#great this is a time capsule of weird now

[etheralisi]

If you had the ability to go back in time and add something (writing, an object, etc.) to any location in any time for future archaeologists to find and be bewildered by, when and where and what would you add?

Ahaha! Now this is my kind of ask! Sorry for taking a while I wanted to give this sufficient thought.

I want these archaeologists baffled. I want them scratching their heads and coming up with such convoluted ways to explain its existence that conspiracy theorists sound like the sane ones by saying time travel.

So, naturally, to bamboozle them in the ways of religion I’ll leave behind this statue:

It speaks for itself.

As for where and when, a peat bog as far back as possible. Gotta keep it preserved, but have it authentically old. Just for that confusion.

Thanks for the ask!

[animeficsworld]

Dates

Warumono x Reader

Spoilers for Episode 7.

When he said there was a new place he would like to check out, you had a feeling it had to do with pandas.

Everything had to do with pandas with him.

But you were quite excited.

Finally he was going somewhere new besides the usual Zoo.

And you were happy to see when you arrived that this was an amusement park.

"Let's get tickets!" you said as you stood in line.

First, he said he wanted to ride the horsey. Which you didn't question as you stood in line for the Merry go round. You saw him waving at a mother but you didn't question.

Next, you went on the swan, where, once more he was waving at a woman who waved at the children.

But you let it slide once more.

"Let's go to the Haunted House!" you said as you grabbed his hand and walked in the direction of the next attraction. 

But of course, the people in there got scared of him, not the other way around.

Then, he pointed at a star ride.

"That one."

"Are you sure?" you asked and he only nodded once before he got in line.

After the spinning thing, you thought he had enough but apparently not.

And once you both got off, he was dizzy, while you were fine.

"What kind of a torture device was that?!" he asked and you laughed, he looked at you.

"Kids like it." you said as you shrugged your shoulders.

Children enjoy this?! - he thought to himself.

Then, the roller coaster, which you personally loved the most.

Then he headed to sit down on a bench.

"I will get something to drink." you said and he just waved at you.

You grabbed two cans of soda but when you turned back, you saw an elderly man sitting next to him, you decided to just watch and not intervene. 

When the old man left with their grandchild, you handed your boyfriend the can of soda.

"I know a place you might like." you said and after your finished your drinks, you headed to the Souvenir shop.

Which was an absolute hit.

But then he noticed the capsules.

"Why are pandas imprisoned?!" you heard him mumble before he started to purchase all of the toys and continued to take pictures of them.

"Umm..."

"I must find the panda with the black tail!" he said and started to walk away, you grabbed two of the toys he bought and put them in your purse.

After that, you two went on more and more rides.

But then an employee showed you the way to the panda cars. And of course, it was an absolute hit with your boyfriend, he immediately got on one.

You took so many photos of him riding the panda.

The day ended probably way too quickly. But you did have a lot of fun.

And at the end of the day, he walked you back to your place.

"Oh wait." you said as he turned to leave. "Here, I saved a pair." you handed him one of the panda toys you put away earlier. "Now we have a couple, just like us." you said as you showed him yours. 

He looked at the toys and then handed you the one you gave him.

"If they are a couple, they deserve to be together at all times. Yours or mine would get said if they spend time apart." you nearly teared up at his cuteness.

"Thank you! I had a great time today!" you smiled at him as he nodded.

"Have a good night." he said and you headed into your apartment.

If you were honest, you were rather disappointed that he just left without a kiss.

But he was a weird guy, so you didn't expect anything less from him.

---

A couple of days later, he came over to your place, well, you invited him over for dinner.

You cooked some of your favourite, which also happened to be his. So, you sat around your table with the TV playing in the background as you both enjoyed each other's company.

You quickly washed the dishes and you were now watching a panda documentary. 

"Can I ask?" you said as you turned to look at him across the table, "Why do you like pandas so much?"

"I find them cute."

"Ah. I see. And why do you like me?"

"I find you also very cute. And kind, and patient, and funny, and generous, and brave, and considerate, and helpful, and beautiful." you smiled at him.

"Thank you. I also like you very much." you both turned back to watch the TV. Not long after you felt a pair of arms hugging you as you were moved back against a warm body.

You felt your heart quicken up as you couldn't concentrate on the TV anymore. 

You couldn't believe he was holding you so close.

It took you a long time to get comfortable, but when you did, you leaned back fully against his body, with your head on his chest, you fell asleep.

You knew he was a weird guy, so you didn't expect anything less from him, however, he always found ways to show his appreciation and love. 

A/N: I would like to thank everyone for the support! I am having quite a hard time so I cannot post as much as I wish. I hope I can soon sort everything out and come back with many more writings to you!

Thank you all!

[anghraine]

Perhaps the most purely surreal aspect of the election, btw, is that it actually went pretty great in my state (Washington). I don't even mean standard West Coast results. Washington is sapphire this year.

Harris/Walz are running about 20 points ahead of Trump statewide—currently, they're further ahead here than in Oregon or California. They're winning in Whitman County in eastern Washington and came within a few of points of winning Spokane County. Clark County, which is adjacent to the border with Oregon and contains the Portland suburb of Vancouver WA, can be a lot "swingier" than Multnomah County just to the south (which contains Portland) and a ballot box was literally blown up there to screw with the election results. Clark County worked to get new ballots to everyone affected and Harris is not only clearly winning in Clark, but further ahead than Biden in 2020—leading Trump by nearly 10 points iirc.

One of the few politicians I truly like, my beloved governor Jay Inslee, is stepping down, and had endorsed his Democratic AG, Bob Ferguson. Ferguson is easily winning the state, though not leading as much as Harris is, which is a kind of nice change from so many Democrats (including pretty mediocre ones) doing better than her, even though I've liked Ferguson as AG.

I will say that Ferguson was running against what goes for a good Republican candidate these days—a "moderate" with ties to King County (Seattle) who was not the first choice of the vile Washington GOP, but beat out some far-right assholes in the Republican primaries. For part of the campaign, it seemed like Reichert (the Republican candidate) might be "normal" enough and local enough to conceivably eke out a win, but in the event, Ferguson is ahead by double digits.

Our Democratic senator easily held her seat and also ran ahead of Ferguson in counties like Whitman.

Inslee's acknowledgment of Trump's win includes zero congratulations or unity blather, but instead remarks that Washington State sued the first Trump administration 97 times and won 95 of those cases while he was still president, and we will do it again if we have to (these suits were of course driven by AG Ferguson, now our governor-elect).

For the first time in generations, Washington Democrats actually won every statewide elected office—there are nine of them and the margins of the victories vary a lot, but the GOP failed to win even one, and the state government remains a Democratic trifecta as well.

There were four deceptively-worded, Republican-funded, corporate bullshit initiatives on the state ballot this year. Three are already dead in the water. As Governor Inslee put it, "Washingtonians sent an unequivocal message that they want action on pollution and climate change. Washingtonians also made clear they want to preserve the equity of our tax system with the capital gains tax on the super wealthy. When they or a loved one need long-term care, they want the WA Cares Act to be there for them." Yup!

Marie Gluesenkamp Pérez (a current Democrat in the House) is still leading in the Trumpy WA-3 district, which redistricting only made redder than it was before (when her victory was considered one of the biggest House upsets of the year). She's about three points ahead still.

This may sound like bragging about my state and isn't really meant that way. It feels like existing in a weird capsule because we're still very much in the USA and affected by national politics and we have our own right-wing assholes, of course, but so much about the country we live in is decided thousands of miles away from here, in large part by people who don't seem to share even the most basic sense of reality with most people here. It is a very strange experience to feel so estranged from what's happening in so much of the country.

[fabuloustrash05]

So the DBZ Abridged Buu Saga clips are out, here are my thoughts:

Android 18 knowing about Maron and her and Krillin messing with people about their daughter being named Marron is genius (cause I always found it weird that Krillin named his daughter after his ex girlfriend)

It's kind of insinuated that both Vegeta AND Bulma see the Capsule Corp interns as slaves, just shows they are perfect for each other, but also shows Dr Breifs' evil side peeking through his daughter

Trunks and Goten's voices were so damn cute!! Shout out to their VAs!

Everyone making fun of Gohan's durag XD

KAISER VOICING SHARPNER!! "He knows I love him. You know I love you" Me: AND I LOVE YOU!! A character I did not like in DBZ is now one of my favs in just a minute!

I loved the detail of Trunks referring to Goku as Kakarot (makes more sense since this Trunks grew up with and spends a lot of time with his father Vegeta)

The baby shark bit XD

"Gohan, you taught him how to dodge, that's great!" "TRUNKS PULL UP!!" LMFAO

Dabura's voice! HOLY SHIT!! it was hot

Buu's voice was also good, similar to the dub but way less irritating.

Goku, Shin and Gohan's discussion on shopping carts and tipping, as someone who worked in both fields, I FELT THAT! THERES A SPECIAL PLACE IN HELL FOR THOSE PEOPLE

Goku's "oh no" and a little giggle when Shin asked if Vegeta has evil in his heart. Goku KNOWS what's gonna happen and he's gonna let it happen XD

Vegeta's "I know you're playing me..." line to Babidi being a parallel line to Perfect Cell

Lani once again NAILING THOSE SCREAMS as Vegeta!

Vegeta killing thousands of innocent people, Goku's okay with, but bringing potato salad to a BBQ, HES CROSSED A LINE!

"God I missed you..." that made me chuckle.

Vegeta going to BBQs and movie nights with Krillin, they are friends now and I love it (underrated dynamic in DBZ tbh), also Vegeta acknowledging that he's now referring to Krillin by his actual name instead of "the bald monk". I always felt that Vegeta referring to people by their names is his way of showing respect, so him calling Krillin by his name, he hates that he now respects Krillin.

"Too bad we couldn't finish our fight. I didn't get a chance to wip out my new form-" *Vegeta knocks Goku out* PFFP- HAHAHAHA if he only knew

"I'm going to hug you now" "Hug complete" *knocks Trunks out* "I'm a way better dad than Kakarot" ASDFGHJK LOLOL

Vegeta referring to Goten as KAKATOT lol <3

The "Vegeta no" "Vegeta yes" bit having a conclusion with an emotional impact tied to Vegeta's death.

Even as a joke, I still got emotional during the abridged version of Vegeta's sacrifice.

