can learn, though?"

"Look, I'm glad that you are doing your job as a mentor, but can we please get some actual directions?" Nezha sighed. "Temples here aren't always their own separate buildings. I've been summoned inside too many HDB flats to count, and you won't know that by looking at the beacons alone."

"We are heading in that direction right now. It'll get clearer once I get closer to the place. So be patient, will ya'?"

"Well, isn't that just the most reassuring answer I've ever heard. 'We'll get there when we get there'." Nezha muttered, as the group took a turn into a narrow side street, ducking below the swaying lanterns and multilingual shop signs. "Just so you know, if the rain doesn't stop and we don't get there in two hours, I'm dragging both of you onto a bus and to my temple instead."

"Why, you three sound like you are lost! Need a tour guide?"

Abruptly, a high-pitched, child-like voice resounded through the torrential rain, coming out of the alleyway to their left. MK turned to look at the speaker—

—and stared straight into the lifeless glowing eyes of a chalk-faced monstrosity, its red tongue hanging out of its mouth.

With a scream, his staff was out, and in a split second, connected with the thing's head and sent it flying into the nearest wall. It slid off the yellowed concrete, landed with a splash, then went completely still. 

A spiderweb crack was spreading across its porcelain mask——Oh goodness, it's a puppet, which was somehow even worse.

"Ah. The answer is 'No', it seems."

He nearly extended the staff and hit the puppet again when it spoke, had Sun Wukong not dashed forth and, in one swift motion, dragged a pale specter out of it by the robe collar.

"Glad to see you again, Xiao Xie!" He grinned in a rather dangerous way, like what Mr. Tang said non-intelligent monkeys really meant when they bore their teeth. "Is there any particular reason why you are jumpscaring my student in broad daylight, or do you just have nothing better to do?"

"Yes, because this one knows it will happen!" The specter, still in Sun Wukong's grip, said in a cheerfully oblivious voice. “The vision caught this one by surprise too. It's not every day that you see the Great Sage's golden staff approaching your face at lethal speed, especially when you have done nothing to offend him. Good thing this one did not come in his contractor's body!"

Behind them, Nezha let out a groan. "Oh joy, it's these two clowns again."

"W-W-What the heck just happened?! And what's THAT?" MK pointed at the specter. Outside of that creepy puppet, it just looked like a lanky, unnaturally pale youth in an oversized mandarin jacket and a tall hat.

Before Nezha could answer, another sullen voice cut him off.

"You knew you'd get smacked in the face if you came, so naturally, you possessed the creepiest vessel you could find and headed straight in this direction." The air suddenly got a lot colder. "I don't need precognition to know you deserve to be smacked at this point."

The water in a nearby puddle rippled. Okay, technically, it never stopped rippling because of the rain, but this one was a lot bigger, as if something was about to crawl out.

MK took a step back. Seconds later, the murky water turned inky black, rising up into the air and coalescing into the form of a short, stern-faced kid, wearing the same clothings as the pale specter, except they were all black-colored.

"Darn right, Lao—" Sun Wukong paused, as he turned and took a closer look at the newcomer. "Xiao Fan? Huh, didn't expect to see this you here. Not that I'm complaining."

"I'm absolutely complaining." The kid replied. "Our main souls have been attending one meeting after another at Fengdu since the Ivory Lady Incident, which is why I'm currently on," He shot a pointed look at his ghostly companion, "babysitting duty. You gonna smack him or not? Cause I won't mind if you do, Great Sage."

"Aww, really, Xiao Fan? You, of all people, should know that everything this one sees will happen, even if he doesn't know how or why. Since trying to avoid a future is the best way to unknowingly make it come true, this one can only try to soften the impacts and minimize the risks."

"By making sure you would, one-hundred-percent, get hit in the face by someone?" Fan snorted. "Way to go, brother."

"By making sure that staff wasn't slamming into this one's soul, or a flesh-and-blood vessel!" Xie replied. "And the mission is a success! Only a single puppet is harmed."

Nezha threw his hands up in the air. "How did you manage to be even more annoying and nonsensical than your main soul?"

