#hell. i mean that wasn't that many games ago but still. good for her for getting her first playable appearance in a mainline game!

[nocreativityfornames]

THE BROTHERS AND THE CELESTIAL REALM (SPOILERS: ALL SEASONS)

Alright, let's talk about it. It's been a long time since the game started flirting with the idea of the brothers forgiving Father/God and changing their views of the Celestial Realm as a whole and it's very odd, to say the least.

The first big red flag was this moment with Lucifer back in Season 3 of NB, that was the most concerning one considering that this was recently fallen Lucifer, when the war had ended only a year ago and they had just lost Lilith, and when he and the brothers had just escaped eternal punishment being trapped at Cocytus forever for betraying Father.

The contrast of recently fallen Lucifer speaking this positively of God when even the present one (who's had who knows how many centuries to process everything that happened) has shown to despise the idea of coming back to the Celestial Realm, mostly remember his time there in a bad light, and outright fear Father is JARRING.

And these moments keep coming, and the brothers keep showing more and more positive feelings towards the Celestial Realm. Forget everything we learned about the CR and what they went through, or the feelings the characters expressed towards the Celestial Realm before Nightbringer.

You're telling me that God wanted to wipe their sister from all existence and half of the realm, angels who they thought they could trust, opposed to them when they dared to protect her, went to war with them, and had her killed (probably along other angels who sided with the brothers to save her because the whole realm was divided) and now the brothers are just going to forget all of that and be all "the Celestial Realm wasn't that bad, actually. We always loved it there and wouldn't mind going back"? Really...?

I mean, even beyond all the Lilith stuff the Celestial Realm had always been a bad place for the brothers. Remember what Lucifer said: most of his memories from that time aren't good. The brothers already didn't like the Celestial Realm before Lilith; they already felt out of place there, and they already had their doubts. Hell, the reason they grew to have such a strong bond as angels to begin with was because they were outcasts, the ones who didn't fit in and were looked down on.

Mammon was close to being cast out and no one knew how to deal with him, Lilith was too chaotic and far away from being the ideal angel, Beel couldn't control his strength and destroyed everything around him, Belphie had no interest in following tasks, had a unique fascination for humans and preferred spending time in the Human World than the Celestial Realm, etc. And Lucifer was the one who took them in and accepted them as they were because even though he was far from an outcast and looked like the perfect angel on the outside, he still had his internal conflicts and struggled under pressure just as much in secret.

All of them suffered living there. Even Simeon opened up to MC about how he thought that angels weren't allowed to have dreams and that he probably wouldn't have found out otherwise had he stayed in the Celestial Realm. And that was on Nightbringer, not an old card from the OG but a recent one, so what's going on here?

It could be Solmare's way of setting things up for Raphael & Michael to become recurring characters since they don't want them to be seen as the bad guys (shout out to @cnl0400 for being the first to talk about this), but they don't need to flip the script and change the brothers' established feelings towards the Celestial Realm and God for this to happen. Raphael and Michael are also victims of the way angels are conditioned to live and are likely just as traumatized and have as many issues as the brothers, which developed from the strict rules they have to follow to be considered "good angels", the War, etc.

And we already had moments in SWD that showed that the brothers still care for Raphael & Michael and vice versa, despite everything that happened between them (though the same can't be said about the CR and God). So why not explore that, instead of having their view of the realm as a whole change so drastically with no explanation?

The brothers not only look at the Celestial Realm fondly now but would happily visit. The place where their worst memories took place and where so many of their loved ones died, the main source of their traumas and the traumas of everyone who survived the war. I mean, just before NB Simeon was harshly punished for saving MC's life and cursed with mortality, just another reason for them resent the CR and their strict rules. And don't even get me started on Father.

Assuming that their goal is to write a redemption arc for the angels who didn't take the brothers' side during the war and paint the CR in a better light so players won't hold a grudge against Michael & Raphael, this isn't a good way to go about it. Burying everything under the rug and acting as if the brothers just came to change their minds over time is insane because we didn't see anything that could've led to that development. Yes, we were gone for months but it lasted so long in the timeline we were taken from that no one even noticed our absence. So what major event could've happened while we were gone that led to this?