BEST BUDDY!! HE SAID IT! HE FINALLY SAID IT! WE ALL KNEW HE WOULD BUT GOD DAMN THAT FELT GOOD!!

[beefboyandbabygirl]

Judas in the Window (18+)

pairing: priest(apprentice)!chan x fem!collegestudent!reader

genre: ANGST ANGST and smut (mdni), childhood best friends to..?

description: you return home from college, after not seeing your old town for three years. your childhood best friend has been waiting for you.

warnings: no. genuinely so sad. religious guilt, blasphemy ig, slutshaming, degradation (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), desperation, fingering (f. receiving), humiliation, unprotected sex (do not do this shit), brief breeding kink, mentions of past unhappiness, reader has beef with her old self fr, alcohol consumption, pet names (darling, baby, some more i dont recall), LOTS of biblical references, i warned you this is incredibly sad and wether it's a good ending is certainly debatable, reader has both her parents (if u dont, same, just imagine the dad as adam sandler and the mom as gwendoline christie), the dad is the best character x

quotes from my proofreader: "i have a new pair of panties at the ready", "im horny and angry, some say hangry", "AAAAAA"

wordcount: 8.3k

a/n: it is 2:30 am. my proofreader is asleep and i might go crazy if i dont post this now, so if there are any mistakes in the last part i am sorry, ill fix it later lmao

Your room hasn’t changed a bit.

You’re not sure why the sight knocks the wind out of you. You suppose you’d thought your parents might do something with it - maybe give your dad a “man cave” or whatever other pained, heteronormative solution to hating each other. But it’s the same exact thing. Your bed, horrible orange wood, pink princess sheets, and your desk right beside you where you stand in the doorway, all cluttered with glitter pens and marker sets and a small mirror. 

“Isn’t this great, honey?” your mom squeals, old hands squeezing your shoulders. It takes you a second to reply. You’re not even sure you want to step inside the room. “Yeah, yeah, it’s great, mom.” 

“I’m getting dinner ready, you just settle yourself in!” she says, practically vibrating at your presence. She’s so happy, it jabs at your stomach with guilt, that you can’t even bring yourself to enter. You watch her disappear down the stairs, making a funny face when she catches your eye. You half-smile tiredly. Then you’re looking at it again.

It’s like a totally closed off time capsule. Your fingers play with the doorframe, looking at the stains in the carpet, that you vividly remember creating as a clumsy child. You see the stickers on your closet-door, and the faint outline of the stickers you’d taken down. You see toys, whose names you remember, you see terrible drawings over your bed, hung with glitter tape, and you see yourself. The you that you were certain you’d stuck in the dirt and buried. The one you’d worked over-over-overtime to never see again. She was somehow alive and well in this room. A part of you roamed with a horde of anxiety, birthed by the thought that once you entered, you and her would fuse together, and all the flaws you’d had would be reignited, and you would be miserable again.

“You not going in, champ?” you jump at your father’s voice behind you. You turn to see him exiting your parents’ bedroom, taking heavy, loggy steps towards the staircase. You shake your head: “No, I am, it’s just..” you pause and turn back to the room, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s weird.” 

Your father pauses. He has his reading glasses pushed all the way down to the tip of his nose, so he leans his head back and squints to study you. “Well- well- well, why don’t you just try out for a bit, champ, and if you don’t like it, Uh, well, we’ll situate you on the couch. How’s- how’s that sound?” 

You smile softly. “Sure.” 

“Alright, champ,” he pats your back and finally starts his descent down the stairs. 

You nod to yourself and exhale deeply, face now turned back to the super menacing not-at-all-menacing room before you. Your fears are deeply irrational. You wouldn’t just revert back to your old self. Once you’re half believing it, you finally break the barrier, and take a step inside. 

It’s not so bad after all. Everything is very still. Dust kicked up from your presence slows down around you. You’re standing under the overhead lamp, and it’s not that bad. Not so bad. You drop your duffel bag and sit down on your bed. 

You feel a lot bigger, sitting with bent knees in the plush duvet. You recognize that you can’t be that much bigger than when you last sat here, 18 years old, heading off to college in the big city. And this was the kind of town where neighbors a dozen houses over came to see you off, waving at you with big smiles on their faces, an american flag hoisted up to the blue sky. You remember the grins stretched on their faces, and how you’d been panicked to start the ignition on the car. They’d looked like they were made of wax.

Movement flashes in your peripheral. You turn your head, brushing hair out of the way. The movement is coming from the crack in the curtains. Like Moses parting the red sea, your fingers delicately brush the flimsy fabrics away. You know exactly what - who - you’re about to see. Your heart presses, red and wet, into your throat. 

Chan.

He’s there in the window directly across from yours. You almost don’t recognize him at first. He’s shirtless, pacing around and picking things off the floor, and, God, he’d gotten so big. His arms are so shapely and firm and his stomach is toned and when he turns his back to you, you see how it ripples with muscle, and your mouth is drooping open in shock. 

This is Chan, you try to remember (memories flit of him in his dad’s baseball caps, him on the playground, or on the sandy paths that fade out from the roads on the outskirts of town), but grounding yourself in the memories of him as a kid only serves to hurt you. No, you decide, eyeing his naked torso through the glass, better remember him like this. Like an adult who has faults and wrongs, not an innocent child that you abandon in your haste to grow up. 

He’s looking at you. Suddenly, he’s fucking looking at you. For a moment it seems like he’s confused, maybe fighting with the danger of recognizing you as a real, actual person in the window. Then his eyes are softened and he’s hunched over the paneled window, face split in half as he stares back at you. He used to fit so easily in the frame of that window - now you watch his shoulders press against the framework, unable to squeeze in. 

Your cheeks are burning when you squeeze your eyes shut and smile apologetically. Your childhood best friend who you hadn’t seen in three years had just caught you staring at his fucking abs through his window. You fear he’ll take offense, especially considering how you’d left things off with him, but when you open your eyes, he’s grinning softly and shaking his head. 

He walks away from the small window, and you take this as your cue to leave as well. You fall back on the bed and groan pathetically, body jittery with embarrassment. 

“Y/n, sweetheart! Dinner now!” your mom caws from the floor beneath you and you feel 16 again. This was what you didn’t want. All the power you had accumulated was slipping through your fingers by the minute. 

It’s just five days, you remind yourself. Just five, measly days.

“Coming, mom!”  _____________________________

The fucking bell tower is going. Over and over again and it shouldn’t be this loud, you’re not that close to the church, but it is. 

You lie flat on your back in the smoldering dark, completely still. It’s so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside your head. Like the curved, rusted sides of it are bashing against your skull. You don’t understand how anyone could sleep through this. You don’t understand how Chan could stay here all these years. Maybe that’s just because you couldn’t see yourself here.

You don’t want to think about Chan anymore, but for whatever reason - you can’t decide if it was seeing him (so manly) so suddenly, or if it’s the ever-ringing bell in the distance, like a marker of the apocalypse - he won’t leave your mind tonight. Part of you understood that what had happened with you and Chan was natural, and not particularly anyone’s fault. So why did you still carry the heavy burden of guilt? Guilt that pinched at your nerve endings like the delicate tunes in a children’s music box.

You and Chan had met as children in church. It didn’t take long for you to be best friends. You’d sit next to each other on the neatly lined benches during sermon, then you’d tumble in the grass outside, and then you’d go to his house and play until dinner, after which you’d see each other again, talking from window to window. You spent very nearly every moment with him.

Then you grew apart.

It was a slow death. Seeing each other became a sort of horrific reminder that it was ending, no longer bound by church or friendship, but a mutual understanding. There’d be a sort of solemn silence whenever you locked eyes. Is this the last time? You’d wonder, and the longer it went on, the more you started to wish that it was.

And then it was. 

It was your fault. You were 13 and suddenly you were wearing makeup and your dresses were getting shorter, and you wished you were much older than you were. You started forgetting the principles they’d taught you in church. Or maybe you’d never really learnt it, only tolerated it for Chan. But years passed and by the time you were sixteen, you were being kissed and groped at parties and you were having sex in cars and smearing your lipstick on the rims of shot glasses. 

And Chan was.. Well, Chan. Chan was a skinny, virgin christian. And you liked him, but suddenly there wasn’t much to talk about. From one day to the next, all discussable topics evaporated in your hand, and talking to Chan became a stumbling, bumbling mess. 

After that you were just…. Gone. 18 years old disappearing down the dirt roads in the 2009 Toyota Tacoma, that you’d gotten for your sweet sixteen. Chan was standing on the roadside that day, but he wasn’t sure you saw him. Your wheels kicked up dust and that was all you left behind. A cloud of sand for him to grab at, looking lost in between your tire tracks. At that moment it felt like those last years were two seconds. You just slipped right out of his hands. 

Lying in bed and your heart is so heavy. Maybe it isn’t Chan, you conclude. Maybe it’s what he represented. The face of the church; the face of goodness, of purity; the face of the life you deselected. 

The cry of the bell tower becomes a song in the night. You fall asleep in the devil’s hour. _____________________________

The following day you’re reexploring. The air is dry and the sun beating down on your shoulders. You’re walking through the suburbs and then later the small town square made up of mostly parking lots. You feel peregrine, but trudging through on the pavement, it becomes clear you’re the only one who feels this way. 

Every citizen, every single one of them - in polos, in flower-print dresses, in sandals, in sunglasses - stops you to welcome you back home. They’re shaking your shoulders and they recognize you and can tell you your name and your age, and they say that it’s good you found your way back. Every interaction leaves you more depressed than the last. You’re ducking your head, crumpled up like an unsent love letter. 

Your steps are heavy, your own sandals dragging into the uneven tiles of the square. Then you’re lifting your head from the ground, and your feet have betrayed you. 

You’re standing in the opening to another street of storefronts, and 5 rows of neatly planted trees down, the church sprouts from the earth like a stake. 

It’s not just any small town church. A few steps lead up to a plateau, supported by large, white beams. They may not be Roman, but they’re there, and they’re made of smooth concrete. The building itself is made of red brick, although the color varies and looks dappled. Each side of the church has two stained glass windows, which you remember from your childhood. The door, huge and oaken, ends in a point right beneath a round window, and the bell tower shoots up, a mighty cross at its peak. 

You’re left a little breathless at it. You don’t remember it being so menacing. But there’s also something beautiful about it. How it looks at you like it’ll kill you. And how blunt it is about it. You’re blinking at it and wondering how you got here. It’s as if something’s possessed you, because despite knowing better, you begin to take calm steps towards it, eyes transfixed and soulless. 