"Welcome to my fucking un-life." Fan mumbled.

"Um, hello?" MK waved awkwardly. "Have you guys suddenly started speaking in some sort of secret code mid-conversation, cause I don't understand a single word you just said."

"Gosh! Sorry, bud," Sun Wukong finally let go of Xie's collars (now that MK thought about it, how did you even grab a ghost's collars? Mystic Monkey Magic at play again?) "Get a bit carried away there."

He pointed at the two specters. "Meet the Heibai Wuchang. The ghost cops, or rather, parts of them. Remember your hair clones? Xiao Xie and Xiao Fan here are kinda like that, but with their souls."

"T-The ghost cops?" MK squirmed. The downpour had become a light drizzle, but he still felt chilly, and it wasn't because his T-shirt sleeves and socks were now soaked. "Like…the ones you see when you are about to die?"

"Don't worry, bud! They aren't here to take any of us away. I think." Sun Wukong narrowed his eyes slightly, "and even if they were, I'd like to see them try."

"Nah. Not a chance. This one still values his un-life—"

"Yeah? Then apologizing to my student and stop wandering around in that thing will be a good start!"

"—so yes, he is very sorry for the distress he caused, young one. The 'wandering around in possessed objects' part, though, is perfectly legal, and this one still has to take the puppet back to his temple, so sorry, no can do."

"You have a temple now?" Sun Wukong let out a chuckle of disbelief. "You two?"

"You really haven't been around here in a while, have you, Great Sage?" Nezha said. "Yes, unfortunately. It's a new South Seas trend, and I hope it stays where it is."

"Our main altar here is still inside the City God's temple. But there are more temples dedicated to us alone, across the strait." Fan said. "And I'm obligated to inform you that all deities who visit the South Seas in their true bodies instead of using clones or astral projections must notify the local City God's temple beforehand, or submit the relevant paperwork immediately after arrival."

"Hmm, and if I don't?" Sun Wukong raised an eyebrow. "What are you gonna do?"

"Other than following you around and staring at you judgmentally? Nothing substantial." Fan said, before sighing deeply. "But if you can at least pretend to respect us and not treat Underworld officials like the complete pushovers we are, we'd really appreciate it."

Sun Wukong hollered at that. "Y'know what? I think I'll do just that, since this you are a lot cuter and not a raging jerk!"

"You know my main soul can hear you, right?"

"Exactly." Sun Wukong grinned. Unlike a few minutes ago, it was a lot less tense. "So lead the way, Xiao Fan!"

…

When MK heard the whole…ghost temple thing, he was expecting skeletons, eerie lighting, spooky stuff.

Okay, some of the statues and puppets were still creepy. Same for the possessions. 

Sure, the ghost cops had explained that they had human "contractors" who'd let them possess their bodies willingly, after signing a lengthy form where all the risks and duties are spelled out clearly.

But when he thought of possessions, the only images that came to mind was LBD's host, shaking like she was in the middle of winter again despite sitting inside the safe, cozy confines of Pigsy's Noodles. And Sun Wukong's golden eyes glowing frost blue, devoid of all warmth and emotions.

Well, better get used to it now. Gonna see a lot more ghosts once the…summer school part of the vacation-slash-summer school starts.

MK took a deep breath and began to make his way back through the corridors, a small incense burner in hand. The exterior of the temple was dated and slightly out of place, sitting beneath towering skyscrapers and surrounded by neatly trimmed park lawn.

Past the main hall and the altar room behind it, however, the place could be mistaken for any modern office building. Or the background of a Monkey Cop episode, except the cops were all ghosts and the monkey was filling in the divine equivalent of a customs form.

"There, done." Sun Wukong said, putting the pen down, "Right in the nick of time! For real, though, couldn't you ghosts just burn the paperwork together with the rest of the effigies?"

"And get them stuck beneath a mountain of sports cars, or whatever insane vehicles people decide to send to their ancestors nowadays? No thanks." 

As he handed the incense burner over to Sun Wukong, who crumpled the form into a ball and tossed it inside, MK caught a glimpse of a dark blue aura, enveloping the handle of the back door before it opened on its own. Two more uniformed ghosts hovered in, telekinetically carrying multiple pitched paper objects.