Unless this is all part of an overarching plot where we find out that these aren't the brothers we know or our original timeline, the "we're cool with God and the Celestial Realm" ordeal is just frustrating and makes no sense for the characters as we know them.

[baleriontheblackkitten]

A Game of Thrones - Eddard I

And so the king's court comes to Winterfell.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

It's kind of funny re-reading this passage, but it makes sense that most Starks and Lannisters hardly know each other at all at this point. It's the first time visiting the North for many of these people. You really feel the sense of how distant Winterfell is from everywhere else - no one ever goes there from the South, and the Starks hardly leave it either. Ned and Robert haven't seen each other since Balon's rebellion.

Something's off about the timeline. In Cat's first chapter, Ned says, "It will be good to see the children. The youngest was still sucking at the Lannister woman’s teat the last time I saw him," and Cat states Tommen is seven years old. Now Ned muses that it's been nine years since he last saw Robert, at Balon's rebellion. Why would Ned see Cersei and baby Tommen without Robert? Considering the queen and the kids have been traveling on a giant wheelhouse that doesn't even fit the castle gate, trained by forty horses - I doubt Cersei is the kind of person who would travel much with an infant. Unless she'd be going to Casterly Rock to have baby Tommen meet his grandfather, but why would Ned go there?

I mean, it's doesn't matter. We're just in the exposition stage. The funniest in-story explanation is that Ned and Cat were just mixing up babies in their memories and it wasn't baby Tommen they saw but baby Myrcella, in that case the timeline would work since Myrcella would be of breastfeeding age nine years ago. I'll just accept that.

Anyway. Ned is taken aback by how much Robert has changed, no longer built like a warrior, but a fat man that smells of perfume instead of blood.

So many of Ned's memories are tied to the smell of blood. He remembers Robert as smelling of leather and blood, he remembers the room Lyanna died in as smelling of roses and blood. He's a man whose past is filled with the scent of blood, that he can still smell with his memory. It's easy to point the finger at Ned's mistakes, but this is a man traumatized to the seven hells and back who uses defensive mechanisms (like the rose-tinted glasses he looks at Robert through) that progressively crumble leaving him undefended.

(It's also interesting how wolves are often described as smelling blood, and the Starks who warg into wolves, Bran and Arya, often mention the smell of blood in their noses. Something about a circle of violence, blood spilled that calls for more blood and whose scent fills the nostrils of the younger generation.)

Speaking of Lyanna.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, “Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects.” Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

The dead wolf girl will always matter more to Robert than his living wife, and it seems Cersei still minds that even after all these years. Jaime diffuses a potential nasty situation, which is a microcosm for Jaime's role in Robert and Cersei's marriage - keeping Cersei placated enough that the friction between her and Robert is reduced to a minimum. And yet it's not enough. (And pretty ironic, since Jaime's role in that marriage is both solving problems and creating bigger ones.)

"This king Ned scarcely recognized" Ned thinks of Robert, and that's the point, isn't it? Robert has changed physically, but he's still the same man he's always been. It's Ned that remembers him different - a better man than Robert has ever been - and will struggle with the realization.

“I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell,” Robert complained as they descended. “In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined.” “I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?” Robert snorted. “Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I’ve never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?” “Likely they were too shy to come out,” Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. “Kings are a rare sight in the north.” Robert snorted. “More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!” The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended. “Late summer snows are common enough,” Ned said. “I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild.” “The Others take your mild snows,” Robert swore. “What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think.” “The winters are hard,” Ned admitted. “But the Starks will endure. We always have.”

A very effective picture of the North in just a few lines! Although there's more to the North than the hard parts.

Robert's description of the South in summer is pretty poetic, I mean, if you ignore the misogyny in his description of women. Okay, it partly speaks of Robert's privilege as he can enjoy all the pleasures his land can offer. But I also think he's not that far from the truth when he says that everyone is "fat and drunk and rich". Obviously that's not true true, since peasants are still peasants and not rich, but the kingdom is enjoying a long period of peace and prosperity. They've been having a long summer. The only war since the Rebellion was fought in the Iron Islands, leaving the rest of the kingdom untouched. So Robert is, like, getting the right answer while using the wrong formula. Most people are not as weathy as he is, but there's good crops, food in abundance for everyone, and the economy of the kingdom is flourishing. Which makes it ever more heartbreaking when war breaks out and everything goes to hell. Winter is coming for the kingdom in horrific ways they don't realize yet.

