#google is telling me it’s a graphics card but like. i don’t know how to begin to replace the one in my laptop or if i even can lmfao

[mabaris]

Hey it's not optimal, since, you know, it's an extra expense and there are time limits, but I've been playing Veilguard with nvidia geforce now. It'll work on basically any machine that's even semi modern as far as I know.

i appreciate the attempt to help!! but unfortunately i don’t know what this means at all

[mickriccenergy]

Shiver

Chapter Six - You’re All I’ve Ever Known

♡ Mick Schumacher x Reader, Best friend!Danny Ricc x reader

♡ TW: Swearing, inaccurate timeline of F1/F2/F3, badly translated German using Google, blood/injuries (not graphic, but there is are mentions of it!), i forgot how many days elapsed between scenes bc i wrote this in like two days. so ya know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. INACCURATE DESCRIPTIONS OF ENGLAND???? I literally made up street names and i think a school, so don’t come for me. I’m just a girl. plus i’m american so like we already have enough on our plates. Ummm slight kidnapping vibes??? very inaccurate and probably wrong medical talk.

♡ She/Her pronouns are used, nothing descriptive about reader except that her hair is long enough to pull back into a ponytail or braid, no reader insert, timeline skips. ALSO: WARNING!!!! I will barely be mentioning Michael Schumacher. I do not presume to know what he is thinking, or would say in these fictional scenarios. I am trying to be respectful of their privacy and not make any assumptions!!!!!! He will be mentioned here and there, but I do not believe any dialogue will be associated with him. If you do not like that, then do not read it. :)

♡ 6.3k words

♡A/N: Again, posting this on mobile and will format it when i get back from work! sorry it’s a day late. yesterday was very bad lol ok love u bye

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It seemed like there was never going to be an end to the poking, the prodding, and testing on your body. Everyday, there was to be a new test or a repeat of an old one to be done. On top of already having been in the hospital for more than two weeks now, your memory was still not coming back to you. Sometimes someone would say something and if it as if your brain knew the memory tied to it, but it couldn’t relay it to your voice fast enough to recollect it. You didn’t know what was worse at this point:

“No, no threes. Go fish.” Your Uncle Sebastian echoed, stopping your train of thought.

Trying to focus your eyes, you looked at the pile of cards in front of you and drew another one.

“Do you… Have any… sixes?”

The four time champion just smiled and slid over some of his cards. You neatly made a pile of your finished “sixes” cards. Moments later, there was a slight knock on the door before it slowly pushed open towards the two of you.

“Hi, Mrs. Schumacher. It’s good to you see you again.”

So here’s the thing - You had been called that many times now. Almost every nurse and doctor has called you that… And since you had no room to counter, you never corrected them. Who knows? Maybe you and Mick actually got married after high school like the two of you talked about. And as weird as it was for you to be called that… It certainly felt right and didn’t make you feel uncomfortable - which of course made things curious and curioser.

“Mrs.… Schumacher??” Sebastian Vettel put his cards down and eyed the nurse and the doctor. There was a look on their faces that you couldn’t quite place.

“So sorry, no,” The doctor began correcting his mistake. He finally addressed you by your first and last name. “I’m sorry, again. Mr. Schumacher is your medical proxy and I forget that those in fact, do not have to be spouses.”

The doctor nervously chuckled as he prepared various medicinal instruments. It would happened two times a day where they’d check your cognitive function and your response to stimuli. Sometimes you’d say things that were a memory, but moments later you forget you said that. You even had times where Mick was in the same room, and you had forgotten who he was so you called him… Pleading for him to come back and comfort you.

He was the only constant in your life.

The doctor and nurses finished their exam and let you get back to your card game. You had no memory of the man who sat across from you, even though he said he was like family to Mick and that he knew you when you were little. He’d tell you stories about his time in Formula One, and how he’s focused on sustainability now and finding new hobbies. You truly were delighted in the presence of this man, but deep down inside you wished that Mick were there.

He had some press releases to do, as his racing came to halt when you crashed out in Silverstone. He was planning on racing the last 5 races as you were getting better now. Well, physically. Your leg was almost ready to be put in a regular soft cast once the rods would be removed. Your arm was out of its cast completely, and it seemed like your ribs and spine were doing okay. It was just your dumb brain that needing fixing.

“You alright?” Soon, Sebastian’s voice pulled you out of your endless thinking. “We can stop, if you’d like. I think you are beating me, anyway.”

Silently, you put down your cards and pushed the tray that was on wheels aside. You didn’t know what was coming over you. You felt an immense sadness and regret, but you didn’t know why. You were lost. Having your memories stripped of you is such a cruel fate… You rather have just not survived.

“I’m not good enough for him.” You plainly stated.

Sebastian blinked a few times as he put down his playing cards as well. He took a deep breath and tried his best to comfort you.

“Why do you say that? He’s been here every day since you crashed.” Sebastian’s tone was cautious, but caring.

“i mean… Look at me? I have rods sticking out of my leg… And I can’t remember shit. It’s pathetic.”

The former F1 didn’t have a response. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through, let alone the both of you. He just gently reassured you with a grasp of his hand on yours. Before you knew it, even his thoughts were halted by someone entering your hospital room.

“Hello, ma’am, I’m Nurse Elsie.” The brunette nurse beamed at you, and took the clipboard off of the end of the bed. “Do you remember who I am?” Her British accent was thick… You couldn’t place from where though.

You paused and did your best to remember someone named Elsie.

“You-You were there when I first woke up… And you were telling me to stay calm…”

The nurse’s expression immediately turned. Complete surprise and bliss overtook her as she grinned at you and Sebastian. She grabbed your hands ever so softly and opened her mouth to speak.

“Yes, that’s correct! I was here the day you came in, and I haven’t left since.” It truly warmed your heart to see someone that hardworking have some sense of relief. “And I am glad you’re speaking English again!”

“Was… I not before?” Your eyebrows furrowed and your focused shifted to Sebastian. He pressed his lips in a tight line, debating if he should answer for you when Mick wasn’t there.

Clearing his throat, he straightened his posture and exhaled.

“When you first woke up, you were only speaking in German. Mick had to translate for you for a while, until you felt comfortable enough to speak English again.” Vettel calmly responds, his hand scratching at the stubble on his jawline. You nodded along while he explained a few more things to you.

About twenty minutes later after another few tests were done, you were absolutely exhausted. You tucked yourself into the hospital bed with one of Mick’s blankets added to the pile for extra warmth. His scent was wearing off of the blanket as you pulled it up to your chin. Mick was familiar to you, and to your feelings - Yet, part of him remained a stranger. He was older, well you both were now.

He was not the shy little school boy anymore, but a confident young man. His muscles had grown noticeably and his hair was long, like you liked it. His jawline had formed into sharp corners where it meets his ears, as opposed to the chubby faced kid who would ride his bike alongside you and hold your hand in crowded places so you wouldn’t get lost. On the other hand and maybe the stronger one at that, you didn’t recognize him at all. Sure, he looked like Mick and sounded like him… But there was a piece missing to the dynamic between the two of you that you couldn’t quite place.

When he would be in the hospital room with you, it was almost as if he was treating you with a fragility that was completely peculiar to the way your foggy memory could recall him treating you. He was always kind and always held a special tenderness for you, that much you could remember… But be that as it may, he was handling you now with a delicate hand - so afraid of breaking you further. You couldn’t tell from where you sat if it was because of your injuries that he was being extra careful around you, or because there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Knock, Knock.” The familiar voice of another doctor entered your stumbling train of thought as they entered your room. Sebastian stood to greet her and shake her hand.

“How are you feeling today, ma’am?” You shrugged and mumbled something incoherent. “Right then! My name is Doctor Wells. I’m the Chief of Neurology, and have been following your case closely.”

You honestly were having a tough time keeping all these doctors and nurses straight in your head, that you thought adding one more to the list might make you explode. But still - you politely greeted her as you told her your name.

“You’ve been making great progress physically, it seems. Your leg will be moved to a soft cast in two days time, and then in about a month, we’ll x-ray your leg to see when we would take that cast off, but again, it’s looking good.” The doctor smiled as her green eyes scanned the clipboard in front of her.

She began to hum to yourself as she jotted down some notes. You immediately noticed it, and Sebastian immediately noticed you. It was as though you couldn’t breathe all of a sudden and you had no clue as to why. Your monitors began to beep at a rapid rate, while the voices around you were telling you things but you couldn’t hear them. All you could hear was a loud, sharp and lasting ringing in your eyes as you sobbed. Soon, you felt the calming medicine go through your IV and settle your heart rate. It took a few more minutes to gain your bearings.

“Es tut mir Leid (I’m sorry).” You breathed out as you laid back down trying to get comfortable again.

Sebastian excused himself to go make a phone call, assuring you that he’d be back in a few minutes.

“That’s quite alright. Your body has been through a lot these last few weeks.” Dr. Wells smiled at you with an overwhelming aura of reassurance. She took a beat, and pulled up her rolling stool next to your bedside. “May I ask what I did to trigger that reaction? I want to know so I won’t do it again.”

You turned your head to meet her gaze, her eyes filled with worry and sympathy. You tried your best to think about the answer to her question. She could practically hear the gears turning in your head while you attempted to pinpoint what it was that upset you.

“The humming… When you hummed… It… I don’t know - did something to me.” Dr. Wells nodded in response and promise that she wouldn’t do it again. “Can I ask you a question, Dr. Wells?”

“Anything at all.”

You moved your hospital bed up so you could sit up and see the doctor better. You had very little to go on, but what you could go off of confidently was people’s expressions and the way their faces moved when they spoke to you.

“What are my chances of getting my memory back, and if I don’t… What do I do?” In turn, your facial expression was desperate, reeking of hopelessness and despair. She could see the devastation the accident has brought you, as it seeped out of the pores of your skin and infected your surroundings.

“Well, you’re making good progress and you remember Nurse Elsie which is a great sign… And the fact that you still know who Mick is a great sign,” Dr. Wells began slowly. “But, we really won’t know the extent of the damage the crash took, especially in regard to your memory. All your brain scans have thus far been clean, with no cause for concern.”

You started to feel tears brimming in your eyes as you bit your bottom lip to try and stifle back your cries. Shakily, you let out whatever air you had left in your lungs now.

“Sometimes things like this just happen and we don’t know why… But what we do know is that memories can always be created. You may not be able to remember the ones you had previously, but you can always replace them with new ones, better ones even.”

The pair of you talked for a few minutes more about your situation and how best to help it. She gave you some flyers for support groups and some numbers for therapists that specialize in what you were going through. She checked your vitals once more before heading towards the door and exiting, smiling a courteous smile as she disappeared into the vast hospital.

On the rare occasion you were left alone in your room, you liked to write things down in a notebook Mick gave you. It was your favorite color, with a giant ‘MSC47’ sticker on it. You had asked him what that was and he told you it was his racing number. To that, you asked why he didn’t put your racing number… And in response to that, he sheepishly admitted that it slipped his mind to put your number, but he was glad you always had a reminder of him. You didn’t even notice you were reminiscing until you caught yourself stroking the sticker on the front of your notebook. Blinking a few times to clear your mind, you opened it up to the next free page only to see that someone really tried not to write in their typical chicken scratch.

Smidge,

If you are reading this, then I must be away doing some press related things. I wish I did not have to, but duty calls and I also think Toto would come to my house and drag me there himself (in a very nice way, of course). Anyway, I wanted to write you a short note and let you know that I will be back soon, and hopefully you will be coming home after that. I have rented a place out here for you and me that will be sufficient enough until you decide where you want to fully rest and recover. We can go back to your apartment in Italy or to one of my family’s cottages in Switzerland. I would even take you back to the states to find respite at my ranch in Texas, but I know you do not have fond memories of Texas. I want to do only what you are comfortable with, Schätzen.

As for my last few races, I am on the lookout for the best home care nurse I can find while I am away. Sebastian offered, but he has a family and children of his own. When you feel up to it, I would also like your opinion on how you would like your care to be handled when I am at a race. I want you to feel as safe and taken care of as possible. It kills me that I have to go away to participate in the last few races, but part of me is also excited to get back to driving alongside Lewis. We (Mostly I) will dedicate every race to you, Schätzen. Maybe if you are healed and well enough, you may be able to attend the last race of the season. That would be very fun, as I know some of the drivers are dying to see you again.

I cannot think of anything else to write that might ease your mind while I am gone for now. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to not know anybody there, but I do hope that with Sebastian being there it has calmed some of your nerves. He admires you greatly, and you have always been fond of him. I feel exactly the same way. But you can always text message me or call me, if you need me. I know you are not quite comfortable with that form of communication yet, but I just want you to know that I will always respond and pick up when I see your name pop up on my phone.

Anyway, I am excited and full of anticipation for when I get to lay eyes on the most beautiful woman I have come to know again. Your strength and perseverance through this entire ideal has been something to write in the history books about. I cannot wait to hear your laugh and feel your fingers interlaced with mine. I am looking forward to our days spent on the couch, sharing a blanket, with you tucked underneath my side - where you fit so perfectly beside me as if it were meant to be. And until we see each other again, just know I am thinking of you always and missing you every second of the day.

You hold my heart in your hands.

Ich gehöre für immer dir.

(I am yours forever.)

Love,

Mickey

There were drops of water scattered across the page as you tried to stop yourself from crying again.

You may not know him, but he knows you. And the feeling was overwhelming.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian’s quiet voice came into notice as you looked up at him with tearful eyes. He tilted his head to the side in concern.

“He… Wrote me… He wrote me… This letter… He knew I would find it… He knew this… That I would want to write things down, after the day I had… And he knew I would find his letter…” You spoke in between sobs, your chest falling up and down at a rapid rate.

“Okay, okay. Let’s take a few deep breaths and then we can talk about it, ja?” Sebastian began to initiate some deep breathing, hoping you would follow suit.

After many seconds of doing some deep breathing, you closed your eyes and did your best to relax your body.

“He loves me, doesn’t he?”

Vettel paused, taking his seat beside you.

“Yes. He does.” The German driver answered solemnly.

“And I don’t love him? Isn’t that right?” You glanced around the dry hospital room, smears of bright white and the smell of rubbing alcohol apparent.

“I don’t want him to love me. I don’t deserve it.”

Sebastian Vettel, four time world formula one champion, and one of the most formidable motorsports athletes the world has ever known, was stunned. He remained tight lipped and stoic. In frustration, you threw the notebook onto the floor and put your head in your hands. You weren’t crying, no. But you were exasperated . You could hear beeping as each finger pressed a key in the background. You didn’t know what was what, except what was shown to you: The voice of somebody you used to know.

Sebastian had put the phone on speaker and handed it to you.

“Smidge? Are you okay?”

“Hello? Smidge?”

“Was machst du (What are you doing)?”

“Ich vermisse dich (I miss you).”

Mick’s voice was like the half of you that you didn’t know you needed. It melded perfectly with what you were missing in this dark despair of recent days. His slight German-Swiss accent brought you comfort like you didn’t know you needed. He had picked up the call no matter where he was or what he was doing.

“Komm zurück zu mir (Come back to me).” You could hear Mick let out a strained sigh. He wanted to come back, god did he want to.

“Mickey, please…”

Completely taking you off guard, the line went dead suddenly and you were left with another kind of beeping. You slowly handed the phone back to your almost friend, Sebastian. The former driver could only sigh and sit back in the chair that he had been making his home since Mick left.

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Four Days Later

Your leg was finally out of those ghastly rods and into a softer cast. To think this feeling was heavenly, was something you would have never put on your radar thus far. Soon enough though as the many doctors and nurses came by, you were cleared to go home in the next 24 hours.

“We are glad to see you improving Mrs. Schumacher.” You did your best to make eye contact with the receptionist. “Please let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you…” You started with caution.

“I’m not Mrs. Schumacher though… If you want to change that for your records or anything…” You tried your best to be nonchalant. The receptionist typed a few bits onto the computer in front of her.

Ushering for you to take a seat in the lobby, you tried your best to not think about the past.

Due to a reason unbeknownst to you, Mick was unavailable to take you home when it came to your releases date. You even braved the scary phone long enough to ask Sebastian if he could be there to take you to the new home Mick set up for you. He wished that he could, but evidently he had something to attend to.

Bravery aside, you sat curbside alone trying to figure out who to call. Your leg was in its soft cast, as you remained waiting for something or someone to come rescue you. You didn’t know where you were, you didn’t know any phone numbers off of the top of your head, and if it could get any worse, you were in England where it was raining.

“You’re going to catch a cold if you stay outside like this.”

Great. Now you’re fucking hearing things. Trying to shake the eerie feeling you had resting on your shoulders, you ignored the voice.

“Let me take you home, huh?” The voice repeated to you.

Your head turned to the left towards the voice. They were leaning against some concrete beam, cigarette almost totally nsmoked as they stepped towards you.

“John?”

“Hello, baby sister.”

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You weren’t sure how you ended up at your brother’s flat in whatever country you were in at the moment. The legalization of Mick being your medical proxy was iron clad….

You never once considered an actual family member to be there for you. And as it were, your big brother had also aged some. You knew it was him immediately though. You could tell because he sort of looked like you, and his voice sounded like the only other voice besides Mick that you knew.

“Are we going back home?” Your brother was doing the dishes as you sat on the couch, your leg elevated to help relieve some swelling.

Again, you repeated the question. You could hear him turning the water off, and see him drying his hands as he turned to face you.

“No, we’re going to stay here for a little while.”

Confusion washed over you once more. Did Mick call your brother because he was unable to pick you up from the hospital? Did Mick even know you were here? All you could do was nod, while your brother excused himself to go lay down. It had been a long day of driving for him from where he came from. You remained in the quiet of your own company for a moment, trying to think of all the possibilities that could have ended up with you being in some strange apartment in a country you hardly knew. Finally, you pulled out your phone that Mick bought for you, and took a deep breath.

You: Hi Mick

…

Mick: Hello, Schätzen! It makes me very happy to see your text.

You: Really?

…

Mick: Yes, really. I would never lie to you.

You: That’s sweet.

…

…

Mick: I am so sorry I cannot be there to bring you home, but I will be there tonight and we can have dinner and watch a movie, if you would like. But, my very good friend Daniel is going to pick you up from the hospital, okay? He should be there shortly, if you just want to wait in the lobby where it is warm and dry.

You reread the message as your heart rate began to hasten. If Mick had already made arrangements for you to get picked up from the hospital… How did your brother find you?

You: Oh. I thought you called John, because he picked me up from the hospital already. A few hours ago, actually. I got released early and thought maybe you called him since you couldn’t get there in time.

Milliseconds after you pressed send on your text, your phone screen lit up brightly in your face.

INCOMING CALL: Mick Schumacher

swipe to accept

Your thumb danced over the bottom of the screen, only to have your desire to hear his voice once again take over your body. Slowly, you accepted the call.

“Schätzen, where are you?” You could hear the panic in his voice. How the fuck were you supposed to know where you were?

“Um… I’m in John’s apartment, I think.” You spoke in a whisper as to not to disturb your resting brother.

“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße (Shit, shit, shit)!”

On the other side of the phone you could hear him getting up and gather his belongings wherever he was. You could pick up bits and pieces of what he was telling someone near him, but not enough to put together a full sentence. You patiently waited on your side of the line for him to speak again. What seemed like forever went by, before he talked to you.

“Can you describe where you are? Can you look outside and see any street names, or building names?” You could tell he was jogging by now.

“I’d have to get up… And my crutches are… On the other side of the room…”

Mick felt absolutely stupid for forgetting that you had a cast on your leg. And he felt even more stupid that he allowed your safety to be compromised… Again. In his defense though, he gave strict instructions to the hospital staff not to allow anyone to take you home besides himself, Sebastian, and Daniel. He even started calling you his Mrs. Schumacher for extra protection, but he’d never tell you that secret.

He was trying as quickly as he could to figure out what the hell went wrong, and how the hell your brother found you. Mick told you he’d have to call you back, but that he promised he would call back in five minutes.

As you waited for him to call back, you decided to try and hobble over to the window. It was gloomy, of course, but you could still see a few things.

House Street

Franklin Street

You decided to text Mick the names of the cross streets, just in case. Glancing around some more through the window, you saw to the far right what looked like a school or a church. You squinted to try and get the name of it.