"Speak of the devil…" Fan turned towards his partner, who was leaning leisurely against a wall. "This year's bunch are already coming in, and if you bothered working with a contractor today, you better put that physical body to good use and start helping!"

"Alright, alright, This one hears you." Xie yawned, then walked over and grabbed the floating effigies. "Hmmm, no helicopters or private jets this year? That's a bit disappointing."

"Well, Mr. Chow sent a pretty big table, boss. We don't think it's gonna fit through the backdoor, so we left it in the park pavilion."

"Excuse me?" MK perked up. At last, a chance to do something instead of just standing there and watching awkwardly. "Do you need something resized? Cause I have just the power for that!"

…

"Y'know, I was wondering what's so special about a table," Sun Wukong poked his head out from behind the door frame, trying very hard to suppress the giggles, "or why they'd make a live-sized one in the first place. Now I get it." 

"Kudos for dedication, I guess?" MK shrugged. "I'm sure their loved ones would, uh, appreciate the gift down there."

With a snap of his fingers, the paper Mahjong table returned to its original size, drastically reducing the remaining space inside the storage room. 

Yeah, the "craft" part of "Arts & Crafts" wasn't really his strong suit, but a piece this detailed and lovingly crafted? It probably took weeks to make. And cost more than an actual Mahjong table.

"Are you two done admiring the beauty of that absurd object? Can we please leave and go somewhere else now?" Nezha's muffled complaint came from the corridors. “It's raining outside again, and if we don't hurry——"

"Even if you do hurry, this one doubts you will be able to get any further than the bus stop, in the two minutes it shall take for the drizzle to become a downpour once more." Xie said, then tossed the last stack of golden joss paper into the storage room.

"Great! Wonderful! Yeah, I'm just looking forward to spending more time with you and your clowns-in-training." Nezha snarked. "How will we ever get anywhere in life without your nifty short-term prophecies?"

"Hey hey, Nezha, chill out. A dash of salt is good n' all, but you are getting spicy over there." Sun Wukong said. "But, speaking of ways to pass the time during a rainy day…"

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he turned to look at Xie. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Judging by what this one just saw? Yes."

"Great! Come here, bud, I have something that will make our stay a lot less boring."

Sun Wukong beckoned MK over, back into the big guest room, then pulled out a tuft of hair. Seconds later, an actual Mahjong table landed squarely on the floor with a thud, complete with chairs and Mahjong sets, followed by an "Ohoho, lovely!" and two simultaneous shouts.

"Seriously? Don't set a bad example for your student!"

"Don't you dare corrupt our guests, Xiao Xie!"

"Please, this one is just joining in on the fun. Our guests have no problem 'corrupting' themselves, so to speak!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not gambling if you aren't betting actual money!” Sun Wukong exclaimed. "It's like poker, but…for old people. Right, MK?"

"Um, one problem: I don't know how to play Mahjong! Or poker!" MK said, scratching his head. "The only card game I know is Uno."

"Great! You can just learn it on the fly, then, under the watchful eyes of Professor Sun and Teaching Assistant Nezha!"

"No way, Great Sage. I'm not helping you lure your student astray into a potential lifetime of wasted hours and petty vices."

"Really?" Sun Wukong flashed a taunting smile. "I bet you only said that 'cause you don't wanna lose too badly to me. Again."

"Oh, you take that back right now, monkey!" Nezha jabbed a finger at him. "If we were back in the old days and in a gambling house, you'd be going home in nothing but your undershirt and breeches by the end of the day!"

MK did not miss the implication that, at some point in the past, these two had indeed been to an actual gambling house.

"A bold challenge if I've ever heard one!" Sun Wukong's grin widened. "Or is your bark worse than your bite? Brag all you like, but the only way to prove it is to get on the table yourself."

"I——Screw this, I'm in," Nezha took a deep breath, “But only because it will be quite satisfying, kicking the collective behinds of the two most annoying gods I've ever met." A glare at Sun Wukong, then, at Xie. "So. Get. Ready."