It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by. By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.

Actually, Ned, I think it's going to be a good thing that the ancient Kings of Winter are around. Just in case something passes by that the ancient Kings of Winter would be used to deal with. Just saying. I do wonder what will be the role of the dead in the crypts of Winterfell, but of one thing I'm sure: they won't be used as puppets by the Others. The ancient people of the North knew better than to leave their dead undefended. Like the Wall is inbued with defensive magic, I'm sure these tombs have a heavy dose of magic against the enemy. Maybe those swords were never supposed to protect the living from the dead in the crypts, but were supposed to be wielded by the "good" dead to protect the living from the "bad" dead, and in time that knowledge was lost.

Anyway, they are so very going to play a part, these ancient Starks whose eyes follow Ned and Robert as they pass. It's always meaningful when something that should not be sentient feels like it's watching. It usually means there is, in fact, something sentient watching. Maybe this is also [going to be] Bran, maybe not.

The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children. Ned did not like to think on that.

Something that seems creepy while they're alive - the tombs meant for them - turns out to be something desirable once they're dead. Ned's bones being prevented from reaching their supposed resting place, Robb's body defiled and desacrated, Cat's body (she might not be a Stark, but she becomes one during the war) being given a sacrilegious mockery of a Tully funeral - none of them can rest, they all haunt the kingdom and the narrative, in Cat's case she literally comes back to life as a revived corpse, but Ned and Robb also haunt the South. And of course, the absence of them in their place in Winterfell also creates a spiritual imbalance in Winterfell itself.

(Also, honestly, I find there's something sweet and comforting in the empty space in the marble of the family grave where my picture and name and the pictures and names of my loved ones will eventually be placed. It's inevitable that each of us will die, after all, and it's nice to know we'll be in the same place to rest together.)

The dead of House Stark will need to be put to rest before the end of the story. The fact that Ned's first chapter is set in the crypts... I see what you did there, George. Ned's journey will find its conclusion here.

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned’s father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children. Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule. Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

Both Ned and Robert had their lives uprooted by the deaths of the two Stark siblings. Ned took Brandon's place as Lord of Winterfell and as Catelyn's husband. Robert, well. Ironically he takes the place that was supposed to be Rhaegar's and marries the woman Rhaegar was supposed to marry originally. But Ned embraces his unexpected role and quickly grows to love his wife, Robert just despises the responsibilities of the throne and Cersei.

The fact that Ned was not supposed to rule Winterfell... It makes you wonder if this is ultimately the reason Ned is so unequipped to deal with the court and eventually loses the game of thrones. He was not raised to be Lord of Winterfell, he was raised to run some holdfast for his older brother (like he tells Bran he'll do for Robb - I see what you did there, George). Catelyn, on the other hand, was raised almost like a firstborn son for years since her father was afraid he'd never get a son. And it's Catelyn that almost makes it - she insist they hurry to eat under the Frey's roof, so that the rules of hospitality will keep them safe. She plays the game well... it's just that the other side breaks the rules of the game. You can't blame her for that.

Anyway, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. If "by ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts" then it means that Brandon and Lyanna don't have one. Maybe Brandon was given one anyway, since he was meant to be Lord of Winterfell. But Lyanna surely hasn't been given a sword. I don't know if that means anything metaphysically, but metaphorically her ghost is haunting the two men visiting her grave for sure.

I love how Robert dislikes her resting place arrangement, unable to understand what it means to a Stark. Robert never understood anything about Lyanna, and I am convinced that it was her choice to go with Rhaegar instead of marrying Robert, that she purposely did it to avoid marrying Robert.

Speaking of Rhaegar... in the previous chapter, Dany thinks of Rhaegar's death as something Rhaegar did "for the woman he loved". Now Robert and Ned obviously think of Rhaegar's death as punishment for harming Lyanna... The truth is probably in the middle, alright. Rhaegar was not the perfect man Viserys has described him to Dany, but he was not the man Robert thinks of him.