Longfellow Grade School: Home of The Lions

You also added that to your next text message to Mick, as well as the few models of cars that were sat out on the street. Exhausted now, you hobbled your way back over to the couch and let out all the air you had pent up in your lungs.

INCOMING CALL: Mick Schumacher

swipe to accept

Faster than you did the last time, you accepted the call and raised the phone to your ear.

“Hi Mick, are you okay?”

“The police are on their way, Schätzen. Do not be scared when they arrive, ja? I will be there as fast as I can too. Stay on the line.”

You had a lot of conflicting feelings at this point. Why were the police involved now? Why did Mick sound so afraid? You couldn’t remember the last few years, but now you’re having to deal with all of this? It was as though your body was frozen with a mixture of fear and sadness. You could barely move from your spot on the couch while you anticipated the police’s arrival.

“Okay, Mick. What is going on, though?”

“I will explain everything once I bring you back home, to our home.”

Soon enough, there was a loud knock on the door. You could hear your brother curse loudly from his room as you shrank into the corner of the couch. You were very afraid. Your brother stumbled out of his room, rubbing his eyes as he opened the door to his apartment. One police officer held up a piece of paper to his face, while the other one peered into the space making sure you were alright. The male officer began to speak to your brother about whatever was on the paper, while the female officer approached you with caution.

“Hi, there. My name is Officer Clarkson. Are you alright?” Her voice was calming, and probably the most calming thing about this entire situation. She sat on the couch, keeping a good distance between you.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t know where I am.”

Mick had told the dispatchers that you were in a potentially dangerous situation, and that you had been in a bad car crash a month before resulting in some memory loss. He also told them that you in fact had a restraining order out against your brother, and that he had no clue how he got past the hospital staff.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to know anything right now. I’m just going to sit here with you, while my partner takes care of that young man. Is that alright?” Again, the peaceful cadence of her voice warmed you, and made you feel instantly safe.

“Yes.”

Your head quickly whipped to the side when your brother began yelling at the officer. He was pinned up against the wall, face to it, with his hands behind his back. The male officer handcuffed your brother and escorted him out to the police vehicle. It all happened so fast that you weren’t sure what to make of it. Officer Clarkson said some police speak into her walkie talkie that was on her chest, echoing some of the things being said back to her. She got up from the couch and looked around.

“Can you remember the last time you saw your brother?” You only shook your head in response. Your eyes followed the trail she was walking around the tiny apartment.


After a few more questions that you honestly did not know the answers to, you could hear the radio on her chest go off. The officer grabbed your crutches, and the bag you had at the hospital and escorted you downstairs. There was another police car, an SUV. Two more officers approached you, both women.

“This is Officer Hammond and Officer May. They’re going to drive you home, your real home.”

You thought you might combust trying to keep everyone’s names straight. But you still didn’t have any answers as to why your brother was sitting in the back of a cop car. And as you did so dutifully in the hospital, you did again as you just stood in silence allowing things to be explained to you.

“Your friend Mick - the one who called the us - Will meet you there. Your brother won’t bother you ever again, ma’am.” Officer Clarkson gave a promising smile and nod as she handed your bag to one of the other female officers.


Soon, you were in the backseat of the car as the three of you silently drove to wherever this new place was.

Two hours later, you were woken by Officer May trying coax you out of your sleep. You felt embarrassed for falling asleep, but it seemed like your body needed it. Rubbing your eyes, you looked over the officer’s shoulder to see you were parked in front of a modest one story home. You were in the countryside somewhere, and knowing Mick and his love for the countryside, you could tell that he put a lot of thought into this home. Even if it was going to be temporary, you enjoyed the thought of recovering somewhere private and secluded.

Officer May helped you out of the car and handed you your crutches. The sound of another car hastily pulling up made all three of your head’s turn sharply to the right. In true Mick fashion, he sported a big red truck as he parked in haphazardly. He couldn’t move fast enough though, as he jumped out of the car not even closing the door behind him. Mick ran up to you, his hands frantically searching your face for any wounds. He was rambling in German… Italian… Maybe even French as he brought you into a much needed embrace. He kissed the top of your head and looked at you with nothing but regret.

“Smidge, I am so sorry. I really do not know how this could have happened, but you are safe now. Okay? Completely safe from everything.” Mick profusely thanked the officers, and made a note to call and thank the other officers as well.

Mick helped you inside, before returning to the officers so that he could speak to them about the situation. They assured him that they would look into just how your brother was able to pick you up and take you out of the hospital. He wanted nothing more than answers at this point. (Join the club, right?)

You were still on edge when you heard the door open, your flinching making it clear. Mick walked towards you as cautiously as he could.

“It is just me, Smidge; Just Mick.” He stepped in front of you, his face softened by the sight of you. “I am sorry I scared you.”

“It’s just been a long day…” Mick led you carefully to the couch so that you could sit and rest your leg. Propping your leg up on some pillows, Mick moved to the kitchen to get you some water and some food.

The house was nicely decorated with accents of a familiar shade of red all around. The couch beneath you felt like a marshmallow compared to last couch you were sat on, and the hospital bed you had quite become accustomed to for the last month. Mick returned with a water bottle and a few snacks he might think you would want. Sitting beside you, but keeping a respectful space between you, the blond haired boy rubbed a very tired hand over his face. Leaning his head back onto the back of the couch and stretching out his arms too, he sighed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. You watched him carefully, and more meticulously than you had in the hospital.

You liked the way his nose was slightly bigger than normal and the way that it curved downwards at the end. You noticed how his darkened blond hair curled ever so slightly at the tips. His lips were a pretty shade of pink too. You wondered if you ever had the pleasure of kissing them. His neck was bigger than you last could remember it to be. Mick’s Adam’s Apple moving up and down as he swallowed, sucking the insides of left side of his mouth. Mick always did that when he was overworked.

“Sind Sie gestresst (Are you stressed)?” Mick just hummed in response, your body relaxing at the familiar sound.

You remember how you reacted when the doctor hummed. Shuddering away that terrible thought, you scooted closer to him.

“Mir wird es gut gehen (I will be okay).” His eyes were still closed as he responded.

You took a beat and took a nice long deep breath. You remember what he had written in his letter. He probably had to leave his work to come find you. And the fact that he did made you feel something you hadn’t felt before - or at least couldn’t remember feeling. This man has always cared for you. Since you were children, he has always put you first and always made sure you were taken care of in every sense of the word. He was the only thing that connected you to your past and all of your lost memories. And surely he knew the weight of it all, yet he didn’t seem to be overwhelmed by it. He would carry the weight of the world on his shoulders if that meant he got to see you happy.

Something in the back of your head was telling you to reject these new feelings, though. You couldn’t tell what it was that was making you want to hide your emotions. The pull was strong. It was like The Force, pulling you into a dark deep alley where you were always meant to be: Alone.

You did your best to shake the distressing thought. Going back to happier things, you recited the letter in your head as you decided to be brave. After all, you didn’t survive a high speed car crash for nothing, right?

Nodding assertively to yourself, you managed to wiggle into Mick’s side. Your leg was still propped up, just now onto the coffee table in front of you. As best as you could and as comfortably too, you tucked yourself into him and his arm wrapped around you as if it were a dance you two had done a million times before. Your eyelids began to feel heavier and heavier as you felt the warmth of his body warm yours. It was not secret that the both of you were dog-tired as neither of you said a word.

The only thing surrounding you now was the sound of rain hitting the roof and someone’s arm wrapped tightly around you. And while you may not have any memories of the last few years, now was as good as time as ever to begin making new ones.

[kybercrystals94]

Hi, so I LOVE what you make with Canva, and I was wondering if you had any tips? I tend to use other graphic design/editing apps, but I have to start on making some bingo cards for a Tech fandom event, and I am SO INTIMIDATED.

🥹👉👈 Oh, my goodness! Thank you!!!

I love using Canva…and it’s been a learning curve to be sure!! *and I’m still learning…saying I am a novice is probably generous, to be honest 😅

Anyhoo…some tips!! I will do my best!

(I’m using the Canva app on my phone and have the free trial of the full version … if you have access to the free trial, absolutely DO IT!! So many amazing features!)

CANVAS SIZE

Make sure the canvas size you’re using matches the project you’re doing! This will help with formatting the “elements” to look exactly how you want them wherever you’re putting them.

For example, when I’m making post banners for Tumblr, I typically do 1080 x 400 px — this makes a nice, narrow banner that will work great for adding to the top of a post! (I learned this from the ever knowledgeable Dr. Google)

Canva is great about offering suggestions too, but if none of them seem right, Google what you are hoping for and do custom dimensions!

CANVAS BACKGROUND

*for this canvas, I used a square “instagram” post (size 1080x1080px)*

Making the background exactly how you want it is really important, and it will make adding elements just more fun because your canvas is more fun. Ya know??

But you don’t only have to use colors or gradients for the background.

You can also use pictures or photos and apply it as the background!!

ADDING ELEMENTS

I love scrolling through elements…there are SO MANY to choose from (especially when you have pro with the free trial!)

You can the resize them and move them around on the canvas. Canva will tell you when you’re center or an equal distance away from other elements on the canvas! This makes spacing so easy 😎

ADDING TEXT

If you’re making a bingo card, my suggestion would be to format just one box, making the text the size and the font you want. Really hone in on it and make it just how you like it. (Preferably a with text that is more than less words)

Then…copy it!!

This will copy all of your formatting and you can type in your new text without having to try and change all the settings over and over and over again 😅 (this might seem like a “duh” thing…but this took me way too long to figure out)

THEN, you can make micro adjustments to make each text fit in the boxes how you want them. You aren’t starting from scratch every single time! 🙌

This was just a rudimentary crash course of some of the biggest things I use whenever I start a new project. But if you have any more specific questions, please send me a message and I’d be happy to help with whatever I can 😇

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Captured for Sex 2 (Go Ijuuin, 1986)

While a lot of the content in the pink films I’ve watched have very much been Not For Me, I have appreciated the extent the cruelty that’s transpired has usually been grounded in some kind of sociopolitical context and has often been framed, at least in part, from the victims’ perspective. It hasn’t just been cruelty to get off on (although it has certainly been that, and no judgement if anyone’s enjoyed them from that perspective, human desire does not always reconcile to the politically correct), but something that takes on a certain meaning in the narrative and an experience that invites some level of sympathy for the characters subject to it. This movie very much does away with it, existing largely as a plot-free series of torture scenes, where a strange man offers to help a couple, begins to torture them, and then is joined by the husband as they proceed to torture the wife and another woman. A third woman is introduced at the end. Oh, and there’s a twist ending.

Perhaps there was more to the story, but I haven’t seen Captured For Sex 1, so forgive me for missing any details. Sorry, that was an attempt at a joke. There aren’t a lot of laffs here so I was hoping to introduce some levity when discussing this monumentally unpleasant movie. Also, from what I gather, the first Captured for Sex is actually Daydream 2, which appears to be a completely unrelated movie, and no, I haven’t seen it either. Perhaps there is more to the production history, but you’ll forgive me for not digging too deep, as googling “Captured for Sex” seems like a surefire way to end up on an FBI watchlist.

I don’t know if Japanese pink films underwent the same shift during the ‘80s as American porn did, steadily shedding the confines of narrative and budget and getting more and more upfront about delivering the goods, but such a dynamic seems to be at play here. The only character given any interiority is the husband, and this is done entirely through title cards. Otherwise we get a series of outre and unpleasant torture sequences punctuated by the captor explaining his devices and methods with the enthusiasm of a YouTube instructional video. If you’re going to mount a defense of this movie, it’s that it presents an endpoint of total objectification. Even in pornier American porn, even when the camera is trained intently on a performer’s anatomy, it’s ostensibly appreciative. You’re supposed to enjoy looking at a nice pair of tits or a nice ass. Here, the victims’ bodies are defined purely by their functions. The mouth is useful for holding candles or otherwise being muffled. The nipples are useful for being fastened or prodded. Orifices are useful only as receptacles to be filled, plugged or emptied (and I will politely refrain from reciting the graphic details). The camera will pan across their bodies and it’s sometimes hard to tell what you’re even looking at. The victims have been totally dehumanized.

If there’s any artfulness here (like with a cut to a victim’s face during a key event, or certain lighting choices), it was hard to appreciate in the eroded transfer I watched, although the resulting bleary-eyed quality may have suited the material. I suppose you could concede that the acts featured take a certain amount of skill to perform, and that some of the rope bondage setups (including a spider web arrangement in the climax) look intricate, but saying those things out loud make you sound like a serial killer. So I won’t say them. Out loud. Actually, if you’re gonna mount a defense of this movie, it’s that it feels like you’re watching the show from Videodrome. All torture, no plot. But as I hope I’ve gotten across, this comes with a colossal Watch at Your Own Risk label, the kind that sticks to the package no matter how hard you try to peel it off. Or better yet, use this review as a cautionary tale and just don’t watch it.

[princessmisery666]

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Summary: Sam loses a game with Dean but ultimately wins.

Warnings: fluff, hint of jealous Sam. 

W/C: 822

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, reader. 

Pairing: Sam Winchester x You (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Request: @deanwinchestersgirl87 put this post out and it inspired this - hope it’s what you had in mind. 

Betas: @writercole // @cockslutpadalecki // all mistakes remain my own.

Graphics: pic found on google, title card made by me. Gif link as had to download Dividers: @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: Main // Supernatural

Rock, Paper, Scissors

It’s rare Dean won a game of rock, paper, scissors against Sam. He always went scissors and the one time Sam was hopeful that it was a sure thing, he switched it up. Sam slammed down a rock, and Dean slapped down paper. 

“Sorry, Sam,” you sighed, actually sounding disappointed, “looks like Dean is my date for the evening.”

He’d watched you walk into your adjacent motel room and felt the same disappointment he hoped he saw in your demeanor. 

“Dude,” Sam called, jogging after Dean into their room, “Don’t flirt with her tonight!”

Dean chuckled and turned to face his brother, the triumphant smile still plastered to his lips. “How can I pretend to be her boyfriend and not flirt with her?”

“You know what I mean,” sighed Sam, “don’t take it too far.” 

“You could just swap places with me?” Dean suggested. 

Sam shook his head quickly. “No way. Then she’d ask why we swapped.”

“Here’s a crazy idea,” Dean started, imitating a brain explosion, “and I'm just spitballing here, you could just nut up and tell her you like her.”

“Shut up, go take a shower.”

Leaning on the trunk of the Impala, Sam checked his phone, reading Dean’s text again, “Wait in the alley, we’ll be twenty minutes.” It had been thirty minutes and neither of you had emerged from the club.

He tried calling Dean’s cell. Voicemail. He tried your cell, same result. He had a mental flash of the two of you huddled up in a corner booth, your leg draped over Dean’s lap while he kissed you and his hands roamed places Sam wished his hands could explore.

He tried your cell one last time, deciding if he got no answer he’d find a way to get inside. Just as your voicemail picked up the call, he heard the door open. He spun round, hair swishing with the swift movement and his jaw hit the floor.

You looked left, searching for him and then right, giving him a shy smile before turning to close the door gently. Sam took the time to admire you. The simple black dress looked as if it was made specifically for you. It hugged your figure in all the right places. It was a sexy but tasteful length, an inch above your knee, and the curve of your ass was perfect. You held his gaze as you walked toward him and he lost his breath. Your make-up was subtle but highlighted your best features, and he cursed a breathy, “Holy shit.” 

“Something wrong?”

“Yes,” he said instinctively, before thinking it through. The only thing wrong was that you’d spent the night with Dean, looking like a Goddess worthy of a magazine cover. “No! No, everything’s fine. Um, you look, wow, you look amazing.” 

You tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, “Thank you.”

“Really, Y/N,” he said, rushing to open the passenger door of the Impala. He waited until you stood in front of him again, gazing down at you, softly he said, “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Winchester,” you replied, rising to the tips of your toes and he reflexively leaned down so you could reach to place a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Heat flooded his whole body and he felt it color his cheeks as you dropped back down, eyes locked together. Time seemed to slow as he stared at you, unable to look away. He wet his lips, the desire to kiss you was encompassing. He wondered what your tongue tasted like, probably sweet with a tang of sour, as you had a preference for fruity cocktails washed down with a shot of tequila. He pondered your other flavors and how they’d taste mixed with his own.

“Sam,” you whispered.

“Huh.” You pointed toward the car and he realized he was in your path.

He took a half step out of your way, but changed his mind and blocked the door again. “Wait,” he said, shaking his head to rid himself of the sordid thoughts, “Where’s Dean?”

You laughed at his memory lapse. “He picked up a chick, proving his theory that women are more interested when guys appear unavailable,” you explained, with a slight shrug. You stepped closer to him, tilting your head up to keep eye contact. “He’ll be gone all night. So we can do whatever it is you were just thinking about.”

“W-what?” he stuttered, trying his best to appear innocent and confused.

“Or,” you drawled, with a teasing smirk, “I can go back into the bar and find someone else to take this dress off.”

You waited a half second, your words settling in the breath of space between you, taking a small step back. 

“Wait,” demanded Sam, quickly grabbing your wrist before you could take a second step.

“What am I waiting for?”

“This,” he said, and dipped to press his lips to yours.

Master Lists: Main // Supernatural

[orange-waterfalls]

Ouch

I cut my fingy and panicked a lot so here’s a quick not-at-all thought out thing about how some egos would react to s/o cutting their finger while cooking and it like isn’t that bad but they’re freaking out

1.4k words

Enjoy!

Markiplier egos with an s/o who accidentally cut themselves hcs

Darkiplier

He was in his study, just thinking, while you made dinner

He heard a tiny “ow” and didn’t think much of it

He then heard a louder “OW” and a string of “fuck”s and got worried

He entered the kitchen, to see you gripping your wrist and holding your finger under the water from the sink

He thinks you burned yourself

Then you pull your hand away and he sees blood and immediately makes his way over.

“What happened? Are you ok? How bad is it?”

You don’t answer as you are too busy hyperventilating because goddammit it HURTS

He tries to take your hand to look at it but you won’t let him

You look so hurt and vulnerable and he feels so bad

If you’d asked him to help cook, and he didn’t take it, he’d feel a thousand times worse

Eventually, he gets you to sit down and calms you, just a bit, and goes to get band aids

He comes back to you looking like you’re about to have a panic attack

He quickly stands you back up, and you put your finger back under the sink.

He gently washes it with soap and apologizes every time you make a noise

He gives you the bandage and lets you sit on the couch

You calm down and lean on his shoulder

He lets you sit there for a bit, rubbing your arm.

You eventually look up at him

“I think I may have overreacted.”

He’d laugh and kiss your head and goes to finish cooking dinner

Wilford

He wasn’t even home yet

You told him you were starting dinner and he left wherever he was immediately.

He was picking up wine from the store when you called him

“Wilford please get bandaids”

He was confused and a little worried, so he asked why

“Please just buy some and hurry home please” and you hung up

Now, Wilford is hardly a reasonable man as it is. so when he ran out of the store (without paying) and sped down the road in his car to get home before you, like, died or some shit, you shouldn’t have been surprised

He may or may not have run into a pedestrian or two on the way

He threw the door open when he got home, gun in hand

“WHAT HAPPENED WHAT’S THE DANGER”

You’re sitting on a chair in the kitchen breathing heavily, holding your finger

He can’t help but laugh because, christ, he thought it was something BAD

But, to you, it was bad. and he was laughing at you.

You tear up, just a bit. you’re feeling a lot of emotions right now.

He sees and gets worried again because is it worse than he thinks?? is there another injury??? are you traumatized what’s happening?

He tries to look at the cut but you turn away, looking very upset

He tries to convince you to let him see but you won’t budge

You’re whining a little (which I do because I can’t emote properly) which makes him upset

He drops to his knees and holds out his hands

“C’mon, baby! Let me see! Let me help!”

He’s being overdramatic and stupid and it makes you smile. So you do.

He gently kisses the spot, as to not hurt you, and puts a bandaid over it, kissing that too.

He orders take out and lets you lay on his lap while he pets your hair

Yancy

He was practicing some dance moves when he heard you in the kitchen

You were cursing and breathing heavily

Logically, he should know that perhaps you hurt yourself making dinner

However Yancy is a bit of a dumbass so he thinks someone broke in or something

He walks in with a knife, only for you to stand there with your finger under the sink.