"That's the Third Prince I know!" Sun Wukong gave him a thumbs-up. "Bring it on, lad!"

MK gulped. "Yeah, sorry, I think I'm just gonna watch you guys play first. Get a feel of the game before jumping in. Is that alright?"

"No prob. Though this did put us in the most classic bind in the entire history of Mahjong…" Sun Wukong paused dramatically. "The 'Short of a Fourth' problem."

"That won't be me." Fan immediately said, before walking through the nearest wall. "Still have a job to do." He turned, poking his head out of the wall once more. "But by all means, teach Xiao Xie a lesson for me."

"Ah well." Sun Wukong shrugged, reaching towards his head. "Guess this calls for my clone——"

"No!" Nezha smacked his hand away. "That's just blatant cheating!"

"But literal future vision isn't?"

"Hey, it's not like this one can turn it off." Xie protested. He looked like he wanted to say something else, before Sun Wukong stood up, dashing out of the door and towards the altar room. 

"Guys! We are one person short of a Mahjong game here!" A pause. "Niang Niang? Ah Pek? Datuk? Hello? Anyone up to it?"

"...What's he doing?"

"The divine equivalent of spamming telephone calls." Nezha rolled his eyes. "Yelling into the ears of every deity's idol he can find, and hoping for a response."

"For your knowledge, we have a three-people variant of the game here," Xie added, unhelpfully.

…

Way after Sun Wukong had returned, sulking a little but soon jumped right into arguing with Nezha, MK heard a chime. 

Like someone had just dropped a bunch of coins onto a marble floor, but…louder. Okay, he wasn't too sure about that last part, because if the others heard it too, they did not react to the noise at all.

"It's still not gambling! Just a way to keep the score, yanno?" Sun Wukong continued, tossing a tangerine back and forth between his hands——one he probably pinched from a random altar table on his way back. "Also, the game will be pretty boring if you aren't winning something."

"That's the very definition of gambling." Nezha said, with a deadpan expression. "Wagering money or other stakes in a game of chance."

"It's only a stake if it's something of value, and outside of sentimental ones, these offerings have none." Sun Wukong turned to Xie. "Otherwise you won't give them away to folks for free before they spoil, right?"

"Indeed, for we've already eaten them." 

MK squinted at the fruit; not a single bite mark or patch of peeled skin was found on its exterior.

"Ewww." Sun Wukong grimaced. "Anyways, that just makes them even less valuable and further proves my point."

"Is that supposed to be convincing? Because I'm not taking home a bunch of ghost-eaten fruits even if you give them to me for free——"

"Greetings," someone cleared their throat, then said in a deep, magnetic voice, "Is it you who invited this Zhao to your humble temple for a game, friends?"

The door curtain jingled; in walked a dark-faced man with an impressively bushy beard, clad in gilded black armor and red-gold robes. The only thing that didn't make him as intimidating as he should was the black tiger cub, clinging onto his shoulder pauldron like an oversized housecat.

"Yep, Lao Zhao!" Sun Wukong cheered, "Didn't think you'd have the time, but here you are!" He winked at MK, "Now, ya' ever seen a God of Wealth statue in your Dadsy's store? If you did: this is your guy in the flesh, Zhao Gongming himself."

"Oh yeah! The statue," MK tried his best to recall something that looked like the man, yet the only thing that came to mind was the adorable and totally dissimilar one on the counter. "You mean he's..the cat?"

"Ha! I like your little disciple, Great Sage." Zhao Gongming laughed. "Sadly, no. The only feline here is my steed, Biandan Hua." He pointed to the tiger cub. "In her baby form, so I don't get animal control called on me again. Mortals these days are so easily startled, I swear."

"Aww, that's the cutest name I ever heard." Sun Wukong cooed, earning an unimpressed look from the tiger. "Anyways, since we have our fourth guy here, without further ado, let's begin——"

"A second. I'm here for business too. Serious business," he held up a hand. "Have any of you seen a golden scissor? It's about this size, but becomes a lot bigger when transformed," a gesture, "about the size of a city block. Ah, and it can turn into two flood dragons."