You’re walking into the courtyard, gravel underfoot, and then you’re traversing up the steps, fingers barely brushing over the railing. Idling forward, you’re opening the door. 

“And when Mary birthed the-” 

Crrrrreeeeeeeaaaaaaaaak!

Every head snaps towards you, as you’re cracking the door open, and the trance lifts from you. Oh, shit. Your gaze grazes over the stacked benches, smiling apologetically and bopping your head.

You clear your throat. “I’m-” 

You lock eyes with the priest, whose service you just interrupted, where he’s standing before the crowd, bible in hand.

It’s Chan. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak, voice now much meeker, and you don’t even know what to do, so you just step inside and sit down on the nearest bench. Slowly (and with low scoffs) the sea of heads turn around. One pair of eyes don’t leave you though. Chan studies you for several seconds longer, searching for something in your eyes, but you’re looking away. You just want him to continue. He does.

This is crazy, you think, and you can hardly believe you’re hearing his voice say those words, and it’s him in the clerical shirt. You supposed it made sense. You supposed you understood. But actually you didn’t, not at all. Not when he was supposed to live and change and evolve and here he is years later, dedicating his life to the one and only thing he knows! 

You’re tuning out the rest of his talk, vaguely aware of how his eyes flit over to you a little too frequently. Soon enough you’re absently clasping your hands together in a prayer and then people are lining up to thank Chan for his stellar service. 

You watch them from your seat, debating whether or not to leave without talking to him. Leaving wasn’t a bad idea. You were only gonna be in town for a week more, surely, you could avoid him until then. 

But you know you won’t do that. You want to talk to Chan. You want to feel his hand in your own. Partially you felt like maybe you could save him from just being a decoration to this hellscape for the rest of his life. You’re not sure you could go on living your life, when you know he’s just back here - still here. 

So there you are, planted in the line and hoping to save him from some dull future, and he’s shaking hands and smiling, but you can see how he eyes you, coming up on the line. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you smile warmly, and his hand is grabbing yours and it’s so soft and so big. He’s smiling too. Then you’re coughing and correcting yourself: “Uh- Father. Chan.” 

He laughs at your sputtering, clapping your hand between his two: “Oh, thank you, sister.” Emphasizing with pursed lips and wide eyes. You laugh along a little, but it’s strained. 

His smile fades slowly, and his face relaxes. He wants to say more. His fingers are still pulling your hand to his, and you just keep shaking it, because if you stop, it’ll be weird. Officially. 

“Oh, do you two know each other?” A bobbed woman from behind you in line is purring, unfamiliar hand on your back, and she doesn’t wait for you to answer before she’s talking again: “So, how do you know each other?” 

“Childhood. Friends,” Chan stammers, almost looking at you for confirmation, and you’re nodding along when the woman “ah’s” and “ooh’s”. “Oh, that’s wonderful, you guys!” And then you’re listening to her talk about some trailer down in Cassandra, and how her brother is fixing it up with his old friend, but there’s water damage in the lining of the room, and it’ll mold if they’re not careful, and it’s such useless information, you’re wondering how you’ll ever forget it. 

“Mrs. Lark, uh, I think my,” he looks at you, lips pursed, “my friend here needs to go, so..” 

Mrs. Lark gasps, embarrassed: “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m babbling,” and usually Chan would reassure her that she wasn’t, but he has more urgent matters on his hands. “Good day, Mrs. Lark!” he says and sends her off with a bright smile. There’s a few more people in line and Chan sighs a little. 

“Can you-” he’s a little sheepish, suddenly self conscious about the clergy shirt that grips his neck, “Can you wait? Here? Just until I’m done-” 

“Yeah,” you say. He smiles gratefully. 

Chatter continues behind you with a slight echo in the large room. You wait by one of the stained glass windows, arms around yourself as you stare up at it. Each and every window was a different biblical figure, made up of small shards of colored glass. You always found it strange, looking back, how your small town church had this grand artwork. The eyes of the window peer down at you.

“Judas,” Chan comments, planting himself beside you. His voice echoes slightly in the now empty church. The whole place is both too big and too small for the both of you. “It’s an interesting choice.” 

“What?” 

“Why you chose this window over any other,” Chan breathes, eyes darting down to you, and he’s looking at you very intensely. Then, it dissipates: “I’m also drawn to this one.” 

A pause.

“I wonder why they’d make this,” you quip, feeling small beside him. “I think whoever made this wanted all sides of Jesus’ story illustrated,” Chan says. You shrug. “If it were me, I wouldn’t.” 

Chan tilts his head to the side and looks at you again. Your cheeks burn, so you smile a little cheekily. “Was that not the right thing to say?” 

Chan’s smile is gentle and bemused - almost adoring. “There’s nothing you can say in here that is wrong.” 

“I don’t think that’s true,” you laugh and Chan follows along. “Oh, you don’t?” You’re both laughing together, glee filling the crevices of the holy place, while Judas eyes you from the window. Your laughter dies down again, and when the silence returns, your heart clenches nervously. There’s a beat. 

“You keep busy?” you ask and the two of you are now facing each other. He sighs and nods, looking around. “Yeah, yeah, I got a.. Like a church get-together thing in, like, two days. I’ll be.. Preaching."

“Preaching,” you repeat, smile a little too tight. You wish you could say he didn’t notice. “Big Mr. Priest..” 

He laughs: “Technically I’m a priest apprentice,” he says, arms crossing over his chest. You roll your eyes. “So humble.” 

“What about you? Keep busy?” 

“Yeah, college,” you sigh. “You done?” he asks and you shake your head. “I wish.” 

His expression softens until he’s frowning. You want to squirm under his gaze, only because he looks so sincere and worried and you haven’t seen each other in three years. “You look tired.” 

“That’s not-” you begin, covering the slight ache in your heart with a laugh, “I just- Couldn’t sleep last night.”

“I thought living in the big city had you sleeping like a rock when you got to our quiet town,” he teases with a half-smile.

You shake your head, looking upwards at the ceiling. “It was that bell tower, just ringing, all night.” You shrug. Chan’s brows furrow and he looks up as well, as if he’d be able to see it through the tile roof. 

“The…” he trails off, sounding lost, “The bell tower doesn’t ring at nig-” 

Beep! Beep!

“Shit- sorry!” you curse, when your phone goes off loudly. Chan stands still studying you, while you squint at your phone. “I think- I think I gotta go.” 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” he coughs, index finger rubbing over his taut knuckles. You’re pushing your phone into your back pocket again, when he reaches an arm out to you. “Uh-” he pulls back self-consciously, “Would you want to-.. Maybe, come to dinner at my place? Tomorrow?” 

You’re a little taken aback, looking at him with a softly open mouth for a moment. “Uh,” you fight back a wide smile, “Yeah, sure. I’d- I’d like that.” 

“Great,” Chan smiles too and nods. “Just- just at the house right next door, or?-”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s that one. Still,” Chan blushes breathlessly. You chuckle awkwardly. “Okay.” 

“Okay. See you then.”  _____________________________

You’re not sure why the prospect of having dinner with Chan has you so nervous. And it is just a dinner, you remind yourself, as you’re picking out your dress, just two friends catching up. After some 45 minute debate you pick out a pretty sundress.

You’d like to think there’s more to it than just the fact that Chan is suddenly very pretty and muscular. Maybe it’s the chance to make a wrong right. Maybe it’s to find out who this boy is, that was a key part of your life for so many years. Maybe you think you can change him.

Either way you’re just waiting for it all day, ignoring your dad trying to lure you out with trick shots from your garage. “HIYA!” he screams, throwing ping pong balls at your window all afternoon.

At 6:30 PM you’re standing at his door and hoping you don’t look too dolled up. His house also looks mostly identical to your memory of it. There’s something off about it though, and you study it momentarily, only to realize the front garden has overgrown. The grass comes up jagged and sharp, and the bushes bulge over the fence gate, brushing you when you waddle inside. You click the doorbell, wait a few seconds, and then begin to suspect that it didn’t work. Then you knock and you hear him fumbling around inside: “Coming!” 

He opens the door (with some struggle), and then you’re standing before each other. He’s so domestic, in a striped, brown sweater and dark blue jeans, and curly hair is framing his face like a crown. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He gives you a once over, smiling shyly: “You look great.” 

“Thank you,” you bow a little, “you too.” 

Then he’s letting you inside and you’re kicking off your shoes haphazardly, while he fusses back to the kitchen. “I made bolognese, if you don’t mind!” he calls and when you enter into the living space, he’s stirring a pan vigorously. You giggle a little, smile falling at the sight of a cross on the wall behind you. “Uh, yeah, of course.” 

Slurping tomato-sauced pasta and drinking a half-expensive wine that Chan had bought, you two laugh together. You mostly talk about when you were kids, then he’s talking about joining the church and you’re talking about college. 

“Is it hard? Out there?” Chan slurs a little, both of you tipsy and warm from the wine, having moved to the couch after eating. Now, full and face burning hot, you’re looking at each other differently. Chan’s got one arm on the couch rest, the other swirling the wine in his glass. He’s smirking a little and you hate how hot he is.

“It’s.. Exciting,” you counter, a little confused at his tone. He's close enough to radiate warmth onto you, when his eyes dip down to your lips for a second. “Yeah. You like exciting,” he drinks down the rest of his wine and sets the glass on the couch table. The moon, that’s been slowly traversing the star-speckled sky, gives the glass a faint halo. Chan basks in the moonlight, half lit and half shadowed. 

“I do. I do like exciting,” you giggle dumbly, still unsure where he’s steering the conversation. Chan smiles adoringly, because there you are sitting all blushing and warm in a sundress on his couch. The warmth disappears from his eyes then. 

“Was it exciting to watch me undress?” 

Oh.

Shit. 

You almost spit out a half-drunken sip of wine, gulping it down painfully and shaking your head. You set the glass down. “Chan! I’m-” you’re scrambling, “I’m really, really sorry. I- I was just- It wasn’t about your body, I was thinking about-” 

“Shut up.” 

Your mouth falls agape at his tone, offended and caught off guard. He’s still beside you, eyes much sharper than you remember, much colder. “Stop treating me like I’m still a kid.” 

“Well, you haven’t changed much, Chan,” you scoff. 

“Yeah, that’s why you were looking at me through your fucking window,” he scoffs as well, “because I haven’t changed.” 

