#he's a lot wiser now but also has so much shit to work through and he has no friends. i said it

[eorzeashan]

Long time no swtor thinkpiece, but.

Thinking about Eight in the IA class story and then who he is post-Alliance; going from a bold, daring and casually ambitious wildcard to someone who feels as if he's lost most of his zeal to become rather...listless. Empty. Not to say that he isn't fulfilled by his work in the Alliance (who all make exceptions to have him do anything but murder all day) but he starts picking up more mundane activities like, peeling potatoes for the Alliance cantina, or doing minor tasks that don't involve much thought on his own volition-- a stark change from a man who only cared about his blade and who it fell on. It's like he's been soundly defeated by the circumstances surrounding him.

Then there's the issue of his companions, who only knew him as their cunning leader who stopped at nothing to achieve his goals, even using some of them in the process, who now appears to be an entirely different person. One who quietly fades into the background, instead of being in the thick of it. He's changed.

His skills haven't waned, but his voice is flat, his eyes without gleam, his all consuming desire that drove him to accomplish the impossible by the day naught but simmering ashes by the time they reunite with him in KOTXX. He even apologizes to some, without explanation. This distresses Vector, in particular, who witnessed the worst of his sides way back in the day. "It's not me you should apologize to, Agent." Vector can only quietly say, "I have never held you in ill regard for the choices you've made, anathema as they were to my principles." It's a conversation that peters off, but one that Eight never had, never had soon enough --his firm refusal to rectify or acknowledge that Vector could choose him over his own ideals is one that gnaws at him on the inside for years, on his own belief that people cannot change what they truly believe in, and so there is no point in trying to make amends for what bridges he burns in the pursuit of his own wishes. This, and many other denials, compound over the years into a rather hurtful self-made solitude that follows him long into the Alliance. (A mother will never give up her son. There is no other way. I cannot change my nature as a weapon. Their rejection of me is something I must accept.) A punishment, but for who?

Perhaps he still feels he's failed the last mission Keeper entrusted to him. The one that asked him to become a real, living person, and not just a sword dressed in imperial colors.

Eight spirals during the events of the Eternal Empire. He watches his downfall happen in real time. There's little he does about it. His home is gone, as are the people he fought for--Keeper, Watcher 2, Intelligence--and this new age is only filled with allies he cuts down faster than he can imprint their names into his memory. He's alone in this fight at the behest of others who do choose their ideals over him, who, in the end, turn away in fear and disgust when he bloodies his blade in their name. He makes no effort afterwards to right his image in their minds. He plays the villain, if others will not. For the first time, he tires of killing.

This leaves him alone, an outcast even among friends. Eventually, amongst the ruin their failed Alliance leaves in its wake, someone asks why things turned out this way; his lack of a will in the greater fight comes to light and sets several alarm bells off. Lana reduces his duties on the battlefield. Others, out of shared guilt and a fear of the bloodshed he wreaked on their orders, give him a wide berth to live normally for a while. It's not much and does little to his disillusionment and estrangement with his allies, but...it's a start.

Eight the Assassin turns into just Eight. And Eight the former agent, ex-Cipher, killer extraordinaire who never once dreamed of the stars, turns into someone who quietly watches the sun set on a world he barely recognizes,l but still stays up to see it, potato peeler in hand.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dpxdc AU: consultant groups can be used to outsource problems for companies so why not monarchies?

Danny is listening to the various eyeballs and ghosts chatter on about all the issues that he now has to oversee and advise and make so many freaking decisions on. It’s annoying that it all has to come down to his call because he was a dumb 14 year old who didn’t want his town to permanently live in the ghost zone.

Now 17, King of the Infinite, and a bit wiser to the world, Danny is doing his best to balance his teenage ambitions to not give a shit and his protective obsession to very much give a shit.

Sams parents are making her learn the family business and Tucker is trying to make this internship he’s got with a fancy tech company out of New Jersey into a career without college… so while they’re commiserating with Danny the idea comes up.

Earth has a shit ton of heroes. Like, ever since the Justice League *poofed* the GIW out of existence with the Meta human acts- more and more caped crusaders seemed to be coming out of the wood work. More villains too but still, more people who seemed wise to their abilities and morals. Danny has literally never taken an ethics class.

But rn, Eye-mothy and Eye-Bert are arguing over how Danny as King Phantom is supposed to tackle the problem of some fucking pool acting as a weird trade route with a cult and… ugh it’s just so boring but like also such a fucking problem. But… maybe it can be someone else’s issue.

Opening a portal, Danny escapes into space and gets to work finding the base of operations- Tucker had told him there was a new satellite after all and there’s no way it wasn’t connected to the hero orgs- and boom he flies into the Watchtower.

“Hey- are any of you guys willing to consult on some weird pools of ectoplasm in Pakistan? Green and glowing little lakes of bullshit and magic?” Danny asks into the meeting room of the JL regardless of their startled and alarmed exclamations.

“… I could consult on that.” A voice comes from the corner, and Danny recognizes him as one of the bat people. Or bird? The guy is in a lot of red and clearly wasn’t supposed to be in this meeting based on the way he’s propped in the corner. The room erupts in protest but Danny barely hears them through his excitement and focus on the dude.

“Great! I’ll have him back before the end of the day! Lets go Bird boy!” And with that, Danny grabbed the Bird, chucked them both through a portal back into his thrown room and begins to explain the way these eyeballs are totally trying to trap him into doing more work than he needs to do.

“What do I call you by the way? I’m Danny but you’ll probably hear them call me King Phantom.”

“I go by Red Robin, and honestly, I’ve been trying to get this shit taken care of for years.”

From there Tim becomes a regular consultant for King Phantom- the Bat Family is losing their minds with him constantly going to the land of the dead but also Constantine said not to piss off the king at all costs.

Danny is just thrilled that this dude has a shit ton of insight as well as business sense- like he could legit run the monarchy way better than him despite the fact that they’re the same age.

They end up working together for years, and even when there’s not an active issue at hand, Danny will meet up with the bird just to talk.

Sam and Tucker think they’re hilarious each time they ask if Danny’s proposed yet.

Tim has already planned their wedding but all of that information is in a folder more secured than the nuclear codes- Danny needs to ask him on a date first.

[siriuslovebot]

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ➸ 𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌˖ ࣪⭑ ˖ ࣪

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: slytherin!reader x sirius enemies to lovers possibly? thanks love!!

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: smut (18+, minors dni!), enemies to lovers, mean/condescending sirius, lots of teasing and arguing, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, petnames (doll, pet), explicit sex scenes, etc.

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: the reader and sirius are always at odds. after earning a detention, they decide to sneak to the kitchens at night and get sidetracked.

𝑨/𝑵: ugh i'm such a slut for enemies to lovers with sirius eeeeek. i had had had to write this! btw sorry for going mia for a few days; work has been exhausting me :( i'm gonna work on some requests tomorrow since i'm off and hopefully that can hold you all over until i have more time. also, to clarify, my smut posts are for 18+ audiences only! i will be blocking minors who interact with my smut posts. as always, this is unedited, so sorry for any errors/typos! hope you enjoy!

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻: 4.7k 𓂃♡₊⭑

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺

“you bloody prat!” the foul words leave your mouth before you have a chance to stop them, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. immediately, your gaze finds the figure of professor slughorn at the head of the classroom. his eyes are wide, set in a surprised expression as he looks over you.

“miss y/n,” he says, in a rather mild voice for his looming presence.

you flush, skin burning. the entirety of the class watches you, fists clenched around a handful of wormwood as it crumbles. beside you, there’s a self-satisfied smirk on sirius black’s face. he’s got a smear of flobberworm mucous over his sleeve, where he’s just emptied his entire container into your cauldron, effectively rendering your sleeping draught entirely useless.

“i’m sorry, professor,” you say. in an effort to placate him, you glance at sirius and sigh in exasperation. “sirius just– bumped into me, and knocked all of this flobberworm mucous into my cauldron. promise it won’t happen again.” you cut your eyes at the elder black brother, his expression slightly bemused at your sudden change of tone. there’s no need snitching to professor slughorn; you’ll get sirius back, and it’ll be far worse than any detention with the head of your house. 

“very well,” says professor slughorn. he’s taken your bait, and you’re glad for it. “mr. black, i’m sure you won’t mind miss y/n assisting you, since her potion is now–” he peers over your shoulder, having lumbered over to your table. his lips curl up into a grimace “--ruined, yes, quite awfully. sharing is caring, after all.”

sirius grunts as professor slughorn slaps him on the back like an old chum. your features curl up into a sneer, your eyes glowing with retribution. sirius huffs a quiet, “yes, professor.”

he glares at your shit-eating grin as you settle yourself beside him. his own potion doesn’t look much better than yours; he’s clearly been focused on making your life a living hell rather than on his potion-making, and it shows. “this looks shit,” you say, making a face at him.

“‘course it does,” he says, sourly, “dumped all my flobber mucous into your potion, didn’t i?”

“serves you right, you dirty, conniving little–”

sirius cuts you off with a snort, “ugh, y/n, if you want to fuck me so badly just say that.” his sarcastic words send a jolt through you, your stomach bubbling with rage.

“in your dreams, sirius,” you spit, knocking your shoulder into his with enough force to make his stool wobble. professor slughorn is none the wiser, gloating over lily evans’s potion across the room. 

sirius grumbles under his breath, tapping his wand mindlessly against the cauldron in any effort to help his quickly deteriorating potion. after a moment he says, “help me out here, will you? it’s your bloody potion, too.”

“i’d rather die,” you say dramatically, lifting your chin haughtily as you distract yourself by scratching a star into the tabletop with your fingernail. the fury radiating off of him is enough to satisfy you for now; he’s swearing under his breath, dumping odds and ends into the cauldron in a futile attempt to save his mark for the day. you prod the inside of your cheek with your tongue, trying not to smile at his frustration. karma, karma, karma. you can only hope he’ll have to endure extra credit hours in slughorn’s office, listening to all the stories of his talented old students. you couldn’t imagine a more boring saturday night. 

“stupid, fuckin’ thing, what am i doing wrong?” sirius says quietly, startling you with a particularly hard thump of his wand against the cauldron. you glance inside, the mixture having congealed into something nasty and grey. you wrinkle your nose.

“everything, by the looks of it,” you say. you answer his tight-lipped expression with a sickeningly sweet smile and a bat of your eyelashes. you’re sure he’s starting to rethink his choice to ruin your potion this morning. 

“shut up,” he hisses, a particularly foul emphasis on the words. if looks could kill, the daggers he stares into you would be piercing straight through your heart. you almost want to goad him even further, provoke him into a reaction that will be enough to get him in trouble with dumbledore himself, but you know better. you’re very good at playing the long game.

thus begins your blood-thirsty rivalry with sirius black. of course, neither of you were particularly fond of the other in the first place; you supposed it was his hatred of slytherins. he approached you as if you were some scum-of-the-earth, less-than-human creature, solely because of the house you were placed in. funny coming from someone whose little brother shared the same house. from your first interaction, you decided you could be exactly who he envisioned you to be, and you made it your mission to do so. 

at first, the incidents are easily passed off as “accidental.” sirius charming your quills to pelt you in the head, aiming for your eyes. you muttering a particularly difficult to reverse rendition of, “engorgio skullus,” that put him in the hospital wing for a week whilst madam pomfrey tried to shrink his head back to its regular size (though, in your opinion, it wasn’t much bigger than normal.) you began to map your paths through the corridors, purposely avoiding the places in which you knew sirius would be present. he grew very fond of casting non-verbal tripping jinxes, sending you and all of your belongings sprawling through the halls. similarly, when you found him pestering remus in the library, you were quick to employ the oppugno jinx, sending a spattering of books barreling towards him. 

you earned a detention from madam pince for that one, but it was well-worth it when you saw sirius’s battered appearance the next morning. the antics go on and on, until you’re both at odds to the point where the entire school is invested in who’s going to one-up the other depending on the day. you hear james and remus making bets on it as you pass the gryffindors on your way to herbology one day; you can’t help but smirk as remus bets on you. you always knew he was a smart man. 

after a horribly timed jelly-legs jinx from sirius, you wobble into the slytherin common room to get ready for bed. your muscles ache, as your legs collapsed beneath you just as you were at the top of a staircase. toppling down the stones, you were too busy screeching in anger to notice the almost worried look on sirius’s face at his handiwork. he’d even bounded down the stairs, muttering a half apology before you hissed, “flipendo,” and sent him crumbling into the staircase himself. as you passed his crumpled frame, groaning in pain, you were pleased to see a sheepish james handing over another galleon to remus. 

you wince as you finally make it down the passage, stopping for a second to rest your burning limbs. regulus reclines on one of the sofas, feet kicked up as he flicks through an old book. his eyes find yours briefly, flashing with mirth.

“what are you looking at?” you breathe, putting pressure on an especially sore rib. a sharp pain causes you to frown, doubling over for a second.

“y’look like hell,” says regulus.

you roll your eyes. “you know what–” you take a sharp breath at another pain. “--i get enough shit from your git of a brother. don’t you start on me, too.” you point a finger at him, wagging it.

he laughs, dropping the newspaper onto his stomach. he clasps his hands over it, cocking his head as he eyes you carefully. there’s a wicked little grin on his chiseled, handsome face. his intelligent eyes scheme for a moment, thoughts crossing through them to the point where you can practically see the gears turning. 

“what?” you repeat, impatient with his conspicuous contemplation. he’s clearly dying to speak his mind, and you’re sure you won’t make it another two minutes standing in the common room before your legs give out completely. you’re dying to get into bed. 

“i was just thinking,” regulus contemplates, smug as he leans up on his elbows.

“didn’t know you could manage that,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. if nothing else, regulus is as dramatic, if not more, than his brother.

he wrinkles his nose.

“go on,” you urge. “i’m dying to know what you’re thinking, reg.”

he smiles, the curve of his lips meant to be placating in spite of his words. “how long are you and sirius going to play cat-and-mouse before you give up the act and admit you want each other?” 

“i hope you’re joking,” you say flippantly. you turn immediately from his lazing figure, marching towards the girls’ dorms. 

“deny it all you want,” he calls from behind you. “everyone knows!”

you find your dorm, luckily empty, and slam the door behind you. your neck and ears burn, as you suddenly feel quite embarrassed. there’s no way sirius likes you, and you certainly don’t have any feelings for him; other than hate, annoyance, and frustration, that is. yes, you’d like to throttle the eldest of the black brothers, and you’re sure you would get a great deal of pleasure from it. but want, lust, affection? regulus has officially lost his mind.

you seethe as you get ready for bed, a dozen reminders of sirius as you ache all over with each movement. hate certainly brews a certain sort of passion within a person, but you’d march into the forbidden forest wandless, robeless, and blindfolded before you had a single warm thought for sirius black. 

you’re still fuming as you nestle yourself beneath the duvet. and as awful as it is to admit, your last thought before you sink into slumber is of that stupidly handsome, haughty face that you think you hate so much. 

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪

“not like that, you dumb–”

“please, sirius!” you retort, frustrated with the dark-haired young man sitting beside you. he’s genuinely dancing on your last good nerve, offering a snarky comment for your every movement today. “just shut up.”

somehow, you’ve been sat beside him in transfiguration. professor mcgonagall had the ever-so-lovely idea to come up with a new seating chart, placing you and sirius at a table together. you’re moments away from throttling him and being sent to azkaban for murder. 

“i’m trying to help you, here,” he says, shrugging. “do it wrong, then, if y’want. i couldn’t care less.”

“oh, you’re so good at it, are you?” you stare at him, a sour look on your face. today’s lesson was supposed to be easy (according to professor mcgonagall), and you were having an impossibly hard time as it was one of your first lessons on human transfiguration. you had yet to be successful in any of the other human transfiguration lessons, either. sirius’s nagging presence wasn’t doing anything to help. 

“seeing as i’ve been doing it for the last half an hour, i would think so.”

“well, show me, then, you bloody genius,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest. you blink at him, waiting for his enormous display of intelligence.

“so easy,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “i mean, ‘s not like you’re turning yourself into a bleeding dragon or something…”

“i’m just growing my hair by magic,” you say, hot under the collar with frustration. “not everyone’s mr. perfect like you.”

sirius rolls his eyes. you watch him for another second, trying not to look impressed as he does exactly that. his dark hair grows longer before your eyes, sweeping down over his collarbones and skirting just above his elbows.

“okay, show-off,” you mutter, turning away with a frown on your face. “an inch is the requirement.”

he chuckles, smug. “‘s all right,” he says, reaching to tug on a strand of your hair, rather harshly. you gasp at the sting, swatting his hand away with a blush on your face. you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “maybe we can do it manually.” he pulls on another strand over your hand.

“sirius,” you whine, grasping his wrist to stop him. your heart thumps wildly at the look on his face, a pleased smile on his lips. he’s apparently enjoying teasing you. maybe a little too much. “that hurts.”

“aw,” he says, his voice mocking as he feigns pity. “poor baby. hurts, does it?” the condescending tone in his voice has a pit growing in your stomach, your heart sinking into it by the second. he dodges your grasp. there’s another pull on your hair. he raises his eyebrows at the whimper that comes from your lips as you shove him.