"Nope!"

"Hmm. This one doesn't think so."

"The Golden Dragon Shears?" Nezha’s eyes widened. "How did you lose *that*, Marshal Zhao?!"

"I didn't! It's probably my youngest sister again. Bixiao is still rummaging through our study, so I may as well check in the Lower Realms while she's at it." He said. "Make sure no one has 'borrowed' it without their permission."

"Why are y'all looking at me?" 

Awkward silence ensued, broken immediately by Sun Wukong's indignant huff.

"Okay, first, I'm insulted by your insinuations! You eat a few peaches, and suddenly you are THE suspect whenever something goes missing up there." He shook his head. "Second, you have sisters, Lao Zhao? Huh, never know that."

"Well, unless you are planning to have kids in the immediate future, Great Sage, your paths are unlikely to cross!" Zhao Gongming laughed, before resuming his frown. "Our scissors are far from the only missing treasure, though. Other palaces have also reported similar cases over the last hour. I'll just have to go shake down Spirit Official Ma again——wouldn't be the first time that little candlewick bugger tried to pin his thefts on someone else."

At the mention of Spirit Official Ma, Nezha mouthed something that sounded suspiciously like a swear word. Sun Wukong made a face. 

"Yeah, show that Huaguang brat who's boss! But before that, surely you still have time for a Mahjong game? It'll only be a minute up there." 

"Hmm, I suppose it won't hurt." Zhao Gongming replied, twirling his beard. "But with one condition: no one uses their godly powers."

"Define 'godly powers'?" 

"Anything that requires intent to activate." Zhao Gongming said. "Your golden vision, active divination instead of passive, uncontrollable foresights, my power over fortune..."

A sigh. "I've played enough games where that is allowed. With my disciples it always turns into a teaching session, and playing against my fellow gods of wealth feels more like a power-measuring contest than a true match of skills, especially when Bi Gan was involved." He shook his head. "For a scholarly god of wealth, the old man can be more competitive than us martial ones."

"I feel ya', Lao Zhao. It's always the old geezers who play dirty."

"Hello? Excuse me?" Nezha asked. "Am I the only one who's more concerned about the missing treasure of mass destruction than the silly Mahjong game?!"

"Yes, yes you are." Sun Wukong smirked. "It's just a tiny scissor! What mass destruction can it cause, other than to Art & Crafts materials?"

"Says the blissfully ignorant monkey who has never seen it in action," Nezha retorted, then lowered his head with a defeated look. "Whatever. I don't care anymore. Just don't mention me when the Celestial Host starts pointing fingers and your sisters come knocking, Marshal Zhao."

"You have my words, Third Prince." Zhao Gongming made a fist-and-palm salute, almost jokingly. "For I'm not one to tattle, even if it means enduring Yunxiao's scolding alone. Now, what are the stakes for this game?"

…

After a brief discussion, the four had settled on using some unopened and unoffered snacks as their stakes. Which still didn't beat the gambling allegations, according to Nezha. 

Well, it was better than betting all your belongings on a rigged game and losing them all, at least. And after watching a few rounds of their play, MK's only thought was Dang, if that goldfish demon chose this game back then, he wouldn't even need to cheat to wipe the floor with me.

"You know, if someone tells me I'll be watching the Great Sage, two celestial gods, and a ghost play Mahjong like old people at a community center during the first day of our vacation..." MK mumbled to himself, "I'll probably believe it, actually."

Despite having only the vaguest idea of the rules——whoever completed a set of certain tiles first won the game——and not getting any closer to understanding them, he was determined to keep watching. 

If only because Sun Wukong winked at him right before tossing the dice and starting the round, and he was pretty sure it meant "Watch and learn, bud!" in a way that suggested the message went beyond a simple Mahjong game.

"What you are seeing now is not a typical day for most of us, if that makes you feel less disillusioned." Fan said, without looking up from the documents he was flipping through. 

A while ago, the ghost had returned with a stack of them, and the papers were now floating around him in a ring, suspended by the dark blue glow of telekinesis. If that wasn't the most stylish way of doing paperworks, MK didn’t know what was.