He sees the blood, so concludes that you cut yourself. But you look really upset?

He’s mostly confused.

He’s been through worse, you’ve been through worse, he KNOWS you have

So why are you so upset?

“Why are you so upset?” “I don’t know!” “It’s not that bad” “I know...” “What’s the problem?” “I don’t KNOW!”

You start to cry, just a bit, and Yancy panics

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to this!

He wants to tell you to get over it, but also he doesn’t?

Like, he knows it’s the easiest thing to say, but also not the BEST thing to say

So he says nothing. He gets a band aid, puts it on your finger, and hugs you.

He holds you for a minutes until your breathing is normal

If you tell him you don’t wanna cook today, he orders pizza

If you tell him you can, he’ll try to help

You have to kick him out because the man doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing

Illinois

He’s watching you cook and sees it happen before it does

Your finger isn’t in the right place, he saw you adjust

He tries to warn you but doesn’t do it in time

He winces because ouch

He processes what happened before you do, so he already has the band aids.

He turns the sink on, moves your finger underneath, and cleans it with soap

He puts the band aid on you and kisses your hand

He asks if you want to keep cooking or if you want him to cook

If you want to, he’ll help you with whatever you were doing first that made you cut yourself

If you don’t want to, he’ll finish what you were doing on his own.

He makes sure you’ve calmed down and holds your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles

“Im being overdramatic...”

“No, you’re not. It hurt. You bled. You got upset. You’re ok now.”

He’s a very understanding and responsible man ^///^

Magnum

None of that goddamn crew can cook for shit, so you always have to

Mostly fish and vegetables you buy at different ports

Magnum and the others are just drinking and laughing when they hear you yell and curse from the kitchen

Magnum goes over to see what’s happening

He sees you holding your finger and goes to hold you

He’s very. protective, I’m gonna say.

“Oh, poor darlin’... are ye alright? Are ye ok? Awh, sweetheart...”

He doesn’t have bandaids, so he cleans a cloth and covers your finger

He makes you rest in your room (even though it wasn’t particularly that bad)

The other crewmates check in periodically to see if you’re ok

Magnum decides he’s going to cook

Yes, the ship catches on fire. No, he will not say how he did it

You have to finish dinner, otherwise the others are gonna kill themselves trying

Google

He’s recharging on the couch while you cook

He hears you curse from the kitchen and concludes you’ve hurt yourself

He doesn’t really see one injury as too much worse than another. they’re all bad

He knows what happens if even the smallest wound gets infected

He wants it dealt with quickly and efficiently

He walks up to you and grabs your hand, pulling it under the sink

He cleans it with soap, puts a band aid on it, and leaves

Dr. Iplier who, bitch?

He likes to sit when you while you eat, just so he can talk to you

You, however, don’t talk to him at all and he’s a little upset

He figures he was a bit too rough with you at first when he reaches for you after you stand up and you pull away

“I apologize for my methods, I wanted to make sure the wound was dealt with posthaste.”

“Well... I guess that’s a good enough excuse.”

You hug him, and he (hesitantly) hugs back

Bing

Probably the reason you cut yourself lmao

He enjoys bothering you when you’re busy

He hasn’t recieved his Designated Bing Attention Hours today and therefore you have to deal with a very clingy and annoying Bing

He’d be less annoying if he’d stop fucking TOUCHING THINGS but w/e

He bumps into you and you yell

He doesn’t realize that you cut yourself until you start cursing

He turns around to see you frantically turning the water on and gets very nervous

Shit, that was his fault? He did that? Fuck, you’re angry, aren’t you. FUCK

He leaves, immediately, and you have to deal with it yourself. 

He paces in your room for a bit, debating what to do

“Ok. Alright. What do people like. Phones? I could buy a phone. I could STEAL a phone. I could steal anything they want! Do people need graphics cards?”

He settles for walking back into the kitchen, apologizing, and walking back out

“nailed it”

You’re a little quiet the rest of the day, and he’s still nervous, but you hug him and kiss his cheek before you get ready to go to bed, so it’s ok

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART TEN

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: THIS CHAPTER IS 18+ ONLY! sexual content (finally), pot use, alcohol use Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place.

Notes: Okay, guys. If you missed it, this chapter is NSFW. This was the best to write, seriously. Love you all, don't be afraid to tell me what you think of it! 

taglist: @valleyd0ll​​ @satingrass-maidensfair​​ @guitarfingers​​ @thebohemianpenguin​​ @peaceisouranthem​​ @oblvions​​ @hansonobsessed​​ @myownparadise96​​ @lara-gvf​​ @anditsmywholeheart​​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​​ @bigblack-catattack​​​ 

MASTERPOST 

Two weeks before the Saturday of the play, the forecast had called for a blizzard. “Polar vortex” they had called it on the tv at school, flashing graphics of a polar bear wearing a scarf. 

After classes on Friday, you had asked Kate if she wanted to go for coffee. You had been working like a dog on the play - sewing and painting to the point where your fingers perpetually hurt and the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes was the shade of green that every foliage prop was painted.

You ordered a caramel macchiato and genuinely tried to enjoy it, propping your legs up on the chair next to her. 

“So,” she started, eyeing you like she had a bone to pick. She still looked so pretty when she was coming for your life. “We’ve been so busy with Josh, we haven’t had any alone time to talk about Trevor.”

You sucked in a deep breath and relaxed your stiff neck muscles, achy from behind hunched over while sewing. “Yeah. I kind of forgot about it, to be honest.”

“I have not, however. So dish,” she requested, reaching into her purse and pulling out a tube of lipstick. She applied it carefully in her phone camera as you spoke. 

“Josh did it,” you admitted, making her eyes flick over to you momentarily. “I mean, I still slapped him, but Josh was the one that gave him a black eye.”

“And how do you feel about that?” she asked carefully.

You shrugged, wrapping your fingers tightly around your cup, half to leech the heat, and half because you were anxious. “I don’t know. I was kind of upset, but only because he could have gotten kicked out of school for that.”

She just nodded for you to continue as she cleaned up the lines around her lips with a paper napkin. 

“I mean, and for what? He could have been arrested. Just for revenge. I feel like the best revenge would be just be keeping your head high.” You rolled your eyes at the beginning of your statement, just for emphasis. 

She stared at you blankly as she picked up her mug. “Aren’t you flattered? I wish a guy would punch one of my hookups.” 

“I mean, it’s cute, but I feel like he did it more for himself - for his own pride, you know?”

Her expression changed then to something a little heavier, her features sharpening in accusation. “Are you for real? Like, for real, for real?”

You frowned at her, feeling like you were being scolded. “What are you talking about?”

She let out a long breath, looking dumbstruck. “I haven’t really pressed it because I guess I just thought it was something that everyone knew but wasn’t talking about but-” She paused, putting her hand over yours on the table just to really drive the point home. 

“That boy has it bad for you.”

You knew your expression was ridiculous by the way she looked at you with pity. “What the hell are you talking about? Josh? Are we talking about Josh?”

She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and nodded. 

“Kiszka?” you tried again, still refusing to let her statement sink in. 

“Yes,” she said through a laugh. “Yes, your roommate Josh. Curly hair, hippy bullshit - that guy. I swear to God I thought you knew. I mean, there were times when I was like ‘does she actually know?’ but then I thought ‘there’s no way she lives with him and doesn’t know that’. You’re telling me I was wrong?”

You were struck silent for a few long moments. “Are you sure?”

Thankfully, she was looking at you like you were a puppy with its head stuck in a peanut butter jar. “Look at me. He punched a guy in the face for you.”

You closed your eyes and tried to suppress a smile. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. There’s supposed to be a huge snowstorm this weekend. Now that you’ve heard me say it, return to me on Monday - after spending all weekend in the same place as him - and tell me you don’t see it then,” she said simply. 

“Okay, I will,” you challenged. 

“Okay, you do that,” she quipped with a smirk, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest confidently. 

+++

In preparation, you had gone grocery shopping together, picking out everything you’d need to be stuck in the apartment together. He had even made you take him to a thrift store, just so he could see if there was anything fun. In the end, he had come out with a card game in a box, still wrapped. 

Saturday morning the snow started falling, this time in huge, fluffy flakes, and it wasn’t supposed to stop until Monday evening. 

While Josh was in the shower, you decided to get everything ready for the evening’s festivities that you had planned together. You had gone to find a good cheese board at the market until you found out they were too pricey for your (nearly nonexistent) budget, so you ended up laying out different crackers and cheeses onto a circular pizza pan. 

By the time he got out of the shower, you had grapes, pickles, olives, and chocolates laid out on the coffee table, and he caught you just as you were pouring each of you a glass of wine. 

The charcuterie was his idea - actually, the first thing he suggested when you said you wanted to have a fun night in on Saturday. The three different kinds of alcohol had been your idea.

“Okay, it’s all yours,” he informed as he trotted out from his bedroom, dressed in a fresh set of clothes. 

The shower was still warmed up, the mirror still steamy. You got a towel out and stepped in under the spray. 

You took the time to enjoy washing and conditioning your hair - your mom had been sweet enough to send you some of the expensive kind you love. Once you had hinted over the phone that you were homesick and the smell of it reminded you of home, she was already googling it. 

Once you felt sufficiently clean, you stepped out and dried off. The clothes you had taken into the bathroom weren’t anything special - you had chosen comfort over aesthetic - but they were warm, which is what you really needed as the snow fell outside. 

When you joined him back in the living room, Josh was waiting patiently on the couch.

“Ready?” he asked, handing you your glass of wine. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” You gestured down at the untouched food. 

He smiled at you. “I know.” 

You sipped at your drink as he gestured to the tv. 

“Movie for background noise?”

You hummed in thought. “Maybe music?” 

He nodded in agreement. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Whatever you pick will be perfect.”

By the time he had made a selection, you had nearly finished your glass of wine. “So, the costumes are coming along well. I got the cutest lace for the trimmings of Alice’s dress. I’m not sure you’ll even be able to see it from the audience, but she’ll look adorable in pre and post-performance pictures.”

He shot you a beaming smile. “That’s some master craft. Your attention to detail is unrivaled.”

You knew that he was just playing, but it still made your stomach flip.

“Should we play our card game?” he suggested, padding over to the kitchen and snatching the bottle of wine off the counter.

You watched his movements as he poured your glass full again. “Thank you. Yeah, we can. Or did you want to be drunker first?”

He hummed. “One shot each?” 

“Of vodka?” you inquired as you picked yourself off of the couch. “Where are the shot glasses?” 

“I don’t think I own any,” he admitted as he watched you rifle through the cupboards. 

You shot him a shocked look. “You’re a college kid; why would you not own a shot glass?”

“Well, we haven’t needed it thus far. I don’t throw a lot of parties if you haven’t noticed.” He gestured around the empty room. “We’ll each just take a pull from the bottle?”

“Okay, you first,” you agreed, thrusting the bottle at his chest. He took it from your grasp with a smirk and then pressed his lips to the rim. He drank until the count of three before swallowing hard and passing it along. 

You followed suit, except with more difficulty. He had made it look so easy, you had almost forgotten how vodka tasted. You swiped your thumb across your lips, wiping them dry in the process. 

You took your seats back on the couch next to each other as the music played through the room. 

“Charcuterie?” you offered, gesturing to the coffee table full of food. 

“Yes, of course.”

As you watched him make a cracker sandwich, you spoke. “So, should we crack this game open?”

After he nodded excitedly, you ripped into the plastic wrap. 

“Okay, it looks like it’s essentially just a questions game. We just draw one at a time and the other person answers them,” you explained after skimming the inside of the box. “And you have to finish your drink if you can’t answer it.”

He laughed. “Okay, ladies first. I’m ready.”

You pushed the stack of cards over at him. “No way, you ask me first,” you stated with a cheeky smile.

He raised his eyebrows at you but relented. As he plucked a card from the deck, he took a sip of wine.

“What is your favorite color?” he asked, leaning in and squinting like the information you were about to provide was essential to his existence. 

You snorted. “Really?” He nodded, prompting you to continue. You hummed as you thought about it. “It’s blue.”

“What kind of blue? Like navy or sky?”

You shook your head. “No, more like that blue that’s so blue it hurts your eyes. The one that was a new pigment discovered not that long ago - so bright it hurts.”

He gave you a sincere smile.  “That’s a good pick.”

“What’s yours?” 

“That’s not how this game works,” he said through a breathy laugh. 

You frowned at him. “Yeah, well. Then I’m asking you as a friend. Josh, what is your favorite color?”

He pursed his lips as he considered his answer. “It’s hard for me to pick, but maybe either red or orange.”

You nodded in agreement as you reached for the deck. “I could see that. Okay, your turn.”

You stared at the card in your hand that read, WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU SLEPT WITH?

“Are you alright?”

You snapped your eyes up to him, quickly nodding as you realized that he had been waiting patiently for you to read it. 

“Okay,” he agreed cautiously. “That’s good. What’s the question?”

You couldn’t suppress an awkward smile as a heat rose to your face. 

“It says, ‘who is the last person you slept with?’,” you informed in a humored tone. You even held it up for him to see.

He stared at the card like it just accused him of a heinous act. “You really got to answer the color question and I have to answer this?”

His intensity made you snort a laugh, though you were trying to hold yourself together so you didn’t spill your wine. “Okay, okay. I’ll answer it too. Maybe we can play the game where we both just answer it.”

“Do you just want to hear me talk about sex?” he prompted with a shit-eating grin. 

You gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you- You’re the one that picked this game out!”

Your overreaction was clearly exactly what he had been looking for. You were anticipating his ribbing to continue, but it didn’t. 

“The last person I had sex with,” he started, pressing his lips against the rim of his glass as he took a swig. “Was from my music theory class.”

“When?” you quickly asked, shocking even yourself.

 “Is that part of the question?” he teased smugly, picking a kalamata olive off of the tray and piercing it with his finger before popping it in his mouth. 

You licked your lips nervously. “No, it isn’t,” you admitted. “You don’t have to answer that, I was just curious.”

“You wanna get high?” 

He was staring directly into your eyes when you looked up at him again. 

“I feel like it’ll make it easier to answer these.”

You nodded at him, biting your bottom lip. “Yes. Yes, I do want to.” 

“My room?” he asked, picking up both of your glasses as he stood. 

“Your room,” you confirmed, following suit. 

Through the slats in his blinds, you could see that the ground was completely covered in a white blanket of snow. You spent some time watching it fall from his bed as he packed a bowl. 

“Here,” he said gently to get your attention. “You take the first hit. I’m going to light it and you’re going to suck in and hold it in.”

You nodded in understanding. 

“Not too much though,” he warned. 

The glass was cool in your hands as you took it from him. When he held the flame to it, you did as you were told before exhaling with care. He was looking at you with a proud expression when you met his eyes. 

You handed it back over to him, waiting until he was in the process of taking a hit before you spoke. 

“Tell me when you slept with her,” you demanded calmly, biting back a smirk at the way his breathing faltered. 

It had turned into a game of chicken as you held each other’s gazes silently. 

“You haven’t even answered the required question yet and you want me to do the extra credit?” he quipped. 

“The last person I fucked was a guy from tinder back home, and it happened a couple of months before I left,” you informed him confidently. “I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and he was a prick, so when we broke up, I went on a tinder bender just to feel something.”

A small smile spread across his pink lips as he listened. 

“Now you.”

“She was my girlfriend last year. We broke up in April and I had a hard time saying no to late-night texts until the end of June.” His tone was sincere as far as you could tell, as were his eyes. 

You were starting to feel the hit you’d taken by then, and you took a pause from the conversation to lean over the side of his bed and grab the bag of suckers you knew was waiting there for this very occasion. 

The high washed over you in a gentle, pleasant manner, leaving you feeling a little dreamy. 

“Sucker?” you asked, holding the bag open for him. He breathed a laugh - probably at you offering him his own candy - and then plucked one from the bag. 

After he had it unwrapped, he held the bowl out to you again. “Want another? Or am I going to have to smoke the rest of this myself?”

“Yes, I’m sure that would be very rough on you, poor baby,” you teased. 

He huffed a laugh, sitting up a bit straighter in his position. “You want another one or not?”

You stared at him wordlessly for longer than was socially acceptable, but when you finally spoke, it was with conviction. “I’ll have another baby hit.” You pulled the cards from the pocket of your pajama pants. “But then we’re playing another card, right?.”

He glanced down at the bowl and then back up to you. “When you say ‘baby hit’-”

“I mean I want you to blow it into my mouth with your mouth,” you explained cheekily, making him huff a laugh. 

“You liked that, huh?” he asked, risking a dark glance up at you through his long lashes as his fingers played along the glass piece. 

You knew exactly what you wanted to say - could hear it in your head, but your body felt tight with nerves at the thought of actually saying it. “Not as much as you did, I’m guessing.”

Oh, damn, you said it. 

A smirk played across his mouth, his eyes half hooded. If you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have thought he was completely unaffected by your teasing, but you had been listening to his breathing, so you were perfectly aware when it changed slightly. It was just the smallest difference in sound like he was pulling in air through tighter lungs. 

“Be careful with what you’re accusing people of.” A warning, definitely, but almost more of a challenge. In the months that you’d spent with him, you’d never seen him like that, but you suppose you wouldn’t have unless- Unless you were about to make him do something truly reckless. 

You bit your bottom lip out of an anxious, excited energy. “Oh, my mistake then.”

The ball was in his court, and you could tell that he was expecting him to continue pressing him. A look of slight disappointment flashed behind his eyes, but you weren’t done yet. 

You nodded toward the bowl, prompting him to glance down at it like he had forgotten what he was doing in the game he was playing with you. He kept eye contact with you as he brought it to his mouth and lit it. You watched the white smoke circle the inside of the globe before he sucked it into his lungs. 

You tilted your chin up in invitation and tried to relax your muscles as he leaned in, his throat looking tight. 

You felt his nose brush yours first before you realized you had closed your eyes in anticipation. The smoky smell hit you first when you realized you were supposed to be taking it from him. You opened your eyes and tried to breathe it all in, but most of it was lost to the room. 

He had a tiny smirk playing on his features until you reached out and wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, pressing his forehead against yours in an abrupt motion. You could tell he had his teeth clenched by how tight his jaw looked. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from playing your fingers along the sharp line of it. 

“Do you want me?” you whispered, voice barely there at all. 

Through a labored breath, he responded with a smoky sounding, “What would give you that impression?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you, but unsurprisingly, it came out sounding raw. Your fingers brushed across the short hair on the nape of his neck, the pleasant feeling causing his eyelids to flutter. 

You leaned forward until you pressed your cheekbone against his, lips right by his ear, and pointedly asked, “Do. You. Want. Me?”

“Fucking of course, I do,” he spat through clenched teeth, sounding distressed as his hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs pressed into your hipbones on either side. 

“Should we?” you asked, pulling back so you could see his face. 

“Probably not.” His words were humored, a melodic laugh accompanying them, but still somehow managed to not sound any less strained. 

You considered what he was saying for a moment, relishing in the idea that this was the last moment before the point of no return. “Just one hookup,” you reasoned. 

He smirked at you, looking all too smug and disbelieving. “Okay,” he agreed. 

Patiently, you waited for him to make the first move, your heartbeat bouncing around like a basketball in your chest. When you felt his hands move from your hips, your body tensed, trying to predict where they’d end up next. 

As he cupped your jaw with both hands, you melted a little, muscles noticeably relaxing. 

The kiss was tentative at first - just a brushing of his lips on yours like he was testing the waters. He held your face like he was afraid that you were going to vanish into thin air - like your presence was the key to his existence. 

You could hear his shallow breaths as he opened his mouth, pressing it against yours. His tongue tasted like the orange sucker he’d abandoned on its wrapper on top of the dresser next to his bed. You lapped at it, body rising as you shifted to crawl into his lap. With the way he was sitting, cross-legged on his bed straddling him was a bit of a strain on your inner thighs, but the feeling was oddly pleasing - like a warm-up for the workout you were about to endure. 

He let go of your face to place his hands back on your hips, pulling your body as close to his as it physically could be. Before he could situate you too firmly, you started to unbutton your pajama shirt, and bless his heart, he couldn’t help but watch your fingers work. 