Rhaegar is still a mystery we're given clues to here and there in the books. Personally I think his tragedy was the weight of prophecy on him - at some point he must have realized that the "ice and fire" part of "the song of ice and fire" did not refer to "our side (fire) and the enemy (ice)" but "Stark and Targaryen" (as in the "Pact of Ice and Fire" established during the Dance of the Dragons), which must have made him think of his marriage to ~more fire~ (a Martell i.e. the sun) the wrong choice, because the prince who was promised could not be fire+fire but fire+ice. And then he possibly met a Stark girl who was very determined to create her own path instead of marrying the man her father had promised her to... and the rest is history.

“In my dreams, I kill him every night,” Robert admitted. “A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves.” There was nothing Ned could say to that.

Ned is fucking thinking about keeping a certain boy as far away from Robert's eyes as possible for the entirety of Robert's visit.

They start talking about Jon Arryn's death, which happened so fast and unexpectedly, not suspicious at all.

“Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?” Robert’s mouth gave a bitter twist. “Not well, in truth,” he admitted. “I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?” Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken.

Ned is so funny.

(Also, Robert is so misogynistic, seven hells, why do you think the girl ran off with some other guy, Robert?)

“The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?”

I have some thoughts about namesakes. Ned named his eldest ~sons~ after Robert and Jon Arryn, and only the youngest sons after his brother and father. His daughters are also given Stark names. That leads me to believe that Jon actually has been given a name by Lyanna, that Jon is just a cover Ned finds to make the baby believable as his son. Because the boy named after Robert dies, and the boy named after Jon Arryn... also dies. It seems only fitting that Jon is eventually reborn with a different name. The Stark children who have been given non-Stark names cannot survive, only the ones carrying Stark names can survive.

"But Marghe, Rickon has a Stark name and there's no way he survives the story," you might say. Okay, maybe it's not a universal truth for all Stark children and more of a "you doomed those two boys by naming him after your Rebellion companions" thing. Or maybe Rickon survives after all. Fingers crossed.

“I have more concern for my nephew’s welfare than I do for Lannister pride,” Ned declared. “That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister.” Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling.

Here it is, the crux of the troubles soon to happen. Robert's priority is preventing his wife from ~nagging at him, and that's going to get Sansa's direwolf dead, Sansa's trust in Ned broken, and everything that follows.

And then Robert gets to the reason he went to visit Ned in person. Gods, he is so selfish. He hates being king because it's annoying and tedious to him. He says he hates being surrounded by liars and flatterers and he wants someone who's gonna tell him the truth to his face - but he won't listen to Ned anyway, so. (Makes you really appreciate Stannis actually listening to Davos, uh. Damn it Robert, Stannis should have been your new Hand, you just didn't pick him because you find him annoying!) He knows that Ned will hate the job, but he wants him to do it regardless.

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. “If I wanted to honor you, I’d let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and wench myself into an early grave.” He slapped his gut and grinned. “You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?” Ned knew the saying. “What the king dreams,” he said, “the Hand builds.” “I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit.” He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.

Robert also complains Ned is too serious, to which Ned responds with his own brand of humor:

“They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man’s laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death,” Ned said evenly. “Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor.”

Re-reading the chapter, Ned keeps joking, but it's a kind of deadpan humor Robert doesn't really get.

Now comes a bit that makes me go mmm.

“You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done.”

Did he really love Lyanna, or was he in love with the idea of becoming ~brothers~ with Ned? Did Ned possibly encourage their father to betroth Lyanna to Robert, blinded by the enthusiasm of becoming brothers with Robert, not realizing that Lyanna would not be happy with him at all, and inadvertantly sending everything to hell?

There's also another layer to this - Robert wanted to "rule together" with Ned. He basically wanted Ned to be his queen. Making him Hand of the King basically makes him his queen. (See also Davos as Stannis' truest queen.)

I think that Robert and Ned's affection (obsession? inability to see each other as they truly are but seeing a fictional version of each other instead?) for each other destroyed Lyanna first, and Sansa later.

For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.

So tragic when the characters themselves see the foreshadowing but cannot but walk to their doom anyway...

[greentrickster]

WIP game

Rules: You will be given a word. Share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that start with each letter of that word.

@shadow-pixelle tagged me with ECHO, so congrats - have some 'Got a Light?' (my RWBY fic) snippets! And, to have some extra fun, since they're all from the same fic, I'll get one snippet from each of the first two books I've written this fic in and two from the current book (because it's the biggest), and you'll get the sentences in the order I wrote them... but not necessarily in the order they'll come in the fic, because I'm writing non-chronologically. ;D Enjoy!