"Uh, but I'm not?" MK said. "It's just…a lot less serious than I thought, this whole 'gods' business, and honestly, I'm not complaining! The Great Sage looks like he’s having a good time too."

Back on the table, Sun Wukong and Nezha yelled "Pong!" at the same time, then immediately glared at each other.

"Hey, I said that first!"

"That doesn’t matter, because you are cheating!" Nezha huffed. "It is impossible for two players to Pong at the same time unless someone has sneaked an extra tile in there while shuffling them, and we all know who that is."

"Well yeah, but I'm just evening the odds in a rigged game, Laodi." Sun Wukong said, eyeing Xie sharply. "For the sake of fairness, I'll allow you to cheat back too. How 'bout that?"

"Good grief, and I thought Master Taiyi was the most unabashed cheater I ever met on the table." Nezha took a deep breath and announced, "New battle objective: show the two cheaters who's boss, without lowering myself to their level."

"Well, this one can't blame the Great Sage for it. Two more turns, and he’ll claim the first win."

"Keep your visions to yourself, ghost!"

"Thanks a lot, Xiao Xie." Sun Wukong grinned. "That gives me even more reason to do it."

A few more turns, a few more clacks, and the monkey was left staring wordlessly at the table.

"Hey, what the heck! Your vision isn't right."

"This one's vision is always right. That, however, isn't one." Xie gave them an innocent look. "It's just the time-honored tactic of 'lying', friend."

"Serve you right for trusting him and cheating." Nezha snorted, before reaching out to claim the discarded tile.

"Why, ya' little——!"

"Credit where credit's due, that sure is a more entertaining use of precognition than the average Dipper Mansion chess game." Zhao Gongming commented, amidst the chaos. "I look forward to what you will bring to the table next, budding little wealth god."

"More bullshit, that's what he'll bring." Fan crossed his arms. "And he wonders why I don't play chess with him anymore."

"Well, I guess it could be worse." MK said. "They could be playing Monopoly."

"What's a Mono-poly?"

"A game that ruins friendships and turns family members against each other. Mei tried introducing her cousins to that during a New Year gathering." MK shuddered. "Some of them still won't talk to her."

"Sounds like it needs to be exorcized." Fan said, without a single hint that he was joking. 

"Please don't."

MK kind of got the impression that he was the "by-the-book" cop of their buddy cop pair, who sounded serious whether he meant it or not, but maybe the kiddy soul would take things just that literally.

Sadly, his clarification ended up killing the conversation. For the next few moments, they just sat side-by-side, listening to the clacking of Mahjong tiles.

And the clacking had intensified, as the game picked up speed. Sun Wukong in particular was speeding up into a blur, fidgeting in his chair, using only one hand to move the tiles while juggling the same poor tangerine with the other.

Now, he was always in motion, gesturing as he talked, grabbing something or the other wherever they went. But the fidgeting had intensified to a point well beyond what MK was used to, which was making him fidgety too.

After a loud "Would you please stop that?" from Nezha, MK finally mustered enough courage to half-prod at Fan——and immediately drew his hand back! Wow, ghosts are freezing to the touch. 

(Okay, he wasn't really touching anything solid, but it felt like reaching into a pocket of sub-zero-degree air, made even more jarring by the heat of summer.)

"Sorry sir, one question." MK asked. "I don't really have a good grip on the rules yet, but is the Great Sage in trouble now? Like, is he losing?"

"No idea. I'm not bored enough to watch and guess their sets." Fan said. "But if you are talking about his hyperactivity, that's not a result of panic."

"Then what’s he doing?"

"He's teaching you how to fight someone with precognition."

"By…acting like a wind-up toy?"

"On the surface level, yes." He answered. "How much do you know about divination?"

To pain. 

No, not that one. MK shook his head wildly. "Next to nothing, I guess."

"Good. You aren't losing out on much." Fan said, before frowning. "I'd rather know less about it, but Xiao Xie just has to be an insufferable prick, so here we are. Essentially, think of Fate like a game of cards, or Mahjong, or whatever game of chance of your liking."