“Is this really happening, or this just a super high fever dream?” he asked, shaking his head as he frowned like he wasn’t sure he could trust his eyes. 

You wanted to laugh at him, but you could hardly blame his disbelief. If someone had told you even earlier that week that you’d be in this position, you would have rolled your eyes at them. You hadn’t realized how much you wanted this until it was about to happen.

The last button undone, you let the garment fall, the pink and white striped fabric slipping off the bed and to the hardwood. 

The cool air was shocking on your bare skin at first, causing it to tighten - well, that and you could practically feel his eyes raking over your chest. 

“It’s happening,” you assured, leaning in until you were speaking against his parted lips. 

The feeling of him brushing the pads of his fingers over your nipple made your breathing shudder. When you tipped your head back, he ducked in and pressed his mouth to your throat, dragging a stripe across your skin with the flat of his tongue. Every part of your whole body felt hot, but none more than between your legs. You tried to grind yourself down on him, but couldn’t seem to get a good angle - luckily, he seemed to notice, and halted your movements with his hands on your hips, stretching his legs out straight.

He pulled back just far enough to see your face when he ground you down onto him, the outline of his cock slipping against your core. Even with all the layers between you, the feeling still made you crumble against him, a whine escaping your lips of its own volition. It was clear that he felt it too as he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering. 

You seized the opportunity to get your fingers under his shirt, lifting it over his head as he held his arms up for you. Before he could prepare for it, you pressed closer, pressing a kiss to his temple and then nipping at his earlobe. The cool metal of his earring was pleasing against your tongue, and you reveled in the moment as he sucked in a sharp, shocked breath. 

His hands snaked around your sides, palms wide as he cupped your ass and used the leverage to pull you against him again. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, he let a shaky breath escape him.

You could feel his thumbs hook under the elastic band of your pajama bottoms as he started to slip them down the cleft of your ass. Once it was bare, he ran his fingers over it, movement stalling as he looked at you with an eyebrow raised. 

“Are you not wearing panties?”

You scoffed. “Not to bed, obviously. Are you implying that you wear something under those loose pants?”

The corners of his lips tilted up in a wicked smirk. “I encourage you to find out.”

You giggled at his confidence, sweetly nudging your forehead against his, so he didn’t expect the swift movement of your hand as you tugged the tie of his sweats down. The answer to your previous question was “no” - he hissed as you grabbed his erection, swiping your thumb across the head, glossy from the dim light through the blinds. It was just a tease though, because a split second later, you let go of it in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your mouth against his again. 

As you pressed him back, he tried to hold you, but once he realized you weren’t just leaning on him for support, he relented. You laid him back on his bed, pulling back as you slipped your bottoms off the rest of the way. 

“Jesus,” he breathed as his eyes took in the whole of your naked body above him. “Hang on.” 

He reached to the bedside table and grabbed the bowl and lighter. After he sucked in another hit and set the piece back down, he tugged you in roughly, depositing the smoke directly into your mouth. You tried to hold it in like he had taught you, but you were much more interested in getting your tongue into his mouth. 

Still, you were plenty high, so much so that looking down on his bare form had tears threatening your eyes. He looked so soft and sweet despite the position he was in, his eyes half-lidded and one hand behind his head, one on your bare hip. 

You shifted until you could grind your core against the length of him, the wetness letting it slip through easily. 

“Fuck.” You had thought it was an exclamation of pleasure until you opened your eyes and saw a scowl painted across his face. “I definitely don’t have a condom.”

You hummed through a smile. “I don’t blame you, I definitely didn’t expect this.”

He frowned up at you. “We can just try something else if you want,” he offered.

“Well, I’m on birth control, and given the length of time between our last sexual encounters, I’m guessing we’re both clean - I know I am.”

He stared at you for a long moment before really realizing what you were implying, but once he did, he licked his lips in consideration. 

“Come here.” You weren’t sure what he was requesting until he grabbed onto your thighs and guided you up until you were straddling his face. 

The thought of it made you blush, and surely your cheeks were hot to the touch. 

He started with broad strokes of his tongue, just dragging it through. You briefly wished he had a headboard for you to brace yourself on, but your thoughts quickly became completely incoherent. You decided you were going to lean back instead, placing your palms flat on his bent knees. When you were completely comfortable and situated, he started pointedly flicking his tongue against your clit directly, first very soft and teasing, but building to something rougher and more deliberate. 

You thought you were actually going to shake apart when he sucked your clit right into his mouth, rolling the bead of it around on the flat surface. When you could feel yourself getting close to the edge, you threaded your fingers through his curls, keeping him close. 

The moment you lost it, everything in the room melted away from you - just a black expanse with flicks of color littered throughout it. 

You took a moment to catch your breath, trying to bring yourself, at least partly, back to reality. When you pulled away from him, you were met with the sight of him - the entire bottom half of his face slick with your come. 

He only let you watch in fascination as it dripped from his chin for a second before he was pushing you back, your head laid at the foot of the bed. He slipped his sweats off the rest of the way before crawling over you. 

There was no way you could have blamed him as he pushed in, seemingly not having any time for a slow entrance - you did make him sit there, untouched, for god knows how long. You certainly couldn’t name even a rough estimate for the amount of time passed. 

The spark of pleasure that shot through you made you throw your head back, your spine arching as you let out a whine. 

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” he breathed, through tight teeth.

“Yes,” you hissed as you ground yourself down onto him. “Keep going.”

Your eyes were closed, but you were sure he was wearing an awed expression. You grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him in until your foreheads were pressed together. When he started to move his hips, you let out a long, pleased hum, pressing your nails into the skin on his shoulders. 

Your whole lower half was still incredibly sensitive, so every time he brushed you, it made you writhe a bit beneath him. “Mm, fuck,” you growled as he intentionally reached down and pressed his thumb into your clit, the feeling resting somewhere between “just perfect” and “way too much”.  

He was biting his lip as he watched your reaction intently. You felt his hand snake down your outer thigh, gripping it from the bottom. He lifted it up, near-forcing you to wrap it around his hip.

The new angle was a different kind of feeling - something hot deeper in your gut like someone placed a smoldering ember in your belly.  You weren’t paying attention to anything but your own impending orgasm, so you didn’t expect it when he sucked your nipple into his mouth. He raked his teeth over the bud, causing your hips to jerk against him. 

When you opened your eyes and met his, you took a moment to absorb his expression - like he was seeing another dimension through your face. 

You could tell he was close when his lips fell open, but that was perfect because he was taking you with him. You hitched your legs around his hips and squeezed, letting your head tip back. 

When you came a second time, it was with his open mouth pressed to your throat, his hot breath hitting your damp skin. You let out a low whine, fingers tangled in his hair, probably a little too tight.

You suspected it was probably your muscles clenching in orgasm around him that set him off, a string of expletives falling from his kiss-swollen lips. His hips shuddered as he fucked you through it. 

The other side of your collective climax was warm and fuzzy, like watching home videos from the ‘60s. When he was able to hold himself all the way up, you ran your fingers through his damp curls affectionately. 

He was clearly trying to get his bearings, his breath flowing in and out of him like a tide. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, sounding like he might not be able to speak any louder than he currently was if he wanted to.

 You hummed through a smile. “So good, Maybe never better.”

He rubbed his nose against yours, the smallest hint of an upward tilt to his lips. “I’m high as hell, so I’m not sure what’s acceptable for our situation right now, but can I kiss you?”

“We probably shouldn’t,” you admitted, making his expression fall slightly. 

He nodded at you in reluctant agreement. “You’re right.” 

You bit your bottom lip. “Ah, fuck it, we’ll start going back to normal tomorrow.”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Home (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: This is my entry for @maggiescarborough​‘s 400 Followers Challenge. Congrats again, love 🌺

This is another silly, fluffy thing. It’s probably boring, sorry 😔

Since Ivar is undoubtedly a Scorpio, this story takes place in November 😉

The prompt: surprising the character on their birthday.

@geekandbooknerd​, thanks for beta reading this for me ♥️ And @inforapound​, thanks for helping me out ♥️

Thanks to google translate too 😉 jeg er allerede begyndt at lære dansk: I've already started to learn Danish.

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

Summary: On his birthday, Ivar is in a very bad mood. The only present he wants is you, but there is an ocean between you two.

Warnings: Ivar’s bad temper (is that ever a warning??); soft, soft Ivar; fluff+++.

Words: 3209

When his phone rings, Ivar's first thought is to throw it across the room. Looking down, he then sees the name on the screen and closes his eyes. Snippets of his days run through his mind: how he had snapped at Ubbe – I don't give a shit about what you're saying, brother; how his outburst had brought to tears his new personal assistant – if you don't even know how to make a fucking coffee, I should probably fire you; how Harald, his longtime business partner, had hung up on him, angering him even more – you may be smart, Ivar, but when you're such in a bad mood, you're worthless. I'll call you tomorrow.

 Ivar knows he needs to calm down. He's so pissed off – at everything – that his right quadriceps is constantly spasming, his thigh as hard as rock. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he sighs loudly, pinches the bridge of his nose and eventually grabs his phone.

 "Mor?" He's sure his mother won't fail to notice the hint of sharpness in his voice. She won't acknowledge it, though, used to his temper.

 "Hello Darling." There's a tremendous amount of love packed in those two little words, yet it doesn't bring a smile on his stern face. "I just wanted to let you know that Sven is on his way. He left Kattegat forty minutes ago. He is going to take you home."

 Clenching his jaw, Ivar stops himself from telling his mother that Kattegat, for him, is no longer home. Not anymore. The truth is, he doesn't know where home is. Home isn't his luxurious loft in in the very center of Copenhagen either. Home should be where you are. But you're so far away…

Ivar clears his throat. "I still don't get it, Mor. Why should I go with your chauffeur? You do know I can drive, don't you?"

 "Oh, honey, of course I do. But we've been over this, remember? You had to work the whole day, on your birthday, and I just want you to relax. Traffic can be brutal this time of day. Just let Sven bring you home. Maybe take a nap in the backseat, or just allow your thoughts to wander. I want you to be rested tonight, sweetheart." His mother pauses for a few seconds, and when she speaks again, her words are careful, her tone almost hesitant – so unlike her, his heart softens a little. "You did pack a bag, didn't you?"

 Ivar can't help but roll his eyes and then settles his gaze on a brown leather duffel bag right next to his mahogany desk. He knows that whatever his mother might expect, he won't stay the night. And if she doesn't allow Sven

to drive him back to Copenhagen, he will just call a cab. He won't argue about it right now, though – everything in its own time.

 Letting out a small sigh, Ivar nods uselessly, a hand running through his hair. "Yes Mor, I did."

  Sven knows better than to talk to him and, in the backseat, as the car speeds down the highway, Ivar closes his eyes and tries to relax. Anger still coursing through his veins, it turns out it's a nearly impossible task. It seems as if everything has gone wrong since he woke up and he's therefore mad at the whole world. He's mad at all those stupid, infuriating people he had to interact with. He's mad at Sven for taking him to Kattegat. He's mad at his mother for inviting him for his birthday. He's mad at himself for accepting. He's even mad at you, for not being here; for not making the impossible possible. For leaving him alone. And no matter if deep down he knows how unfair it is to you; because of course, you'd be here if you could. But he can't help it. He's mad at you because he misses you, every day a little more, to the point where the ache in his heart is far worse than the pain in his legs.

 And today, he misses you like crazy. To the point where sadness floods his mind. To the point where anger takes control. Because today may be his birthday, but it's also the anniversary of your first kiss, first and foremost. And he wants you here, right next to him, for now and forever.

  Fourteen months ago, after yet another surgery, and because even if he knew all too well that he couldn't stay by himself while recovering, the mere thought of his mother's overprotective presence made him nauseous, he had flown – fled – to Canada, to Floki's. The old fool had welcomed him with open arms, turning one of the many guest rooms of his house into a high-tech physiotherapy space. That's where he met you. At first, you had been just his physical therapist, then his date, his girlfriend, and now you are his lover. And if he's back in Denmark for nine months now, you're still in Canada. He had thought he could handle a long-distance relationship. He couldn't have been more wrong. Your absence just kills him.

 As a boat whistle can be heard, Ivar slowly opens his eye and then looks around. Frowning, he scratches his head, confused and annoyed. Since the Lothbrok mansion is located on a hill overlooking Kattegat, there's never any reason to go by the seaside to get there. Never ever. "We're on the wrong road, Sven. Why are you going to the shore?" Ivar speaks in a demanding tone of voice that doesn't impress Sven one bit.

 The obedient chauffeur barely shrugs. "I'm just following orders, Sir. Your mother's orders."

 Now riled up, irked, Ivar snorts, his nostrils flaring. "My mother asked you to drive me here?" Without waiting for an answer, he takes his phone out of his back pocket, gasping as Sven comes to a halt in front of The Nimb Hotel, the hotel palace of Kattegat.

 When his mother doesn't pick up the phone, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, he tries to get ahold of Hvitserk, Ubbe, and even Sigurd, but to no avail. Fuming, his hands curling into fists, Ivar clenches his teeth. Did his mother organize a fucking birthday party even though she knows he hates that? She wouldn't dare. No, she wouldn't.

 Oh, fuck. Sure, she would. She totally would. And it'd explain why she had been so adamant about having Sven drive him. She wanted him here, in this fucking hotel, and not at the mansion. It explains why his brothers don’t answer the phone. Because they know that if they did, he would yell at them to fuck off. He can’t believe it!! What’s got into his mother?? What the fucking hell??!!!!

 For a split second, he hovers a trembling pointer finger over the screen of his phone. Calling an Uber and going back to Copenhagen would be so easy. But as tempting as it may be to just run away, he knows he won't do it. He can't. Because it'd hurt his beloved mother, and the thought is unbearable, even though he's angry with her right now. That's why, whatever she may have planned, he'll deal with it, putting on a brave face for her sake.

 And that's why he doesn't object when Sven opens his door, "This way, Sir," his hand gesturing toward the hotel entrance, flanked by two ostentatious marble columns. Ivar uses his hands to place his right leg out of the car and he then slowly stands up, one hand on his crutch and the other on the car door, before following the gray-haired chauffeur, a permanent scowl on his face.

As they walk through the lobby, he is surprised when Sven leads him onto an elevator, pressing the twelfth-floor button. He would have thought that his mother would have privatized the hotel restaurant. But the restaurant is on the main floor. What's on the upper floors other than rooms? A roof terrace, probably. His mother would never throw an outdoor party in the middle of November though. Nothing makes sense.

 Confused, Ivar tilts his head while the lift is going up. "Where are we going?" Sven doesn't react to his harsh tone, just repeating his reply from earlier. "I'm following orders, Sir. I am walking you to where your mother ordered me to walk you." He doesn't utter another word, getting out of the elevator as soon as the door opens.

 Ivar tightens his grip on his crutch and follows him to what seems to be a hotel room. Or more specifically, and as it's written on the door, the executive suite. More and more bewildered, he watches Sven swiftly knocking on the door before using a card key to unlock it. Holding it open, the chauffeur steps aside, "I've been asked to tell you that the sunroom is over there," waving his hand slightly to the left, Sven then gives a slight nod to an astounded Ivar, "I now take my leave, Sir. I wish you a delightful evening."

  As Ivar slowly crosses the living room, the slight thud of his crutch on the hardwood floor alerts you of his presence. Shivering with excitement and your heart pounding in your chest, you struggle but don't move, don't say a word; not yet.

 Taking a tentative step into the sunroom, which, he's sure of it, offers during daytime a breathtaking view on the bay of Kattegat, a dumbfounded Ivar notices the candles first – there are candles everywhere, their soft glow creating an intimate ambience – and then the table for two elegantly set in the middle of the room.

 "What the fuck is going on?" Ivar grumbles, irritation obvious in his voice, and you know it's time for you to show up, or he may leave. Stepping toward him and into the light, you absently rub your sweaty palms up and down your black dress, your heart now beating so hard and so fast you wonder if he can hear it. This is it. The moment you were waiting for, for weeks now. You couldn't be happier, and yet you can't help but be nervous. Could he reject you? You don't think so but with Ivar, you never know… Swallowing the lump in your throat, and even if you can barely breathe, you manage to crack a smile at the exact moment he sets his eyes on you. "Happy birthday, my love, and happy anniversary too."

 Ivar's jaw drops, his eyes widen, and a soft gasp escapes his plump lips. He wobbles for an instant and you quickly close the gap between you and him, steadying him by placing both your hands on his hips. Your touch shaking him out of his stupor, he blinks a few times, his piercing blue eyes never leaving your face. "Y/N, is it… is it really you?" With a trembling voice and tears in his eyes, he stutters, dazed and surprised. "By the gods, what… what are you doing here?" His arm finding your waist, Ivar pulls you closer. There's a whirlwind of emotions on his face, but there's mostly love. You're sure he won't reject you.

 "Did you really think I was going to miss your birthday?" Standing on tiptoes, you give him a long kiss before whispering in his ear, "And I missed you so much, my love."

 Rough fingers caress your face as Ivar looks down at you incredulously. "But… I… I don't understand… I… I thought you were busy with work. But you're here… How?"

 "By plane, obviously," you quip playfully, and your lover rolls his eyes and shakes his head, before suddenly frowning. "That's really a wonderful surprise, Y/N, and I'd love to stay here with you but we… we should go… My mother… I think she's waiting for me, for us… You know, since it's my birthday, she wanted to throw…" Ivar stops talking when it dawns on him that he has been – to his delight – tricked, and you just smile. "Mother never planned a party, did she?"

 It's your turn to shake your head. "No, she never did, you're right. She knew I was coming and since I needed a little help, she agreed to play along. Tonight, it's just you and me, my love." Ivar's eyes sparkling with joy, your smile grows wider. "She's expecting us for lunch tomorrow, though."

 Nodding, Ivar flashes you a beaming smile that falters almost immediately as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. As he stifles a hiss of pain, you wrap his right arm around your shoulder and your left around his waist. Without a word, you lead him to a corner of the sunroom, help him to sit down on a huge nest chair and finally breathe a sigh of satisfaction as you snuggle into his side.

 His hand running up your arm, Ivar cups your face and looks at you fondly. "You being here with me is the best birthday gift ever." He then kisses you passionately, his hands roaming your back and your fingers threading through his long hair. When he breaks the kiss, he still holds you close and you lean into his warmth, your head resting on his chest.

 "When are you flying back?" Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, Ivar clenches his jaw as you pull away just enough to look at him. You know he hates the idea of you leaving him once again. You don't have time to answer him as he keeps going. "Guess you'll stay through the weekend, but when is your flight? On Monday morning?"

 A mischievous smile playing on your lips, you wrap your fingers around his hand. "There's no flight, Ivar, not anymore. I'm not going anywhere. I'm afraid you're stuck with me, my love."

 Swallowing, Ivar just stares at you for long seconds, a frown on his confused face. "What… What are you talking about? If this is a joke, it's a very bad one." He eventually manages to say, his bottom lip trembling.

 "I swear it's not a joke." You reassure him as you readjust your position, straddling him carefully. Your thumb stroking his cheek, you give him a quick peck before explaining yourself. " I hate our current situation, and I know you do too. I don't want to live like this anymore, between two flights, between two countries. I don't want to miss you anymore. My life is with you, my love. And since you can't exactly relocate the Lothbrok Company, it's up to me to move, which I'm happy to do."  

 Dumbstruck, Ivar remains speechless for a long time, but you can tell by the smile on his lips that he's thrilled by the news. Tilting his head, he finds his voice again. "You are serious? Wow! You do realize you'll have to find a new job, learn another language? That's not nothing."

 "Actually," you place your hands flat on his chest, "I've already found a job. Floki still has strong connections here, did you know that? On the same day I made up my mind, he was already making calls. He has been amazing, truly! I start working in a rehab clinic within a fortnight. As for the language…", you stop and inhale deeply before saying hesitantly, "jeg er allerede begyndt at lære dansk." Ivar's wry smile tells you that your pronunciation could have been better, but you don't mind. It's a first step. "Anyway," you exclaim, beaming, "You know me, I love a challenge!"

 "I just can't fucking believe it!" Ivar shines with happiness and it melts your heart. His next question, though, makes you wince internally. Because on that particular point, you're suddenly afraid you've put the cart before the horse.

 "Where are you going to live?"