“can– can you— stop it, you shit,” there’s a flash of hands as you and sirius battle it out, him reaching over to pester you some more as you block him as best as you can. truthfully, you’re embarrassed that him teasing you is stirring your insides, exciting you in a way that is very wrong. plus, you refuse to let regulus be right. you’d rather have a slap-fight with sirius in the middle of class then let him make you crumble at his taunting actions. 

you wince as he jerks your hair again, this time hard enough to make tears prick your eyes. you respond with a sharp SMACK against his forearm, which rings through the room not unlike a gunshot. there’s a split second of complete silence, as mcgonagall is comprehending your misbehaviors.

“miss y/n, mr. black,” she says, voice strict. “ten points from gryffindor, and slytherin. see me after class.” she peers at the two of you over her spectacles, meaning business. you sink into your seat, chastised. sirius nods, pressing his lips together as he settles back into his own place. 

“nice one, dumbass,” he says quietly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i told you to stop a dozen times.”

˖ ࣪⭑˖ ࣪

“bleeding candelabras... my fingers are going to fall off,” you complain. it’s well past midnight, filch having finally decided that you and sirius had sufficiently completed your detention. after a miserable few hours, crouched in his office polishing the silver, the two of you are finally free to go.

“tell me about it,” sirius yawns, shaking his head. “don’t think m’hands will ever be the same.” he holds his palms out in front of him, wrinkling his nose at the cracked skin. 

“gross,” you peer at his dry hands. “it’s those muggle chemicals he insists on using. much safer to use magic if you ask me.”

sirius chuckles, “poor guy wants us all to know how hard it is to be a suffering squib.”

you laugh despite yourself, then shake your head. “i hope mcgonagall’s not expecting us to go back tomorrow night. don’t think i can miss dinner again.” you clutch at your stomach. “‘m starving.”

“let’s sneak into the kitchens,” sirius suggests.

you look at him as if his head’s fallen off his shoulders. “are you out of your mind?”

“oh, c’mon. james and i have done it plenty of times. the house elves aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“we’re in enough trouble as it is, sirius,” you say firmly.

“suit yourself,” he stretches his arms over his head, turning on his heel. you watch him pad down the hall, his shirt lifted slightly to reveal his lower back as he stretches. you swallow hard, averting your eyes as your hands go a bit clammy. he rolls his neck side-to-side as he lowers his arms. 

you think about it for a second, then you call, “wait–wait for me.” it takes more than a few strides for you to catch up, and then you’re slinking downstairs with him, headed for the kitchens. a midnight snack couldn’t hurt anyone, right?

“knew you couldn’t resist,” he says, voice teasing.

you roll your eyes.

there’s a certain thrill to stalking the castle’s corridors at night. you’re not sure if it's the adrenaline or the repeated image of sirius’s bare skin burned into your mind that has your pulse hammering endlessly. a giddiness employs itself in your stomach, churning as you follow him on the familiar path down to the kitchens; it’s clear that he’s been out after hours plenty of times. he knows the place like the back of his hand, barely batting an eye as he leads you through the corridors. 

“are you sure we won’t be caught?” you whisper, voice hardly audible through the sound of your own heart.

“we’ll be fine,” sirius says, confident. “don’t you trust me?” he quirks a slender eyebrow at you. his grey eyes have a dark cast in the low light, only the shine of a few candles illuminating his features. you shrug, your mouth dry as he grins at you. 

“i–i mean, sure,” you say, half-hearted. his laugh is low, gravelly. accompanied with his tired voice, it’s enough to make you swoon.

“right, then,” he says, “we’re nearly there.”

you’re close to your destination when sirius stops in his tracks. you nearly trip over him, grasping his arm for balance as he stops, listening.

“what?” you tug at his sleeve. “what is it?”

“shut up,” he mutters, seeming much more like his normal self. “someone’s coming.” his eyes scan the corridor ahead of you, then he spins around, shoving you towards a door a few feet away.

“what–where are we?” 

he’s shoving you into a dark room, pulling the door closed very gently behind him. a heavy-sounding lock clicks into place. you push past him, hands finding the door as you place your ear against the heavy wood. you hold your breath as you listen for footsteps outside the door.

the room is very small; your feet shuffle to find somewhere to stand, through piles of junk on the floor. sirius does the same, crowding in behind you to listen along at the door. you try to ignore the heat in your stomach as he presses his body against your back in the small space. it’s the only way he can eavesdrop at the door alongside you. at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

you’re both dead quiet, your hands shaking as you listen. the footsteps echo closer and closer, and stop. you bite down on your lip, trying to pay attention. however, sirius’s lithe frame pressed against you is proving to be a great distraction. you feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes calmly. he’s pressed against you, solid and unmoving. the heat radiating from his body is lighting your skin on fire; sweat prickles your skin. 

“scared?” he whispers, voice barely perceptible.

“no,” you lie. you hope he doesn’t know the true root of your fear; the sinking possibility that he could find out just how much you’re enjoying this. how much you’ve been dying to be this close to him for the last few weeks. 

“liar,” he mutters. he’s still listening. “it’s mcgonagall out there,” he says.

“how can you tell?” you ask. the darkness has heightened your other senses, but you’re not as observant nor perceptive as he is. at least not with him pushing you against the wall like this.

“dunno, the cadence of her footsteps or something. remus can probably explain it better than i can. i just know.”

“you just know,” you say simply.

“mhmm,” he hums in agreement. “i just know a lot of things.”

“like what?”

there’s a second of loaded, thick silence. the air is thick enough that you swear you can feel it wrapping around you, suffocating you.

“like how much you’re enjoying this.”

“what?!” your voice is more of a hiss than a whisper, and he shushes you gently. 

“careful, pet,” he says, “want mcgonagall to find us like this?”

“we’re not doing anything,” you say, embarrassed.

he chuckles darkly. “not yet.”

sirius presses closer to you, his body pinning yours against the door. a gasp escapes you, your mouth hanging open as his hand finds your chin, lifting your face towards his. “such a pretty noise, doll,” he says. you can hardly see him, but you can imagine the look on his face from his tone. his eyes dark, lips quirked in a pleased expression, eyelids hooded. 

“sirius,” you say, though it sounds more pleading than you intended.

“gonna start begging for me already?” there’s that laugh again, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. 

you’re burning up, embarrassed that you’re so needy already. you shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as you are, enjoying your least-favorite person pinning you against the wall in an old supply closet. not to mention your professor stalking the hall just outside the door. your head spins. 

“shut up,” you mumble, though you don’t mean it. you squirm, taking a breath as you feel his length pressed against you from behind. he sucks air in through clenched teeth at the feeling. his face dips down to meet yours, his lips catching yours in an open-mouthed kiss. he licks into your mouth, your tongues uniting messily in the middle. there’s a clash of teeth, a grunted noise from him, and strings of saliva as he pulls away for breath before he’s diving back in. you relish in the obscene sensation, the messiest, wettest kiss you’ve ever been privy to. you’re enjoying every second of it, however naughty it may be. 

your stomach flutters, enjoying the sharp dig of his other hand gripping your hip. another soft noise from you, into his mouth. he groans, his long fingers still holding your face in place. he pulls away, lips swollen and chin coated with saliva. he trails wet kisses down your jawline, biting at the tender skin of your neck. you rock back against him, your core throbbing as he muffles a low noise in the back of his throat. 

“fuck,” he slurs, breathing heavily already. “you don’t know how bad i want to fuck that smart fucking mouth…” he whispers, his breath hot on the shell of your ear. “shut you up for once…”

you’re throbbing at his words, aching so bad that you’d get on your knees and beg him just to touch you. you’d do it yourself, even, if only he’d talk you through it. but sirius has other plans, clearly as desperate as you are.

“please,” the soft croak of your voice has him grinning at you. you can faintly see the outline of his wolfish smile, his hazy eyes as he looks at you.

“no time right now, pet,” he grinds his hips against you, still fully clothed. his bulge is rock-hard against your ass. he’s grunting softly, running his hands up and down your body. his fingers grasp your breasts, roughly squeezing through the material of your shirt. “wish i could take my time with you… it’ll have to wait.”

“just do something,” you mutter, growing impatient at the ache between your legs. you can feel your panties, soaked and sticking to your center with your arousal. 

“use your manners, you fucking brat,” he snarks, nipping at your earlobe.

you squeak, and he stiffens for a second. his hand slides up, wrapping around your throat. “and shut up. how many times have i got to say it?”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you whisper. the footsteps don’t come any closer. you wonder if mcgonagall is even out there at all, but your mind slips back to sirius as you feel him dragging the waistband of your trousers down. 

“keep that pretty mouth shut, pet, or i’ll shut it for you,” he warns.

you nod. you’ll do anything he says just to have him buried inside of you. you need it so bad, your entire body begging for his touch. you brace yourself, spreading your legs to allow him access as his hand delves between your legs from behind. his fingers drag through your slit, slow, spreading your juices. 

he takes a deep breath, burying his face into your neck. he’s smiling against your skin. “that pretty cunt’s just dripping f’me,” he says softly, the contrast of his filthy words and gentle tone making your head spin. “wish i could make you scream and cry for me…”

you barely register his words, flinching as he prods a finger at your entrance. he swirls it at your swollen hole, enjoying the way you jerk against him, sensitive. you bite down on your bottom lip, hard. your eyes are half-hooded, struggling to stay open as he teases you. he pushes your legs further apart, then his hand is gone. you hear the clink of his belt buckle, feel him adjusting his position behind you.

tears of pleasure prick your eyes as he sinks into you; you want to cry out, the sound threatening to rip from your chest at the slightest movement from him. he feels your whole body tense, his hold on your throat tightening. “not–” he pulls out briefly, before burying his cock to the hilt inside of you again “--a fucking sound.”

you nod, “yes, yes sir,” you breathe, as quietly as you can manage. you take trembling breaths, trying to contain yourself at the mind blowing drag of his swollen cockhead against your walls. his pace is slow, but forceful. 

his every movement is making your body tick closer to release. his thrusts are steady, wet noises squelching through the room as your juices drip down your legs. your legs are weak already, but his body pinning yours against the door is enough to keep you upright as you claw at the wood in front of you. he squeezes your throat just enough to cut off the sounds that you can’t help. his other hand finds your stomach, palm pressing into the flesh to feel the bulge of his cock buried deep inside of you. 

“god–” you breathe, throwing your head back. “can’t take it much longer…”

he makes a noise, half laugh and half moan. his voice is condescending as he says, “gonna come f’me already? pathetic little pet…” his hips rut into yours with increased force; you wince at the sudden sound of soaked slapping skin, the noises cutting through the quiet broom cupboard like a knife.

“s–slow down, sirius,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the feeling becomes overwhelming. you slump against him, head lolling back onto his shoulder. “someone’ll hear us.”

his hips snap into yours, sharper. “won’t hear anything if you’d just listen,” he says, his voice sharp. “how many times do i need to tell you to be quiet?” his fingers snake up from your neck, two of them sliding between your swollen lips. you moan around them, your jaw going slack. 

he’s hitting the perfect spot inside of you, your vision going fuzzy as he forces you to the brink of orgasm. he doesn’t even have to touch your clit, having gotten you so worked up that he can just hammer into your g-spot and drive you over the edge. he hums his approval, dragging his teeth along your collarbone as you dissolve into moans and whimpers around his fingers. you drool around his long digits, teasing the back of your throat. you gag around them, your saliva leaking down his wrist. 

“there’s m’good li’l pet, being so quiet for me,” he praises in that mean voice. you clench forcefully around him, your entire body overtaken by waves of pleasure that send your knees crumpling completely. a gravelly moan comes from him, the repeated tightening of your walls pushing him over the edge. the feeling of him coming inside of you sends renewed waves of ecstasy through your body, your mind going blank as you lose yourself in the feeling. your mind can’t conjure a single thought except him, his hands all over you, his teeth grazing and marking your skin, his cock rearranging your insides. 

“sirius,” you gasp, appreciating the strength of his grip on you as he helps you regain your footing. he plants a kiss against a dark spot on your neck as he holds you upright. there’s a second where the two of you catch your breath, the quiet overwhelming after the overload of emotions you just experienced. he pulls out of you, and you whimper softly at the emptiness. you struggle to adjust your trousers, smartening yourself. 

“i wasn’t too mean, was i?” he brushes a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead.

you smile gently, shaking your head. “you’ve been much meaner, trust me.”

he laughs. “seems like i’ve fucked the attitude out of you.”

“watch yourself, black.”

“right,” he nods, looking a bit flustered at the sharp look on your face. then, he says, “still up for sneaking into the kitchens?

[littlespoonevan]

Would love to hear more about the Miss Congeniality Au!

ahhh miss congeniality au, my beloved!!!! 💖💗💞💕🩷❤️ truly, truly, truly i feel like this au could be so much FUN if i could find the discipline and motivation to just sit down and write it lmao. but i will say i v much enjoyed fitting all the pieces together for this snippet so here's hoping it awakens something in me askdjhf

i hope you like it 🥰

~

Eddie never imagined becoming a special agent. Then again, he never imagined becoming a single dad either.

But FBI work actually keeps him chained to a desk a hell of a lot more than regular police work used to and the pay’s better.

He’s regretting that decision right about now.

“Eddie, it has to be you.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, quickening his step even as Chimney continues to keep pace with him.

“It absolutely doesn’t, Chim.”

“The whole office agrees-“

Eddie stops short, whirling around. “Just because the little simulation version of me you drew up on the computer had an eight-pack-“

“My computer does not lie, Diaz-“

“I don’t have time,” Eddie cuts in. “I can’t be away from Chris that long.”

“It’s one week. Less, if you do your job right.”

Eddie makes a face.

It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. A charity firefighter competition that he really thinks sounds a hell of a lot like a beauty pageant. Sure, there’s obstacle courses and stuff to complete but he’s not sure what a speedo competition has to do with being a competent firefighter. The cause is noble, he guesses, but there has to be a better way to raise money than deciding who’s the most specialist firefighter in all of Los Angeles.

Especially when the host – Captain Bobby Nash – is the target of a bomb threat.

It wouldn’t even have landed on their desk if not for the fact that three people with ties to Bobby Nash and the LAFD had received bombs in the mail over the last two weeks.

Athena thinks their best chance to take down the mail bomber is to have someone on the inside, to infiltrate the competition and investigate the contestants while also being the FBI’s eyes and ears throughout the week.

Hen and Chim, of course, volunteered Eddie for the job.

“I don’t like undercover work.” It’s an oversimplified version of the truth – that Eddie hates having to perform for an extended period of time and that this competition sounds like his own personal version of hell. Also, as much as he knows he’s in good shape, he doesn’t actually want people ogling his body for a week straight.

Chim gives him an incredibly unsympathetic clap on the shoulder. “Just use those big, brown eyes of yours and wow the judges with your salsa skills and no one will be any the wiser.”

Eddie opens his mouth to argue back when another voice cuts through their conversation.

“She said yes!”

He and Chimney both look up to find Hen running towards them, a beaming grin on her face. “Athena said yes! Better start practicing your poses, Firefighter Diaz.”

Well, shit.

-

Captain Bobby Nash has got a made-for-TV smile that has Eddie understanding why he got the hosting gig over every other fire captain in LA.

“Special Agent Grant,” he says, shaking Athena’s hand with a warmth to his expression that Eddie doesn’t expect.

Athena clearly doesn’t expect it either because she clears her throat as she pulls her hand back. “Captain Nash. This is Agent Diaz.”

Nash redirects his attention to Eddie, extending his hand once again. “Great to meet you. And please, call me Bobby.”

“You too,” Eddie says, flashing a polite smile and following Athena’s lead to take a seat in front of Bobby’s desk.

“So I take it there’s been some progress in the case?” Bobby asks, settling into his chair.

Athena purses her lips, exchanging a look with Eddie. “Not as much as we’d like. Given that we still don’t have a trace on the letter the bomber sent and the LAFD’s reluctance to cancel the competition, we’ve decided to send one of our agents in undercover.”

Bobby’s eyes immediately flick to Eddie and Eddie feels the ridiculous urge to straighten his posture. “I’m guessing that’s where you come in, Agent Diaz?”

“Not that we want to undermine the integrity of the competition but it will be imperative that Eddie makes it to the final,” Athena says. “It’s the best chance we have of catching the bomber if we can’t determine a suspect before then.”

Bobby leans back in his chair, regarding them both with an unreadable expression. Finally, he cracks a smile. “Well, he certainly looks the part.”

“He gets that a lot,” Athena snorts and Eddie ducks his head to hide the heat in his cheeks. It’s bad enough when it’s Hen and Chim ribbing him; he didn’t actually think Athena ever overheard them.

“Which firehouse is he representing though?” Bobby asks. “All of the contestants have already been chosen.”

Without missing a beat, Athena hands over a file that Eddie knows contains the fake details of his new identity. “Apparently the 133’s entry came down with an awful bout of food poisoning.”

Bobby accepts the manila folder with a faint smirk. “Well, that’s a shame.”