E

"Easy for you to say," Jaune gives up on meditating (because he's weak) to glare at Roman, "You're probably just saying that because you had a stupid one, like- like bad luck or making your pockets bigger or something!"

...Branwen had flinched at the first suggestion. Interesting. Neo'll have to look into that. More importantly, however, Roman has frozen in place, dust crystal fallen to the ground beside him. He stares straight up into the sky unmoving for a good twenty seconds before he lets his arm fall across his eyes with a distraught groan.

"Dangit, that second one actually sounds like an amazing- that would have been so useful for shoplifting or, hells, just storing extra ammo without ruining the lines of my suit- dammit, now I'm sad, thanks a lot."

C

"Consider: would any of you say you are quite the same people now that you were at the beginning of the school year? How about ten years ago?" he smiles at the range of reactions this elicits. "To me, it is much the same, albeit on a far larger scale. It seems as though we each carry a certain amount of... ourselves, for lack of a better word, with us to each new life.

"For example, it may surprise you to know that, in regards to myself, while I have heard many times that I seem to have gained a certain level of maturity overnight when my memories and powers are unlocked, oddly little in my personality or mindset of my new life seem to change beyond that. I will confess, it inspires a certain amount of curiosity these days, whenever the end of a current life draws near, as to what new myself I will have become the next time my memories return."

H

"Hey, what about all the nice things you were gonna say to Pyrrha?!"

"They will be formatted as an extremely flattering eulogy!!!"

Qrow is drawn away from this amusing interaction by Neo, who has removed a glove and stolen a fistful of bacon with her bare hand, wiggling it enticingly at Qrow with a big smile.

"I feel like I'm being mocked," he states, examining it with each eye suspiciously.

"You're not," Torchwick says, finally calm again and theatrically wiping his eye, "She just likes watching birds eat. Used to sneak into kitchens at restaurants so she could get table scraps for it."

...eh, fair enough. Qrow obliges and daintily tugs a strip of bacon free with his beak, holding it with one claw to peck at. Neo beams.

O

"Oh, um- yes! He says... 'Thinking of mew.'"

Ruby glances up from skimming her texts to see Weiss staring blankly ahead.

"...he's a dork," she says, voice dazed, "He's an enormous dork."

"Weiss-" Uncle Qrow groans, only for Jaune to hold his hand up.

"Don't bother, Mr. Branwen, I've got this."

"Kid, it's Qrow."

Jaune ignores him, going to put a steadying hand on Weiss's shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry you have to find out this way, but the thing about guys is... we're all dorks. And Neptune is our king."

"...I see." Weiss nods, and Ruby goes back to her own texts, "Is it a bad sign that I still like him, even though he's flawed?"

"I mean, he didn't realize you wanted to keep seeing him after the dance until you cried at him for flirting with other girls," Nora comments, "You kinda already knew that he wasn't perfect."

"I suppose that's true... In that case, I'm going to respond in kind! Nora, I require your assistance!"

---

(Told you guys it's not as dire as my research subject list makes it sound!)

I'll be tagging @fullbattleregalia and @elektricangel, along with anyone else who wants to play - your word is LIFE (because my fic's about Roman coming back as a ghost and I'm funny).

[sebbbongs17]

"ZOMBIELAND in 560 days," a SEVENTEEN fanfic.

Summary: A young boy realizes what has been unleashed on the world and doesn't hesitate to survive along with other boys. Oh, and with a pretty moody girl too.

Genre: Humorous horror, suggestive, angst, crack, fluff.

Warnings: Clearly blood, bites, violence, weapons, stupid deaths and some dark humor.

Pairing: ot13 x fem!reader

A/N: English is not my first language so there may be some mistakes, so please excuse me. Also, this is not going to be that descriptive, so there may be several inconsistencies and nonsensical parts, but it's all fiction. xoxo ♡

Day 1; Act I. Do you really think I would walk all the way from home to here? No way!

Chan couldn't even explain to himself the adrenaline he was feeling right now as he ran down the hill, being chased by none other than bloodied people. Yup. You hear- well, read that right.