You sit in quiet disbelief, trying to stay mad when his face is so pretty and so close to yours, and his jaw is clenched and his cheeks are flushed from the wine. You’re deciding whether to spit back or diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry.” 

The hand that was previously holding his glass lands on your knee. He leans in even further and you smell the sour air of wine on his breath. You shudder under his touch when he whispers: “I want you to be honest with me.” 

You’re looking up at him with wide eyes, heart beating in your chest like nails being knocked into wood. “Tell me what you want from Father Chan,” he muses, smirking slightly, while his thumb brushes back and forth on your knee. 

You’re completely out of breath and squeezing your thighs together, as slick begins to build up in your panties. “Come on,” he encourages, “Let it out. Tell Channie what you want.” 

“I want,” you’re shaking in humiliation, gaze cast onto the floor, “I want you to touch me.” 

“Come again?” he teases, grinning.

“Please touch me, Chan.” 

“There you go,” he mutters and finally gives in, hand brushing the skirt of your dress up your thighs, until your white, cotton panties are visible to him. The sight of you is so pornographic, he groans and dips his head into your neck. “Spread your legs for me, baby.” 

And you do, one of them drooping over his legs, while the other bends on the couch beside you. You’re already so worked up, because Chan is so beautiful and you never, ever thought you’d experience him like this. “Shh, shh, calm down, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple, as his fingers brush over your clothed core.

“Baby,” he tuts disapprovingly, “you’ve soaked through your panties.” 

You can only whine as his fingertips ghost along your dripping slit, and he’s nosing into your cheek like a big puppy. “‘M sorry,” you hiccup, and he grins and kisses your lips tenderly. “So polite for me.” 

He finally dips his hand into your panties, fingers rubbing circles into your pussy. You’re mewling and thrashing into his chest, basking in the sound of his strangled moan, when you thrash the leg in his lap and brush over his hard cock. 

His fingers move lower to dance along your slit and you grab his wrist strenuously. He hums a little. “Gonna put my fingers in your pussy and my tongue in your mouth now,” he’s mumbling and you can’t tell if he’s telling you or himself, but either way he does as promised, two fingers plunging into your sopping wet heat, while he dips his tongue in your hot mouth.

You're moaning into his lips. He’s kissing you so sloppily, spit spilling down both of your chins, and noses rubbing together, breathing scorching air into each other. His fingers are pumping in and out of you, then curling into that sweet spongy spot inside you. 

“Fuck!” you cry when he pulls away breathlessly, “so, so, so good. Chan- Chan, fuck!”

Your orgasm is building up in your stomach, with a pleasure that is simultaneously torturous. He’s looking at you so intensely, you feel like you might unravel under his gaze. “Fuck, Channie.”

“Yeah? You feel good?” he pauses his words, still curling his fingers in and out of you. His next words are somewhat uneasy: “Is this better than those other guys?” 

“Huh?” you mumble, chest arching and his mouth is watering at how inviting it is. “Back then,” he says, and it finally clicks what he’s talking about. 

“Pussy so good no wonder they all wanted a piece of you, hm? Such a slut,” he’s rambling now, fingers plunging in and out of you impossibly fast, while his other hand splays over your stomach, thumb tapping your clit. You cry out in ecstasy, unable to form coherent words to respond with.

“But you’re my slut, right?” His voice is raspy and right next to your ear. The thumb tapping your clit begins to rub circles into it. “Y/n,” he’s suddenly very serious, “say you’re my slut.” 

“I’m-” your voice crack in humiliation, cheeks fiery and eyes squeezed shut, “I’m your slut!” 

“That’s right,” he pants, trying to stop his hips from bucking into your calf. “And my slut is gonna cum on my fucking fingers right now.” 

Your orgasm feels otherworldly - maybe godly - and your whole body shakes in his hold, chest bouncing in his face and moans melodic in his living room. Chan works you through it, finally pulling his fingers out when your hands weakly push at his own.

You’re sighing heavily with hair messy and teased, slumped back on his couch. “Holy shit,” you say, grinning from ear to ear, completely dazed. Chan is watching you with a proud smirk and a tent the size of Texas in his pants. 

A thought strikes you then, and your grin is fading and your brows are furrowing. “Wait- Wait, Chan? Where are your parents?” you ask suddenly, sitting up and straight and pulling your dress down hastily. You snap your head around self-consciously. 

“Relax! Relax!” he laughs, “They don’t live here anymore, I bought the house from them, like, six months ago.” 

Your jaw drops. You wait just a second, hoping to catch a cheeky glint in his eyes, that might tell you he’s joking. You find nothing but blackness.

“You bought the house?” 

Chan looks at you quizzically, shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, they wanted to move, you know, see new things and I.. I just. Didn’t.” 

You can hardly fucking believe your ears.

“Chan!” you cry, frustration blooming in your chest and pounding in your head. “Why did you buy the fucking house? You’re gonna spend the rest of your life paying off the fucking mortgage, and you’re never gonna get out of here!” you shout, flailing your arms at his absurdity.

Chan narrows his eyes at you. “Sorry, city girl, we don’t all wanna pack up and live in a closet space for three years-” 

“Wha- Chan, this is not about me! How can you just.. Surrender to this place?” you shout and suddenly he’s raising his voice too. “Surrender?” he repeats, spitting it back at you.

“Yeah! Jesus, even your fucking parents wanted to leave, Chan. But you’re just- You’re gonna live out the rest of your life in this shithole and be some sort of- of priest?!” 

“I can’t believe you right now,” he stands up from the couch, and you follow suit. “In what world do you have the morality to come in here and tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, crossing your arms. 

Your voices are echoing in the empty house, wine glasses and sauced plates standing idly on the tables nearby. Your silhouettes are confined to the large living room window, standing on either side of the moon. 

“You know what that means, Y/n,” he laughs bitterly. “No, please, tell me,” you invite him challengingly, wondering (or perhaps fearing) whether or not he’d actually go there. He prods at his cheek with his tongue, and hesitates.

“You were a fucking slut, Y/n.” His voice is quieter, maybe ashamed. Tears sting at your eyes, when you look at him incredulously. How could you think you knew this man? How could you think there was anything left to salvage? 

“Fuck you, Chan,” you spit, spinning around before the tears can fall. He says nothing, just stands alone in his living room while you dash out his door, hands wrapping around himself. 

Exiting his house into the cool, summer air, you realize one thing. The bell tower had been the call of the apocalypse.  _____________________________

You were the walls of Jericho that night, crying and tumbling in your childhood sheets, muffling your cries in the fear that he’d hear through his creaked open window. What was this pain, you couldn’t decide. Was it how he stayed steadfast or how you metamorphosed, dying only to return once again? 

In the morning, you’re dull and gray. You’re drinking coffee out of your dad’s old tourist shop mug from a visit to Niagara Falls, sitting at the dining table with puffy eyes. Your mom eyes you worriedly from the counter, leaning into your dad to whisper not-so-discreetly. 

“Sweetheart, you wanna go with us to church today? They’re having this whole event, the kids’ choir will be there!” she suggests gently and you just want to shrug off all her affection. 

“No,” you deadpan. Your mom gives your father a look. He sighs. 

“Alright, champ, that’s- that’s your choice,” he nods, mustache scrunching up when he pouts. You sigh, feeling like an asshole. “Sorry, I just-” 

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart, you just rest!” your mom shushes you, scrambling around the kitchen, ever in the hunt for some lost appliance. “All that college must wear you out, you should rest while you can, hm?” 

They’re gone by noon. You sit in the shadowed corner of your bed, avoiding the strip of light that dances across your room from the crack in the curtain. 

You’re bored, scrolling on your phone, cheek puffed up against your pillow, when it slips out of your hands and hits the floor with a loud bump. You groan, feeling like the whole world is against you today, and throw your arm off the bed to grab at it on the floor. 

It’s halfway under the bed, and when your fingers finally remark the smooth surface, they brush against something else. It’s hard and it feels dirty. You lift your head to look and tug it out.

It’s your diary. 

Phone long forgotten, you lift it carefully, like an old relic, and push open the faded pink cover. You feel like you’re about to snap in half, when your eyes survey the graphite-smudged pages of your horrible, horrible handwriting. The pages emanate a mysterious air that has you leaning back in your seat.

You’re skimming through angst entries, that has you cringing and wanting to put it down, before you freeze suddenly, inhaling sharply at the scribbled out words before you.

‘3. august 2016

God, I miss Chan.’

The words come with the promise of stinging tears in your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whisper angrily at the page, because you’re crying again, and you close the book and hold onto yourself so tightly that it hurts. “Fuck that. Fuck this.” 

It’s perhaps the worst feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s anger, it’s sadness, it’s humiliation, it’s confusion. How did it end like this, you think. It would be so much easier if you were kids again. If he was that dorky kid from your church, who wore his father’s baseball caps and had chubby little hands when he prayed. You can do it better, you think miserably, if you get another chance. But you don’t. 

For about fifteen minutes, you curl into yourself and wait for the feeling to go away. It doesn’t. The heavy weight of realization pools in your stomach when you realize you might carry this with you for the rest of your life if you don’t do something. It doesn’t have to end like this.

Suddenly you’re light as a feather, grabbing your jacket and your keys and sprinting out the door and down the street. The cross atop the spire watches you run to it, awaiting you ominously.  _____________________________

You’re disheveled and pulled apart when you arrive at the gathering, and for once the townspeople look at you like you’re out of place. You’re late, you know, because people are taking their leave, scattering and dissolving towards the town square, and the entertainment (the kids’ choir), all robed in white, are marching away together. 

You’re panting, stumbling further into the church garden, jumping at the sound of grills being closed and rolled away onto the pavement. 

“Y/n?” Chan can hardly believe his eyes, when he sees you standing between a bed of lilies. You turn around and see him, melting a little at how tired and sad he looks. “I can’t believe you came,” he whispers, a little sparkle of hope in his gaze. You smile fondly, “Me neither.” 

Chan moves to embrace you, but freezes when he suddenly remembers where you are. “Uh, I can’t, I have to-” he stammers, scrambling for a solution, for something better than turning you away, when you’re here, close enough for him to hold. He looks around, gaze following the churchgoers as they pass through the gates, before he’s bopping his head down to whisper to you again: “Go into the church. I’ll be with you in a second.” 