-

“Diaz. Diaz, do you read me? Over.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as he steps onto the bus ready to ship the contestants to the opening luncheon. “Yes, Chim,” he mutters under his breath. “I can hear you; stop yelling.”

“Remember to smile, Eddie.” That’s Hen.

How Athena thought they were the two best suited to oversee this, he’ll never understand.

He scans the length of the bus, looking for an empty seat. The whole place is overrun with burly men in too tight t-shirts talking animatedly to each other. It takes him a second to realise one of the men in question is waving at him.

He’s got curly hair and a golden retriever-esque eagerness to his smile. “Edmundo?” he asks. “From the 133, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and rearranges his face into a smile as he makes his way to the empty seat. Though calling it an empty seat feels generous when the firefighter all but shoves himself against the window to make room.

“How’d you know who I was?” he asks, genuinely curious. They only finalised the details of Eddie’s position in the competition yesterday and they made sure to leave any of his information off the official competition website.

“Oh I did a little deep dive on the other contestants but you were the only one who didn’t have a picture so I figured it had to be you.” He shrugs with an affable charm before offering Eddie a hand. “I’m Evan Buckley, with the 118. Everyone calls me Buck though.”

“He’s cute,” Hen says in his ear.

“Like a puppy,” Chim adds.

Eddie ignores them and shakes his hand. “Uh, you can call me Eddie,” he greets. Changing his last name was necessary; he refuses to go by Edmundo for the next week. It’s only then that he clocks the station number Buck said. “You’re part of Nash’s team.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, beaming with pride. “Bobby’s the best captain ever. You know some of these guys have it out for me because they think he’s gonna play favourites even though he’s not a judge. He’s just the host. But whatever, it’s not a big deal.”

The dejected look that creeps onto Buck’s face suggests it very much is a big deal even if he won’t admit it. Eddie feels a pang of sympathy. The guy seems harmless, even with all the rippling muscles. Then again, he’s not surprised a competition this testosterone-fuelled has people acting territorial.

“They just want an excuse for when you beat them in the first round,” Eddie says, mostly to fill the silence but also to get this Buck guy to stop looking so downtrodden.

He definitely doesn’t expect the way Buck’s whole face lights up in awe.

“You think I’ve got a shot at making it to the finals?”

The earnest hopefulness in Buck’s voice catches Eddie off guard and Hen and Chimney in his ear don’t help.

“Aww Eddie’s making friends!”

“Forget friends! Eddie, he’s cute; keep flirting with him.”

Eddie bites down on the urge to tell them to fuck off and makes himself smile at Buck instead. “’Course you do. Some of these guys are lucky they even made it this far.”

Truthfully, Eddie hasn’t even taken the time to look at anyone else on the bus all that much yet but the words tumble out of his mouth without permission. And in the face of Buck’s delighted grin, he can’t find it in himself to take them back.

“Thanks, man,” Buck says bashfully. “Hey, you have anyone to share a room with at the hotel yet?”

“Please tell me there’s only gonna be one bed,” Hen squawks gleefully in his ear.

“Uh I don’t know. Are they assigned or-?”

“They figured since most of us know each other we could pair up however we want but- um…” Buck trails off, making it clear no one has offered to share with him and well, it seems like he knows a lot about the other contestants. That could be good for Eddie. To get information and close the case. Obviously.

“Yeah, man. We can share.”

“Awesome!” Buck declares, slumping more comfortably in his seat and bumping his shoulder –probably accidentally – against Eddie’s. The bus gets moving then and Eddie takes the opportunity to scope out some of the other contestants.

It’s unlikely their suspect is another firefighter but not impossible.

“So how come I’ve never seen you at a scene before?”

Eddie blinks, redirecting his attention to Buck who’s looking at him curiously.

“Oh uh, I just transferred in the last couple of months.”

“From where?” Buck’s expression doesn’t look suspicious and Eddie has to remind himself not every conversation with a stranger needs to be an interrogation.

“Um, El Paso,” he says, immediately cringing on the inside. This man does not need to know any of his real life personal details.

But Buck only smiles again. “Cool. I’ll have to look out for you on calls from now on.”

And it’s not said flirtatiously or anything like that but Buck looks bashful again and Chimney is cackling his ear about how, “Eddie’s got a fan,” and Eddie’s stomach does a strange, traitorous flip.

But this is fine.

Everything is fine.

It’s just-

It’s going to be a long week.

-

[hangup119]

FEELS LIKE A THRILLER! ᯓᡣ𐭩

12. #NOTACANNIBAL written chapter | 2.8k words

“WHAT, YOU DON’T feed your plants?”

Seunghan tilts his head. “... Why should I?” 

“Then what the hell kind of owner are you, dude?” you accuse, adjusting the strap of your bag as the two of you head towards the car parking lot. “Who doesn’t feed their plants?”

Seunghan pauses, eyebrows furrowing, before a smile breaks out on his face and then he’s throwing his head back to laugh. He opens the door of the passenger seat for you, saying, “You mean, like, feeding them fertilizer? Wait, how often do you feed them anyway?” 

“Everyday.” 

Seunghan looks concerned. “Um, I don’t think that’s right…” 

You shrug, hopping into the car. “My plant seems to love it, though. It has never looked this alive! That obviously means I’m doing something right, right?”

He blinks when the door finally shuts, wondering how that even works. What kind of plant do you even have in the first place to require fertilizer every single day? He thought it’d be just some room plant, something low-maintenance, but maybe you’re actually a secret plant-connoisseur since you’ve been keeping it alive all this time? Hell, for all he knows, you’re probably developing your own venus flytrap that could digest a whole-ass elephant or something… a part of some secret society with mad scientists obsessed with plants and Seunghan’s just none the wiser…

He promptly starts the vehicle, dismissing such thoughts. He really needs to stop watching those crazy Sci-Fi movies with Sohee every Wednesday. 

When the car finally gets out of school property, Seunghan takes one quick glance at you. “So,” he starts, hands admittedly a bit clammy as he steers the wheel and stops at a red light. “Anywhere you’d like to go? I was thinking maybe we should get some food, or something. We should have really planned this out, huh?” 

A notification ping suddenly rings out after he finishes; an awfully familiar sound at that. 

“Do not open your goddamn phone to play Pokemon Go right now, Seunghan,” you warn, and he immediately deflates at how easily you’ve read him. Then, you smile sweetly, “But, yeah, we can go get something to eat first!” 

He laughs anyway, swerving towards downtown. “Alright. Also, I wasn’t even going to open Pokemon Go. Just saying.” 

“Yeah, okay, and I’m definitely not going to jump out into oncoming traffic right now.” 

“Please don’t.” 

After spending some time eating at a nearby cafe Eunseok has been asking to go together with the guys, the two of you manage to get through a whole hour without glancing at each of your phones, too focused on the other to truly care whether or not there are pokemons in the area. During that whole hour of you casually attempting to flirt with Seunghan in your own little way, you find that perhaps he’s not as obsessed with the mobile game as much as you believed him to be—which is good, even though you do find it a little bit cute, but at least he’s not addicted or something. 

Seunghan pulls out his phone after you’ve stepped out of the establishment. “Holy shit? There’s a Piplup just a block away!”

“Seriously?” you squawk. 

“Yeah!” he excitedly responds, only to end up getting smacked on the arm. “Oh, not what you meant. Okay.” 

You give him a fixed stare. He returns it.

“Can we please catch it?” Seunghan pleads, forming his hands into a prayer. 

You falter, attempting to look at anywhere but his face. Hot nerds are a curse, you think miserably.

“Please, Y/N? It’s Piplup!” he continues, finally taking your hands in his. You flush, believing that he can just go ahead and go catch the damn pokemon himself but instead chooses to spend more time begging you to go with him in order to catch it together. Right. Because you’re on a date. And Seunghan isn't an asshole. Right. Guy who had a girlfriend for four years over here. Someone already cooked before you. 

“Okay, fine,” you finally surrender, mentally cursing yourself for going down such a rabbit hole. Who cares about his ex-girlfriend? She was the past, and you’re the present (hopefully)! “But just Piplup!” 

Seunghan laughs, crossing the road with you. “I promise I won’t make this a Pokemon Go date.”

He’s still holding your hand. Like a real couple. You have to mention it.

“You better not,” you say instead, squeezing his hand in return. 

After acquiring the stupid Piplup loitering by a fire hydrant next to a pissing dog, Seunghan leads you back to his car to spend a couple more minutes marveling at the 25th Piplup on his screen, before starting the ignition to make your way towards the arcade. There he finally pockets his phone and drags you towards the nearest racing game, where you both duke it out in a Fast & Furious racing game, with you ultimately ending up as the winner after two rounds. Of course, you made sure to rub it in Seunghan’s face for a good three minutes, before he’s dragging you towards the claw machines like every arcade date out there. 

Amidst the presence of screaming children and tired parents chasing after them, Seunghan holds your hand as if it was second nature, the sight of his back a constant reminder that he’s not willing to lose you among the crowd and the dirty, soda and gum-flavored floor. 

You wonder if this is what it would have felt like had you been his girlfriend in high school. Sitting next to each other in class while trying to ignore your friends’ teasing remarks, partnering up for school projects, doing community service together, or buying snacks right after school and heading to the arcade. Then he’d walk you home, or depending when he got his license maybe drive you, and you’d ask him to text you back when he gets back home. The little things that make up being highschool sweethearts, or whatever the hell he experienced with his ex-girlfriend before they broke up. 

Fine, you’re jealous. You’ve always been jealous. But who doesn’t? You’ve always liked Seunghan—everyone knows that—and you’re aware that the missed opportunities you could’ve had with him over the last four years are a result of your own cowardice and lack of assertion, but what gives? After four years, you can finally have him? Just like that?

They say that a man who yearns is a man who earns, but now that he’s right next to you, on a literal date with you—why can’t you take it? 

Because you cling too much to the past. Do you still like him as much as you did before? 

You’ve always believed that liking someone for so long is a stupid thing, especially someone who wasn’t even available in the first place. Why cling to someone who can’t look at you the way you want them to? And yet you held out for hope anyway, clinging to the possibility that maybe someday Seunghan can look at you like how he did his ex all those years. That perhaps you had a chance with the boy who was one day partnered up with you and your friends for that one project in AP World History, and unknowingly becoming the object of your affections for the next three years and still into college. 

“Just focus on my awesome skills,” Seunghan exclaims, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he steps closer to the machine. “I’m gonna get you that Pikachu.” 

You roll your eyes. “Of course you choose the machine with the pokemons.” 

“This is who I am,” he simply responds after inserting the token, moving around the joystick to situate the claw exactly to where he wanted it to go. “And what I am is a Pokemon fan.” 

“You do know that these things are a scam, right?” you ask, stepping right next to him. 

Seunghan curses when the plushie falls out of the claw’s grasp. “It works out, sometimes. You just gotta have hope, you know?” 

You spare him a thoughtful look. Funny how he says that. 

He goes for three more rounds to no avail, the Pikachu plushie never budging from its place next to the Charmander. Seunghan feels as if they’re mocking him from within the glass, and he feels embarrassed, but he promised (in his head, at least) to get you that Pikachu no matter what. And he won’t go home until he does. 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to push him out of the way. “Move, you’re just wasting money,” you say, inserting a token into the slot as he tries to regain his senses. “I will get you that Pikachu.”

Seunghan stammers, moving closer to you as you maneuver the claw to align with the lone Pikachu in the corner, before confidently pressing on the button. “There’s no way that’s gonna work,” he says, eyeing the descending claw. “It’s too far.”

“Just watch,” you simper. 

Much to Seunghan’s surprise, the Pikachu plushie makes it all the way to the exit without a hitch. “What?” he exclaims in shock, watching as you crouch down to take the plushie from the machine, dust it off, and proceed to hand it to him with twinkling eyes. 

“Ta-da!” you exclaim, pushing it towards him. 

Seunghan snaps out of his reverie, handing it back to you. “Why are you giving it to me? I’m supposed to be giving it to you.” 

The side-eye you give him is almost scathing. “What, like the girl can’t give the guy a gift?” 

Seunghan flushes. “That’s not what I meant!” 

But you’re already laughing, inserting another token into the slot while he’s just helplessly holding onto the Pikachu plushie you won’t take. "Sure, you fake-progressive."

"I am very progressive."

He observes as you focus in on the Squirtle next to an Eevee, before changing your mind and going for the upside-down Bulbasaur. Within seconds, you manage to get it again. 

“What’s your secret?” he wonders, taking the plush when you hand it to him as you’re already inserting another token to get the Eevee. “Why are you so good at this? Who’s controlling you? Are you even real?” 

You don’t catch the Eevee this time. You’ve also run out of tokens. 

“Nevermind,” Seunghan says with a smile too wide for your liking. 

You remember back in tenth grade when you were complaining to Sunoo about the upcoming project for history because you simply didn’t want to do it when you had a Chemistry test to study for. Miraculously, you ended up getting grouped with some of your friends and another kid, Hong Seunghan. You thought he was cute, sure, but nothing else after that. He was just some kid who had a huge friend group consisting of six other guys, which somehow included your childhood friend Anton, and the only times you’ve thought about him was when he and his friends walked too slowly in the hallways for your liking. 

But then a day before the submission day of the project, you had forgotten to fulfill your part after getting too caught up with your other classes. Knowing Sunoo would never  forgive you for tanking his grade, you ended up panicking throughout lunch trying to research and paste together a comprehensible summary of your research, hoping that if the group wasn’t getting an A then you would at least get a B. After getting your sources printed out in the library, the only thing left to do was find whoever had the physical presentation, which had been Jaehyun, but then he told you he left it to someone else’s care. Just great, really. You’ll only have a few minutes in class to assemble it, but surely you’d manage, right? 

Wrong. Your frustrations finally caught up to you, and you felt like a ticking time bomb with your unpasted sources and incomplete project. Sunoo was gonna hate you for not even being able to finish something so simple, and you’d be letting down your whole group. Nothing was going right, and you were gonna fail. 

But just as you were about to burst into tears from the stress and resorting to fess up to Sunoo, Seunghan came jogging to you five minutes before lunch ended with the physical presentation in hand. He started apologizing for hogging it, but quickly paused once he noticed tears streaming down your cheeks at the relief of seeing that all was not lost. As you frantically wiped away your tears, he had awkwardly taken the printed sources from your hands and began pasting them into the decorated cardboard, aligning them with wherever they needed to be all the while attempting to comfort you. 

Thinking back on it now, it was a very embarrassing situation. None of that would have happened if you had simply stopped procrastinating and actually did your work, but you hated the prompt your group was given, which lowered your motivation as well. Stupid, but you were just a stupid fifteen-year-old, too. 

Yet you would never forget that very understanding group mate of yours. Seunghan didn’t have to comfort you while he did all the work of gluing and cropping the pages for you, but he did it anyway because he noticed your shaking hands. He could have told you off, said a sarcastic remark about your mishap, but he never did. He did the work and walked with you to class, even offering to buy you a drink from the vending machine to calm you down all with a smile on his face. It doesn’t take a genius to know that what he did was very kind and very attractive, so naturally you ended up forming  a crush on him. 

What you didn’t know was that it would take almost four years for you to make a proper move, albeit indirectly. But it’s the little things that matter. 

“I guess this is it,” Seunghan says after pocketing his keys, walking with you towards your dorm building’s entrance. “I had fun today, Y/N. But I guess I should thank Anton for this, huh? I mean, he was the one who made it possible,” he clasps his hands into a prayer and looks up at the night sky, “whoever made Anton drunk that night, thank you.” 

If only Seunghan didn’t smile at you that day, then you wouldn’t be this hopeless in front of him. 

You snort. “We’re not even of age to drink.” 

“You really think there wouldn’t be any alcohol at Gigi’s party?”

“Fair point,” you shrug, the both of you pausing by the entrance. You turn to him, a gentle smile on your face. “Thanks for the drive, Seunghan. Please take care of Pikachu and Bulbasaur, but since you’re a major Pokemon nerd I’m sure that isn’t an issue for you.” 

Seunghan chuckles, rubbing his nape. “You know me so well.” 

“I wish I knew more,” you joked. “All those years in high school and we’ve only had full conversations three times.” 

He falters. “Ah, yeah… What a waste, huh?” 

“Goodnight, Seunghan,” you say, quickly turning around to erase the image of him looking so awkwardly in front of you. Why’d you have to mention that on the first date? God, you must be some grade-A idiot or something because— 

“Y/N, wait.” 

You pause, trying to ignore the way Seunghan tried to grab your wrist K-Drama style only to end up missing it completely. He fumbles at first at his mistake, attempting to hide the heat quickly rising on his cheeks. “Even if Anton didn’t set us up,” he starts, slowly, trying to find your gaze, “I’d have still wanted to go on this date with you. You’re really fun to talk to, and to hang out with… and you’re also really good at claw machines.”

You smack his arm, and he cracks up a smile again. “Idiot, that’s all you have to say?” 

“It’s true, though! Those things are a scam!” he reasons, before clearing his throat. “But seriously, do you wanna go on another date next time? I really had fun with you. I promise I won’t try catching pokemons at the randomest times ever again, and I’ll try to get you that Eevee plushie next time. And you said that I’m a good driver, so maybe we can catch a drive-in movie or something… what do you think?” 