MK chuckled. The idea of Fate being a Uno game was quite a funny one, not gonna lie, if only because he'd get to figuratively shout "Reverse!" at someone.

"The Way is the ruleset, what is allowed and not allowed to happen. The winning and losing conditions. The cards and tiles are the individual events and outcomes, happening to a being as they draw them, one by one."

"To the Dipper Mansion celestials in charge of Fate, divination is like having your master's golden eyes and fiery vision. They can see through the cards and tiles, know what's on them instinctively, and are thus banned from playing, only able to shuffle and deal them out on the Celestial Host's orders."

Zhao Gongming's tiger, having jumped off its master's shoulder long ago, pawed at Sun Wukong's twitching tail. This only egged the monkey on, as they promptly began a game of 'catch my tail if you can' off the table.

"For some," he looked at Nezha, his face a mask of intense concentration, "it isn't so much divination as making snap-second, highly accurate guesses, aided by superb memorization skills. To the more unfortunate mortals, however, it's like seeing recordings of multiple games playing side-by-side, with no way of knowing which one is theirs."

"Lucky for my sworn brother and almost no one else, he can see snippets of a single recording, which just happens to be ours." Fan said. "It's also random, very short-reaching, and makes the part of his soul that bears the brunt of it into a kooky brat with no self-preservation instincts. But I've complained enough. Now that you know how his precognition works, what will you do to counter it?"

"Does not playing the game count?"

"A wise choice. But suppose you don't get to choose."

"I, uh." Think, smartie kid, think! What is the relationship between ultra-hyperactive monkey behavior and beating a ghost with future vision on the Mahjong table? (Oh geez, it's like that one question about ravens and writing desks in that foreign children's book again…)

"I guess I'll make myself, well, unpredictable and even more random?" He finally said, hesitantly.

"Not very specific, but you get the gist of it." Fan nodded. "Going back to my analogy, your master knows his opponent is making a random draw too, except each card he draws allows him to see others claiming or discarding a certain tile."

"So he decides to add more useless cards into the pool. False maneuvers, feints," Fan pointed to the tiger, still pawing at Sun Wukong’s tail, "Artificially creating another game on the side to divert the visions. Nothing can be a hundred percent predictable, not even literal future vision, and if only my partner realized that, he'd be a lot less annoying and not on the way to getting absolutely destroyed in this game."

"Wow. That's very clever and all, but should you really be telling me this?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I don't know much about the Underworld, outside of how Monkey King wrecked the place and scribbled him and his monkeys' name off the Book of Life and Death——" MK waved nervously, "No hard feelings 'bout that, ey? But if the Great Sage is teaching me how to counter you guys, does that mean you'll be going after us at some point in the future?"

"Technically, we'll be going after everyone who isn't an immortal or formally ranked celestial, sooner or later." Fan said. "Your master is firmly in the first category, and for you, that won't be in a long, long time, if it eases your worries."

"Yeah, no. Not at all. Thanks."

"You don't like ghosts very much, do you." He said, then, before MK could reply, added, "Which is fine. We don't like ourselves either."

"Uhhhh, don't be?" Oh gosh, was there really a way to word this without offending ghosts more? "It's not like I dislike you guys! Like, you and the other ghost cops seem pretty chill. It's just, y'know, a bit freaky, seeing the walking reminder of my inevitable mortality and all, ahahaha…"

"It is. And I won't tell you what to feel about that." Fan held up a finger, and the documents he had been reading were instantly sorted into neat little stacks in midair. "But if there is one thing you remember from our conversation, let it be this: no game lasts forever."

"One has to end in order for another to begin, and a game where no one wins or loses is gonna be a very boring one. We, officials of the Ten Courts, are but the keepers of scores, and you don't have to win in order to have fun while it lasts."

"Hu le." Zhao Gongming's calm voice cut through the chit-chat, followed by a light thud of him pushing the tiles over. "Four Kongs."

All eyes were immediately on him.

"By Buddha, Lao Zhao! No wonder you've been so quiet."

"Ugh!" Nezha facepalmed. "I was so close!" He shot a half-hearted glare at Sun Wukong. "This is all your fault, by the way. Without the extra tiles you snuck in there, he'd have never gotten such a rare combination."