You walk through that heavy, wooden door, and when it closes behind you the scrambling of metal and people and footsteps and crying children is gone. With the door, you’re sealed in here, with whatever fate follows.

All the light in the church is filtering through the stained glass windows, and once again you find yourself drawn to him. Judas. 

Part of you would expect such an artwork to depict Judas as greedy and grim, as glutinous and gloomy; that he would be hunched over with a pouch of shillings, giggling at his evildoing. But the Judas in the window is so.. Sad. 

He’s blue and gray and his eyebrows are upturned and for the life of you, you can’t figure out how the unknown artist must have managed to portray such despair in glass. You stand in the middle of his reflection on the floor, all blue and gray yourself, and you’re not sure it’s really because of the light.

That’s all the church inhabits at that moment. You and Judas, and your shallow breaths, and the stirring of dust in the air. There’s nothing holy in there with you. Just you and him.

You hear the door open to your right. You know it’s Chan, somehow you can just feel it. He must sense something in the air, because he says nothing, just walks up to stand beside you, and only then do you speak again.

“I always felt a bit like Judas,” you muster a breath.

Chan pauses and you can feel him looking at you. “Me too.” 

You furrow your brows, and finally look up at him, and there he is in his clerical shirt and his matching pants, his right cheek glowing bright blue. The whole room is so heavy, you lean against the bench behind you. 

“That’s not.. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Chan doesn’t ask you to elaborate. He understands. “God made it that way,” he’s nodding with a pained expression on his face, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. You laugh a little and hate how much love you feel, when Chan half-smiles at the sound.

“God.. Yeah,” you half-gesture to the sky and Chan giggles. Then you’re both quieting down again. “I can’t tell if it was you or God I turned my back on,” you say and you’re looking at Judas again, and how one, jagged hand holds onto his chest.

“Maybe it was both,” Chan says and there’s this unreadable expression on his face. You’re laughing again, cheeks apple-round. “I’m pretty sure it’s blasphemous to compare yourself to God.” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I think so too.” You’re looking at him again when he’s gulping hard and the joy drains from his face. A small frown curve his lips. “I’m sorry about yesterday, you know.” You look away.

“Me too,” you say. Chan can’t help the way his heart leaps when, without sparing him a glance, you grab his hand in yours and squeeze it. He squeezes back.

He gasps painfully and when you turn to him again, he’s choking back tears, face turning red. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I just wish… Fuck, I mean, we’re too different, aren’t we?” 

You nod. “We are.” 

“When are you leaving?” 

You smile disingenuously, hoping it’ll cheer him up. It doesn’t.

“Tomorrow.” 

Chan is crying, there’s no denying it now, no chalking it up to sniffles. Tears, turning yellow from the sun behind Judas’ back, trail down his cheeks and he wipes them aggressively, but they just keep coming. Deep, despaired moans bounce off the ceiling and walls of the church.

“Can I-?” Chan begins, unable to form words between his heart-rattling sobs. “I just- I need to-” 

“Yes,” you say, and there’s not a single doubt in your mind, that this is what you both want, as you take a step forward and pull his lips into yours. 

Chan’s lips taste like every color of Judas, of blue, of yellow, of gray, of green. Salt hits your tongue when his tears trail down to where you’re connected, and he’s still crying into the kiss, hands finding your waist and clutching so, so hard. 

“Please don’t cry,” you whisper in between kisses, “you’re gonna make me cry.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t stop. He’s too caught up in memorizing the way your body feels under his hands, the way you’re moving against him, the way you’re pulling him by the collar of his clerical shirt, and how your nose feels shoved into his. 

His warm hands slide your shirt upwards, burning against your newly exposed skin. You pull away only to tug it over your head. Chan whimpers when he sees your chest, cupped by your bra and he pulls you into his chest to unhook the back, head looming over your shoulder. Ear pressed to his neck, you can feel the way it contracts, when he hiccups. 

As soon as he’s done, straps sliding gently down your arms, you’re pouncing on each other again, lips meeting rhythmically in the blued sunlight. Blindly, you’re unbuttoning his clerical shirt, fingers shaking against his chest. His hands clasp over yours soothingly, urging you to slow down. 

The whole ordeal is strangely silent, even Chan has stopped crying now, and the only sounds filling the church are the brush of fabric and your muffled moans into each other’s mouths. You’re whining though, when his shirt finally pushes off his shoulders and his torso is right in front of you and under your hands. 

You whimper at the sight alone, running your hands over his arms and over his chest down to his abs. Chan smirks at you. “I knew you liked it,” he mumbles to himself, almost childishly. 

This comment slows you down, as you’re pulling back to laugh, and you’re both shirtless in front of each other, hearts huge and glowing. Chan smiles at you adoringly while you laugh, face scrunched up and eyes crescents. 

“You can’t say that when I’m trying to fuck you,” you say finally, hair a mess on your head and lips pursed to keep yourself from laughing again. Chan loves your dumb face. He takes your hands in his and rubs the palms with his thumbs. “I know.” 

“Can I-?”

“Yes,” you whisper, agreeing before he can even get it out. Chan nods and holds you, gently guiding you onto the floor, where your entire body is marbled by the light hitting the glass. Chan stands over you for a moment. 

“You’re just gonna stare at me?” you joke, but your arms are sneaking their way up your torso. “Yeah,” Chan responds, but he’s already kneeling down in front of you, moving your arms away. 

“You are so beautiful,” he says it as if it almost pains him, but he’s straddling you and fumbling with your jean-buttons, beginning the tedious task of peeling them off your legs. You want to say something snarky, but he has you breathless and blushing, all you can muster is a meek: “Thank you.” 

He looks up from his work on your jeans at that, smiling at you fondly. 

You kick your jeans off your legs, while he begins to undo the buckle of his own pants, shoving them down his legs at the first opportunity. You’re both almost naked, you in your panties and him in his boxers, and you’re wondering why he’s showing no signs of moving them off you, dick hard and scorching fucking hot against your clothed core. Then he plants his arms on either side of your head, and rolls his hips into yours.

The moan you let out is coming from deep in your fucking soul. Only something godly could pull that out, you decide, sopping fucking wet from the star-like heat it has against you. “You sound so pretty,” he whimpers and does it again. Then again and again and again, and you’re arching your back and the both of you are moaning and groaning, filling the church with humidity. 

“Chan,” you muster, sounding on the verge of tears. His head is lowered onto your breasts, panting hard into the impossibly soft skin. “I-Inside. Now.” 

Chan wants to say something sexy, but he’s so desperate for you, that all he can manage is: “I agree.” 

He’s scrambling wildly to tear his boxers off and you do the same, lifting your hips to remove your drenched panties from your core. When you’re left bare, he lets out a choked moan, because immediately your hole clenching and gushing slick onto the tiled floor. The church floor, no less. 

“So fucking beautiful, and mine. Belongs to me,” he babbles, eyes wounded, but fingers spreading your folds open, as he lowers his head to remark on them. You mewl, fingers clawing at his shoulders. “Miss you,” you squall and he looks up at your face again. “Okay,” he responds, body moving back up to your face. Then he mutters against your lips: “Miss you too.” 

He’s kissing you again, so warm and wet in your mouth and humming into you. You claw at his back and whine wildly, when his hand steers his dick through your folds, lubricating itself in your plentiful wetness. 

He pulls away and you chase after him with sorrowful eyes. “I need to see your face when I push in,” he explains very sincerely, and you somehow understand that, yes, he needs to see it. You nod.

Then he’s pushing into you. He bursts through your gates, all thick and veiny and totally raw against the walls of your pussy. He’s slow, studying your face tenderly for any signs of discomfort, even when he grimaces from the euphoric feeling. And God, your face is so perfect, all scrunched up and twisted in pleasure, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut. He will remember it forever.

He’s rocking in and out of you, and it’s slow, and it’s love, and it’s mature, and you’re moaning simultaneously, foreheads pressed together, as he fucks you into the floor. 

“Are you close, darling?” he pants against your cheek and you nod, because you are. Because it feels like your body has been working its way up to this final point, and every other milestone has just been a hillpeak on the way to a mountain. “Yes, yes, yes, I am.” 

“Good, so good for me,” he’s speeding up just a little bit, working the two of you closer and gaining leverage from his bruising grip on your hips. Your hand slides up his neck, from where he’s nuzzled into the side of your nose, and you whisper breathlessly in his ear: “Please cum inside, please, please.” 

And Chan’s head spins at that, thrusting so hard you’re entire body jerks. You, all filled with his kids, all soft and big stomached. The thought has his thrusts - now quite swift - becoming sloppy and has him spurting cum. You come at the feeling of him spurting inside you, spluttering you full of white seed, so much that it’s spilling out at the base of his cock. 

You’re both stilling, bodies expanding eagerly for air, and he’s still so close to you, still inside you, still buried in your hair, nose huffing breaths into your ear. The church is so painfully quiet, you begin to hear your own heartbeat. This was it. This was the narrow end. There was no other way. 

Lying your head on the tile and tilting it, so your eyes dance over the floor beneath you, you realize that Judas is no longer the artwork, no longer the masterpiece: It’s you and Chan on the floor, arching into each other and bathed in his light. To an unknowing outsider, the expressions you carry would also seem misplaced, just like Judas had to you. But you both know, still clinging onto each other like angels that flutter from the sky and into hell, that it was because of the end you had ensured for each other.

“I love you.” 

Chan whispers the words into your neck, voice thick. You realize he’s crying again, because you feel burning hot tears dribble down your neck, and his shoulders are shaking. You curl your arms around him.

“I know. I’m sorry. I love you too.” 

[talekinesis]

Inspired by an episode of Doctor Who and all the Baby Bill being raised by the Pines Family art I've seen:

Bill Cipher gets turned back into baby Bill and left with the Pines family in hopes that they can raise him right this time

It's definitely weird and at first no one except Mabel and Soos wants to be involved because they can't un-see him as this absolute monster that almost killed everyone, but the more time that passes, the more they start to realize: He's just a baby. He's just a normal kid, and he wasn't born evil.

And this is where Ford remembers him saying his universe was "destroyed by a monster," and he sort of puts two and two together that Bill wasn't just chaotic and evil, he was traumatized and it *really* messed him up

So now the Pines family is a little more willing to care for him and raise him properly.