Hopefully you don’t notice how fast Seunghan’s heart is beating right now, but that’s probably only because yours is beating just as fast. 

You shove him away gently, and he sends you a smile as he waits for your response. “Well?” he goads, but he immediately fails to hide the surprise in his face when you hold up your phone screen in front of him. 

“We can drive around and catch some pokemons next time,” you say, before turning around and walking away. “Bye!” 

And Seunghan watches just until you’ve entered the building, before tripping on the way to his car. 

previous | masterlist | next

SUMMARY. pining after hong seunghan has always felt like an unachievable reality; however, just a few months into your first year of college, it seems that the gods have finally listened to your prayers when news breaks out that your long-time crush is single once again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES. idiots to lovers core

TAGLIST. @shoberi @miyawwn @starwonb1n @hwadejectedyoung @revehosh @alwayswook @rksbae @emohoon @nujeskz @ilovejungwonandhaechan @meowbini @nakam00t @siuewnb @cake1box @dearmarklee @kyusqult @snowyseungs @ffixtionista a @odxrilove e @hisrkive @saeist @lilysflower1 @seunghancore @eternallyhyucks @syzavxy @calumsfringe @yipyipmorals @user7520 @tojis-luver

[loftec]

Shameless DVD Commentary: None the wiser

I was tagged by a lovely anon over at @shamelessdvdcommentary to do this, thank you! Here we gooo

Which fanfic is your DVD commentary about?

The people (11 out of 20) have spoken! None the wiser

Give us some stats - (when you wrote it, word count, how long it took to finish, is it a one-shot/multi-chapter, etc)

First published: 2015-09-23 (coming up on 9 years what is time??)

Last updated: 2021-12-11 (holy heck that's... shit! I'm sorry!)

Words: 218,480 and counting

Chapters: 53/68

What was the initial inspiration for your story?

A little bit of everything, mostly I'd been reading a lot of Shameless fic at the time and really wanted to write something that was both a really quite basic diner/coffee shop AU, but The Most version of it. The slowest burn, the most diner AU. I had no ambition for people to like it but I wanted it to be Known. If anyone ever asked for a diner fic, they'd HAVE to say, well, NTW is The Most diner fic we've got. If someone asked for slow burn, people would sigh and say, WELL, this one over here is the worst, but it is very slow. And also I was inspired by Before Sunrise / Before Sunset, and working in the music industry.

If the story is written from a character’s POV, why did you choose this character?

I chose Mickey specifically because of the Concept, that Ian decides when the chapters start and end (with some exceptions) by going to the diner, but we're limited to Mickey's POV. Generally I think Mickey is easier for me to write, too, he's got a really strong voice and I like looking at the world (and Ian) through his eyes.

What was your favourite scene to write?

The whole banter/walk scene in chapter 44 when they leave the venue:

“Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to,” he says, “I believe in you.” Ian is silent, and when Mickey risks a glance in the direction of him and his non-trumpeting goddamned marvelous lips, Ian is looking at him like he’s some kind of unsolved mystery. ”What?” Mickey asks, frowning at him when Ian smiles. “Just a thought,” he says. ”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

I had that whole back and forth leading up to the first kiss in my head for years before I got to finally got around to write it and I still love it.

How did you come up with the title?

It's from a song, one of the core songs I associate with this fic. My playlist now has 149 tracks on it, but the ones I consider "core songs" are None the wiser, Day After Tomorrow, Let's Dance, How I Made My Millions, Not Dark Yet, and Mosquitoes. I'm not sure I can explain why, but None The Wiser came on randomly when I was doing dishes and thinking about this fic I was writing, and the vibes just lined up in my head. Also I think it fits this version of Mickey I'm writing, who knows so much and has so much experience, but refuses to understand what's happening when Ian walks into his life.

Are there any little moments or references you hope readers will notice?

Oh, wow. Yeah. I always reference silly little things and I just have to hope people understand them, or tolerate them at least. I think one of my favourite bit of foreshadowing is in chapter 39 when people keep staring at Ian because they obviously recognise him, but Mickey thinks staring at Ian is a completely reasonable thing to do and is mostly just annoyed over how blatant they're being.

Was there anything you struggled to write? If so, how did you overcome this?

I am struggling right now lol, I had meticulous notes for what I wanted to happen for every single chapter up until 45, and now half of them say "they text all day" and I'm like THANKS!!! VERY HELPFUL!! Also life and writers block etc etc.

Favourite line in the story?

This is such a hard choice, so I'll just go with this one from chapter 42:

“So,” Ian says, sitting back to sweep his arms out in a wide motion, presenting his solution. “I think we should go out for breakfast sometime.”

Because to me it pinpoints the moment when Ian breaks the format, in a way? They have met outside the diner before, but only on accident, and here Ian realises that it might be a problem that they only ever hang out at Mickey's job. But metatextually, he also highlights the narrative crux they're stuck in. I don't know, is that a boring favourite line? I have many, and I grabbed the first one I saw so I wouldn't get stuck rereading the whole fic lol. Do you have a favourite line?

Did the storyline change in any way as you wrote the story?

So much, it's hard to believe because there isn't too much of a plot, but so much. My planned ending is so far from what it was when I started out, which is maybe one blessing that comes from how long it's taking me to write it, I have time to rethink things. I can't really talk about it now without spoiling the actual ending, but you better believe I will expose myself once we get to it.

If you are writing a particular trope or genre, was it your first time writing this?

I'd written fic for a different fandom ten years earlier, but nothing in this style I don't think, and this was my first time writing since I was 20 and stopped writing jrock rpf. I suppose I'm still writing about music, though!

What are you most proud about in the story? (plot, characterisation, dialogue, twist/cliffhanger, etc)

One of the things I've always wanted to do with writing for Ian and Mickey is to let them have conversations, have things in common, and be friends. Because I think they were in canon, we just never got to see it (in the first 5 seasons, careful what you wish for). Guess I'm saying I'm proud of the bants!

Are there any deleted scenes that didn’t make it to the final story?

I don't think so! I mean, maybe the last 15 chapters? I kid! They will make it!

Are there any ‘behind the scenes’ info you’d like to share - e.g. what’s going on in a characters head in a certain scene or how you came to write a certain line?

There is one line Ian says where, when I wrote it, I was like; this is the first time Ian thinks "I love you" but says something else. Cannot remember what or where right now, and I don't want to try and find it, it's late! Submit your guesses here, I might find it over the weekend if I have some time to look. Also, it's like one of those silly I love yous, one of the early ones, full of potential and feeling but perhaps lacking a bit in substance, but he thought it and I saw him thinking it!

Reading back the story now, is there anything you’d change or add?

Eh *coughs* I might already have, and I apologise. The worst part about writing something this slowly and posting the chapters as I go is that the fic isn't finished and so I feel like it's fine for me to sometimes go back and edit already published chapters. It's not right but I... will still do it. Sorry! A most embarrassing example is when, not too long ago, we discussed the layout of the diner here and I went back to the first chapter to see how I had described it, and it had changed in so many ways over the years? Small round tables?? The tables haven't been round since 2016!! So that's a very clear case of something having become canon for all the hundred little times I've thought of the tables as square while writing vs that one time in chapter one I carelessly said they were round.

Would you ever write a sequel to this story?

Yes! So many! Or maybe not a sequel, that suggests another part of equal size. But little bits of stories, yes!

If you’ve chosen your most popular story, are you surprised by the popularity?

Yes! Like I said, my only aim was to annoy my way to fandom infamy. Turns out it's so much more fun to actually connect with people and write something with someone else in mind, besides myself. I feel so lucky that so many people have connected with NTW over the years <3

Were you nervous or excited to post this story?

Mostly just excited, I think! I still am, whenever I get to post something : )

Did you have a beta or a friend who helped you as you wrote?

No, I probably should have but I have a very hard time showing things to people when they're not finished.

Ask your followers to pick a snippet (no more than 500 words) and share your thoughts about it.

Add snippets in the replies and I'll share thoughts, if you want!

Thanks for reading! <3 <3 <3

[genericpuff]

So I just read episode 275 and I’m sort of confused?

(I took screenshots, but the ask won’t let me include them so) At the end of the episode Hera summons these little balls of light(?) , maybe small stars(?) and then she casts them down onto Kronos.

I feel like that was really anticlimactic and not illustrated well. Along with the viewer not seeing Hera fight Kronos, a God that’s been tormenting her, her last attack(?) doesn’t feel right — like, there’s no power behind, if anything, I’d compare it to what a healers animation in a game looks like.

Rachel even emphasizes how strong and brilliant Hera is with Persephone, but then doesn’t show us anything. I know the scene was split between Hera and Hades dealing with Kronos physically and mentally (asleep), but it was sort of disappointing.

What I think really sucks about the setup for the Hera vs. Kronos fight is that, as cool of a concept as it is to have Hera and Hades both fighting Kronos in separate timelines, it fails on multiple levels:

1.) All the build up of Hera saying "I was created to destroy you" winds up meaning nothing because it cuts away to Hades for the entire fight

2.) When it does cut back to Hera, she's just kinda... sitting on Kronos? Like what did she do besides just breaking one of his fingers? Why weren't we allowed to see that? I think this is more so clearly Rachel's inability to write/draw fight scenes showing through, so she relied entirely on the Hades' sequence which was less physical fighting and more just Hades monologuing before turning Kronos into a diamond.

3.) And speaking of the diamond thing... so we're just expected to believe Hades could turn not just people, but Titans into diamonds? This whole time? How is he just suddenly able to do this? It feels like a shonen anime where the main character has a flashback to a scene from 3 seconds ago (in this case, Hades' conversation with Melinoe) and then unlocks a new special ability through it, but it somehow feels even less earned than it does in anime (and trust me, I can't stand that anime trope at the best of times LOL) Like at least in something like Naruto it's like... okay we have this ability Naruto's been trying to master and we've seen him work at it for a few episodes so seeing him finally nail it on the brink of defeat is like, really hype and fun. But Hades just turns Kronos into a rock out of nowhere when we had zero reason or build-up to believe that would ever be possible. Why not, IDK, have Morpheus finally master her ability to dream dive and use that to trap Kronos in an eternal sleep? At least that would have had some pre-existing foundation especially with how much of S3 was focused on the dream diving shit. IDK, the whole thing's really contrived and silly and relies a lot on the reader just going "okay! yeah that makes sense!"

4.) So Hades turned timey-wimey Kronos into a diamond... but then it cuts back to present Kronos who's just been somehow defeated by Hera through ✨magic✨ and that's just it? What about present Kronos? Is he just still trapped in Tartarus now? Why isn't he also a diamond if Hades turned some past form of Kronos into a diamond? Or was the goal just to free Melinoe so present Kronos couldn't keep using her powers? But who's to say Kronos can't just do what he did again by reaching through time to grab Melinoe and start the whole thing over again? Especially now that Melinoe doesn't remember what happened and would be none the wiser that Kronos has attempted this before? Is it because this is present Kronos whose time abilities were 'exhausted' to him 'long ago'? Then how was he able to pull Hades into the time-bowl to begin with? Again, just like the diamond thing, this entire conflict relies a lot on readers just shrugging and accepting it because there's zero foundation for the concepts that are being portrayed and thus zero logic besides "just go with it".

I can go on and on about it but at the end of the day LO just isn't a comic that should have attempted having any big Marvel fight scenes. This is an issue in a lot of romance comics that have gone on too long, they start to lose the plot around their third season and then just throw everything out the window for some other big plot that makes no sense within the context of the story. Somehow LO, a Greek myth fantasy adaption, made fighting the God of Time seem out of place and boring.

God I can't wait for Hades 2.

[sketchstudios07]

I haven't posted art in some time, but here, have some of my D&D ocs interacting with the dungeon meshi party, because it's fun! I drew them with the ones i feel like they're the most similar to either physically or personality-wise. I doubt many people will see, but i'd love to see more people doing this. Here we go!! :}

Marcille and Anne (she/her). She's an elf cleric and also my first character ever! So there isn't much to say about her. I feel like she's just this calm presence, Marcille could have some of that comfort every now and then. They'd definetly bond over hair care and magic, despite working in different fields. In a way, I feel like Marcille would find Anne similar to Falin, or like an older and wiser version of her. Anne could also give some advice on the whole "being scared of death thing", having a short-lived partner and all.

Chilchuck and Heron (he/him), tiny dads! Heron is (obviously) a halfling, but for his class he's actually a homebrew pirate! I think they have plenty of stuff in common to talk about, both of them are often made fun of by their parties for their size, which is fun. They're also both dads, only Chilchuck has 3 girls (4 if you count Izutsumi) and Heron has 4 boys, maybe they'd argue over what's better, idk. Chilchuck is grumpier, but i feel like both have that "Oh my god what are you doing!? Are you an idiot?" attitude when the party does their shenanigans. These two would be good friends, maybe Chil is a bit envious of Heron's stable family though

Laios and Deliz (he/him). Deliz is the character i've been playing the longest, he's a kalashtar sorcerer (with some druid levels). I think it's not hard to tell that they'd bond over hyperfixations. I doubt Laios would be able to answer Deliz's questions, but there's plenty of cool monster stuff to talk about! I wonder what Laios would think about all the weird creatures that possess and infect people in this other world. These two would be great friends, no judgement about "weird" behaviors, just vibes. I also feel like Laios would be super interested in what a "kalashtar" even is, or how powerful Deliz is compared to most adventurers he knows, despite him being so young (21).

Izutsumi and Spark (she/her). The cat girls! Spark is a tabaxi sorcerer that is also a literal child, so I feel like Izustumi would be done with her shit really fast lmao. Kind of like, when a child wants to impress a teenager, but they keep annoying them? Exactly that. Doesn't help that Spark is pretty energetic too. At one point or another though, they'd grow on each other. Izutsumi would never admit it though

Senshi and Lilium (she/they). Not much in common between these two, Lilium is a tiefling druid and Senshi is like, a fighter(?) dwarf, buut they'd get along really well. I feel like senshi would be the calm and nurturing figure this anxious little lesbian needs. She's been through a lot and needs a place to rest every now and then, and maybe drinking a cup of tea with some warm food is the right choice after some adventuring, right? (Also can you tell i didn't wanna draw Senshi's helmet? ITS SO HARD TO DO SIDEWAYS AND I DIDNT FIND ANY REFERENCES)

And a little bonus:

(Azzazel (they/any) is my friends character, they'd spark a whole other convo w/ Laios tbh)

[messifangirl]

are you still here :( you’re my fav messi blog and writer! have you got any recs or something new up your sleeve to look forward to? 💗

I'm still reading fic lately but not so much writing... I'm having trouble getting back into it but I'm really trying. In the meantime, I'm so happy that there are so many authors really flourishing and keeping the fandom alive. Here are my top ten favorite fics from the last few months.

Detachment by gabyteller

You're gonna wanna read the tags and warnings on this one because it is an angst-filled epic that jumps around in time through the years of Leo's career. Breathtaking at times and still a work in progress (but updated pretty regularly), I've read it more than once and it's currently my favorite fic in fandom.

Rating: M, pairings: multi, words: 103k, status: WIP

Taking Chances by loebala

Top and a bit of a dom Leo, but it's not just that it's the whole feel of this fic--Leo around La Scaloneta and the friendships and vibe is just fantastic. It's all told from Dibu's pov and it's everything I never knew I wanted lol. So smut but a whole lot of other stuff too :)

Rating: E, pairings: Leo/Emiliano Martínez, words: 48K, status: complete (now with a sequel as well)

Mistakes I Made and Won't Bend by BermudaRhombus

This fic starts with Pep leaving Barca and deals with his friendship/relationship with Leo in the years afterward, up until the present. I think what I love about it is even though we've all seen how Pep talks about Leo in the press and what not, he still hasn't quite figured Leo out after all these years.

Rating: G, pairings: Leo/Pep, words: 11k, status: complete

Hope It Gives You Hell by Fanficburner

If you're in the mood for a little smutty abo, this is the one for you. And if you've been following me long enough, you know I like my abo consensual, so this one was right on the money for me. Leo's a little bit of a cocky shit which doesn't always do it for me, but here it does. Plus, Ramos? yes'm sign me up.

Rating: E, pairings: Leo/Sergio Ramos, words: 6k, status: complete

I Can Feel It In The Air, Ooh Miami by ReflectionChamber

This one was a fun ride--but then again threesomes always are and even more so when everything doesn't always click into place. It starts after Leo's left PSG and has arrived in Miami, and explores how the three of them move from friendship into something more. Neymar doesn't know what the hell he wants, and Kylian is just struggling to hold onto Neymar. And then you've got Leo who's older and wiser but nonetheless invested in trying to keep his loved ones happy. I'm not a huge Kylian fan but this worked and it's well worth the read.

Rating: E, pairings Leo/Neymar, Leo/Kylian, Neymar/Kylian, Leo/Ney/Kylian, words: 114k, status: complete

It is in your self-interest to find a way to be very tender by gabyteller

Here's another by gabyteller but I'm not sorry. This is a totally gen fic, which sometimes I dig and I think you will too. It's about Leo's troubles at PSG, dealing with shitty fans and shitty teammates and it's told from Ramos' pov as he struggles to figure out what Leo's deal is. Bonus fatherly Pep lol.