"C'mon, maybe he's just that lucky?"

"Very enlightening." Xie hummed, handing over the bag of peach-flavored chips to Zhao. "This one knows he won't be winning the first round, but its certainly a great start!"

"And this is why you don't gamble with a literal, formally ranked, celestial god of wealth." Fan said, after a long, stunned silence. "Even when he isn't actively using his influence, for fairness's sake."

"He's not?"

"If he did, he'd just win every round, and there wouldn't be a game to speak of."

…

They stopped playing when the rain stopped, at which point the sun had already disappeared below the horizon. Zhao Gongming left halfway after getting an astral call from his sisters, shaking his head, giving MK the chance to finally join in. 

Sun Wukong had stopped cheating after that——at least not as blatantly, if Nezha's words were to be believed. To MK, he just settled back into his old laid back attitude, which, in turn, made his own palms less sweaty as he faced off against the other two.

He still lost, badly, only barely managing a win at the very end. Not that it mattered, since Nezha had soundly kicked everyone's butts like he wanted, coming out at the top by a wide margin of three bags of chips and a single Tau Sar Piah.

"Let this be your lesson, Monkie Kid," he said, with a hint of childish glee, "That hard work, knowledge of statistics, and memorization skills will always triumph over luck and a bunch of cheating clowns."

"Ah well. I'll let you have your moment, Laodi, since it's pretty much the only fight you can win against me." Sun Wukong responded with a cheeky smile, then tore open his bag of chips and started munching loudly on them. 

"Yes, keep telling yourself that. Maybe you'll actually start believing in it." Nezha smirked, before standing up from his chair. "I'll just be over here, basking in the glow of victory and trying to not run into my brother on the way back——"

As if on cue, a shout came from outside.

"GREETINGS! This Hui An pays his respect to the City God and his attendants!"

"Annnnnd there goes my good mood." Nezha muttered. A formation started glowing under his feet. "Goodbye. If anyone asks, I've never been here."

Almost immediately after he disappeared in a blaze of pink fire, the speaker outside with the loud, booming, megaphone-against-your-ears voice marched through the doorway.

"Oh. Hi there, Muzha."

"HI THERE, as the younger generation says these days!" The tall man replied cheerfully. The dangling green ties on his hair bun were swaying back and forth, as he made a bow. 

"Heard you yelling into Lady Guanyin's statue a while ago, Great Sage, so I decided to pay a visit. Is my brother here too? Longnü said she saw you two flying together, while weaving the storm clouds with her kins."

"Well, in Nezha's exact words, 'If anyone asks, I've never been here'." Sun Wukong shrugged.  "So no, he is not here." 

"Ah. Embarrassed, I see!" He exclaimed, making his way to the Mahjong table and staring down at the tiles. "He really shouldn't be, though. By my religious vows, I'm supposed to refrain from such worldly pass-times, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be preachy about it!"

Now MK was starting to have an idea of what "Too much" meant. Namely, his complete lack of volume control.

"Well, looks like I've dropped by at a rather inopportune time, so I won't keep you fellows any longer, Great Sage. Thanks for keeping my little brother company, though——"

His sight met MK's, and only then did Muzha seem to notice his presence. "And DEAR ME! Is that your new disciple I've heard so much about? A pleasure to meet you too, young one!"

He reached out for a handshake. MK made the mistake of taking it, and immediately winced. 

"Oww, owww——Nice to meet you too?!"

"Please stop crashing my disciple's hand, Muzha."

"Sorry, sorry!" He laughed, releasing his iron grip at last. "It's just so wonderful to see the juniors coming into their own, I get a bit carried away. Still, this acolyte looks forward to working with you in the days to come!"

"Man, we are busy here today, aren't we?" Xie commented, just as the overly cheerful and loud immortal made a turn and headed for the backdoor. "So many visitors. Not that this one is complaining."

"...Yeah." MK agreed, after awkwardly waving Muzha goodbye.

Well, one thing was certain: godhood internship or not, he'd sure have one hell of a story to tell once he got back home.