The twins head home at the end of the summer, leaving Bill in the care of Stan and Ford (and Soos when he's there, he and Melody actually make great babysitters and they like looking after him)

Bill isn't walking but he will sometimes just randomly start floating, and the twins (Stan and Ford) quickly realize he can't really control his powers this young, but they're nothing if not adaptable

Stan gets a high chair with a belt to keep Bill in place when he's being fed, but now instead of Bill levitating himself, he starts to levitate whoever is feeding him.

Just imagine Stan floating up and out of his chair while trying to feed this little menace, but it's Stan, so the first thing he thinks to do is just make swimming motions until he's close enough to continue feeding Bill like it's the most natural thing in the world. Nothing really phases him anymore.

It also took him a little while to come to terms eith the fact that Bill's eye is also his mouth.

Ford, of course, just made a type of boot that keeps him anchored to the floor (no he does not let Stan use them)

Bill has a cradle, built by Ford, that's basically this sort of capsule that keeps him in one place (sleep floater), prevents him from teleporting, and prevents him from using his powers to accidentally destroy anything.

When Bill starts crawling and scooting around, it's not just on the floor, he also crawls up walls and across the ceiling.

It's a normal occurance for Ford and Stan to be talking, Stan to just hold out his hands to catch Bill as he falls from the ceiling, not even pausing conversation, and just sticking him back onto the wall.

When Bill gets older, Ford teaches him "Inside Mind," which just means 'Hey don't read people's minds, it's rude and they don't like that.'

"Bill, Inside Mind only please," "Sorry :3 "

Bill's memory was altered, both to protect his new family, and to protect himself

He doesn't remember anything he did to Ford, but he does remember that he really liked him. He doesn't remember being defeated by Stan, but he does remember that he likes him less than Ford.

He doesn't remember destroying his old dimension or accidentally killing his biological family, but he does know he was 'adopted' and that he's different

Mabel and Dipper come back the next summer and Mabel is excited to Bill, just as Bill is excited to see her. She spends a lot of her time playing with him and just showing him things.

Bill doesn't like Dipper. He's not really mean to him, but it's definitely the trope where he giggles at everything Mabel does, but as soon as he sees Dipper, he immediately stops laughing and just stares at him blankly. At first it didn't bother Dipper because he didn't like him either but it eventually starts to get to him and he tries to make the baby laugh, which just never happens.

Literally everyone can get Bill to laugh except Dipper

Ford somehow finds out that Bill is doing it on purpose and Dipper is now extra irritated that he's been getting punked by a baby who finds his frustration amusing because he's an interdimensional brat

Stan thinks this is funny

[madaboutmunson]

Once Eddie returns, helps his friends save the world, he graduates and focuses on his dream, playing The Garden.

Corroded Coffin do indeed play MSG and then some, they become the biggest band on the planet, and they are raking it in.

They are making so much money the record company is throwing anything they want their way, anything they could dream of, and each member of the band takes advantage of that fact, making sure to avoid extreme excess, on the sage advice of other rockstars they meet on their way up, making sure to invest, and that their families are set for life.

But there are indulgences, fast cars, fancy hotels, big palatial homes, being surrounded by the most beautiful and talented, epic custom made gaming tables (because lets face it, they are still nerds) but Eddie shies away from a lot of that, he has this own indulgence. Theatrics.

The lights of the stage show had to be the latest technology, lasers, pyros so big and loud that had every concert comes with a warning on the posters, a mascot of this weird looking bat snake thing that Eddie had drawn up, and then the props.

Parts of the stage that "fell apart" making the crowds gasp in horror as a band member takes a hit, only to emerge completely unscathed. Harnesses so he could play flying through the air. A giant cannon to straddle and duck walk along over the crowd. Flame throwers that send a heat wave across the stadiums they play. His personal favourite was the deconstructable guitar.

Specially designed to be able to break apart and to be put back together for the next night, it was made for the heaviest song corroded Coffin had written to date. It was only ever used for that one song and with the magic of effects pedals and the nature of the song, it didn't have to sound particularly great.

At the culmination of this song an already shirtless Eddie would swing the guitar around, smash it on the floor behind him and then onto the floor in front of him, booting the now heavily dented body into the ground so he could rip the neck out of it, holding it aloft, strings snapping off, popping the blood capsules in his mouth, and letting them flow out of his mouth and down his chin and throat, with a huge grin on his face, before blowing a kiss into the crowd.

It seems like just another theatrical bit from Eddie Munson, a fan favourite to imitate or use as part of their Halloween costume. Eddie Munson wasn't the first rockstar to smash a guitar on stage and he wouldn't be the last, but what he was acting out was shrouded in mystery, as the song itself gave away nothing with its absence of lyrics.

When questioned in interviews Eddie said the same thing, "If I told you, I would have to kill you" then he would laugh heartily. An added clue if he was on TV, he'd wink directly at the camera and say, "Isn't that right, big boy?".

Thats all the fanbase has to go on, until a concert video is released. At the end of the tape past the credits, is a hidden extra.

Spliced together, the cameras are filming two views of this particular part of the show. One is stage focused from the crowd's view and the other is also pointing out at the stage but from the wings, out of sight. In which leans some bespectacled, unassuming, yuppie-looking, type of guy, complaining, with his arms folded watching the show.

He's frowning, shaking his head in an alarm, as one hand comes out to gesture at Eddie on stage "Ah no! That is not what happened..." Then turning to behind the camera, worry etched on his face and in his tone, "I didn't look that ridiculous? Did I?" Only to be met with the raucous laughter of two unseen women.

How the song in question was written

The last time Corroded Coffin ever play this song

AO3 Link

[miraculousasscheeks]

time flies by

a snippet

"Satoru, are you sure you wanna dump this right here?"

"of course Suguru~ dont worry ill remember this spot, i have great memory after all~ we'll come back after 10 years, I've set a reminder on my calendar already" 

Satoru Gojo, the presumed strongest sorcerer of the modern world was digging a hole next to the roots of a tree, he and his "best friend" had made a time capsule for their future selves.

"come on Suguru i think its deep enough" Gojo informed Geto and streached to his full height, he turned around and complained. 

"oh come on, we were supposed to put that roll into he capsule, now you've recorded the strongest digging a hole" gojo wined as he tried reaching for the camera that was recording but geto simply turned and held it out of gojo's reach and behind his back. 

gojo gave up and the two burried the box and went on with their lifes.

Dear Satoru, I'm hoping that when yo read this were either together of I'm dead. there is no way your reading this  without either of the outcomes. How do look? still with my weird bang as you put it?  tho you dont need to tell me how you look. you look damn good no mater how old you turn satoru. Ill get to the point, when i first met you i thought you were a pompous asshole, you are but i realized you have more to you than meets the eye. and god your eyes. i could get lost in them for the rest of my life.  I love you satoru.... i hope me being in love with you dosent ruin out relationship, please. let me love you satoru. - Geto Suguru

Gojo looked dead in the eyes. His eyes were mucky and dark instead of their dark bright ocean color, his skin was paler than usual and that went in contrast with the dark circles around his eyes that couldn't shed any more tears. Geto Suguru was declared oficially dead, and all he was heart broen to realize so so late.

he hoped that he knew sooner.

he was too late.

[ilylmwwifys]

ー𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓

JOUNO X READER (AFAB/AMAB)

WARNING : Use of petname, mentions of killing

Drabble, headcannons, short scenarios, fluff, not proofread

You're a Scientist (mad scientists) in the Hunting Dog while Jouno as your Partner.

You would have your own room, ITS PRETTY BIG.

Your labー workplace or whatever you wanna called it would probably have a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom -- basically its like your house now, but it's bigger than your house 💀

You would have a room filled with cryogenic capsule, insides are filled with erm.. Body parts.

^ animal, human, aliens, you name it

You would also have a smaller version of cryogenic capsuleー but this time filled with a single finger, or toe, maybe a small portion of an organ in it.

You almost accidentally made a virus.

You would go BEYOND all moral and physical laws in the name of science to prove your crazy theory.

When you created a virus, you didn't tried to get rid of it, instead you experimented it on an animal💀

You have rats in your lab (they didn't last long💔)

Would probably have a dead rat on those cryogenic capsules.

You spend almost your time in your lab.

Jouno daily visits your lab- it's to ask for the results he requested since your faster than those forensic scientists or he just wanna be with you and hear the rhythm of your heartbeats.

He would just sit in one of the chairs as he sips his tea while he peacefully hear you're heartbeats.

Would tease you when you had a hard time doing something, such as providing your one of crazy theories.

He would hear the rat squeeks- if you ended up not killing it.

He would sense the previous rat fur and WILL make a comment about it.

"Hm? Did you get rid of the previous rat? Too bad I liked them. " trust me HE DOESN'T.

Jouno would be pleased when you rid of the rats very fast but soon will be unpleased when you get another one.

You probably would ask Teruko to capture a rat for you💀💀

He could hear your hand brushing the metalic instruments.

Would bring you tea or coffee.

Would find you sleeping on your desk.

You WOULD exhaust yourself just to prove your theories, and when I mean exhaustー LITERALLY, to the point Jouno can't help but be worried.

He would suddenly sneak his arms on your waist as he nestled his head on your shoulders.

When you miserably failed to prove your theories he WOULD tease you.

"Awh, is the Great scientists miserably failed to approve their theories?"

You're incrediblely logically smart and he admires that.

You made a rat so AGGRESSIVE, so aggressive that it got out and started biting people.

The people it bited turned into a weird ass creatures and started to bite other people.

EVERYONE FREAKED OUT.

Bullets dont work, so you decapitate those things.

You SECRETLY sneak one in your lab.

Their in a cage.

Jouno easily found this out, a bit dissapointed but understand your reasons.

"Sai, its a virus, obviously I need to know a cure for itー in case it happened again, heh." that wasn't actually your reason.

You would request an area to be made with sound proof walls and put those creatures in their so Jouno wouldn't be unpleasant of the noise, since they are an aggressive creatures.

Before he would leave for a mission, you would ask him for a person to experiment

He would stop at his tracks.

"Oh also Sai, could you maybe bring me a Human? Dead or notー just not a missing of their limb or organs." You spoke up looking at your microscope.

Jouno was on his way to leave until he stopped at his movements, slightly shocked, before a smirk plastered on his face "What for?" He teased turning his head at your direction.

You sighed taking your head of the microscope "So I can feed it."

He chuckled before proceeding to walk "Sure thing, dear."

In the end, you got the human.

-

"Dear?" He called out, grabbing the doorknob and twisting itー to find your figure sleeping peacefully in your desk.