Rating: G, pairings: gen, words: 10k, status: complete

No Regrets by LeoDios

I've never been disappointed by a LeoDios fic and though a lot of times they're emotional as shit, they're always worth it. This explores Leo being back in Paris with Neymar after winning the WC. Leo's teammates are also great in this, special mentions of Kylian, Veratti and Ramos.

Rating: E, pairings: Leo/Neymar, words: 8k, status: complete

Tu misterioso alguien by inkofsouls

Fairly sure I rec'd this already but if not, shame on me. Post WC, dealing once again with Leo and Ney at PSG. All from Ney's pov which is a huge fucking mess but he's got a lot to deal with so we can't really blame him lol. Really enjoyed this one, maybe because we know how frustrating Leo can be and we get to experience that along with Neymar haha.

Rating: E, pairings Leo/Neymar, multi, words: 45k, status: complete

not everything feels like something else by goodcostume

If you haven't read goodcostume before, you're in for a treat. I love their writing style and somehow everything is hilarious. This fic is Kun in Qatar at the WC--true to life he's had his heart condition so this is him on the side watching it all, or being dragged into Leo's bubble the way he should be.

Rating: M, pairings: Leo/Kun, words: 4k, status: complete

don't ever stop if you wanna be on top by goodcostume

Yes another by goodcostume so sue me. This one is the perfect smutty MSN fic that I've been aching for since 2015 lol. If it was ever gonna happen it was prob exactly like this ;)

Rating: E, pairings: Leo/Neymar/Luis Suárez, 2k, status: complete

[mouchiiarts]

Okay this is kind of a vent but am I the only one who thought s4 of The Dragon Prince felt really,, off?

Like it was good and well executed and all of this could very well just be a consequence of COVID and Netflix messing with season four's production but something about this season felt really weird. And, truthfully, it's kind of the everything that feels off.

A lot of the characters felt very out of character. I'm sorry but Callum should've been rightfully VERY upset with Rayla. She abandons him on the day of his birthday after he nearly loses her to the moon lake, after she makes a promise to stay with him and get through all of their shit together, and she DOESN'T COME BACK FOR YEARS. And when she does come back, they're suddenly just really awkward but still in love??? HUH??? Did I miss something?? Why are they still in their "awkward, before they get together" phase??? Callum should rightfully be extremely upset with Rayla if not furious with her!! You could have kept them amicable when Rayla comes back! She could be a bit distant but still hopeful that Callum will forgive her easily but realizes Callum is angry and is trying to be kind to her even though he's clearly not happy! Let him tell her off! Why didn't he do that??? You could still have him be nice but there's a bittersweetness to it.

Speaking of Rayla, she felt off too. Idk she just,, wasn't distant enough. You'd think after being alone for years on end she'd be a bit less trusting of others, even the friends she knew. But people change! She shouldn't have been sure how much Callum would've changed. Also her lemur doesn't look right. She noticeably stands out amongst the other characters and creature designs. Bait, although he looks a bit like a plushy, works because he feels like a unique creature to this world. Rayla's lemur just straight up looks like a doll. She doesn't look right. Also she's just a lemur with extra limbs. That's it. And she's kind of purple. Why not get weirder with her and mash her up with another animal? Like a squirrel or maybe a hawk? Idk she just doesn't look right.

Claudia also feels,, very strange. Like yes she's funny and dorky but her antics felt really amped up this season. She feels dumber somehow. And Claudia isn't dumb. She's very smart actually but she can be oblivious sometimes. But I dunno she feels too comedic this season which creates such a whiplash for me. She's the villain and brought her father back from the dead. So why is she so,, dumbed down? Also her boyfriend,, he's fine I suppose? But why would Claudia be dating an elf? HE'S AN ELF. He also doesn't like dark magic?? Huh?? Wouldn't it be more of a novel concept for him to be an elf who also wants to do dark magic? Shouldn't he be in favor of that? Why was he against it? Terry never feels like a proper villain. And outside of dating Claudia, he has no motive to stay with her or her father! He doesn't like dark magic so why is he with Claudia? How did they meet? How did they become friends? What made her like him?? CAUSE HE SEEMS THOROUGHLY ALIGNED WITH THE ELVES in terms of worldviews on magic! Terry also feels out of place in terms of his comedy. The fart joke thing got old fairly quickly for me as well. I get it, it's a kid show, but I dunno it felt a little too much like writer's weird fetish in certain places.

Ezran feels fine though in terms of writing. He still feels in character and like he's evolved. He's wiser and has been ruling as king for a while now. And I like that they kept the friendship with him and Zym the same, that was nice! I just wish Zym could talk now that's he's older. Also, shouldn't he be a bit bigger? Tbh I always thought dragons grew super quickly as adolescents. Ah well, not issues with them. Also Soren. He is still the loml and I can't ever hate him. I do wish he could've bonded with and kept a wyvern though. That would've been cool as hell.

Now for the animation. It was too smooth for me. I love the choppy uneven Spiderverse inspired look of the second and third season so much! But in s4, I could barely find spots where the animation wasn't super smooth. The colors of this season are also way off. We spend a majority of the time in (what I am assuming is) Earthblood elf territory but the colors don't look right. They don't gel together very well. This is especially noticeable in the cave scene towards the end of the season. All of those crystals were so deeply saturated and NONE of those colors looked nice together. Especially on gray speckled rock. It was hard for me to see what I was supposed to be looking at! Emphasis and focus were two aspects which this show really seemed to struggle with this season in terms of visuals. The updated character designs look nice though, I don't have any qualms there (aside from the lemur).

Except for the Earthblood elves. WHY DID YOU TAKE AWAY THEIR COOL TREE BRANCH HORNS CONCEPT ART. They had moss and leaves on their shoulders and bodies. And cool swirly carvings. Why did they take that away :(

This season also feels like it's missing a LOT of setup for a LOT of lore and plot points. Especially the plot point with Callum being possessed by Aaravos. WHERE DID THIS COME FROM?? HOW CAN AARAVOS DO THIS?? THIS BEGS THE QUESTION WHY AARAVOS DIDN'T FORCE VIREN SO CUT HIS HAND AND DO THE CATERPILLAR THING WILLINGLY. AARAVOS SHOULDN'T HAVE THE ABILITY TO AFFECT THE OUTSIDE WORLD RIGHT?? AM I GOING INSANE?? AND WHY DOES AARAVOS EVEN WANT TO POSSESS CALLUM?? BECAUSE HE CAN DO MAGIC?? HE ONLY KNOWS SKY MAGIC AS OF S4. I FEEL LIKE I'M GOING INSANE.

Idk maybe all of my issues with this season will be remedied by s5 which I still need to watch. Just needed to vent this out. I still like this show and I'll keep watching it but man, it's gained some problems for me I can't really seem to ignore. Especially since the first 3 seasons were so well paced.

[kiidwritings]

so cringe, but i love u <3

chapter 0: prologue

wc; 3,563. tags/warnings; maybe ooc .T4T RAAAGGHHHH!! Trans horangi. Trans könig. 5+1 Things. sorry if könig is ooc. im trying here. also horangi might be ooc. I TRYING. idk i based his AUDHD on mine so :P. same with könig's social anxiety. author is nd. Author is trans. she/he/they könig. transfem könig. im trying my best ;-;. not beta read. events based on stuff in author's real life. lol mention of masturbation. author knows very little german. like the basics of german. thanks duolingo. FART JOKE/MENTION DFHBDGJB. possible grammatical errors

pairing: kim "horangi" hong-jin/könig

READ ON AO3!!

Love is a remarkable thing. Whether platonic or romantic, it’s something that everyone deserves and can really change a person’s character and heal wounds that were never properly treated. Love is expressed in many different ways; cooking for someone, basking in the warmth of another’s touch, or even through the act of lovemaking (or fucking if you’re freaky like that). 

Life isn’t some fictional romantic book with some ridiculous trope like soulmate strings, or love at first sight, you have to learn what love is beneath all the lovey-dovey shit- love was awkward flirting, one-sided infatuation, heartbreak, and realizing some things just don’t work out between people. 

Sometimes it feels like you’ll never find love, no matter how long you wait, it seems like no one has the desire to make you theirs.

To have those little inside jokes that no one else understands.

To be able to sit down and work out problems in a way that leaves both parties satisfied.

To have rubbed off on each other so much that everyone can see that they're yours and you theirs.

To be able to love is a beautiful thing, whether sexual or romantic activities are involved.

So when König first saw Horangi, dressed down in his all-camo attire and sunglasses that just barely made his almond-shaped eyes visible, he couldn’t help but let his nails pick unconsciously at the dead skin along the ridges of his finger beds and begin sweating underneath his hood from the raising temperatures.

Of course, König kept his distance, needing to read him from afar before even thinking about approaching him. His skills were good no doubt about that, KorTac is only filled with the best, but it seemed like König was taking too long because one afternoon, Horangi waltzed up to them and practically demanded a sparing match.

“You’re sparing with me today.”

König blinked, sweat pooling under their mask from both Horangi’s presence and having just beat the shit out of a punching bag (she had a lot of built-up anger that day and not enough sleep, you couldn't blame her!)

“What?”

“Sparing match,” Horangi pointed to the sparing mats, “Now, let’s go.”

He didn’t even wait before walking over to the mats, expecting König to follow him like a trained puppy at his beck and call. If König was none the wiser, maybe they would’ve seen the sway in Horangi's hips, like a cat courting a potential mate.

But deep down, König couldn’t help but be turned on by Horangi’s dominance, and their leg bounced and thumped like an excited bunny.

The more the two were around each other- whether it was for a mission, during a debrief meeting, in the mess hall, in the training rooms, or even after hours when everyone started to retreat back to their dorms, König and Horangi would always make some extra time to see each other.

Maybe Horangi liked the rank imbalance between them, or maybe it was the fact that they were both trans, but it seemed like whatever higher powers had finally answered König’s prays to be loved for once (by someone besides his mom and grandmother- whatta ladies man!) because after many long months of pining for each other, getting flustered over lingering gazes, and landing in awkward positions during sparing (which usually ended up with Horangi knuckles deep in himself), König made the first move.

If she’d told younger her that she made a move on a cocky, badass baddie such as Kim “Horangi” Hong Jin, little Anton would’ve scoffed.

Him? Talking to anyone about romantic interest? Yeah, probably in some other universe where König didn’t feel like the room got ten times hotter whenever anyone even remotely up to his standards stood within a 10-foot radius of him.

But here they were, standing outside Horangi’s door with shien of sweat over their skin, shaky hands, and having had hit his head thrice on the doorways around the base, his mind too clouded by how to even start going about this.

He owed another thanks to whoever was listening to his prayers because despite having not a complete family for the entity of his adolescence, KorTac had definitely filled in the voids he was missing. Asking around for advice was both embarrassing and nerve-racking.

Roze went the straightforward route; go up to Horangi, ask him out, take him to dinner, bring him back to base, fuck him hard and nice, and then ask him out. The euphoria of the moment will help bring out Horangi’s true emotions without the shadow of insecurities. (Maybe it was the fact that Roze was aromantic and didn’t care much for the several steps skipped when someone usually tries to ask someone out.)

Hutch’s advice was much more thought through and less… vulgar . Sure what Roze said about going to dinner would be great- König and Horangi were kind of in the awkward stage of wanting to be with each other- but in the following days after the date, it’d be best to try and keep everything as they were before, and if Horangi’s feelings grew, then she knew it was time to make it official with him.

With his mind still full of insecurities and inexperience, König went and flopped down on his bed, limbs hanging off due to his imposing stature. 

“ Gottverdammt … this shouldn’t be so hard, right?” König muttered to herself as she stared at the painting chipping on her walls. She inwardly cursed herself for not having gotten over her stupid social anxiety and gotten some game back in his youth. (His therapist would’ve shaken his head if he heard him say that.)

Maybe she could think about it over some paperwork, the reports piling up on her already messy desk. Neh, König needed focus to do work, and having his mind also occupied with this whole dating situation would have him staring at the same sentence for half an hour, damn his ADHD. 

Working out always helped relieve stress and it was late, so he’d basically have the whole gym to himself. (They will still never live down accidentally farting while bending down to pick up a weight… ugh .) But König did have paperwork to be done, damn that paperwork, know he’s gonna be thinking about it for the rest of the week, URGH !

Shuffling onto their back, they let out a deep belly sigh. Staring at the semi-stained titles of his dorm ceiling, he thought back to his childhood, memories of brisk early mornings, perfecting his handwriting so his teachers would stop berating him for it, running home to avoid being hit by rocks by kids who never seemed to be in school and helping with as many house chores as needed in order to help his mother who worked relentlessly for her baby’s sake. König smiled, remembering a day when his mother came home, her crooked teeth showing in her big smile, standing on her tiptoes to give Anton a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

<“Mama, you look happy. Did something happen?”> Anton asked as he shifted in the too-small table chair. The already-worn wood creaked under his weight. 

Elena’s lips were cracked, having worked out in the cold from the first light of day to the late dusk hours, but her smile never flattered. 

Anton was her rock and she was his, having stuck through everything in life together. 

When his father left, not needing to be weighed down by the responsibilities of being a father to a baby who would never grow up to be as much a man as he is, she cried and cried to her mother, a strong widow who was more than welcome to take care of her daughter’s pride and joy despite finally feeling her age. 

When Anton went through growth spirit after growth spirit, having to retuck his shirt into his waistbands and feel the breeze on his constant plumbers crack, she took all the old clothes her late father and dead-beat ex-husband left behind, stitching up whatever tears and rips were in the fabrics and sending him off, praising Anton for looking like such a big, strong boy when really, the clothes just made him look like the homeless man he’d see during his bike rides to the overpriced supermarket in the next town over.

<“Oh Anton, my sweet boy,”> She came over, cupping his cheeks riddled with freckles (they were more prominent on colder days), ance, and scars from said ance and placed one of her sloppy, motherly kisses on his forehead. His curly auburn bangs stuck to her lips as she pulled back. 

The sight of his mother’s smile made his hands shake and slap against his thighs with untamed happiness.

<”Go put on something nice. We’ll pick up your grandmother and go out for something to eat. I’ve saved up enough for us.”> Elena’s thick eyelashes were glistening with tears and up close, Anton could see the bags under her hazelnut eyes.

After fancying themselves up and picking up his grandmother, they made the half-hour drive into the city. To regular standards, the restaurant was barely even considered fancy, it was just some family-owned diner with mediocre food and greasy tables, but the sight of the food made Anton enthusiastic while reciting the prayers his grandmother made them say before meals. 

Whilst in the midst of practically shoveling food in his mouth, Anton’s grandmother spoke up. 

<”Enkel (grandson)...?”> She spoke in a weak yet gentle voice. It had lost its verbal liveliness, but only those closest to her could understand when emotions ran high through her words. Anton looked up, his lips coated with the spicy broth from the Potato Gulasch he was practically inhaling, before quickly wiping his mouth with a crumbled napkin. His grandmother taught him better.

<”Has your mind cleared from the last time we talked?”> There was slyness in her tone as Elena raised her eyebrow and finished chewing a particularly chewy piece of beef in her Tafelspitz.

<”Hmm? What’s this about?”> She questioned rightfully so, if there was something bothering her son, she should be the first to know!

Anton blushed and began pushing around the vegetables in his stew. <”I…umm, I wanted to ask out a girl. Remember the one I was paired with for that project?”> 

Elean seemed to perk up even more, playfully bumping shoulders with her son.

<“Wunderbar! (Wonderful!) Oh, my sweet boy!”> She gushed and grinned wildly. In other circumstances, Anton would’ve laughed bashfully and gone pink, but in the middle of a busy restaurant where any of his schoolmates could’ve walked in or been within earshot of this conversation, he ducked his head and mumbled incoherence, embarrassed.

<”Yeah…I just, don’t know how to though. She’s so sweet and pretty I just… she’s too good for me.”>

 Elean blinked at this, her smile gone and looking rather serious as his grandmother shook her head.

<”Enkel, we talked about this. You need to-.”>

<”No girl is too good for my son!”> Anton’s grandmother was cut off by Elean’s sharp words. She was frowning and looked rather upset. Not at Anton himself, but at his mind and his insecurities and the words he dared to utter, belittling himself and his abilities.

<”Whoever this girl is, she’d be lucky to have someone such as yourself, my own flesh and blood, ask her out on a date! Good confessions come from the heart of someone just as good, and if she can’t understand how blessed and pure you are by your words, then she doesn’t deserve shit from you!”> 

Elean’s cheeks were flushed by the time she finished her rant before they got even redder.

<”Ah! Entschuldigung, Mutter! Bist bald! (Excuse me, mother! I’m sorry!)”> She hung her head at her grandmother while Anton just stared at his mother in astonishment. 

Just his mother’s words alone filled him with such… confidence. He felt his hands shake and suddenly his mind cleared with only one thing in mind; asking this girl out.

His grandmother only smiled and let her ankle knock against her daughter’s in a silent acceptance. 