 Lowering your gaze, you begin to fidget nervously. "I…", you clear your throat, closing your eyes, "I was thinking… well… Maybe I could… I don't know if…" As soon as you realize you're getting nowhere, you stop; you know you have to muster up the courage to be straightforward. Releasing a short sigh, you tilt your head up. "I was hoping we could live together. I mean if you want to. It's fine if you don't, I'll rent an apartment."

 Literally thunderstruck, his eyes fixed on you, Ivar swallows loudly. "You… You…" He stammers, an incredulous expression on his face. "You want to live with… with me?"

 As you nod while muttering under your breath "Only if you want to," a broad smile spreads over his lips and he blinks a few times. "Of course, I do. But you do know that", his sheepish look is unmistakable, "I'm not exactly easy to live with, right?"

 Relief floods through you and you burst out laughing as you remember what he put you through when you were his physical therapist. "I do know you, my stubborn, grumpy, short-tempered and moody lover! And guess what, my love? I wouldn't want you any other way. Plus, as I said, I love a good challenge!"

 Without even trying to hide his elation, Ivar throws his arms around your waist, giggling, "It's a deal, then," before peppering light kisses all over your face. His mouth barely an inch from yours, he's about to kiss you as your stomach rumbles. Embarrassed, you want to hide your face but Ivar, all smiles and laughing eyes, grasps your hands, squeezing them. "Guess we should feed you."

 Checking your watch, you stand up reluctantly. "Actually," you point at the table behind you, "we should be served a meal in less than five minutes." Reaching out, you grab Ivar's left hand as he hauls himself to his feet, handing him his crutch once you're sure he found his balance.

 Now towering over you, Ivar gives you a thank-you smile. "So, tell me Y/N, what's the plan for tonight? Besides dinner, I mean." The naughty grin adorning his features tells you the answer he's hoping for.

 "Well," you can't resist teasing him, "I was thinking maybe we could take an after-dinner walk on the shore afterwards, and later, there's this wonderful documentary about penguins I wouldn't want to miss, so yeah, that's the plan."

 "Ooooh, look at you!" You can't help but laugh your head off as Ivar's smile falters, a crease forming between his eyebrows and pouty lips shouting his displeasure. "I'm just kidding, my love," you soothe him, your thumb grazing his mouth, "there's this whirlpool-bath I'm dying to try in the bathroom if you're up for it. And after that, I'm going to make love to you, my birthday boy." Ivar's breath hitches as your hands squeeze his butt cheeks playfully. "And then we'll sleep. And tomorrow we'll go and have lunch with your mother. And when we're done there, you'll…" Overwhelmed with emotion, you stop, your eyes filling with tears.

 "I'll…?" Ivar asks as a crooked smile tugs at his lips.

 You swallow away the lump in your throat, intertwining your fingers with his. "You'll take me home, won't you?"

 There are tears in his eyes as well, but when Ivar nods, the smile that flashes over his face is a wide, shining one. "Yes, my love, I'll take you home."

 🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​ @pieces-by-me​ @xceafh​

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

[thiswasinevitableid]

71. you’re famous and you want to hide out in my bookstore which is fine except the stupid paparazzi won’t leave and now there’s a photo of us in the tabloids and they’re printing misinformation and why the fuck won’t you clear this up on your twitter account

Sternclay, NSFW, please!

Here you go! Let's end this round of meet uglies with a bang

The post-holiday slump is always the worst; everyone maxed out their credit cards last month and doesn’t want to buy anything, and the tourists won’t be back until the spring. It’s not that he’s concerned about keeping the lights on; Bookworms is popular and has a prime spot downton. It’s that he’s bored out of his mind.

All his orders for the day are in, everything’s been received and shelved, and he’s running out of things to tidy. If he’s lucky, the clouds that have been threatening a snowstorm since this morning will burst and drive some people to shelter among the stacks.

Dingdong

Thank the lord.

“Welcome to Bookworms, can I help you?”

The man stays by the door, peering through the glass onto the street while pulling off his beanie, “Huh? Oh, uh, nope, just coming in to, uh, get out of the cold.” He turns, and two realizations slap Joseph in the face.

One: this is the hottest man he has ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Two: He’s seen this man dozens of times, just never in person.

Barclay Cobb is a Food Network darling who got his start on Youtube, sharing recipes from vintage cookbooks he found at garage sales. That’s not why he’s starstruck, but it is probably why the taller man is hiding in the craft books alcove and keeps nervously looking his way.

“I won’t tell anyone you’re here, Mr. Cobb.”

“Phew” the man sighs, unzips his jacket, “thanks man. Thought I’d be bundled up enough that no one would spot me while I was out, but I didn’t get my hat on in time coming out of the Chinese place down the block.”

“I love that spot, they have the best beer-braised duck.”

“Yeah, I always stop by when I’m in town, they’re food is worth getting photographed for.”

It’s odd, everything he’s read suggests chef Cobb is friendly and warm when approached by fans in public.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate that people like my shows but, I, uh, sometimes I just want to eat or walk down the street without someone taking pictures of me.”

“Do you want to head into the back sections? There’s no windows in that half of the store.”

“Sweet, thanks. Uh, would it be cool if I autographed any books of mine you have? I like doing that, means I can send a little business towards smaller stores.”

“Of course. Here, the cookbooks are on this wall.” He slips into his office to grab a sharpie while Barclay pulls a stack of books and sits down on the floor. As the scratching of the pen fills the air, Joseph takes a trip to the paranormal and occult section, coming back with three copies of The Case for Bigfoot.”

“Y’know, not everyone stocks these.” Barclay smiles as he adds the paperbacks to the pile.

“Which is terrible business; you’re just as famous in the cryptozoology community as you are in the foodie one. This is the best book on bigfoot ever written, and I should know; I run a, um, a blog where I review books on paranormal topics.”

“You a true believer?” The cook blows on his signature in the copy of Desserts for All Seasons

“More an optimistic skeptic; your book is perfect because you make your case using actual evidence instead of reporting the same ten, poorly verified stories that everyone includes in their books. And I appreciated that you included recipes from the places you visited; that was a very nice touch.”

“Funny story about that” Barclay freezes as the front door opens. There’s definitely more than one person coming in, and when Joseph pokes his head around the corner he sees fifteen people, all with cameras or phones.

“Shit. You might want to hide in my office for a few minutes.”

By the time the crowd reaches him, Joseph is almost done re-shelving the signed books.

“Good afternoon, let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, someone saw Barclay Cobb in your store-”

“Strange, we’ve only had one customer” he winces as someone’s shoulder knocks a hardcover off its display, “I didn’t get a good look at them before they went downstairs.” He tips his head at the staircase to the YA and Graphic Novel sections and is promptly knocked into the shelf as the throng hurries away.

“Come on, I can get you out through the back door” Joseph whispers to the Red Dust on his Soul poster on his office door. Barclay is remarkably quiet for a man his size as they sneak across the floor and let frigid, January air rush into the store.

“Thanks man” Barclay whispers, “I owe you one.” He sets a big hand on Joseph’s shoulder, squeezes it with a wink, then pulls on his hat and disappears into a crowd coming off at the bus stop.

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

Joseph always comes in through the back, flipping on lights as he goes, so the sea of bodies pressed to the front windows like a zombie horde surprises him. He knows Barclay tweeted about the signed copies, but this seems like excessive excitement even for a celebrity chef.

“Morning, Joseph--whoa, what the heck?” Aubrey clocks in without taking her eyes off the crowd, “why is everyone here this early.”

“Fan culture. I think.” The registers finish waking up, “I’ll pay holiday rates if you open that door for me.”

Aubrey gives a thumbs up, unlocks the double doors, and is swallowed up so quickly he worries she might have been trampled until she emerges near the greeting cards. Some people swarm the cookbooks, but an alarming number cluster around the counter, all shouting for his attention.

“How long have you been seeing Chef Cobb?”

“What?, I, I’m not-”

“Does he often visit your store?”

“No! He just came by yesterday!” There’s a horrible clatter of all the books on display near the door taking each other out like dominoes.

“Do you fuck in the backroom all the time?”

“Oh come on” He pushes past the man who asked that, deals with shouting all the way to his office and slams the door. A quick Google search for “Barclay Cobb” brings up a blurry photo of them in the alley, Barclays hand on his shoulder, and multiple headlines speculating on why the reclusive chef and author has chosen a nobody bookstore employee (he’s the owner, damn it) as his lover.

Okay, there’s a logical, easy fix to this.

He opens the door enough to speak, whistles so everyone will be quiet and listen to him, “I’m sorry, there’s been a misunderstanding. Mr. Cobb isn’t in any kind of relationship with me; he just came into the store yesterday for some peace and quiet. So, if you’re looking for information about him, this is not the place for it. If you’re looking for the signed books, the cookbooks are there, and the paranormal section is just around that corner.” He gives his best customer service smile as the paparazzi exchange perplexed glances.

“...Is it true he bought you this store?”

“Wh--no! We rent this space.”

“From him?”

“Arggh!” He closes the door, slumps against it and cards his fingers through his hair. As he contemplates closing for the day, he spots a little, copper card on his desk. It’s Barclay’s, which is what he expected, but when he flips it over there’s a message scribbled in pen.

Main St Hotel, room 503, here until Monday.

He pulls out his phone, tells Aubrey she’s allowed to get the crowd out by any means necessary except for fire, and elbows his way out into the winter air.

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

Barclay almost purrs when he peers through the peephole in the hotel door; Joseph, as his nametag read, is standing on the carpet, looking twice as handsome as he did yesterday. His cheeks are even a little pink, and Barclay has some thoughts on how to make that blush deepen.

“Hey, glad you found-”

Joseph holds up his phone, screen in Barclays face, “please fix this.”

“Oh fuck.” He ushers him in, “I’m so sorry, I thought they’d stopped doing this shit.”

“No, and they’re fucking up my inventory as a result.”

“On it, lemme text my assistant, she’s good at drafting these kind of messages.”

“Thank the lord. Right, thank you for that, I’ll go now.”

“Wait” Barclay reminds his instincts that blocking the door is rude, “do you wanna stay a few minutes? You look kinda stressed.”

“Because my store is being overrun!” Joseph snaps, then takes a deep breath and straightens his sleeves, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t called for, this morning has just been a mess. And it, um, it’s a little bittersweet to have people thinking I could land a hot chef when I can’t get past a first date with most people. Um, sorry. Too much information. That’s a bad habit of mine.”

Barclay tucks his hands into his pants pockets, “About that. Y’know how I left my card?”

Blue eyes blink, then brighten, “I thought that might be the reason but I dismissed it as wishful thinking.”

“Nope. A guy who's hot, nerdy, and competent enough to sneak me away from the paparazzi? Sign me the fuck up.”

“I’m not opposed to a, um, tryst, but I really, really need to get back to the store, I can’t abandon Aubrey to deal with this mess on her own, that’s not fair, and now we’ll have to reorder things too....” He laughs, a tense sound, “good lord, I get a chance to fuck a celebrity crush and I’m turning it down for work.”

“Hey” Barclay sets his hands on Joseph’s shoulders, “it’s okay. You’re not the first guy to be married to his job. But, uh, out of curiosity, you got any vacation days to spare?”

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

“This is all yours?” Joseph takes in the sprawling farm as Barclay unlocks the front door of a charmingly rustic house.

“Yep, all the way to the creek and all the way to the road. Might surprise you, but I like my privacy.”

“I’d never have guessed.” He replies with faux shock.

“Smartass.” Barclay kisses his cheek, holds the door open with his shoulder so Joseph can pull his bags inside. He packed as light and efficiently as he could for two weeks away (he’d initially planned on one until Aubrey and Moira ganged up on him and told him he hadn’t taken a real vacation in years so he was taking one now, damn it) but his suitcase is still heavy as he rolls it to the stairs.

“I got that.” Barclay shoulders his own travel bag and hoists Joseph’s in the other hand, carrying them to the second floor like they’re nothing more than pillows.

The week the chef was in Madison, Joseph went to his hotel almost every night. Fell asleep in his bed more than once, when discussions of fusion cuisine or the Fresno Nightcrawler turned into frantic, heated kisses under the covers. It’s only when the cook drops all luggage into the master bedroom that the truth of why he’s on this trip sets in.

“You really invited me all the way here because you think I’m hot.”

“Yeah but no.” Barclay drapes his arms over his shoulders, lips still a little chilly as he kisses them, “brought you here because you’re smart” another kiss, this one on his jaw, “and funny” another, on his nose, “and you’re the biggest bigfoot fan I know.”

“You wrote a book on it!”

“Point stands. And yeah” he pushes Joseph back so he lands on the bed, crawling atop him as he growls, “I invited you here because you’re so hot I wanna pour sugar on you and see if it melts. Now get your pants off; I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick since we left the city.”

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

“How did the whole bigfoot thing start?” Joseph sips his Irish Coffee as Barclay puts his feet into his lap.

“Guess the same way any famous person ends up with two gigs; I was doing the thing I love, then was dicking around on cryptid hunter forums and found out I was also hella good at researching bigfoot. By the time I got really into it, I had enough cash that I could write my book without worrying about going broke. Helps that I’d handed off The Arch and The Lodge and was just the exec chef on them, since then I could travel if I needed to.”

Joseph nods, moves one hand down to rub Barclays foot; in spite of no longer working the kitchens of his five restaurants or having to test recipes for the books right now, he spent most of today on his feet making elaborate meals for two. Joseph teases him that he’s trying to stuff him to the point he can’t leave. Barclay always chuckles and says he doesn’t know how right he is. The last two days, Joseph then wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tells him he’d stay forever if he could.

He’s never thought of himself as romantic; he’s pragmatic, knows that relationships are things built out of time, trial, and error. But god help him, he’s fallen for Barclay like they’re rom-com leads with only ninety minutes to reach their happy ending.

They’re out near the creek--really more of a small river--the next morning, talking about books and speculating on the existence of life on other planets, when a storm sweeps through the trees. As trunks groan and roots pull loose from the snow, Barclay calls, “we better head back.”

He gives a thumbs up. Then the ice under him cracks.

He doesn’t correct course quickly enough, the rest dropping from under him and dunking him in freezing water. It’s deep, too deep to stand, but he’s a decent swimmer and kicks towards the surface. When the shadow covers the opening with a boom, panic threatens to push the rest of his precious breath away.

The tree that fell across the ice is heavy, and no matter how he pushes it won’t give. He bangs on the ice on either side, trying to get it to crack, but his lungs scream and his limbs alert him that the cold will soon shut them down.

He closes his eyes, trying to think, not ready to give up, not with Barclay so close. There’s a groan of wood and frozen water. His mouth opens without permission, desperate for air, and chokes him on frost instead.

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

“...be dead, please don’t be dead, please please please don’t be fucking dead.”

“Nnff.” That’s not what he meant to say, but it seems to calm the voice above him.

“Thank fuck. I’m so sorry, I got to you as fast as I could, do, do you need anything?” Barclay sounds exhausted.

“Cold.” He mutters.

“I’m trying to warm you up gradually, that’s what the first aid book said but, uh, here.” Warm, fuzzy arms draw him into a hug.

Wait.

The first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open are arms covered in reddish-brown fur. When Barclay rubs their cheeks together, it tickles more than his beard usually does.

“Barclay? What the hell is going on?”

“Uh. So.” He’s rolled with ease to face a creature he’s never seen and eyes that he’d know anywhere, “I’m bigfoot. Or, uh, a bigfoot. Maybe that’s kinda obvious now.”

His brain crackles to life, “What better way to stay undiscovered than get famous by giving people the wrong information about you.”

“Some of it’s true. Just not anything people could use to actually find me.”

“Smart, big guy” Joseph pets his face.

“You’re taking this pretty well.”

“I think my system is too shocked to experience more shock.” He shudders, “relatedly, how’d I get out of the river?”

“I lifted the tree off and pulled you free. Took my disguise off to do that and, uh, the fucking thing fell into the water when I got you. So I’m gonna be stuck like this until a friend of mine can get me a new one.”

“No complaints here. You look incredible.” He runs his hands up and down Barclay’s side and chest, warmth seeping into his fingers as he does, “But I’m a little surprised you were willing to risk someone seeing you or me blabbing to someone and trashing your whole life in the process.”

A low rumble as Barclay kisses his forehead, “It’s worth it. I, this is gonna sound so fucking cheesy, but I haven’t felt this way about someone in a long time, and there was no way I was gonna lose you.”

“Oh.” Affection and surprise well up in his throat, pressing down his words so all he can do is nestle closer to the cryptid and let himself be loved.

His mind rebounds quickly from his misadventure. His body would like him to remember it for a while so he doesn’t put it in such jeopardy again any time soon. Instead of helping Barclay with cooking and chores, he lays under the covers while the storm rattles the roof and the cook clangs pots on the lower floor.

Barclay, attentive to a fault, is downright doting now that he’s stuck in bed. He’s never without a hot drink or something to read, and the cryptid is happy to answer the majority of his questions about the finer points of being bigfoot. When it’s bedtime, his boyfriend pulls him atop his massive frame and cuddles him, whispering over and over that he’s glad he’s okay, until they fall asleep.

Today followed much the same pattern, though when dinner time rolls around he gets a fantastic surprise.

“Chocolate fondue?” He peers hopefully at the bed tray in Barclays hands.

“Only the best for you, babe.” The cook sets the burnished wood down on the bedside table, “we lucked out, the berries I bought last week are ripe.”

Joseph reaches for the fork, but Barclay beats him to it.

“You should save your energy. Since you’re, uh, still recovering.”

He shrugs, sets his hands in his lap and opens his mouth for a chocolate dipped raspberry. It doesn’t take long to spy Barclay’s ulterior motive. The cook has a whole wardrobe designed to fit his cryptid form, but it’s having trouble concealing certain things.

“You’re getting off on this.”

“I, uh, I, maybe a little” Barclay blushes under his fur.

Joseph raises an eyebrow, tilts his head at the bulge in Barclay’s pants, “You call that ‘little’?”

A rumbly whine, the fork paused halfway to Joseph’s mouth, “I can’t help it. I’ve got a thing for taking care of partners, especially ones who are all competent and put-together the rest of the time, and you look so good when you eat and, ohfuck.”

Joseph inhales sharply as chocolate hits his exposed upper chest. It’s not hot enough to burn, and he moans as the sensation seeps across his skin. Barclays eyes, wide and ravenous, keep flicking between the splatter and his face.

“Looks like you made a mess, big guy.” Joseph begins undoing the remaining buttons on his pajamas, “you should clean it up.”

“Fuck yeah.” Barclay lunges, mouth first, lapping and sucking at the marked skin as Joseph laughs. Their shirts hit the floor together as he digs his nails into auburn fur. Barclay grunts at the pressure, sits up with a grin, and drips a line of chocolate down the right side of Joseph’s ribs.

“Oops. Better fix that too.”

“Cleanliness is importantAH, ahhnn.” He squirms a bit as Barclay nuzzles his stomach before dragging his tongue up his skin. There’ve been times he mourned the fact T didn’t make him as hairy as some other guys, but right now he’s grateful for the clear canvas Barclay can mark however he pleases.

“A mess can be more fun.” The cook licks his lips, sucks a hickey above his belly button, “and by the time I’m done with you, babe, won’t be a single part of you that isn’t one.”

“Then get to it.” He shoves his pants down, lets Barclay pull them the rest of the way off and fold them. He lays back, resting his arms behind his head, and moans as the cook drizzles chocolate on each hip. Joseph feels like a gourmet dessert and, from the growls between his thighs, Barclay intends to treat him like one.

His boyfriend is always enthusiastic when sucking him off, but tonight he throws finesse out the window in favor of burying his face at the crease of each thigh in turn, licking his hips clean while clawing at his calves and sides. He lifts his head, wipes his mouth with a satisfied grin that shows the points of his teeth, and dives down again.

Joseph yelps with pleasure, the hint of fangs hitting all his buttons, lighting him up like downtown on a dark night. It’s intense, the scratch of fur on skin just different enough from the usual beard to remind him of who’s down there, and his legs try to kick closed. Barclay growls again, holding them open with ease.

“Not until I’m done with you, babe.”