Hearing your breathing and heartbeatー he smiled warmly before placing the cake and coffee he bought for you at the nearby café.

Kissing your forehead he left the room, not bothering to disturb your sleep.

[thefirstknife]

The exotic mission is incredible. Please get your exotic fish and dunk them in the HELM and then do the exotic mission. It's best to go in not knowing anything, though the mission is quite difficult gameplay wise. I'd still recommend trying it out on your own and then checking a guide later. Spoilers under:

XIVU. Just. XIVU. We're quite literally tithing her and she's quite literally addressing us directly now. That's not good! And yeah, the Pyramid architecture we've seen last week? That's where we go. It opens up:

And Xivu welcomes us in with some absolutely metal lines:

It's a drowned Pyramid.

The mission is timed once you get in here, you have 10 minutes. It's more than enough when you come prepared but you might have a tough time the first time around:

And the main area is in a full on maze inside of a Pyramid!

And there's a guy in there :) :

Once you kill the guy, you get "the audience" which consists of going to the veiled statue, aka the Woman, and receiving the exotic, which is a scout rifle called Wicked Implement. It looks... certainly interesting. It seems to be made by Xivu, but is modelled with heavy influence of the Lucent Brood aesthetic.

The shiny bits look like shiny "windows" in Savathun's throne world, the little sharp capsules look like capsules for holding the Light in the throne world. The muzzle mimics the "eye" central piece of Savathun's ship. I'm losing my mind. What is going on. The lore is also... something else:

Absolutely not having a great time with Xivu telling us to "become a god of death" as those are the exact words she told Osiris in Immolant. Immolant still directly relevant 3 years later? More likely than you think.

Once you get the weapon, seven Darkness artifacts will appear in the area of the maze, the first one being above the statue:

Shoot them all (there's plenty of time to find them all, just be patient) and then come back to the statue where you will get a "commune" prompt which includes Xivu talking to us directly, again. All of Xivu's lines at the end when you get all artifacts:

Now that I'm reading it again, the fact that she says that her sister's "needle" inscribed something "on this temple" makes me think that Savathun was somehow involved in this weapon and this drowned Pyramid. A "temple built of whispers" but "tithed to war in secret" and "sunken in the deep." As if Savathun was in charge of it but left it for Xivu. First thoughts, maybe completely off the mark but mentioning Savathun's involvement here is so peculiar. We know that Savathun has previously been helpful to Xivu, namely with preparing Torobatl for her invasion.

We still have to find the catalyst which might be something weekly so we probably have to wait. It might give us some extra lines or stuff.

Incredibly good shit here. 10/10 mission and season. Made for me, personally and all Xivu enjoyers. Super interested in this Pyramid and how it relates to Xivu and Savathun. Xivu having a Pyramid would be weird, especially since this one is seemingly defunct and sunken, as well as the implication that it was originally designated to Savathun. Or she at least did something with it. Wild. I'm eating it.

[bangtiddies]

Fizzy

Pairing: Alien!Hoseok x Reader Genre: Romance, Fluff, Sci-fi Rating: PG Words: 1.4k Warnings: very very cheesy

Summary: Hoseok, the new resident living in the capsule that landed in your backyard, is now interested in giving flowers, holding hands, and going on dates.

Note: unedited because I’m a fool. It's been so long I'm so rusty I'm sorry. HAPPIEST BIRTHDAY TO MY SUNFLOWER, MY LOVE @youtifulhobi I hope you had a lovely birthday!! Hugs and kisses xx

It starts with flowers.

Fully thought out messages in carefully wrapped bouquets, bringing meanings of flowers together. Flowers for beauty, flowers for care, flowers for happiness. He would hint that there’s meaning in each bouquet he gives you and with every new bouquet, you find yourself more interested in flowers and their meanings. You didn’t think that your new resident would be teaching you new things while learning about Earth himself, but here you are.

Then, he starts giving you gifts.

Little jewellery he crafted himself in his little capsule, made with mysterious materials. He’s still yet to tell you what materials they’re made of but you don’t dwell on it, admiring each item he gives you. The jewellery sparkle under the sunlight and your heart skips a beat at the thought of how delicately he would’ve made them.

After about a week, he starts wondering out loud about holding hands.

“Why do humans do it?” Hoseok asks, a cute pout on his lips as he stares at one of his human hands. It goes transparent for a split second, as if he’s about to compare it to his other form. He sighs and wills it back to human.

To be completely honest, you can’t answer his question because you also have no idea why. “Skinship, I guess?” you stutter out instead and give him an awkward smile.

He narrows his eyes. “You are uncertain.”

“I mean, that’s why I’m guessing,” you laugh nervously.

Without saying a word, Hoseok grabs your hand. You let out a weird squeak at the sudden touch, heat rushing to your cheeks. He picks up on your flustered emotions easily and smiles.

“Y/N, go on a date with me tomorrow.”

The following morning, Hoseok greets you with a bouquet of flowers and a heart shaped smile. The scene is somewhat nostalgic, reminding you of the first time you saw him like this — back when he asked you to start his experience in romance. You didn’t think he’d be serious about it back then, but the past couple of weeks have proved otherwise.

You can’t take your eyes off of him, his styled hair, his outfit stylish but casual. There’s an air of the elegance he wore when he stood there a little over a week ago but without the outdated getup. His smile widens when he notices your eyes on him, and you quickly shift your gaze away in embarrassment.

“Um,” you let out, tossing up between feeling embarrassed or exasperated. “I just woke up.”

Hoseok blinks. “Yes, I can see that. You look like you had a rejuvenating sleep.”

“We’re not… doing the date thing now, right?”

“It is today, is it not?”

You want to throw your hands against your face. “It’s 8am, Hobi.”

“Yes,” Hoseok says with a frown, not understanding why you’re talking about the time. You sigh heavily. You toss through some words in your mind, wondering how to explain why it’s too early to go on a date. How to tell him that you’re literally standing in your living area in your pyjama shorts and singlet - clothing that’s certainly not appropriate for a first date.

“A date needs a little more planning than deciding the day,” you say slowly, making sure you have your words right. “Say we have a coffee date at 10am, at the café down the road.”

“Oh,” Hoseok lights up. “Yes! A date consists of an outing!”

“Yes, and getting ready.”

He looks at your attire, possibly finally realising where you’re coming from. “Okay, we can meet at the café down the road in two hours.”

“Great,” you smile.

“I will give you time to prepare,” Hoseok says, giving you a smile and a little wave, before turning to leave the room.

“Wait,” you call out. Hoseok stops, turns back to you with a puzzled expression, and you start to feel a little embarrassed about what you were going to say next. “Leave the flowers here.”

“I had them prepared for the da-”

“Please,” you say, not wanting admit that you’re afraid of the stares you’re bound to get at the café when Hoseok, handsome as he is, arrives with the bouquet. “I want to decorate them here now.”

Hoseok pouts a little. He probably intended the flowers to be present throughout your date. But he hands you the bouquet without complaint, and promises to see you later before leaving the room.

You feel a little bad but when you look down at the flowers in your hands, warmth spreads across your chest. You feel a little bit of joy when you think about how others won’t be able to see Hoseok with flowers. Realising your thoughts, you shake them away.

Time to get ready for the date.

When you arrive at the café at five minutes before 10am, you notice that Hoseok is already there, waiting at a table with two glasses of sparkling water on it. He’s slowly sipping on one, curious eyes wide and amused.

You frown at the sight. Hoseok is usually literal with his words and you expected him to be there at exactly 10am. You thought you had a little bit of time to sit down and collect yourself.

“Y/N!” Hoseok’s eyes light up when you notices you walking toward him and waves with excitement.

“Hi,” you smile, sitting down at the other seat on the table.

“Y/N,” he says, eyes on you, taking you in. “You are beautiful.”

Your face heats up at the compliment, not wanting to think about the effort you made for this date. This is for Hoseok’s research, you tell yourself. It’s not a real date.

The last bit strikes a little nerve in you, and before your thoughts end up putting you down, you blurt out, “Thanks, you look beautiful too.”

He smiles wide, it’s a heart shaped smile, and it’s so bright that you wonder if you’ll go blind. Your previous thoughts melt away from the warmth of his smile and you can’t help but smile too.

Then, you finally question your thoughts from earlier. “You’re early,” you tell him, a little curious.

“Oh, yes,” Hoseok nods. “My research tells me that it is best to be about fifteen minutes early for a meeting.”

“This is a date.”

“We are meeting as well, are we not?” He looks puzzled. You decide not to go further.

“Uh, yeah, we are, I guess.”

“Y/N!” Hoseok exclaims, changing the subject, eyes sparkling like the water in front of him as he pushes a glass to you. “The waiting lady put these here when I asked for a table. I gather that it is something to drink. It is very interesting. It feels like stars on my tongue.”

“You know what stars taste like?” You don’t hear much of Hoseok’s life before Earth. You’ve always wanted to know more about him, about his species, and what led to him crash-landing in your backyard.

“Oh no, I have not had real stars on my tongue. But I do not know how to explain the feeling from this drink.”

You’re a little disappointed that you didn’t spark a conversation about his past, but his amusement for new things keeps your spirits up.

“It’s called sparkling water. It’s carbonated so the water’s fizzy.”

“Fizzy…” Hoseok repeats. “Fizzy, fizzy, fizzy.”

The new word flows off his lips as he repeats it. He looks so excited. Your heart warms.

The waitress arrives shortly after, asking if you’re ready to order. You spend the next hour or so at the café, chatting with excitement for new things over coffee and cakes. The world is yours and Hoseok’s, the stares you were concerned about earlier no longer a problem.

On the way home, Hoseok asks if he could hold your hand.

“This is a date,” he says with his bright smile.

If he asked a few hours earlier, in the morning when he gifted you the bouquet of flowers, you may have been too embarrassed. You probably would’ve refused to hold his hand, spouting the first excuse that would appear in your mind.

But now, tummy filled with coffee and cake, heart filled with the warmth of his smiles, mind filled with the scenes of excitement over his discoveries, you let his hand intertwine with yours.

And if you spend the night thinking about how well your hands fit together, that’s something you’ll keep to yourself for now.