The rest of the dinner went well, Elean even treated them to some desserts. The ride home was filled with comfortable silence and the rumble of Anton’s stomach as it tried to adjust to the spices that laced the Potato Gulasch. 

Anton smiled to himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. The reflection in the mirror was no longer someone he scrunched his face up at, but a young man who was slowly breaking out of his shell, like a caterpillar wiggling its way out of its chrysalis.

With a full stomach and his mother’s words still echoing in his head, Anton nuzzled into his flat pillows, forgetting all his other school troubles and only thinking about the happy-go-lucky brunette who went the extra mile to say hi to him in the halls.

(He also doesn't think he’s ever farted so much in his life. His stomach growled and rolled from the spices that were now coating his insides and attacking his bowels. His asshole was on fire that night.)

It was about 20 minutes before lights out, the usual sounds of the Kortac base were now mellowed down as the night hours passed. 

König balled his thin sheets up in his calloused fists before jerking up in bed, death staring at the hickory door of his room. König wasn’t a pussy, he wasn’t gonna disappoint his mother, and he didn’t his rank as colonel by letting his insecurities get the best of him!

Social anxiety be damned, this mountain of an Austrian man knew how to get shit done when shit needed to be done!

Without a moment’s hesitation, she threw open her door and made her way down the halls of the barracks, getting stares from those who were still up and about. She made a beeline for Horangi’s room and wasted no time giving the door a sturdy three knocks.

“I- just a second!” Horangi’s accented voice was heard through the door along with some rustling. König stood straight and waited for the top of the Korean man’s head to come into view.

Horangi appeared in his doorway wearing some casual attire; a pair of black cargos, a V-necked gray shirt, and a simple black hoodie. His usual pair of sunglasses were nowhere in sight, not even hanging on the collar of his shirt, and his eyes, dark and shimmery like black diamonds, looked up at König with such innocence.

König could tell he wasn’t wearing his binder, not that he made it a habit to look! But when you’re tall enough to see the curve of everyone’s boobs from above, it was sometimes the second thing you noticed about a person.

(Sometimes König wished they had boobs. The mere thought made their face flush and they felt vulnerable even within the walls of her own room. Someday, she’d work up the courage to find a bra that'd fit her chest and cry at the sight of how beautiful his body, which he spent years hating, could be.)

The sight of Horangi made him instinctively hunch his shoulders and swallow hard. König blinked before clearing they spoke, “Ah, good evening, Hor- I mean, Hong-Jin!” 

Hong-Jin made it a point that his callsign was indeed NOT his actual name and that during their casual time together, he preferred that name over Horangi (it especially sounded nice when it came from König’s lips, but he would never say that, no matter how blunt he could be).

“Hello, König. What brings you around this late?” Hong-Jin said as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and without the playful scrunch of his eyes, König would’ve thought the worst, and all his confidence would’ve gone down the drain. 

König had yet to tell Hong-Jin his real name.

Anton is not a colonel, but a citizen. She was beneath the sniper hood König adorned when on base and during missions. Anton was a mama’s boy who was too big for their own good and although hated their dad, wished he hadn’t left so that they might’ve had some sort of male role to look up to. 

But that was a can of worms she wasn’t ready to open, it’d probably go bad by the time she was ready to even think about cracking open its rusted aluminum top.

König gripped the fabric of his pants to keep them from shaking. “Can I come in? I wanted to…talk…?”

He inwardly cringed as his voice went up an octave as his sentence progressed, but Hong-Jin just smiled, well, König assumed he smiled based on how his eyes squinted (it was hard to see when he had his mask on), and stepped out the way to allow König into his room.

Making sure to duck, König went and sat on the desk chair. They were familiar with the arrangement of Hong-Jin’s room from the number of times the two had hung out in it… as friends of course!

Hong-Jin plopped back down on his bed, there were some stray clothes lying about but otherwise, it was tidy, as tidy as a ‘lived-in’ room could be.

“So what’s up, König? Roze told me you two talked earlier.”

König visibly stiffened, heart stopping for a second before pounding at his rib cage like a rabid animal and it was suddenly 80 degrees under his hood.

(Fahrenheit, of course. I’m American.)

“Really? What…what about?” König squeaked out. (What the hell, König didn’t squeak . He’s a grown-ass dude, the fuck would he be squeaking for?!)

Hong-Jin just shrugged smugly. “I don’t know, you wanna tell me? That was your conversation.” His everyday, average teasing seemed to be too much for poor, little ( NOT little. Remember? This was a middle-aged man we’re talking about.) König.

Their chest puffed and they exhaled loudly, almost unnecessarily loud. With averted eyes and sweaty palms, she spoke up again.

“Y-yeah, I had something to admit.” Hong-Jin blinked and if it hadn’t been for his mask, König would’ve seen the pink flush in his cheeks.

Hong-Jin shuffled on the bed but kept silent, pleading for him to continue.

König let out another sigh again, “I’ve been thinking about this for…some time now. Maybe three months after you transferred to KorTac and since we started really talking to each other,”

Her leg started bouncing and the desk chair let out little squeaks. Hong-Jin didn’t seem to care, listening intently to every word that slipped from König’s mouth.

“And, I’m not sure if it’s too early or if you're completely uninterested feel free to tell me off, but I’d love the opportunity to-.”

“ God yes .”

Kong blinked at the desperation and eagerness that dripped from Horangi’s agreement.

Hong-Jin blinked, his body leaning forward and hands gripping his knees, before leaning back and blushing hard.

Oh, such a pretty pink.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Well, is ‘Yes’ the answer you were hoping for in response to your question?” Hong-Jin’s voice was a mixture of bashful and smug. 

König crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then crossed them the opposite way. “I…umm, well it depends! Can…can I finish my sentence?” König huffed in amusement. 

Hong-Jin nodded, so with a little bit less anxiousness, König spoke up again.

“I wanted to ask if you…umm, well, if you wanted to go out?…with me! Not just like in general, but like ya’ know…-“

“On a date?” Hong-Jin’s voice was now smug and he was definitely smirking under his mask. 

That sly cat…

König just nodded and fidgeted with the drawstring of his sweatpants. “ Ja. Well, I guess I already know your answer ‘cause you just said yes, but I wanted you to actually know what you were agreeing to! I’m not even sure if you like me or not, or just pitying me! Which is completely fine if that’s the-!”

“König…” Hong-Jin’s voice was now soft, a natural rumble from his chest, akin to a noise a tiger would make (haha, see what I did there?).

König just fluttered her eyelashes and swallowed, “Hmm?”

“I would love to go on a date with you. I do like you if that somehow wasn’t clear enough.”

So that’s how it started, two predators- a bear with the heart of a rabbit and a tiger who had a knack for teasing, learning to be soft with each other.

What people don’t realize about going from friends to lovers is how similar the relationship is to the previous friendship. You go about your normal routines with a little bit of PDA and flirting added into it (and a lot of fucking, Horangi’s sex drive was higher than König’s). Soon, you’ll be moving in with each other, spending late mornings in each other’s arms, sharing clothes, and swapping spit.

But like all humans, we have flaws and weaknesses. Whether or not you choose to deal with a partner’s flaws shows more about your character than theirs. And if you're strong enough to stay with someone despite feeling yourself physically recoil at the sight of their icks, then that shows your love and devotion towards them.

But one little ick wouldn’t ruin a relationship, right?

Till death do them part…although, it’d be years before those words would even be muttered.

Feel free to give criticism and feedback via ask, I’d love to know how to get better and to hear what y'all have to say about my writings!

Have a good day/night! :3c - alienkiid

Taglist (bolded means could not be tagged!): no one yet!~

If you guys would like to be on a taglist for my writings, please fill out this google form or send me an ask!

©kiidwritings 2020 - 2023; all rights to the stories are reserved to @kiidwritings! please do not plagiarize, modify, edit, translate, or repost any of my work!

[youngster-monster]

Im in finals hell currently but stranger things and steddie have their claws in me once again so have this. fic idea thing for a role reversal au between steve and eddie

Season 1, Will Byers disappears and Eddie may be a freak, but shit, missing kid, so he goes on a few of the search parties with his uncle. And he keeps going, even when Wayne's hours mean he can't go anymore: just grabs the lamp torch and walks through the woods for a few hours when he can’t sleep, often on his own. It’s creepy as hell out there, he keeps feeling like something is watching him, but whenever he tries to sleep he ends up spending hours staring at his ceiling instead so whatever. It’s something to do. He keeps doing it even after they fish out Will’s body from the quarry: Hawkins’ nicer when it’s quiet.

He tried to like, talk to Jonathan a few times at school, freaks should stick together etc, but it didn’t exactly. Work. Still, he finds himself wandering past the Byers’ house and when he sees the lights blinking like crazy and hears the noises coming from inside he decides to investigate.

Steve, meanwhile, saw Nancy’s gun and decided shit was already weird enough, running out of the narrative none the wiser. For now. Eddie bursts into the house just in time to see the Demorgogon: his turn at being a protagonist!

The following seasons would go in the same vein. Eddie gets reverse adopted by Dustin on virtue of being a cool older male figure who’s into DnD and probably spends a lot of time grabbing the kids and running instead of getting his ass beat by the villain of the week: THIS protagonist is a runner, and he gets way fewer concussions about it

(Steve, meanwhile, gets dumped without even knowing what made Nancy change so much. No friends, because his previous ones were assholes, and no girlfriend, because he’s bullshit: he’s a pretty lonely guy.)

Nancy won’t let Eddie hang around the kids while dealing, so he picks up a job as Scoops Ahoy instead. Please picture this in your mind. It takes a minute for his, huh. Loud. personality to grow on Robin, but they have that kind of wlw/mlm acerbic friendship, you know the one. When there’s two gays on shift NOTHING gets done. 

Decoding russian cyphers is great fodder for future DnD puzzles and he has a grand ol’ time up until they get kidnapped; he gets a few traumas about it and also a mutual coming out, which is nice because he really thought he’d die the only gay person in Hawkins.

Steve gets a job at some sorts of sports goods store in Starcourt; his parents were NOT happy that he didn’t get into any college. That’s where he meets Chrissy: she needs new shoes for cheer practice, he flirts with her, they actually go on a date, and he’s done enough introspection to realize boy, she is NOT having fun here. He apologizes, SHE apologizes, they’re both cute about it, he drives her home, and somehow they become friends instead. He deserves that.

So in ‘86, when Chrissy needs something to silence the nightmares, she goes to her good pal Steve Harrington at Family Video instead: maybe a movie would help. They chat a bit, he proposes they watch “Girls Just Want To Have Fun” after his shift, and then she starts floating, which isn’t a great moment for anyone involved

In his scramble to climb over the counter to drag her down, Steve walks on the tv remote that controls the display TV, turning the volume up. He had put Grease on when Chrissy walked in: it’s one of her favorite. “Summer Nights” starts blaring, and it’s not her favorite but shit, i’m in charge of the plot here, it works enough that she collapses to the ground, in a bad, bad shape, but alive.

Lucas is pretty much the only one of the kids who’s close-ish to Steve; I figure he reached out to the last best ball boy of hawkins high for tips when he tried out for the basketball team. Don’t ask me how they became actual friends, just know that they are, so the next day he goes looking for Steve to talk about recent My Friends Don’t Like Me Balling teenage angst and finds a crime scene instead. Steve isn’t at the hospital either: he’s at the police station, being questioned because the cops think he’s the one who broke a few of Chrissy’s limbs and put her in a coma (the main theory is that he asked her out, she said no, and he, what, flew in a rage? It’s not like he can tell them the TRUTH. The cameras don’t even work inside the family video.)

Cue the rest of the season. With one long freakout on Steve’s part because his parents are rich enough for him to post bail but jesus christ there isn’t enough money in the world to forget the fact that magic is real and hates you specifically

[tmwwriting]

Title: Do you smell smoke? Rating: Teen & Up Chapter: 1/1 Word Count: 5.5K Tags/Warnings: Pre-canon. Olivia Hall. Lucas Grey. Olivia Hall & Lucas Grey. Light angst. Hopeful ending. A/N: This is an entirely self-indulgent Olivia-centric fic. Originally meant as a fic snippet, but then just didn't stop writing. Olivia also has her mother in this one <3

AO3: (X)

The Olivia Hall who signed herself up for early morning classes was an optimistic, highly motivated student devoted to the principles of higher learning. Not quite the Olivia woken up by the 5 AM alarm, who slaps the snooze button and only keeps from tossing the entire phone by the thinnest shred of self-control. That, and she's gone through enough phones this month already - there’s a small mountain of parts and half-modified screens and circuit boards across the room. Tinkering with them is what kept her up far past the time a wiser person would have gone to sleep, and now she's paying for it.

The snooze button gets a workout the rest of the morning. The sounds of other students - those not quite as pro-sleep as she is - come through the walls and the windows that look out over the poor excuse of a parking lot. The sun is up too, now, adding to the crowd. Olivia throws her forearm up over her eyes, the picture of some 18th century forlorn damsel. When that doesn't work, burying her face in the pillow gives her another fifteen minutes. She mutters under her breath, fighting the urge to bite the bullet and finally invest in some black-out curtains. Relying on the flimsy things the school gives her is like trying to stop the flow of water with a sifter.

Insulation also isn't high in the student apartment budget, Olivia notes, not for the first time as goosebumps prickle along her arms when she finally emerges from the mountain of blankets.

She starts a pot of coffee after giving the one she left out overnight a worried sniff and flips her laptop open while she waits.

There's news she needs to catch up on.

Someone - and impossible to say who, this someone is very good, very painstaking about covering their tracks - has been steadily leaking information to the local newspaper about a Senator knee deep in hypocritical bullshit. Some of the things this man says...Olivia grits her teeth. If people want to be assholes, that's one thing. Typical douchebaggery she's come to expect. The lies and the hypocrisy are what really get her and had put her onto this guy's case to begin with.

It was kind of him to provide her with so much material. He had weathered the first few volleys of leaks with the expected bombast and denial, but last night was Olivia’s coup de grace - a poor quality security video, but one that clearly shows some...activities he's partaking in in a hotel elevator. With someone who is clearly not Mrs. Piece-of-Shit-Senator and who looks a whole lot like his campaign manager.

Family values, my ass.

"Should've minded your own business."

Olivia flips the laptop shut. Even the black coffee tastes sweeter today, and she's in such a good mood she's only mildly bothered she’s missed her first class of the year.

--

The whole thing is trending by the time she's out of her next lecture and heading over to the library. Hashtags, stories, everything. The national news networks pick it up by lunchtime. 

Olivia gets back to her dorm in the middle of the unseasonably hot afternoon and wolfs down a half-eaten sandwich from the bottom shelf of the fridge. She'll need to run by the student co-op later - the only thing left for dinner is some jam that's turning funny colors. 

She's just finished washing her one dish when the Senator's office releases a resignation statement. 

Why do these people always claim it's to spend time with their family?

Olivia rolls her eyes and keeps scrolling through the results of her handiwork, admiring the utter indignation of the PACs who supported this idiot, when a notification pops up: a message from an unknown number.

Nice work on the senator.

Not the RA getting back to her on her renovation ideas, then. Olivia smiles so wide her cheeks hurt, and shoots a quick text back:

Cleaner than shooting him.

A few moments. Then a buzz.

Cheeky.

There's so much she wants to say. Been a while. Be safe. Where are you. When are you coming back. You try cleaning blood off carpet.

She decides on Always.

The message fails to deliver.

--

"Mama!" Olivia drops her bags in the hallway, crushing a pair of balding fuzzy slippers in the process. She makes a note to take her mom shopping this week, no matter how crowded the mall is or how much it makes her hair stand on end to hear the same five songs and see the same red-green color scheme everywhere.

The holidays have already infiltrated their property: the yard fell to the onslaught first, with sparkling lights draped artfully across shrubbery and roof alike, and now it’s inside the house, too. The smell of freshly baked gingerbread and apple pie was strong even before Olivia opened the front door, the scent mixed in with the sets of overpriced candles that she keeps telling her mom are fire hazards. "But they smell good" is only going to make the fire department and insurance company laugh.

“In here, Liv!” Mama shouts over the familiar whistle notes of Mariah Carey, and Olivia laughs at the exclamation of “Oh, shoot” followed by the sound of a clatter of pots and pans and some rather loud splashes.

"Is the coast clear?" Olivia peeks her head around the corner of the kitchen to a small battlefield, with her mother having lost the fight to some baking sheets and the Le Creuset pots and pans. They look to have settled quite cozily in the sink, whose water still sloshes from side to side.

Mama flicks some of the soapy suds at her, and Olivia ducks back with a giggle - the small pond of dishwater on their kitchen floor grows as laughter bounces brightly around the cramped space.

“Sheesh, we could go diving for pearls in that spill,” Olivia calls over her shoulder as she grabs a mop from the supply closet, then returns and gets to work. 

Her mom only shrugs as she wipes down the counter. “Well, welcome home, dear. Thought I'd be done by the time you got here, but..." She waves a hand at the small army of baked goods assembled in their kitchen, like she doesn't know how they got there. "Anyway, how are you?"  