He surrenders to flood of feelings from both outside and within him, Barclay’s sheer delight at his body rendering all his doubts and worries toothless and small, quieting them until all he can think about is incredible creature holding and all he can say is some variation on-

“Barclay, please, right there, lordalmighty that’s good, that’s so good big guy, please.” He squeezes his eyes shut, craving the impending orgasm more than he has words for. Barclay sucks determinedly and huffs, pleased, as Joseph's thighs tense in his hold and his climax chases away the remnants of yesterday's aches.

As his brain insists that really, body, opening our eyes isn’t that hard, there’s a metallic zip and strong legs bracketing his thighs.

“Here I thought you couldn’t look any better.” He murmurs as Barclay gleefully strokes his cock, “as soon as my brain works again, I’m coming up with so many ways to use that gorgeous thing.”

“Can’t, fuck, can't wait to hear ‘em, but I only got one for tonight; I’m gonna use it to cum alllll over that fucking perfect body, fuck, Joseph, you look so good when you’re ruined, fuck.” An impressive amount of cum spatters up his stomach, chest, and neck as Barclay howlgrowlpurrs and then sets his hands carefully on the bed.

Joseph’s whole body is sticky with chocolate, sweat, and cum, and Barclay definitely has at least two of those things mussed into his fur.

“You’re right, big guy, a mess can be fucking amazing.”

That being said, being sticky gets old quick, and soon they’re in the tub, Joseph whistling as he shampoos Barclay’s chest. The cryptid hasn’t stopped purring, and every time he looks Joseph’s way the sound deepens.

“When are you next in the city?”

The cook yawns, “Was gonna check on how the new chef de cuisine is getting on at Kepler in about two week.”

“Would you like to stay with me? It’s not fancy, but it’s close to the Ismuth, so you can get to Kepler on foot without trouble, and there are fewer crowds there this time of year. I suspect paparazzi are also less likely to track you down at some random house than at a hotel. That might make up for my lack of, um, high class amenities.”

“Good point. But I gotta be honest babe; as long as you’re there, that’s all I need to be happy.”

[pedropascallovebot]

Let's Kill Tonight

summary: You're a bit out of practice, but being entrusted with the retrieval and return of Helmut Zemo shouldn't be too hard, right? Even if he is your old sorta-boss and you still are nursing unfortunate loyalty towards the team. You can manage. And him being... slightly more attractive than how you last left him won't be a problem.

Right?

warnings and a/n: i have.... no clue what this is if not a complete rewrite of mcu canon purely for self-indulgence. reader has a kinda shady past and in result will talk graphically about violence in later chapters and there's lots of gun action in this one. very fun, very cool! alright. i hope y'all enjoy teehee

—

The weather where you're at doesn’t usually vary much from a sunny sky, but alas, you’re absolutely drenched by the time you step inside the diner. You hadn’t expected the rain. Your usual five minute walk to work turned into a hike through muddy sidewalks and water droplets that kept hitting your eyes, and by the time you tied your apron around your waist the day felt over before it even started. Your boss gives you a closed-lip smile and glances at your empty section of tables, and you just know you’re going to be late on rent again.

For what it’s worth, Lüleburgaz isn’t the worst place to slip under the radar. It’s not underpopulated by any means, but it makes it perfect to blend in with the crowd as best you can. Honestly, you're just trying to make it a day without a proper therapist. Your roommates are great listeners, don't get it twisted- but all they really know about you is you're Sokovian and they don't really need to hear about the stuff that happened before your country was crushed by some guys in tights and iron suits. They don't ask you much, and you're grateful.  After an unfortunate five-year gap in employment (which isn’t your fault- it’s kinda hard to find jobs when you’re reduced to dust unexpectedly) you were lucky to find somewhere that was willing to hire you without a legally issued identification card and that was also willing to pay in cash under the table. You broke out the books and attempted to learn the language as best as you can, and while you're struggling a bit, you can at least understand the menu and what a customer is ordering. It was far from ideal- ideal would be completely erasing any trace of memory regarding you and your… history, so to speak, from anybody who has the potential to be a threat to you. Ideal could also be an island somewhere, maybe Praslin or Nassau, where you could swim in clear waters and drink copious amounts of fancy fruity drinks instead of whatever liquor your roomies had hiding under the counter. But until that happens, being on the sorta-run for some questionable past career choices seems to stick.

Said questionable career choices led you to be introduced to a network of interesting people, some less horrible than others, but all of them carried the same unmistakable signal of danger displayed in flashing lights above their heads. When you hear the bell to the restaurant door jingle, signaling the arrival of someone new, that weird gut feeling activates and your eyes flicker up to see a pair of high heels and sunglasses, even though the sun hasn’t been out all day. Everyone else eating their food don’t even spare a glance to the door. This should comfort you, it should tell you that you're fine and that there's nothing to worry about, but it absolutely doesn’t and suddenly you’re inconspicuously making your way to the back, muttering something to your boss about taking your break early. Ripping off your apron, you throw it to the side and let it land on the ground next to you, and you lean your head against the brick wall behind you. Your fingers are twitching as the pressing issue of impending doom continues to rise in your gut. You barely register the creaking sound of the back gate opening.

“Do you want a cigarette?” Suddenly, you’re in fighting stance as an unfamiliar voice speaks less than a foot away from your ear. You don’t recognize this new face, but she looks expensive and entirely too out of place for a diner that receives in its eggs already prepared and frozen.

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” she continues, and fishes a lighter and pack out of her coat pocket. “Good choice. These things will kill you- and so will this godawful food you serve here. What a relief that after today you won’t step foot in this place ever again, huh?”

Your mouth opens to say something, but you decide against it. Instead, you slightly lower your fists, keeping your eyes trained on her seemingly unbothered expression. She takes a long drag of her cigarette before giving you any more information. The silence is deafening, and you mentally take note of the clear path you have through the open fence and towards the street if you chose to run. Something tells you this lady didn’t arrive here on foot though, and she probably had an expensive vehicle waiting out front waiting to catch up to you if you chose to make a break for it.

“You’re jumpy- probably a little bit out of practice from the whole ex-assassin thing, right? I can work with that. I have to applaud you: as far as hide and seek spots go, this wasn’t horrible. We’ll have to improve your people skills, but-“

“Who are you?”

You grow increasingly frustrated as it starts to sprinkle again, leaving you cold and wet as your company opens an umbrella she had previously stored away in her coat.

“I don’t like being interrupted, so let’s not make it a habit, hm? My name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, and you’ve become annoyingly important to my cause. Come on, we’re leaving.”

She begins to walk towards the gate, but you stay put, beginning to toy with the idea of unsheathing the knife stored in your boot.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, lady.”

This makes her turn around and sigh in frustration.

“The way I see it, you have two choices. Go back and finish bussing tables so you can make an extra couple dollars, or come with me so we can talk real business. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one between the two of us that poses a threat. I’m not the one with weapons hidden in my clothes, am I?”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t argue. Instead, you hesitantly join her in her path towards a gaudy car (you knew it) that looks way too out of place to be in this parking lot. For a split second you consider going back and giving your manager somewhat of a notice of your absence, but Valentina’s walking so fast that you don’t really have time to continue considering.

“By the way, I distinctively said my name is Valentina Allegra de Fontaine- I don’t like to repeat myself, don’t make me do it again.”

-

You barely have time to sit down before Valentina is barking directions at her driver and scolding you for getting rain water in her backseat. You remain silent, and a little bit uncomfortable as Val finishes her cigarette completely before bothering to inform you of whatever the hell she’s got going on.

“Tell me what you know about super soldiers,” she finally gives, crossing her legs and glances at you expectantly.

You search her face for any kind of indication that she’s kidding, but she seems serious. It kinda feels like your soul is being stared into and you want to look away but you can’t. What does she not know about super soldiers that she can learn from you and not from literally anywhere else? Admittedly, all you know is what clips of newspapers would give you. Something about rogue experimentation, something-something Winter Soldier, and then, most recently, the Flag-Smashers and the rumors flying around that they've got some serum floating around. All of this seemed to be public knowledge though. Nothing a woman who’s willing to corner people in the backlots of their jobs couldn’t find out from a simple Google search.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

“I can’t say I know much.”

For what feels like the millionth time in the span of twenty minutes, she sighs, bringing out her cell phone and starts punching some buttons.

“And what about this man? Does he ring a bell?”

You do your absolute best to not look as tense as you feel when out of the corner of your eye you see a familiar face in a tiny, grainy picture. She shoves the device in your hands, and right there center of the screen is-

“Zemo, right? That was a trick question. Hard to forget the face of your old boss, I’d assume.”

Suddenly, you’re upright in your seat, the earlier feeling of danger settling right back into place. Valentina, of course, just lets out a laugh, while you’re planning on swan-diving out the damn window.

“The Colonel isn’t my boss,” you protest, and a burning sensation makes its way to your throat.

“Isn’t he though?” Valentina is now fully turned towards you, her hand reaching to grab the phone back. More buttons are pressed, and she’s reading your name from an official looking online database. “It says here you’re wanted in a lot of countries, huh? I wonder why that is- oh, look at this, would you? Seems like your name and EKO Scorpion are mentioned in the same sentence at least three times just on this page.”

Your eyes narrow, and you waste no more time in grabbing your gun from your coat pocket, and Valentina seems to have the same idea, the phone  in her hands is now replaced with a much newer and nicer pistol than you’re carrying. It’s silent in the car for a few seconds, and the driver in the front dares not move a muscle. Val is the first to break, and she lowers her weapon with a shit-eating grin you’re growing tired of seeing.

“Let’s start over. You’re associated with an elite death squad assigned to defend the interests of a country that’s no more than a pile of rubble and dead memorial flowers on the ground. You never had an official invitation, but they paid you good enough money for you to get your hands dirty for them. Too bad that without a leader, your little syndicate fell apart, didn’t it? Unfortunate, what happened to him really. And how inconvenient it must have been for you- I’m sure the law doesn’t usually side with individuals associated with terrorists. Luckily for you, you had a five-year break from being on the run.”

The urge to fall back into old form and pull the trigger at the slightest sign of trouble starts to rear its ugly head, but you take a deep breath and try to align your focus to your current situation. This doesn’t have to be deadly. She knows your history, she knows your name. She could just be blackmailing you. Easy fix, offer her better information on individuals that are far, far away from you. You’re sure you can think of something juicy enough to entertain her and fray her interest in you. This doesn’t have to end in a gunshot. She has access to all of the shit you’ve done. You don’t know what she knows. She could be from the American government. Kill her, and lessen the risk of being thrown in a prison cell to rot.You’re desperate, and you’re scared, and it’s making you vulnerable. You take another deep breath in, and lower your gun.

“What do you want?” Valentina falls back into her seat, clearly very amused by the entire situation now that guns weren’t drawn.

“The Flag-Smashers are becoming increasingly difficult as they’re forming alliances with seemingly every gang of mercenaries for hire. The serum belongs in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it, don’t you think?”

This lady is clearly out of her mind, but you’re too far in now and you don’t feel like questioning her on her morals or the ethics of this situation.

“I don’t want any business with Morganthau, and I don’t care about super soldiers. If that’s all you need me for, you might as well find someone else.”

“Who said anything about you dealing with Flag-Smashers? No, for you,” she starts, grabbing the phone once more and resuming that annoying clicking as she searches through various links, “I have a slightly less… hazardous task. No killing involved, sadly. I’m sure your lovely skillset will keep until it’s needed, but you will be finding Zemo for me, where I can pay him far too much money so he’ll kill the Flag-Smashers for me.”

It’s your turn to laugh, now. “In case you haven’t heard, Helmut Zemo is rotting away in prison for the rest of his life. How is he going to be of any help to you?”

Valentina doesn’t bother giving you a verbal response, just shoves that damn phone in your face again. You glare at her before your eyes skim over the article. Breakout. Zemo. The Falcon. Prison. You curse internally, and she lets her arm fall back to her side. You realize you haven’t been paying too much attention to where the driver was taking you both until you feel the vehicle holt to a stop, and you look up to realize you’re in a parking garage, and the faint sounds of airplanes fly overhead.

“As of now, you and I are a two-man team, but this won’t be the case for long. Zemo is with Sam Wilson and James Barnes in a safehouse in Riga. You and I aren’t the only ones looking for him, however, which makes your job a little tricky, but I don’t have much faith in the guy assigned in returning him to Berlin.”

“Who is he?”

“I assume the name John Walker doesn’t need an explanation?”

You shake your head.

“Walker can be of use to us, and we’re gonna need him- just not yet. What I need from you at the current moment is to make sure you get to these coordinates,” the driver is suddenly handing you a slip of paper with numbers scribbled on it, and you take it, “before Walker gets Zemo.”

You inhale, and Valentina gives you a look.

“I assume you have a question?”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get Walker on your side sooner? Maybe if you could say the right thing, persuade him to bring Zemo to us-"

Valentina cuts you off with a scoff. “What? That if we tell Captain America to hand over an international prisoner so we can extract information and hire him to kill for us he’ll do it? Walker wants one thing right now: he wants that serum. Coincidentally, your friend Zemo wants that serum gone. IF we get to him first, which you will, he’ll be more than happy to oblige. Walker is at a tipping point, but he’s not useful to us. Yet. We just have to wait until he's vulnerable.”

She takes your silence as an okay to continue. “Get to Latvia, find Zemo. Use that pretty face of yours to charm him into coming with you, maybe share some war stories around the campfire. I don’t give a damn how you get it done. Walker’s already halfway there by now.”

You are really starting to question how Valentina is getting her information, but before you can say anything else, she’s motioning for her driver to slide another piece of paper in your hand. Your eyes go wide at the numbers listed after a dollar sign.

“I assume this would be enough to cover your services?”

You look up at her, nodding your head slightly.

“Half now, half when you bring him to me,” she finishes, and the driver is unlocking your side of the car. “It looks like we’re in business then.”

[namgee]

implications | knj

❥pairing: Namjoon x Reader (f)   ❥genre: fluff, slice of life (pg) ❥word count: 2.3k ❥summary: The adventurer life isn’t for you. You like your routines and you stick to them, but a small mess-up finally forces you beyond your desired level of social interaction as you rely on a stranger. A stranger whose actions and words imply things you wish to explore. ❥warnings: none  ❥a/n: this was just a quick little thing I wrote a few days ago before I got started on another smut fic which should come out in about a week 😋 ^^ I did a quick proofread so sorry for any mistakes 😣

A silence that sounds with turning pages, graphite scraping against thick paper and the ever present hums that arise from thought. Your ears anticipate it even before you're there. It’s, for the most part, the same soundscape you’ve grown accustomed to since you started visiting the art atelier. Well, the building technically has multiple ateliers, whatever your artistic interest, for a reasonable fee each month, you can visit the space and use their resources. Each floor focuses on certain subject areas, people are allowed to move around and work wherever they want. Like a Google workspace except for the arts.

You usually stick to the 4th floor, where most of the graphics tools are. The elevator dings, you step away from the metallic box and towards the senior part-time receptionist, Diane, who gives unsolicited artistic advice under the guise that old age equates to prowess in art criticism. The advice isn’t half as bad as you expected still, you rarely take it. You place your folder on the desk giving her a smile, teeth barely visible, it’s the best iteration of ‘a lady should always smile when talking to others’ smile you can muster with your lips chapped from the borderline glacial air you had to walk through this afternoon.

“Well, hello young lady! You haven’t visited the establishment in a while. Mateo has been asking about you actually.”

Mateo is the head of the graphic art department who you might or might not like, there’s still a few weeks left for you to decide. Your roommate, Jovian, had given you the ultimatum, “You have until you finish whatever creature you’re trying to collage together this time around,” she had said waving her half painted stiletto nail around before diverting her attention to another girl who also seemed to be having a hard time choosing as her family and in laws attempted to decide for her. On one thing you were sure, you would have said no to the dress she had on.

“There we have it! That’s a much better smile that one you gave before. It’s always best to show some teeth,” Diane says, her two row of teeth (some of which look awfully fake) in full display.

“I’ll sure think about it next time Diane. I’m just here to check in right now,” you sigh, removing your decaying gloves which have lost their purpose, your fingers are about as stale as Diane’s as you fish around for your membership card in your wallet.

“The time please darling.”

“3pm to 8pm,” you say blowing warm air into your palms.

It takes a few minutes for her to find your name in the system. “Oh sweetheart, it seems someone else already took your spot.”

“Exactly how did they take my spot?”

“Hmmm,” Diane’s eyes lift upwards as she tries to find an answer in the air, “to be quite frank with you I do not know.” She sounds shocked that she doesn’t know something.

“Uh, excuse me?” Someone questions from behind you. You both turn towards the voice coming from a golden haired man sporting what is most likely the best variant of the fully toothed lady smile Diane advocates for. To make matters even better it’s shaped like a heart. “I believe that I was the one who took the spot.” he giggles nervously as if caught red-handed before sliding his own card onto the desk.

You assume he’s here to work with graphics for some sort of fashion related purpose, in fact he sort of looks like the graphics plastered around the building: colourful, bold, warm but still a bit overwhelming.

“You’re indeed the one who booked the slot first, young man.”

“I believe that this is what the trainer for my position was referring to as a glitch in the system.” Diane says with an air of pride.

“Hm, sorry about that,” The human embodiment of a colour wheel says with an apologetic pout.

“Oh, don’t worry I’m sure I can find another place, it isn’t your fault,” you wave your hand around giving him your second or third genuine smile of the day. He mumbles a shy ‘okay’ before heading right, away from you.

“Can you see if there’s any place on the other floors?” You reluctantly ask, after all you had never gone to other floors unless it was to buy snacks because the queues on the 4th floor were too long or to find unoccupied bathrooms.

Diane finds you an opening for the floor above. You thank her and move back to catch the elevator doors right before they close, swiftly slipping in towards a surprised figure, a big figure. You mumble a quick apology after bumping into him. When you turn your head to look at him he gives you what you assume to be his own equivalent of the barely noticeable smile you gave Diane a few minutes ago.

The ride takes a few seconds. You rush out the second the opening of the doors is big enough for you slip past if you just take a deep breath in. Another second goes by where you feel disoriented. The floor layout is not that different from the one beneath but the place looks far more cramped than what you expected. Don’t writers like to be alone? In their own space?

You watch as Mr. Big gives yet another one of his glances, you haven’t figured out how to describe them yet, you don’t know if you’re being judged or just being perceived or whatever it is that writers do.

He goes to the right, so you take the other way. You peruse the space for a place you could sit down to work on your project. Somehow, the writers with their notebooks and laptops seem stingy about letting you settle down despite how packed the floor already is.

For every glance you take at a potential working spot you receive three glances and these ones you know to be of the judgy kind. You walk and walk only to end up on square one. Just to make sure, you do another round and another one as if you were in a full parking lot waiting for one of the cars to magically pull out for you to get a place. By your third tentative walk, the one where you put the most effort to seem approachable and nice, someone takes pity on you.

It seems it’s not only his stature that is big but so is his heart.

“Oh god, thank you!” You sigh, sliding into Mr. Big’s little corner which faces backwards from the café.

“It was starting to look... sad.” He gives you a brief look before focusing back on his laptop screen.

“It wouldn’t have been, if you writers were more welcoming,” you scoff, shrugging off your jacket, the rustling brings your actions to his focus.

A delicate slender hand pushes against his glasses as he leans back, “You’re quite the daredevil, huh?”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, slipping past closing elevator doors and sitting down to probably do something noisy with a lot of... “ He takes a look at your stash of materials, “things while surrounded by silence seeking writers. Those things make me say that.”

“That’s a very boring view on action. Also the concept of this building is literally to allow anyone to work anywhere.”

“Sure, you’re right but just because that’s their goal doesn’t mean it turns out that way. This place is no different from high school, certain spaces have been sort of ‘claimed’.”

“And you expect me to act like a good teenage girl and not start trouble?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Aren’t you a writer? You should know certain words can imply certain things,” you say matter of factly and receive a disjointed but delightful laugh as his hand fists to cover his wide smile.

“Anything else you know about writers that you would like to share?”

“You might end up making a character out of me, or a scene out of my situation.” You’re playing on stereotypes but for all you know they could be true. You lay out your material on the table forcing him to scoot a bit. He doesn’t protest and you appreciate that, so you give me a genuine tight lipped ‘thank you’ smile.

“So what are you doing?” He asks, lowering his computer screen a bit.