[skunkes]

You probably get this asked a lot but do you have any particular things you keep in mind when writing in your journal? I started recently and it's been great but I find that Only recapping my day gets to be a bit tedious (esp when I don't go outside much lol) so I was curious what you do to keep motivated with it ! Ur sticker layouts are always so cutes btw I'm very inspired by them ^_^💖

Yeah! I mainly journal for Memory Keeping as i have a weird obsession with wanting to keep track of anything/everything, so i just think of what future cheye would want to know, instead of just recapping day.

Makes me really sad bc in college all i had energy to write was like "ate x went to class went to mailroom went to class 2 had x for dinner 1 am now goodnight" and its like. What about. The whole rest of it!! What did u do who did you talk to when was it that you saw a raccoon irl for the first time!!! Were you stressing over assignments?? Which and why!!! I have 0 tangible, meaningful, memories of what happened now. Just sterile clinical ones. :(

I do track things consistently like my rating for the day, the time i woke up and the time i go to bed, what i ate, if i cried, along wit other personal stats (i like the numbers!). Sometimes I also dont Do anything in a day so i just focus on other things, like taking the opportunity to write about feelings a little bit, so future cheye Knows the state of mind i was in on a given day, or maybe talk about how I bought something and am excited to wear/use it

Not much happened today so I wrote about and included how my dad described the plot of to, and showed me, some scenes of The Untouchables 1987 today because a song always reminds him of that movie...

yesterday I wrote about how my sister and I are planning on trying some pillsbury cocoa rolls on thursday, since we couldn't today, and that I am Excited.

I don't know, its small things that I feel I'd appreciate in the future even if they seem silly or pointless right now...(and also good for keeping track of personal growth, as Im hoping I at one point get to pinpoint where my complaints about Not Wanting to Drive fade away from the entries. Ykwim?)

ITS KIND OF LIKE THAT ONE POST ON HERE...like "if you see this tag one delight from your day no matter how small". You ""force"" yourself to come up with something to pad the entry with, and I think it's small things like that that will be really telling of your time here, in the future ^_^ time capsule of the old you

like. Did you see something insanely funny? Did your best friend say something weird... Did the internet platforms you browse all rally over a war criminal dying... Is it still rainy and chilly like it was yesterday? Are you excited for your birthday even if its many months away... What series did you start rewatching? Did u get scared by a shadow while walking your dog...idk! Anything, everything

[504py]

Came across your blog and just got to say how nice t nostalgic and great it is to see an active hetalia blog in 2023 :) hetalia sucked me in as a teenager (both into anime and yandere) and stayed with me as a hyperfixiation for years. Although I’m 25 now and haven’t watched the show in years I often find myself thinking about the characters. Those goofy guys just got a special place in my heart I guess :) love your content! Thank you so much for creating it

ANONNNNN 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

YOU'RE TOO SWEET GOSH THIS MADE MY ENTIRE WEEK 😭😭😭😭😭 i swear that's gonna be one of the compliments that i'm gonna remember forever 😭😭😭 thank you so much!!!!!

but same oh my goddd... i swear i saw hetalia almost ten years ago now but i can't seem to get the stupid country show out of my head 😭 i guess it's a weird comfort nostalgia thing bc the show was so "of its time" in both good and bad ways LMAO. it's like a time capsule to when i was a kid discovering anime for the first time.

like, now that i'm older and can actually participate in creating cool fandom stuff i was so geeked over when i was a child, i was thinking of revisiting the old fandoms i was in at the time. and, uhhh, the next ones on my radar is black butler, kuroko no basuke, and, uhh...

do any of you perhaps remember free! iwatobi swim club????....

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Hey!! For the folder ask game, I’d love to know more about Fanfic That I'll Never Touch Again (partial lie) and/or Leaving the 99! Have a great day <3

Hey, Buffy! Thanks for the ask! (From the WIP folder game)

Fanfic That I'll Never Touch Again (partial lie)

Oh boy. When I was in middle school, I wrote fanfiction. Now, I have nothing against people who write fanfiction, I think it's great. Unfortunately I was very cringe, and while usually that's okay...eh it just hits weird, so I don't want to touch it (especially the MCU one oh my God)

Most tolerable one is Warriors cats cause it's easiest to laugh at. I wrote a 30k full story and started the second book.

But that Warriors cats fanfic is a great time capsule for my writing, because it's showing how I was experimenting. I want to take some of the ideas to make it an original work. So that's the partial lie.

Leaving the 99

My critique of the church. Comparing faith vs institution. Love vs doctrine. Fun stuff like that.

Title comes from the parable of leaving the 99 sheep to retrieve the one that needs you.

Don't have much for this except a few basic concepts.

Will I ever be emotionally ready to take on this topic? Eh, we shall see.

Thanks for the ask!

[postgamecontent]

Galaga '88 (TG-16 Mini)

One of NEC and Hudson's luckiest strokes came from the video game business version of the jilted ex. Namco had been one of the earliest supporters of the Famicom and was arguably integral to its initial success in Japan. As one of the first third parties on the platform, it had enjoyed rather favorable terms with Nintendo. After a few years the time came to renew that deal, and Nintendo was now in a very different position of power. Namco was going to get the same terms as any other Famicom third-party publisher. This did not go down very well with Namco. While it couldn't afford to abandon the Famicom or Nintendo completely, it would from this point on throw a fair bit of weight behind just about anyone willing to compete with the new market leader.

The PC Engine was the first beneficiary of this. In 1988 Namco released a whopping five titles for the platform. Two of them were enhanced entries in their popular baseball and tennis franchises, while the other three were home versions of some of its recent arcade hits. Of that trio, two were also ported to the Famicom. We'll be talking about one of those soon, so I'll leave that there for now. Instead, we're looking at the one that for a time was exclusive to the PC Engine: Galaga '88.

Galaga '88 is the fourth game in the Galaxian series, a brand that was seeing its global star fading a bit as the 1980s wore on. Galaxian and Galaga had been major successes in multiple markets, but Gaplus couldn't make much headway outside of Japan against the more advanced scrolling shooters that Namco stablemate Xevious had inspired. Galaga '88 sadly suffered a similar fate, finding a great deal of success in the Japanese market and very little outside of it. This was a good get for the PC Engine in Japan, at least. When it arrived in North America the following year under the Galaga '90 name, it was understandably not seen as the same level of system seller.

Let's be frank: following in the immediate wake of R-Type, Galaga '88 doesn't come off well at first glance. It appears to be a slightly prettier version of Galaga, and not much more than that. Single screen after single screen of enemies flying in and making their formation. Shoot them as you will, get captured and rescue your ship for a double ship, and so on. Is this really what the next generation has to offer? Ah, but that's just the surface read.

It is true that at its core Galaga '88 is very much the game its grandfather was. You can move your ship left and right along the bottom of the screen (no vertical movement) and you can shoot. In most stages you are looking to clear out all of the enemies, and you even get those bonus stages where you get points for shooting down fly-by creatures. The double-ship trick is indeed back, and you can even choose to sacrifice a life at the start of the game to begin in double form. And yes, it's prettier. More colorful, fancier music.

But then the differences start piling up higher. Your double-ship can be captured too, and if you rescue it? Triple-ship. The enemies have more tricks up their sleeves too, with new attacks and surprising behaviors. You'll occasionally have to deal with boss-style encounters. There are some actual scrolling stages, which is always a deeply weird thing to see in a Galaga game. You can also pick up warp capsules, and if you manage to collect enough of them in each zone you'll warp to a different branch in the Darius-like tree of stages. There's a lot of game here, basically.

Well, this wasn't a very short entry at all, was it? I love the Galaga series, so I hope you'll forgive my going long. The upshot is that Galaga '88 is an excellent shooter, as well-made for its sub-category as R-Type is for its own. The PC Engine port is just about perfect. Would this have been the best choice to dazzle your friends with back in the day? Maybe not. But after they went home, this is probably what you were playing. I'm really glad Konami convinced Namco to license some of its games for the mini-console. It just wouldn't have been the same without them.

[samobservessonic]

Onto the third and final comic in the yearbook, which is the one I remember the most-clearly from when I read this many years ago. The reason why this one in particular stood out to me so clearly I’ll explain at the end. But the setup is the usual - Sonic’s chilling in Green Hill Zone, before noticing his animal friends have gone missing and heading off to look for them

After rescuing a couple of animals from badniks, they tell Sonic that the others are trapped in the metal capsule at the end of the zone, so Sonic rushes off to find another familiar staple of the games…

…But this one is a trap. We’d see this concept included in Sonic 3&K, but I don’t think there were any fake capsules in Sonic 1 and 2?

It’s Tails to the rescue! He’s been absent from this special so far, but makes an appearance here to save Sonic from the trap. They even translate the British there, which is weird, since I doubt this yearbook was intended for more than just a British audience. But anyway, as we can see from these two panels, this version brings us a more-brazen Tails (and fatphobic, sob...) than the one from StC and not only that, but a Sonic who’s a lot more glad to see him. I’m oddly fond of their dynamic in StC, but it’s interesting to see that perhaps another direction could’ve been used instead of the one we got

After being rescued by Tails, the two of them hide from Robotnik for long enough that Sonic makes a fake cardboard standee of himself, which Robotnik mistakes for him and smashes instead. While Robotnik is distracted, the real Sonic sneaks up to finish him off. When Robotnik leaves, Sonic and Tails track down their missing friends to a wooden hut, which is simple enough for Sonic to destroy

Which brings us to the end of this yearbook, with Sonic freeing the small animals. And look! It’s Sally! …Wait, why does she have two tails? And that brings us to the reason why I remembered this story in particular. While I was reading this and saw the artist's error of Sally being given two fox tails, I remembered that the kid who lent me this comic had shown me this part and confidently insisted that the girl with the bow was Tails’s girlfriend, purely because she looked like a fox and also had two tails. I dunno why she'd jumped to that conclusion, instead of that she might've been Tails's sister or another relative, but oh well. Now, I had no context at the time and obviously, looking back on it now I’m like “Oh, that’s just Sally”, but back then I remember being really confused by this, because why would Tails’s girlfriend only appear on two panels and have nothing to say? Anyway, it’s been over two decades since then, but I do wonder if that kid is still out there somewhere, assuming Tails’s girlfriend was this random background character in an old Sonic yearbook

…And that’s that! I enjoyed this yearbook a lot, even if part of it was for nostalgia reasons. There was nothing ground-breaking, but all of the stories captured the feeling of early Sonic well, in a big part due to the great art, and I could imagine that this yearbook would’ve been a good jumping-on point for any Sonic fans at the time