“I'll be smelling cinnamon and holly for weeks, but other than that, I'm fine.” Olivia's only partly joking. The other part can feel her sinuses being seared with a cocktail of what Bed, Bath & Beyond's dreams are made of.

“And school?” 

“Boring. Easy, though.” Olivia's only kept going to lectures to get some fresh air. They're not uninteresting, she just...knows it all. She tells her mom about one of her professors, and how there's some fascinating work she’s doing with a grad student in the department. Mama doesn't get a lot of the finer technical details, but Olivia likes talking to an appreciative audience. Her rubber duck she keeps for troubleshooting doesn't quite have the same enthusiasm.

Their kitchen floor is probably the cleanest it's ever been after a few more minutes of scrubbing and mopping up; her mom's been finished with the counter and is back at work with more trays coming out of the oven and more dough slapped onto the baking board. It's quiet now, and Mama sighs, her entire body heavy and weary with that one exhale as she goes back to kneading. 

Olivia sets the mop against the counter and comes up behind her mom, and wraps her in a hug. The two rock back and forth, the lone dancers on a cheap, freshly cleaned linoleum floor. Olivia can feel her mother's tiredness like it's her own. The next few weeks are always difficult - and both have their own ways of dealing with it. Olivia makes life hard for jerks on the internet, and Mama...

Well, Mama doesn't go overboard with the baking on accident - she's very aware there's only the two of them now.

Olivia blinks back the sudden sting at her waterline. Her smile is a bit too forced, shows too many teeth as she turns her attention to the already filled trays and the cookies still cooling on the racks. 

"Hey, these look great!” 

She feels a little bad decapitating the gingerbread snowman. He is delicious, though.

--

The semester break means more free time, which means Olivia wraps herself in the family quilt and dishes out more justice from her couch. There’s a few more people knocked off their high horses - bleating, ashen-faced politicians squirming and issuing resignation letters, never knowing their arch nemesis wasn't a political rival, but some college girl with one hand holding a piece of her mom's peach cobbler. Then comes a target much closer to home - the dean of her college, who had been up to much worse than anyone knew, worse than the whispers had hinted at. 

There are no text messages for her about those, though. No "Good job" or "Nice work", and Olivia pretends it's not disappointment that's becoming a somewhat constant companion in the aftermath of her successes. She learned about this in an introductory psych class: how intermittent rewards are the most potent motivators; the reason slot machines are so enticing. And, apparently, why her crusade becomes this ceaseless quest for another bit of approval. The fact she's taking down assholes who deserve it is just icing on the cake, no matter how much she tells herself it's the other way around. 

She hadn’t really had plans to keep going - vigilante hacking isn’t going to pay the bills (ransomware groups are pieces of shit; Olivia refuses to do that on principle) and there are plenty of respectable 9-to-5s in software development or IT that she'd excel in. And it’s not in the hopes that he contacts her again (it's not, she thinks with a frown and unconvincing glance at her phone), but she ups the ante. 

The first company in her crosshairs is a local one. It seems like a logical next step: targeting companies instead of individuals, although it's something of an accident that kicks the plan into gear. It starts with some eavesdropping once she's back at school: there's a girl crying in one of the university bathrooms, telling her friend about her boss threatening her job among a host of other things. Olivia washes her hands discreetly as she gets the gist of it. It's a cakewalk to find the rest. 

Olivia sits in front of her monitors and the only witnesses to her commitment are her faithful rubber duck and faded Rubik's cube.

Start small, room to grow: the place is one of those chain restaurants off the main highway, caters mostly to tourists. Olivia passes it every time she leaves town. Locally sourced misogyny, straight to your table from angry, embittered assholes who think harassment and discrimination are acceptable business practices.

They're also too small to afford proper security. Olivia's in and digging around after the digital equivalent of popping open a latch on a battered garden gate. She finds what she's looking for quickly.

The harassment she'll never be able to prove, though she tries; they don't have security cameras, though, and the boss seems smart enough to not have emails and texts lying around bragging about it. But if they’re a piece of shit in one area of life, she can bet that stench is coming from other places, too. Their financials are the smoking gun - Olivia takes the proof she needs and skedaddles. 

A few months later, the state AG releases a press statement. These guys took a plea deal for theft and mail fraud, among other things. No jail time. It's a shame, but Olivia can keep tabs on them so if they so much as sneeze, her systems will pick it up. The restaurant has an "Under New Ownership" banner up within the week.

There’s no texts for this one though, either. 

Or the one after. 

Olivia keeps going anyway. Everyone needs a hobby.

--

This time it's not a text. It's an issue of a newspaper that Mama doesn't read, and Olivia knows they don't have a subscription to. "These places sell your information" and "I don't want them knowing where we live" were not winning arguments at first; when Mama worried about losing her daily crossword, Olivia went and got the biggest book of crosswords she could find. She buys one each time she notices her mom getting to the end. 

With Olivia winning that battle, there's been no paper subscriptions at their address for years. Yet there this newspaper sits, right on their breakfast table after Mama brought in the mail - a tribune from a few states over, the headlines blaring:

"CROSS-SELLING SCANDAL AT ARGENTINIAN BANK?"

It's him, it has to be. Olivia's pulse jumps into double-time at the thought, and she glances around the room like he'll emerge from the pile of fresh laundry she's just dumped on the sofa. Mama wouldn't let him in the house, though, and he's always respected that. He probably didn’t even cross the property line to drop this off. 

Olivia thumbs through the newspaper, teeth worrying her bottom lip. She tries to shove down an uncomfortable memory, one of adults speaking in terse, raised voices, and a strained goodbye she was too young to realize was for good. She remembers the door closing behind him like it was yesterday. The echoes of that thud snap her back into the present, and she works out a plan of attack - this company is no little mom-and-pop with limited resources and barely-there security.

This one takes a couple months of skittering around like a rat in the walls. As tempting as it is to start ripping out the wires that make the place work, Olivia bides her time. Little traps here and there, little alarms rigged and set once she has a layout of their systems.

When she has it though, the dossier is centimeters thick and utterly damning. She feeds it in tantalizing spoonfuls to both the public (there's one ferocious national reporter she's particularly come to like) and the relevant regulatory agencies.

Another issue of that newspaper shows up, this time with headlines about the company's utter crash-and-burn spurred by multiple investigations into their practices. That, and they haven't had any functionality since a system-wide collapse took down their entire digital presence. Hard to pillage money when no one at the company has a working electronic device. Olivia cuts out the article and files it away in a lockbox she hides under a panel in the bedroom closet.

No further targets are communicated, but Olivia has an active imagination and no intention of slowing down. It's an itch, now, over an open and angry wound. Olivia has never been a violent person, never so much as cusses out idiots on the road. There's just so many companies out there doing the same thing as this one, flouting laws with impunity and a brashness that would shame any normal person...it shrinks her world down to black and white. These people need to be stopped.

One by one. Piece by piece.

--

He's there at her graduation. Or he was at some point, anyway. Mama hosts a small barbecue after the commencement, and among the well wishes and messages and cards Olivia gets, there's one she knows is from him. She knows it the way her hands know her keyboard, the familiarity settling deep into her bones as her eyes glance over the messy scrawl.

There’s been no more newspapers over the years, no more texts, and he’s apparently trusted her judgement ever since he started her on this path. That's how she interprets his silence. It's more charitable than thinking that he doesn't care, and easier on her own ego.

The car ride home that night is quiet: the closing of a nondescript chapter in a nondescript book of a nondescript life. On the surface, anyway. Internally, Olivia teeters on the edge of a decision about that dreaded phrase that always seems to pop up at moments like these - The Future. As though she ought to have her entire life neatly planned out from now to middle age to the retirement home. 

She'd spent the previous summer interning at a tech company, and mainly because her mom had looked so excited for her to even get the offer. Even Olivia has to admit the experience was fun, the work interesting, and the people not quite as loathsome as she was afraid of. They had a job offer ready for her after her graduation - she really does need to reply almost as soon as she gets home. She's put it off long enough.

Olivia calls them the next morning, sitting at her desk, the email thread with the contact info pulled up on her laptop and a certain card gently opened and taped to the wall in front of her. The HR manager in their cushy office in Silicon Valley probably won't think twice about her refusal - just on to the next person in line. Olivia hangs up, smiles, and runs her finger across the ink in front of her, tracing over where the pen pressed so forcefully it indented into the cardstock.

It's the most satisfying thing in the world to give people a taste of their own medicine. She's just going to have to find a side hustle - the lights won't run off vigilante justice, no matter how much she wishes they would.

--

There aren't many like her. And there’s almost none as skilled as she is, and so she ends up breathing in some rarefied air in the community. Delriego is known, even if Olivia Hall is not. Olivia is merely a part-time electronic repair associate at a local co-op dedicated to reversing planned obsolescence. Delriego is a ruthless activist, ripping away shrouds of secrecy that certain companies have come to expect and rely on, and having a whale of a time doing it.

Olivia does love her day-job sticking it to the big tech companies - one repaired phone and one upgraded smart-whatever at a time. Anything that takes a bit of cash out of the loaded pockets of they-who-shall-not-be-named. But it's Delriego's work that has her up and fervent, energized even without caffeine, always burning from the seemingly limitless supply of shameless corporations. She supposes she should be thankful for the job security.

The hacktivism is a lot more glamorous than the tinkering, so Olivia's not all that surprised to realize that Delriego has amassed something of a cult following. People like her...they congregate. Bump into each other out there in their digital world. Never recognizing a face, but signatures and traces. Unique identifiers. Delriego leaves a signature the same way an artist would at the corner of a canvas. Banksy would approve.

So when she's invited in to a group of other hacktivists, it's both expected and flattering. Before engaging with anyone, she checks and triple checks the proverbial lock on the door. She knows her defenses are airtight - there can no tracing back to Olivia Hall. She sets up in a new location - a new country - and tentatively agrees to help with the project that requires some of the finest minds she's ever met.

The leader calls himself Hush.

And apparently, he’s going to change the world. 

--

When it rains, it pours. And when a criminal mastermind hunts her down, there's not much to be done other than run for her life. Olivia's only saving grace is that they've never met in person, no one has any idea what she looks like, and she has a head start. The odds are still terrible. She's quickly backed into a corner with no way of reaching the one person she trusts to deal with something like this. Options limited, she does the equivalent of blasting an emergency broadcast on all frequencies, then crosses her fingers and hopes he finds her before they do. Grey has never let her down, not ever, and it has always made her feel invincible - she walks through the streets with everyone else, but set apart, safe in the knowledge that there's a menacing guardian angel out there.

Her faith is rewarded: he shows up in person within the week. He looks haggard, rough, and Olivia's first thought is that he's in trouble of his own. But he doesn't ask any questions and neither does she. They run, disappear, and she thinks it's pride in his eyes when she tells him how careful she was. He helps her scrub the rest, the physical traces her computers can't reach into. She doesn't want to know how. She isn't going to like the answer.

The whole process takes a few weeks. Then they're back stateside, in her new apartment, when Olivia tells him all of it. Everything. The man named Hush. The hackers he recruited. The organ trafficking. The human experimentation. How there's blood on her hands now, and that no matter how many corporations or bad guys she takes down, it will never wash her clean; justice may be blindfolded, but she's not. She should’ve known. 

The tears come at some point, and Lucas, who had been watching her from across the kitchen island, comes around and pulls her into a hug. It's their first hug in a long time, and Olivia feels like that scared little girl again, running from monsters into the arms of something far scarier. Someone even the monsters are afraid of.

"It's not your fault," he says. He's hardly a moral arbiter, but he's the only one she needs any absolution from - the only one who understands.

Olivia cries until all she can feel is tired. She almost wishes she hadn’t gotten Grey involved - he’s always rescuing her, and she’d wanted so badly for him to realize she’s a perfectly capable adult now, on more equal footing than they’ve ever been. 

So much for that. 

His job is done, but the goodbye she's expecting never comes. For the first time since she's known him, he stays; he camps out in the living room with a wry smile as Olivia apologizes for the scant furnishings and armchair he's been relegated to for the night. 

"Made do with worse."

--

Back to working alone. Chin up. Eyes forward.

There’s a line she crossed a long time ago - back when she realized the law and the courts weren’t going to fix the endemic rot in society. In this world, the one she'd stepped into willingly, the only person whose motives she can trust is her own. It's a harsh lesson, and it's made her even more distrustful and crowd averse. The gravity of the betrayal still takes her breath away when she allows herself to dwell on it in the quiet moments. And they all were like her. Hush was brilliant, and she’d been so taken in by his genius, she’d missed the forest for the trees. And the rest of them…so much for camaraderie.

Speaking of, Grey's disappeared on her again. Nothing. Radio silence. She could try hacking CICADA to see if they kept up with former employees, but the image of Grey finding out stops her in her tracks. For all that she despises the PMCs, she could never quite find it in her to despise him or his work. Do what you're good at is a sentiment she understands. 

It’s none of my business, Olivia tells herself every time she gets curious. Eventually the curiosity deadens like a frayed nerve ending, and even her hope of a stray text goes dormant. 

More time goes by. More headlines that no one will ever know the full story of: of a girl and her undying sense of outrage, and her patience to pick apart anyone she sets her sights on. But Delriego doesn’t leave signatures anymore. Some art is best left uncredited. 

Now Olivia avoids other hackers like the plague - even the ones she admires, the ones doing excellent work. And especially the ones working for the scum of the earth, and there are plenty of them out there, too. She intervenes only once, when a ransomware group targets a medical debt relief foundation. 

Otherwise, Delriego becomes a phantom ship, quietly passing in the night. 

--

It’s a normal morning. Her neighbors are having a row about something again, and there’s a very loud pair of crows in the tree outside her window. But it’s comfortably dark inside – Olivia finally did go and buy those blackout curtains – and so she puts in her headphones and goes back to sleep. When she does wake up, it’s to three missed phone calls and another red bubble in her text messages; Olivia rubs at her bleary eyes, and can almost hear Mama tell her to stop that before it causes wrinkles and ruins her pretty skin.

Once the words on the screen register in her half-awake brain, the sleep falls from her eyes like the close of a curtain. 

From Mama: Call me when you get a chance.

Oh...shit. Not what she wants to see. The rationalizing starts at once. The first step is denial, everyone knows that. It's probably about Mitzi, got out again and had to be brought over by a brave neighbor with a thick pair of gardening gloves. Or maybe the dishwasher finally sputtered its last breath. She can send the plumber's info over, he's pretty good at same-day scheduling. Yes, that's probably it.

Olivia hesitates, like the aura of bad news will dissipate if she just stares at the screen long enough. When it doesn't, with her dinner from last night roiling her stomach and her heart stuttering painfully, she presses down on the screen and raises the phone to her ear like it'll bite her. 

Please be Mitzi. Or the fucking dishwasher.

The tremble in Mama's voice tells her the worst.

"Do you remember Mr. Grey, dear? He died a... a few weeks ago. A plane crash, they said."

--

There's no funeral. There’s no body, and no funeral, and no closure. Olivia leaves the house cloaked in her grieving, indignant rage, and buys a potted plant, the first one she sees at the store, and sets it on her mantle next to the only photo she has of her and Lucas Grey. It’s the closest thing to a memorial he'll get. She flinches at the thought, unsure where something so cold came from. He might have a family, for all she knows - they never spoke about things like that.

Mama worries. It only takes a few days of monosyllabic answers over the phone for her to come rushing over, inviting herself for a few weeks into Olivia’s drafty apartment and equally cold life. 

Olivia almost stops her work entirely. She has no air cover now. If something were to happen, she’s all she’s got and she’s learned that's not enough. The shame and bile from her one foray into the real world make her swallow hard. Hush, and plenty more people like him, are still out there.

Grey would tell her to even the odds. The house doesn’t always win, and it won’t - not if you burn it down first.

He wouldn't want her to quit. It's a knee-jerk reaction, a quick little thought with a shaky foundation - it's only later that Olivia rues with a sad smile that she has no idea what on earth he wanted. She'd never asked, and he'd never offered, and that really sums up their relationship.

She spends a few weeks ruminating about it, a sad little specter haunting a sad little home. It's slightly less sad now, through no effort of her own: her mother is trying to decorate the cheap shoebox that her landlord calls a townhouse. Olivia helps mostly by staying out of the way.

But the thought refuses to leave her alone: He wouldn't want her to quit. Whether it's true or not, it's enough to gently coax her back to her desk and her screens and her list of targets.

As far as taking care of herself…

There’s a range out past the suburbs on the other side of town. Olivia calls and makes sure they’re open tomorrow. Would someone be available for a private lesson? Fantastic. Then she flips her laptop open and gets back to work. There’re just a few things she needs to do first.

--

A banker...Olivia wrinkles her nose at the search engine results. Seems very low speed from the little she knows of Lucas and how he preferred to operate. 

He’s not in any of the news articles about Cobb's death, not by name anyway, though the reports had all mentioned multiple staff among the casualties. Olivia chokes back her kneejerk outrage that only the CEO was worth identifying to the public. The only one deemed to be of interest. At least that’s why none of the press releases pinged her alerts for Grey's name. 