“A collage.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t really know yet. I’m just figuring it out as I go.” You stare at the big pile of magazines, newspapers and flyers you managed to collect over the past month. Something has to come out of it. “What about you?”

“Pretty similar actually, I just came here to write, figuring it out as I go you know.” He picks up a piece of paper nearest to him, a green flyer. “Do you even know what it says?” He holds it up to you. The text is in Arabic.

“No, I don’t.”

“Wouldn’t you want to know? I mean the work will be tied to you.” He questions.

“It doesn't matter, it’s not like anyone will see this,” you mumble, snatching the flyer from him.

“Someone should, I don’t know much about collages, actually I know nothing, but I like what I see so far.”

“What exactly do you see?” You probe.

“Ummm… uhhhh… it’s– there’s branches and,” he leans over to get a better look and hesitates “tentacles? Okay, so maybe I don’t know what it is, but I still stand by it. It’s nice to look at.”

“Would you give it as a gift to someone?” You probe even further.

“You know what, I’m just trying to tell you I like it. Like I would totally buy it! So yes, I would give it to someone, myself!” He has an overly cheery voice that encourages more glances your way. The more you look, the more you start thinking they’re watching you and not judging.

“How much?”

He gives you an incredulous expression, he seems both intrigued and confused with behaviour.

You snort a short laugh, “I’m just messing with you. But don’t get me wrong if you do want to buy it then I’m definitely taking offers.”

At that he retreats back into himself and his silence to focus on the blank document page. You shrug it away, you knew his words were too good to be true.

The two of you work in relative silence, your ripping and cutting does add a bit of a soundtrack for the period of time. After an hour or so of working, you move to buy a cinnamon bun, and while you’re at it you buy a second one. You did feel a bit apologetic for disturbing his workspace, you of all people should know.

You place his plate beside him but he’s too engrossed into his writing to provide any response. He does finally whisper a shy ‘thanks’ once he lifts his gaze from the screen. You answer with a nonchalant but truthful ‘no biggie’.

The hours bleed into themselves and soon enough your allocated time is about to run out. You’re quite used to that routine,packing up your material well in time to leave. However, the man in front of you doesn’t seem to have a good grasp of time. Last minute, he hurries to assemble his belongings, swiftly turning around to check that he hasn’t left anything behind, almost knocking down the plate that you manage to catch.

Your elevator ride to the bottom floor is as silent as the one you had earlier. You walk with synchronised strides somehow following the same way after you leave the building. You’re sure one of you is following the other, but as long as you’re concerned you’re taking the way back home. You walk in silence for a few more minutes before you think of asking him where he lives, just to make sure but he beats you to speaking.

“So uhhh, would–” he starts off in a high pitched voice which he masks with a cough, “I meant, would you like to grab a coffee?”

“At 8pm?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Or a drink?” He suggests.

“What does coffee or a drink mean?”

“I thought you were good at getting the implications of certain words.” He smirks, which seems out of character, but then again you don’t know him. You’re just curious about something first.

“What did you end up writing?”

“A short story about an avid museum visitor that discovers a collage at an exhibition that has him intrigued.” He chuckles knowing very well it just proves your point. And you smile satisfied to have finally figured out what that particular glance of his meant. He was just taking you in.

“It’s Y/N by the way,” you would have reached out your hand towards him but they’re cold so you compensate with a warm smile Diane would approve of. “And I wouldn’t mind a drink right now.”

“I’m Namjoon and I’m very happy you said that” He punctuates his excitement with a dimple. The same one you would come to grow enamoured with, so much you would make a collage piece out of all the pictures you’ve taken where it is present. In return, he would, just as he did today, unconsciously and deliberately write your works into his stories, and welcome you into his space.

“By the way, when you let me sit with you in your space, were you claiming me then?” You ask out of curiosity and urge to mess with him.

“I– I don’t know what you’re implying. But if you mean me taking pity on you then yes.” You scoff a bit too loud at his response. “But I wouldn’t be opposed to whatever it is you have in mind,” He says, looking down at your quizzical expression with warm eyes and a restrained laugh as he walks closer to you. It seems you’re not the only one who’s good with implications.

thank you for reading my fic, i hope you enjoyed it 🥺 any feedback or comment is welcomed !!

all rights reserved namgee

[bellatrixxue]

Xue’s Supernatural Dare: Wendigo (S1 EP2)

Hello, everyone? How did everyone feel about the finale? Yes? Yes? Oh. Oh. Oh my. Oh, dear.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell that half-assed homophobic chicken-shit fuckbucket’s not gonna stop me, since I strapped myself onto this roller coaster already and I promised I’m not getting out until the ride’s over, so here we go, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Also, those who are in this roller coaster with me, ready? Tag list is: @fangirlxwritesx67​ @amazingiam00​ @kalliravenne​ @indecisive20something​ @2musiclover2​ @impossibletosleepthrough @there-must-be-a-lock​ @wingedcatninja​ @arvit​

Oh my gods this recap is so cheesy I actually can make a fondue out of it. 2000s, everybody!

A WHOLE MINUTE AND A HALF FOR THAT FONDUE

FUCKJUMPSCARETITLEFUCKYOU

So we’re starting the episode with the murder scene first, eh? Is that gonna be a trend?

Oh come on, Chads, you’re out in nature and you’re playing video games? Absorb the nature...before it absorbs you!

Waitwait. Holy shit is that...is that Cory Monteith? Oh, bless his soul...

If the wendigo eats his dick as he’s peeing I’m immediately giving Jensen Ackles $100. For no real reason, I just feel like giving him money for already carrying the show on his back.

I can’t tell if it did or not, so I’m not paying yet.

Aw, Sammy...

"I should have told you the truth.” *Vine voice* BUT YOU DIDN’T

FUCKYOUINTHEASSHOhnightmare. Nightmare. So did he visit her at her grave or not? I need answers.

A week? Goddamn. Poor thing. That man-eating tree’s fucking good at his job, man.

“There’s nothing there, it’s just...woods,” Sam, I don’t know if Jess’s death hit you hard or if you got into law school by eating some ancient dick and/or pussy instead of earning that high score fair and square, but the woods “in the middle of nowhere” (your words) are known to be one of the top places full of weird-ass creatures. Even kindergartners know that.

Ehehehehehehehehe he’s so smol next to his lil bro my lil shit

At least you’re coming up with decent covers this time. No Agent Mulder and Scully ruining things for you this time around.

“Bull” oop-

Oh Dean’s a smoooooooooth operator. Good going, buddy.

AND HE GOT A COPY OF THAT DOCUMENT TEAM DEAN TEAM DEAN

Oh that death really got to Sam. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a trigger-happy psycho. Or eat the man-eating tree and become one himself.

Oh, Haley’s a cutie! Which one’s her brother? Cory? Discount Enrique Iglesias?

Do you have a card for EVERY profession, Dean? And how do I get them too?

That is a very pretty car. I bet they wasted half the budget on that thing.

Okay, sonny boy, little bro, Broseidon, calm down.

Ah, fuck, Haley and Broseidon is gonna go into the woods, that’s more heads to worry about.

How the fuck does Sam find information this fast? I’m impressed, I take five hours to get to one article for my research paper. Or maybe I’m just lazy. So he really earned his law school interview without having to eat dick and pussy, huh.

Every 23 years? What is this, Pennywise? Are we going to see the wendigo do his best Tim Curry do his best scary clown impression? Honk honk?

“Whatever that thing is, it can move.” And the sun rises on the East, Sammy. Why are you so smart and dumb at the same time? Is this his character trait? It might grow on me.

Ahhh, so Sam’s go-to move at interrogation is doing puppy dog eyes and sympathize with the person. He’d make a good lawyer, shame that man-eating tree.

Go Grandpa Exposition, go!

Go Grandpa Exposition, go, give us information and none at all!

OH GEEZ THAT SCAR. PENNYWISE WENDIGO IS VICIOUS.

Skinwalker, Back Dog...Ooh, those all sound cool! I hope we get to see them soon!

‘Corporeal’ doesn’t sound like a real word, but then again, English doesn’t sound like a real language. Sorry. Moving on.

Sam’s gonna eat the wendigo with that attitude, Jesus Christ.

AND HIS BROTHER, AT THIS RATE. If the real villain turns out to be inside Sam all along I’m gonna flip. Is that why women keep dying and burning on ceilings where he sleeps? Is he secretly Lucifer’s spawn or something?

“Oh sweetheart I don’t wear shorts”. They queer-coded him from the start and they tried to make you believe he was straight for fifteen seasons straight? And some people bought that?

Oh, crap, another crappy death treatment for Cory before he got into Glee...No, I wasn’t into Glee, I just watched a few episodes and I might hate Rachel Berry...And Lea Michele...ahem...

Dean is totally flirting with Roy shut upppppppp

OOP AND THERE ROY GOES OH THE SEXUAL TENSION IS HIGH IN THESE WOODS TODAY

“It’s probably the most honest I’ve been with a woman. Ever.” See. Bi. Bi bi bi.

So...why the coordinates, Daddy Negan? Is this a portal to Hell? A place where man-eating trees grow?

*carefully places death flag on Roy*

Ooooh the campsite is very...haunted house-y. You know what I’m saying?

That’s not Discount Enrique Iglesias, but Pennywise wendigo, yes? Those things can mimic human voices, right?

*Google searches*...There are so many versions of this tale I can’t even confirm or deny it. Dammit.

Maybe Pennywise wendigo just wants some snacks and a nice phone and GPS? Maybe he misses his family in uh, Canada or something?

Daddy Negan’s journal is  a e s t h e t i q u e .

I’m so sorry, but the way Sammy smirks as he speaks with those dark, dark voids for eyes? My boy’s a demon. He’s a demon, I’m telling you.

At least Haley has some sense to her. *puts another death flag on Roy*

*PUTS YET ANOTHER DEATH FLAG ON ROY*

True, that. What the heck is Daddy Negan up to with all of this?

“Saving people, hunting things, the family business!” Okay, the way Dean said it gave me chills.

I can actually empathize with Sam here...As whiny and bitchy as he is, he has his reasons to be this way. I guess if I were in his shoes, I’d be less of a Dean and more of a Sam, too. We deal with our losses quite similarly.

Ah, the brotherly bonding moments like these little talks make the show worth it. It’s so heartwarming.

Pennywise wendigo! I didn’t miss you, why’re you here to burst my happy bubble?

I’m starting to see a slight parallel between Haley and Broseidon and Dean and Sammy. Hmm.

Nice meeting you, Roy. Zoop you go.

Haley and Broseidon are taking this rather well, I’m glad they do.

Okay, actual exposition time, thank you.

Whoa, Broseidon speaks! Donner Party! Please don’t remind me of that! Those poor people!

Hibernation and food storage. Delightful, just delightful.

TORCHING? *CALLS RAMMSTEIN*

Somehow, not being able to see the wendigo is scarier to me than what I will probably see itself. Limited budget horror can actually work well.

Oh, dear, Roy literally did a death drop. Badum tissssssssss.

FUCK IT TOOK DEAN THE ONLY CHARACTER I CARE ABOUImean I love you too, Sam! Come on, let’s find him before it’s too late!

A trail of M&Ms! Yes, Broseidon! And Hansel and Gretel refercalled it. Sammy, you and I share the same wavelength?

SHITSHITTHEYTRIPPEDANDFELLINTHEFUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

Thank the gods the Pennywise wendigo kept them right there. Chances.

DISCOUNT ENRIQUE IGLESIAS IS STILL ALIVE GEEZ BUT ALSO PHEW

Ah, Dean Winchester, I love you so much that I can’t even begin to describe it.

Also how convenient that the flare guns are there. Deus ex machina!

Haley would bode well as a hunter, look at her courage, her will. There are more hunters around than Daddy Negan and the brothers, right?

Yeah, seeing the actual wendigo makes me less scared of it now. It’s unnerving, but still.

TEAM DEAN YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW

Graphics are...alright, but it’s the thought that counts!

Running with the grizzly bear story. Smart Broseidon. Ben. Sorry, you deserve to be called by your real name. I think with practice they could become good hunters, along with their Discount Enrique Iglesias brother! Is there a fanfiction for that? Can I write it now?

...

I AM WILLING TO DIE TO PROTECT DEAN WINCHESTER I

Haley’s a lesbian, that’s why she kissed him on the cheek only. Headcanoned. Also I have a crush on her, she’s really pretty? Like? Heart eyes???

Ah, the siblings parallels again. Let’s hope neither of the two brothers end up in the bed like that.

“Man, I hate camping.” Really. Really really. Really.

“I’m driving”

...

SAM WINCHESTER I’M SORRY I EVER SPOKE ILL OF YOU I WILL PROTECT YOU WITH MY LIFE TOO I PROMISE YOU I WILL

It’s just a sassy bisexual brother and his little snide bisexual brother on the road to kill evil creatures and find their father and I love this show? Help? Help???

I really, really see the charm of Supernatural now! I’m fully invested in both brothers and their story, and I’m cheering them both on! Let’s get Daddy Negan back and get rid of that man-eating tree once and for all!

Six stars out of five!

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This dare is introducing me to a whole new world, and I really, really am glad I took that jump a few days ago, man!

Thank you everyone for reading my ramblings, and I’ll see you in the day after with the next review! Thank you for sticking with me! Buh-bye!

- Xue

[into-control]

Into i need help. I bought a oculus quest 2 right and i tried to connect it to my laptop and it wont work so I realized i needed and actual pc gaming setup you know, problem is idk anything about PCs and i dont wanna get scammed. Can you help me? Ive looked online and idk wtf im looking at tbh. Can you give like advice and shit lol 😂 love you into 💕

well i'm not a professional at pcs by any means but i've always had a huge fixation on them so i can try to help as much as possible and i'll even try to put it in simple terms. fair warning, i talk A LOT in this post because i love rambling about computers :') i tried to use the simplest terms possible since you seem confused but if something doesn't make sense just ask and i can try to reword.

it all depends on what you want out of your pc. and do you want to build one or get a prebuilt one? if you want my advice i recommend building one. getting a prebuilt pc is the easiest way to get scammed because retailers tend to overcharge and they think they can get away with it because they stuck a flashy high end graphics card and colourful lights in it even though it has shit airflow and they cheaped out on the motherboard and power supply or something like that. if you're going to get a prebuilt pc make sure you look at allll the specs and consult some online reviews to see if they're any good, and figure out if you're going to be overcharged. now i'll talk about building one. a lot of this will still be useful if you're considering buying a prebuilt though.

the very first step is deciding your budget. idk where you are but in USD the typical amount to spend on pc parts is i think like $1000 - 1500 (you can spend less but that's if you don't have a lot of money to spend and are still desperate to have a gaming pc). i'm spending around $1700 CAD (before taxes, eugh) on mine bc i want to get into more demanding games eventually. it sounds very costly but computers like these can last you a decade and are very multifaceted. figuring out your budget first instead of going right ahead and buying stuff is important because each component should take up specific percentages of your budget. another important thing to consider when deciding your budget is if you want RGB (the colourful lights as previously mentioned), because components with that capability are slightly more expensive.

after deciding your budget, your first move is deciding what graphics card (GPU) you want. the GPU is responsible for processing and presenting the visuals on your screen. theoretically it should take up between 35 - 40% of your budget because it is the powerhouse in a gaming system. you have two developers to choose from here: NVIDIA or AMD. from what i've seen people tend to prefer NVIDIA but AMD cards aren't bad and they definitely compete in performance. i'll talk about nvidia though because that's what i know more about. by searching up the oculus quest 2 system requirements it tells me you at least need an nvidia geforce gtx 970. this card came out in 2014 and is by no means bad however it is actually the same base price as a lot of newer cards. if you want to go better than the minimum requirements, first consider what your monitor is capable of. if you don't have one yet, consider what you want it to do. monitors are not considered a part of the budget i keep mentioning by the way. idk how much this matters to you since we're talking about the oculus quest 2 but i'm just kind of assuming you're going to use this pc for other games too. the main two things to take into consideration are max resolution and refresh rate. my monitor has a resolution of 1920 x 1080 and a 144hz refresh rate. what the resolution means is that there are 2,073,600 pixels in the screen, and can go up to a resolution of 1080p in video games. the refresh rate means the monitor can refresh the picture on the screen 144 times a second, therefore can show a max of 144 frames per second in a video game. to put that in to perspective, most screens have a refresh rate of 60hz, such as regular laptop screens, iphone screens, etc.. monitors come in mainly 60hz, 75hz, 144hz, and 165hz, and for resolution they mainly come in 1080p, 1440p, and 4k. seeing as i don't have any plans on upgrading my monitor any time soon, dropping extra money on a GPU that can achieve more than 144fps and 1440p/4k would be pointless. but forget about the monitor, the oculus quest 2 has a max refresh rate of 120hz and its resolution lies somewhere between 1080p and 1440p. if you know what kind of games you're going to be playing, look up how they perform with different kinds of cards. i'm fairly certain anything above an nvidia geforce rtx 3070 would be pointless because of your display limits, and anything below the nvidia geforce gtx 970 simply won't be enough for the system. you can look at all the GPUs ranked here. after deciding which GPU you want you need to figure out which brand of it you want (NVIDIA themselves, asus, gigabyte, evga, etc), because they all perform at slightly different levels, although the difference is usually only a few frames so it's better to save money. something to watch out for is the quality of the fans in the GPU because if they aren't good, it will overheat and underperform. i'm aiming to get a 3060 or 3060 ti, if that helps. the only problem is that there is currently a worldwide GPU shortage due to covid, tariffs, and the cryptocurrency mining boom (gpus are used in bulk to mine). fortunately there is currently a crypto mining crackdown happening in china, where majority of mining in the world happens, so the demand for GPUs will hopefully start going down soon. you wont be able to build your pc right away but the market is looking better than it has in awhile. this is just about the only argument i have in favor of getting a prebuilt pc, because they have GPUs in them and are more readily available. i don't think that's a good enough reason though especially since part of the reason i'm building my pc is because it looks fun lol. another thing to note is that you should not overspend on your GPU. the shortage has caused a lot of GPU prices to skyrocket into the $2k-3k range but none of them should be above 1k except the highest end ones. when deciding on a GPU, search up the manufacturer's suggested retail price (MSRP). cards made by brands other than AMD and NVIDIA will almost always cost a little extra, but do not pay hundreds of

extra dollars. but anyways!! the GPU is now out of the way and is definitely the longest paragraph here because it's the most important part.

next up is the central processing unit (CPU), which you should be spending about 20 - 25% of your budget on. its job is essentially to retrieve instructions from the RAM and execute it. i suppose you could call it the brain. again you have two developers to choose from, this time between intel and AMD. i've had two laptops with an intel CPU and my current one has an AMD CPU and both are very good, however the general consensus is that you can get the same performance for less by going with AMD. CPUs have cores, and each core can run its own process. the more cores you have, the more your pc can think about basically. you can get CPUs will all sorts of amounts of cores but for gaming, 4 or 6 cores is all you really need. 8 is actually already a bit overkill. so you really don't need to get the best CPU out there. the one you get should depend on what GPU you get (hence choosing that component first). you don't want to bottleneck your GPU by getting a CPU that isn't good enough for it, but bottlenecking your CPU with the GPU by a small amount isn't as big of a deal because the goal is to allow your GPU to be used to its full ability. another detail about CPU is clock speed, which determines how quick it can complete tasks. the higher the faster, obviously. my (non gaming) laptop's CPU clock speed is 2.30 GHz and has 4 cores. the cpu i have for my build is the AMD ryzen 5 5600x. it has a base clock speed of 3.7 GHz but it can be maxed out to 4.6 GHz, and it has 6 cores. the oculus quest 2 has a minimum requirement of the AMD ryzen 5 1500x or the intel i5-4590, which is a little low on the performance list. but like i said the CPU should depend on the GPU. all it takes is a google search for which CPU goes best with the GPU you've chosen and you can find several answers depending on if you want the best possible performance, best budget performance, etc.. a nice little fact about choosing AMD over intel is that most AMD CPUs will come with a stock cooler, which is absolutely necessary otherwise your CPU will overheat (this is another thing prebuilts will cheap out on). this only adds to the whole price-to-performance thing. the stock cooler will most likely do unless you push your pc or want the build to look prettier.