It's silly what she's doing - she can't save him now. There's nothing to be gained by snooping around when the FAA has wrapped up their own investigation, pronounced it an accident and moved on. Sometimes planes drop out of the sky. Not terribly reassuring, but she's always preferred road trips anyway.

CICADA's security is the best she’s come up against so far, but she's better. No matter how much training they put their staff through, no amount of phishing prevention modules could account for one of their secretaries texting the unsecured line of one of her boyfriends. All it takes is one, and Olivia slivers into their network, thanks to a nasty fight the two are having. What a mess. 

Grey's been all over, Olivia learns as she traces his steps as far back as she can. Eastern Europe. South America. The Middle East. North Africa. The words “Sierra Leone” flickering on the screen makes something stab in her chest, but she keeps scrolling. 

He would've told you if he wanted you to know. The thought hits like a punch in the gut. It's almost enough to make her stop, but not quite. 

Olivia skims past the juicier details, although there's not much. She's tempted to dig further though, when a file comes up that has all of Grey's reports. It’d be like hearing his voice again. Her hands come to a shaky standstill over her keyboard. The screen becomes an ocean of blue and white, blurring and distorting, and something wet falls over her keys. She wipes her eyes, leaves Grey's words undisturbed in their home in some forgotten gigabytes somewhere, and continues on her way.

In the end, Olivia's forced to conclude that CICADA has nothing. Absolutely nothing on someone who used to run their entire Middle East North Africa division. He may as well have just dropped off the face of the earth after submitting a very brief resignation letter, which she finds and reads despite herself. That is, until somewhat recently, when a new entry in the CICADA personnel file showed up containing only the line: Executive protection. Eugene Cobb. New York. She gets the odd feeling not even CICADA had known where he had gone, until his death.

Full circle. Nothing immediately useful, but Olivia picks a lead and follows it. 

--

The image is horrifically grainy, useless by any standard, wouldn’t pass the sniff test of any respectable investigative agency. Olivia doesn’t care. The pixels may as well be etched into stone and carried down Mt. Sinai - she knows what she sees, and nobody will take the truth from her.

Not dead. 

Not dead.

Not dead.

She swivels excitedly around in her chair, and laughs loud enough to startle Mitzi and Mama, who look at her with identical befuddlement before going back to their quiet evening. 

Meanwhile, Olivia’s world tilts hard on its axis, but she grips onto the truth and finds hope nestled with it in the palm of her hand. 

Not dead.

[the-avs]

Luckily, Alastor hasn't actually made it to his room, yet, thanks to Velvette holding him up in the hallway. She's got his arm and he isn't maiming her, so clearly he has some sort of affection for her... or simply won't hit her because she's a girl, knowing Alastor. "For fuck's sake, Alastor! How the hell are you gonna let'im talk to you like that?! You're a goddamn overlord! Act like one!" Velvette shouts.

Usually, her strange method of comforting others and motivating them to do better works. But here, Alastor barely seems to even hear her. Alastor is a lot of things, and he's a horrible person, but he still can't bring himself to hurt someone he still considers a friend, even if he thinks that person now hates him. Velvette scoffs. "Don't let that piece'a shit get to you, Dumbass McGee. Seriously, how the fuck would 'e even know what he's talkin' about?"

"...I'm very sorry to disappoint you, young lady, but I simply don't have whatever you're hoping I do within me. He's known me for quite some time, I'm certain he wouldn't say things he doesn't mean. He's wiser than that. Rather upsetting, certainly, but I do suppose it's better my heart than his..." he says incredibly quietly. Alastor, showing his affection mainly through acts of service the way he does, would much rather be the one in pain than any of his friends. He's by no means selfless, but he also isn't entirely selfish.

Neither one has noticed Husk yet, hence how their conversation is progressing as though they haven't even acknowledged his presence. Alastor clears his throat and forces his voice to become louder, as normal. "Now then, it's rather rude to keep an old man like me from his slumber, yes?"

"Fuck that!" Velvette snaps, yanking him forward by the arm. The way she pulls him also yanks him down so they're literally inches apart and eye-level, and yet, she doesn't lower her voice, intent on chewing him out for being so weak and not standing up for himself. He usually does when he isn't so devastated by what the person said.

She growls at him, gritting her teeth. "Why the hell are you letting that moggy ruin your party?! Seven fuckin' years, Al! Seven! S-E-V-E-N! You only get one seven-year return celebration, and this is how you're gonna spend it gettin' treated?! The fuck's the matter with you?!" she shouts, Alastor wincing but not pulling away. It isn't as though he has any reason to fear her, after all. "You've gone soft over seven years?! That it?! The Alastor I know wouldn't've hesitated to just kill the disobedient little shit!"

Alastor seems miffed by the way she's speaking. He isn't totally without a backbone, after all, he was just very heartbroken and taken off-guard by what Husk had said to him. He jerks back, pulling Velvette with him. "Watch your tone, missy. My patience with you is wearing very thin. Leave me."

It's odd to hear Alastor of all people admit that he's losing his patience with someone. Usually, he seems endlessly patient and classy, but there are instances where his temper, mild as it usually is, will flair up, and the results are disastrous.

Promo~?

As the camera flickers to life, thanks to some fiddling by a man in a blue suit, you were able to see four individuals. The TV-faced man sat back down, sighing and breathing heavily, as though he had just performed serious labor. On the far left, just beside the TV-headed man, was another man with red hair and deer ears, and a sinister smile painting his lips as he sipped on what looked like black coffee. On the other side of the TV man, there was another man smoking a cigar with pink fumes swirling around the room, and wearing a large red coat with striped neck fluff. And finally, on the far right, there was the only girl in the room, a young lady with red, white, and black swirled hair, scrolling on her phone with a bored expression. She appears the most trendy of them all in terms of her clothing.

"Phew..." the TV man panted, turning to face the deer-eared man beside him. "Fuck, Alastor, why did you insist on this camera?" he demanded between breaths, the deer man simply lowering his mug from his lips and setting it down onto a coaster on the table.

"Ah, tsk, tsk, darling. You simply don't know the difference between class and 'trendy'. Rest assured, an older camera will do us just fine," the man assured. He then tilted his head, his smile never dropping, although he looked confused. "So I suppose it's on then, yes?"

"The fuck- Of course it's on! We're rolling! Fuck, let's just go down the line. Vel, you first, because I can't breathe," the TV man insisted, drawing out a groan from the girl. She didn't put her phone down, but she did spare you a look, looking at you with a bored expression.

"Fine. Name's Velvette, youngest overlord and ruler of social media 'n shit. Yadda yadda, you get the gist, don't be a dick, don't be a fashion disaster, and we'll get along fine," she listed as though it was nothing before quickly returning her gaze back to her phone.

The man beside the young woman gave a sinister smirk, a sickening look of lust painting his already creepy face. "Heya, sweet cheeks. Name's Valentino, owner of the Pride Ring's porn industry. Need a guy, a girl, something in between? I got you. I also accept 'sir' or 'daddy'~." Creep. Luckily, the attention is quickly taken off of him when the TV-headed man feigns a cough to get your attention.

"Ignore him, ignore him," he tried to laugh it off and be nonchalant. Valentino was still creepy, though. "I'm Vox, of course, the CEO and main engineer of VoxTek and numerous other products you may have heard of, including Voot Floops, VVs, the sound system Valkyrie, and of course, the Vogitek music app, not to mention VoxTube and the like. Pleased to make your acquaintance~" he said in a charmingly fake, yet professional tone, clearly attempting to maintain the appearance of the group's leader.

"Vox, darling, this isn't an advertisement," the man beside Vox said with a chuckle, a Cheshire grin spreading on his face. "Greetings, you wayward sinners! I'm certain most of you already know of me, but for formalities and politeness sake, I'll introduce myself. You may know me as the Radio Demon, my name is Alastor, darling! A pleasure to meet you, certainly, quite a pleasure! Now then, you see, we on the AVs have been rather bored as of late, and we'd like to socialize with those around us, so... would you be so kind as to give us a promo, dear~?"

(( Feel free to ignore, interact if not tagged, or ask for your tag to be removed!! :D ))

@human-monokuma @unknown-ultimates @ultimate-rider @pizza-for-my-friends @bartender-husk @bigkaijubaddie @hellhound-loony @hoshi-neko-hikari and anyone else!! Tagging is hard lmao-

[qqueenofhades]

I truly think the leftists forgot that Republicans got so far because THEY PLAY DIRTY. Did they forget the fiasco that was Bush v Al Gore? Forget all the racist BS Obama had to undergo and the many obstructions Republicans did to limit his power (Now I'm wondering if this wave of 'Roe v Wade being overturned was Obama's fault' from leftists was started by racist conservatives to divert attention. Hmmm)? Forget Trump's coup attempt?!?!?!?!?!? Republicans don't play by the rules.

I mean, we've established the fact that they struggle with basic reality and relevant political analysis of any type, especially if it involves actually blaming the Republicans for anything without finding a way to make it secretly be the Democrats' fault, so.... yeah. A lot of the early-twenties Twitter clout chasers are too young to remember Bush v. Gore, want to paint Obama solely as a "corporate centrist," and therefore act like that was the only reason his policies were so relentlessly obstructed and gave rise to the Tea Party and the rest of the white grievance backlash. We've also established that they're constantly vulnerable to right-wing psyops and bad-faith disinformation campaigns such as "not voting is a good thing and Hillary should be punished!", which was pushed HARD by the Russian-troll social media interference machine in 2016. It worked because certain segments of self-righteous leftists were predisposed to believe it anyway, and it exacerbated and increased their existing rhetoric. The right-wing slime machine is unparalleled at turning leftists and liberals against each other and knowing which weaknesses to exploit, for the precise reason so they don't get their shit together and vote in a consistent and organized fashion to stop the fascists. Welp.

This is likewise why it's a fucking stupid idea for Biden to make any deal with McConnell and actually think that Mitch will hold to his end of the bargain; he simply does not give a shit about honor, truth, precedent, previous statements, previous actions, or anything except seizing and consolidating Republican power as relentlessly as possible. Even if Biden does go through with this rumored nomination of an anti-abortion judge in Kentucky in order to buy off McConnell's opposition (and he's evidently only getting two US Attorneys for it, which is not a good trade for a lifetime federal judgeship), there's no reason to think that McConnell would honor the deal. He simply does not care what he said to you earlier; it was just a stopgap on his way to getting what he wanted. He will lie to your face and take as much as possible, and the Democrats, while they are a whole lot wiser to his game than they used to be, are still beholden to the fatuous idea that the American public really wants "bipartisanship." Obama tried it even after the Republicans made clear they would spit in his face every time; by the time he realized there was no working with them, he had lost Congress and it was too late to do anything but executive orders anyway. Biden has managed to get a few more bipartisan bills through the Senate, because he spent decades there and the old-school Republicans know him (and besides, he's an old white guy, so they don't have to look like they're doing the brown guy's bidding), but it's still an extremely one-sided relationship. It's infuriating to watch Biden mouth hoary cliches about Bipartisanship and act like the Republicans can be negotiated with in good faith, while they shamelessly fleece him for whatever they can get. Because as I said in an earlier post, he is too stuck in his past thinking and still believes there are "good people on both sides of the aisle" who genuinely have the political process and the country's best interests at heart. I would say, uh, no.

By now, Democrats know that Republicans can't be trusted and Republicans don't care about what anybody thinks except for God King Donald Trump. They have long ago given up trying to win a free and fair election on the merits of their ideas; they know that their ideas are total shit, toxically unpopular, and only benefit a tiny fraction of the most privileged white men in all of America. That's why they have turned so enthusiastically to attempting to rig elections, restrict voting rights, and pack the judiciary with partisan hacks. They don't give a shit what the average American wants, they don't want elections or politicians that reflect what's best for said average American, they don't believe in democracy, and they don't believe in going through a fair competition if it means they might lose. Cheating has been a fundamental part of their playbook for a while, and now it's become the only thing as they continue their jackbooted march to fascist authoritarianism. But, as ever, good luck getting the proud denizens of Cloud Cuckoo Leftist Land to understand that.

[algumaideia]

More messy thoughts about Nico

More stuff about Nico because I'm still mad at Riordan.

In the end of every book of pjo Nico is a different character than he was in the beginning. The most drastic change is in the Titans Curse, where he went from a excited innocent boy to an angry kid suffering greatly with grieve.

In battle of labyrinth, Nico learned to accept the death of his sister and his anger went away. He was still a lonely boy, he was still sad and lost in the world, but he was also getting wiser. He saw how bad Kronos side was and decided to help Percy. He also had just left an abusive relationship.

In the last olympian we see Nico then deciding to not be lonely. I think what better encapsulates his feelings is this quote:

“You’re just as much of an outcast as I am!” Nico yelled. “Stop being angry about it and do somethinghelpful for once. That’s the only way they’ll respect you!”

That is what Nico tried to do during the entire book, be helpful. He wanted to prove himself. He didn't want to be lonely anymore. Percy said in the end of the book that Nico proved himself. Nico decided to be at chb, to build his own cabin. We see him with Percy and Annabeth going to find Rachel. He was there with the main characters, present in such an important event, he found friends.

I mean look at this scene in battle of labyrinth:

Then Annabeth put her hand on his shoulder. “Nico,” she said. “Please.” Slowly, his expression softened. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “For you. but I’m not staying.”

They built a relationship, a friendship!

It was not like everything was perfect, sure, but he was decided to try.

But then in hoo Rick brought the anger again, the loneliness again, people being uncomfortable with him again but this time it was way way worse then in pjo.

Nico had to go through a arc to learn to open to people again, and I don't know it was like his character changed. Maybe it was because Riordan forgot all his development, and I know he also passed through a lot of trauma, yeah but in pjo his character was going to a happy ending... but now?

hoo is like trauma and sad nico. We have him getting better than in tower of nero it is sad nico again and now he is going to the tartarus. I feel like being traumatized and sad has defined his character. And sometimes it feels like he is a caricature of himself.

Like he saying his favorite place is the underworld, or how he doesn't like the sunlight, he being so antagonistic to affection. I cannot imagine pjo Nico doing it you know? I feel like his character didn't continue to develop naturally.

I think that his arc in hoo could have been about him learning that he doesn't need to prove himself. He doesn't need to be super helpful, go to those crazy side quests, do dangerous shit, go to places to gather information. He doesn't need to do any of those things, because he is already accepted.

And if infuriets me how he needed to prove himself again.

“Nico had proven himself in other ways. He’d kept the camps’ secrets for the best of reasons, because he feared a war. He had plunged into Tartarus alone, voluntarily, to find the Doors of Death. He’d been captured and imprisoned by giants. He had led the crew of the Argo II into the House of Hades…and now he had accepted yet another terrible quest: raking himself to haul the Athene Parthenos back to Camp Half-Blood.”

Also that whole thing of Percy not trusting him?? When in the end of the last olympian they had already solved it??

It is frustating to see that he could have been a happier character but he wasn't and for what?

Other thing is that Nico did so many dangerous things alone and he continued to do so until toa, and well hoo could have been his chance to learn to not do so? He was 10 years old when he was homeless in the world and first started this thing of going to places and doing shady stuff to gather information. This helped him to stay lonely, this put him in danger, this wasn't good for his mental health. So, maybe in hoo he could have worked on that?

But on the other hand I know that big part of his character is that he knows everything and everyone basically. So maybe he could continue to do that, but in a way that didn't mean he was lonely and perpetuated his loneliness?

I also don't like how his trauma was treated. I think it could have been about his lonelines and his abandonment issues especially when we have this line:

“Thank you,” Nico rasped. His eyes darted nervously around the group. “I’d given up hope.”

Like yeah he could have been angry and stuff, but make anger an integral part of his character again when he had his arc on battle of labyrinth makes his character arc on the book feel so redundant. Why have that if it was for no use?

Other thing that could have been explored is how Nico is gentle and empathetic, and has strong morals and sense of right and wrong, and how this makes him view death.

Again battle of labyrinth had him say that revenge was bad and well he learned his lesson with Minos as well. But he is not against killing people. He said to Kronos he would be happy with his death. He sees death, killing in a different light and I would like to have it explored.

And more of his silent kindness!!!

How he was the only one to talk with Hestia! How he was always respectful! I don't know how to explain it but I feel like in so many of his lines he says stuff with such gentleness, you can feel it behind his words.

“I will treat them with respect,” Nico said.

That is his reaction after Minos tried really hard to dehumazine all the ghosts, make them look like some sort of beasts, incapable of feeling, useless.

And about him plus talking about death.

Nico nodded slowly. “He’s dying. He should have died long ago. This…this is more like a memory.“

Here Nico is being so honest, talking about death. He is the only one that talks about it in the books basically. Everyone is so bothered by it, but Nico talks. He is honest about this fact of life. He doesn't necessarily treat it as something bad, but just as something that will or could happen.

And here even though Nico is not making thigns easier to digest to Grover, but he was not cruel. He is simply explaining things.

He makes people confront the fact that death is present not to be mean, not because he is a weird emo who doesn't now how to talk to people, but simply to warn people.

That is what Nico does a lot of times in the books, he delivers information, he helps people know what is going.

He is so kind.