next on the list is a motherboard, where all the parts come together in unity. you should spend 8 - 10% of your budget on this baby. it's easy to over and underspend on a mobo. the most important thing when it comes to choosing a mobo is that it supports your CPU. you cannot use the same mobo for intel and AMD CPUs. fortunately the product page will straight up tell you which CPU brand the mobo is meant for and will typically have two versions of the same board. it's important to note that motherboards don't always have onboard wifi, meaning it wont be able to connect to the internet via wifi and instead needs an ethernet cable or an external wifi adapter. if you can't get an ethernet cable to the room where you want your pc, you're going to need onboard wifi, or a wifi card/usb. onboard wifi mobos tend to be more expensive so it's up to you, but i personally bought one with wifi included so i wouldn't have to worry about it because our ethernet cables are in the basement and i'm upstairs. another very important thing about motherboards is that their BIOS version (operating system i guess?? idk how else to describe it) doesn't always support your CPU out of the box and must be updated before using it. this can present as a problem if you don't have another CPU to perform the update with, however some motherboards allow you to 'flash' the BIOS with a only usb drive as long as it's hooked up to power. there are plenty of step by step youtube videos about how to do this. i will have to do this with my motherboard when the time comes because it doesn't support ryzen 5s out of the box. don't let this deter you from getting a certain board as long as it has a BIOS flash feature. next up is what I/O ports you want, which are the ports (usb ports, headphone/mic jack, hdmi port, etc) you'd find on the back of any desktop computer. that is the side of the motherboard. basically just be aware of how many of each ports you want, and remember that there will probably be even more ports on the front of the case you get. the last thing i can think of right now is making sure your motherboard has all the headers (where you plug components in) you want it to have but i'll get to that later.

next up on the list is RAM, aka random access memory. this stores short term data. the amount of RAM you have kind of determines how much your pc can multitask. RAM sticks typically go up by some multiple of 2GB. most standard laptops and desktops nowadays will come with 8GB of RAM, which is enough for day to day use. it can be enough for mid and low end games however it cuts it pretty close most of the time. 16GB of RAM is the sweet spot for gaming and anything above that is pretty much overkill (and once again a waste of money) as long as you don't have a billion unnecessary background processes. a large amount of RAM is typically needed for video editors or computer programmers. you should always make sure your motherboard can support the amount of RAM you want although any good motherboard will support 64GB or even 128GB. the best option is to get a 16GB RAM pack, which will include two 8GB RAM sticks. splitting RAM between two sticks will increase efficiency. this is called dual channel. i also recommend getting DDR4 RAM, which is simply faster than DDR3. a good speed to have is around 3600 MHz. make sure your motherboard supports DDR4. you also want to be weary that your RAM is compatible with your CPU brand because they do have to interact for your pc to function.

next is storage. there are three-ish options here depending on how much you're willing to spend. generally you should spend 8 - 10% of the budget here. you can always get a good ole hard drive for the cheapest, however they are the slowest and physically biggest option, meaning whatever you put on it will take a bit longer for your pc to retrieve and open (they can load about 100-200MB of data per second). the next option is a solid state drive. they are a little more expensive but can load as much as 600MB of data per second and take up less space. the last and most efficient/expensive option is an m.2 nvme drive. these things are physically absolutely tiny and can load up to 4GB of data per second. anything you put on these will open very very quickly. the fairly standard solution for this is a combination of two of these three. personally i'm using one m.2 drive and one hard drive. the hard drive i have can store 2TB while the m.2 drive can only store 256GB. funnily enough these two drives are roughly the same price. the idea here is to install your operating system on the faster drive. this makes it so it only takes like 8 seconds tops for your pc to start up. you can also put any other programs you use most often on there (like your main browser and favourite games) and they will open very quickly, while the bulk of your games and other files will go on the bigger drive. that's all there really is to say for storage, just make sure the reviews are good on the drive you want to get, but that goes for any component.

next is your power supply (PSU). very very important to not cheap out on this. 6 - 8% of the budget should go to this. the function of the PSU is to do exactly what its name implies: supply power to all the components. this is where the website pcpartpicker can come in very handy. not only does it help you build a list of parts that are all compatible with each other, it will also estimate how much wattage you will need to run your pc. 600W is usually enough for a normal gaming pc. PSUs are ranked, and you should never really go below a bronze ranking. you can also choose between non-modular, semi-modular, and fully-modular PSUs. non-modular PSUs have all the cables permanently attached. this can be desirable to people who are confused by what cable is plugged in where but also undesirable as unused cables cannot be removed and make cable management harder. fully-modular PSUs come with the cables all in a separate bag so you choose which ones to plug in. semi-modular power supplies have the necessary cables attached and the rest can be attached need be. it all depends on preference and how much faith you have in yourself. i have an 80+ gold certified fully modular 750W PSU because the thought of unnecessary cable management makes me sick lol. corsair is pretty much the most trusted brand for power supplies. be careful because this is another place prebuilts will cut corners.

now for the case! this one isn't overly difficult to choose and mainly will just appeal to your aesthetics. it's less important to stick to a precise percent of the budget for this one but you also don't want to spend more than 8%. do you want a black case? a white one? do you want a glass side panel so you can see inside your pc and admire your hard work? besides that, you also need to make sure the case is big enough for your motherboard, GPU, and PSU. most info pages for cases will tell you the max size of the GPU and PSU and what size of mobo it's meant for. you also want to make sure there is a place to put your storage drives (unless you only have m.2 drives which are installed on the motherboard). you also want to make sure it has optimal airflow abilities. a case with no airflow will cause overheating. the best ones have mesh fronts and tops to allow cool air to be pulled in and hot air out. it's even better if you can get a case that comes with fans in the front, because they are what pulls that cool air in.

next is the CPU cooler, which i briefly mentioned. if you don't get an AMD CPU then you'll need to buy a separate cooler. you can choose between air coolers (a fan and a heatsink) or liquid coolers. i don't really have much to say about them and i recommend doing your own research on liquid coolers lol.

last but not least, case fans. like i said a lot of cases will come with front fans and also an exhaust fan at the back, however you might want more, or even replace the ones you already have with better ones. pay attention to how many fans your case manual says can fit and plan accordingly. check out reviews to see if the fans you want are quiet and efficient. if you buy a three pack of case fans there is a chance it will come with a fan hub. this makes it easier to control all of them in sync because the hub will connect all the fans to one header on the motherboard. generally 3-6 fans are pretty good for a gaming pc. two or three in the front pulling in cool air, one at the back and two on the top to pull out hot air.

now that i have all the components out of the way i'm gonna talk about RGB lighting. numerous components that i've mentioned have the option of including LED lights to make your pc brightly coloured, which is always nice if you have a glass side panel on your pc. it's an extra bit of money but i personally was willing to sacrifice that because i want to show off my build lmao. motherboards, RAM sticks, GPUs, CPU coolers, and case fans are the main components that can come with RGB lighting. you can also get special LED strips and power connectors designed for PCs. if you decide to go for RGB lighting, do try to stick to one RGB ecosystem, meaning make sure all the RGB components can be controlled by one program. RGB is controlled by your motherboard. for example if you get an asus motherboard you'll probably want to use their program, aura sync. most components can be controlled by any brand's program however if the motherboard itself has RGB lighting it can only be controlled via its own brand's program, along with the GPU. if you want RGB case fans you really have to make sure your motherboard has RGB headers (the thingy on the motherboard where you plug the fan's LED lights into). most motherboards will only have two-ish RGB headers so if you're going to buy a bunch of fans make sure they come with a fan hub, which lets you plug them all into one header on the motherboard. also, never sacrifice performance for RGB. specifically when it comes to GPUs. if you have a choice between a GPU with RGB and a GPU without RGB, always take the one that has better performance (given it's within the parameters i mentioned earlier).

that's all i have to say :) if you couldn't tell i really love this stuff. i will also recommend you watch youtube videos about this, you can see the build process and the reasoning for using each component, and also tips on what to do and what not to do. i hope this helps and wasn't too confusing. i know you said this is mainly because you got an oculus quest 2 but if you're going to get a gaming pc you should definitely consider games outside of the oculus too.

[bluescreening]

Practical GCSE Advice

Tips From A New Year 12 Who Somehow Got All 9s

Don’t worry, I’m not becoming a studyblr. I’m writing this on results day as a sort of farewell to GCSEs and to impart some “wisdom” upon the youngsters before I move on to A-levels. I’m going to keep this to specific, practical things you can do to improve, none of that vague nonsense. Subject-specific tips for maths, geography, triple science, language, literature, graphic comms and comp sci under the fold because this is too bloody long already.

General Tips:

Don’t go revision crazy. People will always emphasize revision, but so long as you’re revising effectively (see below) you’re safe to start revising about a month before mocks, and two months before your final exams. In terms of a revision schedule during those months, I worked with one or two hours per day, with a free day on Friday and Sunday. 

Use apps to stay organised. Put your school timetable and exam dates in your calendar of choice with appropriate reminders and colour coding. To keep track of homework and revision, use Adapt - you can put in your GCSEs and it tracks which topics you have covered and how many times, as well as allowing you to input homework and your school timetable. During study time use Forest (free on Android) to lock yourself out of your phone for a certain amount of time.

Pay attention to lessons from the start. From the beginning of Year 10 every lesson is a GCSE lesson, and everything you learn could come up in an exam. Follow along with your teacher, make the best notes you can, do the work and understand the concepts as early as you can. You’ll thank yourself in a year as you watch the rest of your class wonder what a ribosome is when revision time comes.

Revise effectively. Use Adapt or a textbook to keep track of your confidence level on every topic, so when you’re revising you can focus on the ones you don’t understand whatsoever. Also, don’t just read stuff when revising. You have to train your brain to retrieve the information. Memorise vocabulary and basic facts using flashcards, then answer exam questions. Lots and lots of exam questions.

Use your teachers. They want you to succeed because it reflects well on them! If you don’t understand something after a lesson, pop back at break or lunch, or shoot them an email and they will help. Don’t just bank on it not showing up in the test because Sod’s Law dictates that it will. After Christmas in Year 11 they will often start revision sessions or intervention. Attend them for any subjects you’re even slightly shaky on. They’ll boost your grade like nothing else, even if it does take up some of your chill out time.

Buy textbooks and study materials through school. If your school offers you textbooks and workbooks it’s likely that will be the best deal for them, since they’re purchased in bulk. Grab all you can in Year 10 and talk to the school if you can’t afford many - they may be willing to help. If you know any higher-level teachers see if they have any sample study materials from CGP and the like. My English teacher gave me a lovely set of sample CGP Macbeth flashcards that would have proved really useful.

Make flashcards at the end of every topic. Stay on top of them. You want a term on one side and a definition on the other, or a quote and analysis etc. If you don’t like endless bits of card floating around use Quizlet - you might not even need to make them yourself as many people have shared GCSE flashcards there.

And finally - don’t forget you’re a human! Humans need regular sleep, healthy food including breakfasts, hydration, fun and social time. Make time in your day to take care of yourself. Your brain works better when you’re healthy so often an extra hour of sleep will do more for your grade than an extra hour of revision. Hanging out with your friends and keeping up with your hobbies reduces stress. 

Feel free to ask me any questions you may have about any of this stuff, or if you just need advice I’m here too! I’ve done it before, I can help you out.

Subject Specific Tips:

Edexcel Maths:

Use CorbettMaths. All the time. If you haven’t done every one of his worksheets at least once you’re not grinding hard enough. Jk, but seriously this guy used to teach me in real life and he’s awesome. He makes flashcard packs, videos on every aspect of GCSE maths, daily challenges, textbook exercises, practice exam questions... literally everything you could ever need.

Practice everything until you’re sick of it, and then do ten more questions.

You’ll need to memorise some trig identities. Don’t memorise them as a table, that’s hard. Memorise them as these triangles, sketch them out in an exam and work it out on the spot. Easy.

AQA Geography:

Don’t goof off during your fieldwork. Don’t make the same mistake as me. If I ever had to do the fieldwork paper I would not have got a 9. Even though it’s a field trip, even though you’re with your friends, this will directly impact your GCSEs and you need to treat it like an exam.

Memorise vocabulary then move onto exam questions. Geography is very formulaic and exam questions repeat themselves - take advantage of that.

Memorise. Your. Case. Studies.

AQA Biology, Chemistry and Physics:

A l l  h a i l  f r e e s c i e n c e l e s s o n s .

Practice those reading comprehension questions where you’re presented with information and have to answer questions about them. A surprising amount of people get overwhelmed because they haven’t revised it. You can’t! You have to read and understand it within the exam.

Memorise your bloody equations for physics or you will fail. Use Quizlet, learn them all by the end of year 10 even if you don’t know what they’re about yet, practice using them.

Buy the CGP workbooks and complete them! Make sure to buy the answers too, because CGP are scammers.

AQA English Language and Literature:

Identify 10-20 brief quotes from each piece of literature so you have a few for each character and theme. They can overlap! Also, memorise the author’s intentions for each one. With poems (for those of you who have to do them... I’m not salty, I promise) ask your teacher to recommend 5 that match up with the most themes and memorise 3 quotes from each. Remember to analyse the rest of the poems too - any of them could come up so it’s good to have an understanding.

Memorise structures for every question. The examiners will tell you not to use structures. Shut up, I got all 9s. Structures are the best way for slow writers to ensure they get everything they need to in. TETAAC (topic, evidence, terminology, analysis, alternative interpretation, context) works for lit essays and can be modified for every other question. Work out how many paragraphs you can write in 40 minutes and take that into account when planning. Once the plan is done it’s just a matter of making it sound frilly. English: hacked. My normal plan for a lit essay is a one-sentence thesis statement for an intro, 3xTETAAC paragraphs and a conclusion which reiterates everything but better.

Don’t worry if your grade is terrifyingly low to begin with. That’s just how English rolls. You’ll slowly develop the skills you need and start to make 3 or 4 grades of progress throughout year 11.

OCR Art and Design - Graphic Communication:

Think long and hard about whether you want to do graphics or fine art, if your school offers both. Graphics is designing logos, fine art is whatever you want. I should have taken fine art in retrospect.

Make as much work as possible from the very start, even if you haven’t decided on your portfolio project yet. Everything, and I mean everything, can be shoehorned. If you make a lot of work you have some leeway and can leave out your early stuff so your overall portfolio looks better.

Annotate as you go and store all your thoughts digitally. Even if you have no clue what you’re supposed to write in annotations, put down your thought process. It’s easy to tidy up something you wrote a year ago, but it’s really hard to stare at a letter F made out of newspaper and remember where on earth you were going with it.

To make enough work you will need to stay after school often and give up a lot of lunch times. That’s just how it goes. At least with the right crew it can be fun - the combo of my friends and the very chaotic art teachers at my school made my Thursday graphics sessions something to look forward to.

OCR Computer Science:

Use Quizlet flashcards to memorise terms. Being able to correctly define terms is half the battle, literally. You’ll basically get an instant 9 on the first paper if you memorise every term defined in the textbook. Luckily, someone beautiful and generous by the name of sporkified (wink wink) on Quizlet has created two sets with everything you need to know for the entire qualification.

Practice programming in your chosen language before your programming project starts. Learn to do everything mentioned in the textbook and try it out on a sample project. Many will tell you to not bother about the programming project, it doesn’t matter. That’s true to some extent, but excelling in the programming project can tip you up a grade as well as making the algorithm questions on paper 2 easier for you.

Take part in Cyber Discovery. Give it a Google, sign up. It’s really hard if you have no practical computer experience but doing it gave me a real edge with paper 2 which is where you want to focus your energy as it’s weighted more. Also it’s fun.

[wispandwhispers]

Why did I ask the himbo for love advice?

Paring(s):Platonic Logince, Romantic Logicality, Background Prinxiety

Tw(S): Cursing, Irony (You’ll understand it when you see it), Virgil being the only person that holds a single braincell, talked about murder

Prompt: There is only one bed with Logicality

@hanav this is what you wanted, right?

“Roman, you’ve got to help me!”

“You’re actually asking me for help, give me a sec ,I need to see if the world is collapsing on itself.”

And he was right. The world might as well be collapsing on itself and judgement day might as well happen because Logan was not fucking dealing with life today.

What had he done to deserve this in a past life to get this... whatever this is.

“Look, the dorm only has one bed because the other one is broken and I didn’t pack a sleeping bag and Pat just said we can share a bed and-”

“Microsoft Nerd, calm down, you’ve been friends with him since first grade, what’s so wrong with sharing a b-”

“It’s because I have feelings for my best friend, you dunce!” Logan sat down on the chair in Roman and Virgil’s dorm, they were on a field trip and they were allowed to choose who to stay in the room with so the couple obviously chose to bunk with each other and Logan chose his best friend.

He didn’t realise he would fall in love with him at the same time.

He looked at Roman for some sort of advice, anything that could save from the fact he had his gay awakening™ to his straight best friend.

How fucking cliché.

“I have an idea...”

Normally Logan would of said something along the lines of ‘Words famously spoken before tragedy struck’ to call him out on the impending bullshit but to he was so desperate for some help that he was willing to do whatever Roman told him if he was going to survive tonight.

“... into the blocked out area of woods and majestically slice a bear open, then skin it alive to make a temporary blank-”

“Ah, but you see, I am a stickly nerd, not a character from a fictional series where people would write fanfiction about me , I cannot, I emphasise this cannot kill a bear!”

Roman peered into the glasses wearers eyes, almost seeming to attempt to stare into his soul to see if he was worthy of something.

“So if you cannot slay a bear-”

“We already know this, who is thi-”

“Then,” Roman move his finger up to single he had a plan. One of the first signs of certain doom.” You must confess your feelings to him!”

Ah yes. The impending bullshit has arrived but Logan was too focused to remember how he had asked out Virgil at a MacDonald’s bathroom.

******

Logan Berry had finally done it.

He finally was more dramatic than the person whose name was Roman Prince.

He had gone into the woods the pick up a total of ninety flowers and had gone and googled how to arrange a bouquet.

He had stole Virgil’s markers to attempt to write a love letter in calligraphy which was just filled with sweet nothings and loads of I love yous.

He had literally borrowed a speaker that was rigged to play ‘Can’t help falling in love with you’ when someone opened the door.

And he was currently sitting on the chair in their room waiting for Patton to come in.

And music started to play.

******

“I don’t know, kiddo, Logan doesn’t seem like the type to...”

“Pat, look, it’s your decision , if you truly want to tell him your feelings, do it when you feel comfortable.”

Virgil opened his dorm door to reveal his graphic markers on the floor.

With the caps off.

And Roman trying to hide them.

Well every relationship reaches a point when you want to murder your partner.

“Princy, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat this instance~”

“ I’ll give you two : I was helping Logan with something-”

“Not a good point-”

“And,” He took this opportunity to dip the emo and kiss his nose” You love me...”

“Fuck, you’re right, that was a good point but what exactly were you helping Logan on that caused my eighty dollar markers their lives.”

He saw the fatherly figure in the room and winked. He actually was aware of Patton's crush on Logan and was playing both sides of the battle that is high school crushes.

“It’s for Pat...”

“I’m still gonna skin Logan alive though-”

******

Patton opened the door to be met with a bed with a bouquet of flowers that had a card attached to it and Elvis Presley voice flooding his ears. He ignored all of that and just went straight for Logan and encased him in a hug.

He ran back to the bed and picked up the flora and got down his knees to present it to the other.

“You genuinely didn’t have to do all of this, I was planning to confess to you over dinner anyway.”

“How did you-”

“Roman-”

“That makes sense now..”

He took the bouquet out of Patton’s hands and but his knee on the floor as well.

“I kind of had of had this whole speech planned and everything, “ The nerd shrugged his shoulders with a little laugh. ”But If you don’t want that, I suppose I’ll give a condensed version : Patton Hart, I don’t know how I was so lucky to fall in love with you and you to apparently like me back but thank God I can be on my knees and ask you: Will you be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, Oh hell yes!” And with that the pair pulled each close and sealed the gap between them, the world was gone and they were the only things that were important. 

Except obviously Virgil who was waiting outside to present Logan with the bill for his art equipment but for the time being they would just be at peace with each other.

******

 “This is an eighty dollar bill, I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Well that happens when you ask a himbo for love advice.”