He had thought that having read so many comics and having seen so many zombie movies and survival documentaries would help him if one day a horrible apocalypse were to break out, but now he was beginning to believe that that wasn't the case at all. Because, look at him, he was a scared boy who was still sleeping with the door open at night. And he never believed that an apocalypse could ever happen! Like ever!

But it was.

And if you're wondering how the hell he figured it out, well... It all started less than twenty minutes ago perhaps, when he went out to his yard to water his lemons before going to school, like any other day. Chan immediately felt that something was off in the air and in the environment itself. And, then his elderly neighbor climbing the fence to bite him confirmed it even more. I mean, he wouldn't have complained if it had been her hot granddaughter instead, but back to the topic..

If you're also wondering why he didn't enter his house to take shelter, the answer is simple: he stayed locked outside. So his first instinct was to run outside, like any idiot would do, isn't?

But before focusing on the running thing and talk about his wrinkled uniform, let's delay a little, yeah?

09:25 AM.

Poor Lee Chan let out a deep sigh as he walked lazily through the halls of the school, feeling like his heavy backpack would break his spinal column at any moment. Today was tuesday. A very nice and sunny tuesday indeed, but as always, none of his days weren't meant to be good.

His eyelids and damp scalp were still itchy, but he tried not to scratch too much or he was afraid of getting irritated. And all thanks to those stupid senior boys who had no better plan than to have him as a punching bag whenever they wanted, and today was no exception since they saw the option of putting his head in a toilet that had chlorine water, as fun.

And the worst thing was that in the end he was the only one sitting in the director's office, receiving absurd lectures about things he clearly didn't do. But since the man in charge of the institute was the uncle of one of Chan's main bullies, he didn't pay absolute attention to Chan but to his innocent and responsible nephew, with the excuse that they were only boy's games and that he needed to get used to it. But who in their right mind would get used to receiving flying balls on the nose on purpose during gym class or shoving against lockers or even hard slaps behind the neck every morning, among horrible insults and petnames?

What's more, who in their right mind would call that a boy's game?

Chan tried to arrange his worn uniform as best he could and opened the door of the Principal's office, not even taking 3 steps inside that the voice of the man in charge stopped him.

"Ah ah, Mr. Lee, no one comes in before knocking on the door and receiving permission," the man indicated, making a mocking gesture with his fist. Chan looked at him with some hatred before bowing slowly and subtly turning around and closing the door behind him. Knocking three times on the door loudly. "Who is?"

Chan rolled his eyes. "Lee Chan, Mister," he responded under his breath, his patience still stable.

"Oh, come in, Lee Chan." The man exclaimed in a cheerful tone which he believed was completely false, but still he entered the room, closing the door again behind him and taking a seat in front of the desk, placing his backpack on the floor. "So, Lee, what other problem is there now?"

Chan looked at him strangely and pressed his lips into a grimace.

"Ah, sir, you summoned me," he said, obvious.

"Oh yeah right, well, the reason is that I have a proposal that may interest you." Mr. Kang said, looking at him like he was some kind of gangster.

Chan nodded slowly and somewhat suspiciously since this was something new. Principal Kang never offered him anything, even if it was something bad.

"So, what do you think of being the leader of the student committee?"

The boy raised his eyebrows in surprise and disbelief. "What? Me?"

"Yeah," the man nodded.

"Why?"

"Well, ignoring the part that you are a somewhat annoying student," Chan grimaced, as that was clearly a lie. "You have good grades and according to the teachers you maintain good behavior in class and activities. So, I would like you to be leader of the committee." Mr. Kang spoke, leaning over the desk.

"What do you say?" He asked.

"Well, unless it's a joke, I'd like that very much sir!" Chan exclaimed, smiling. "But, what happened to Yeonjun?" He questioned confused.

"The boy Yeonjun has suddenly changed of school, and since it's almost the end of the year, I can't afford to leave the committee without a present leader. So, you will be some kind of temporary leader until next year," He told him, with some tiredness. "You agree?" The man looked at him exasperated.

"Yes! Of course sir!" He nodded effusively.

"Very good then! You start your position tomorrow, so come to school early. Maybe an hour or two before the usual time," he said, already indicating him with his hand to leave.

Chan stood up and grabbed his backpack, feeling his cheeks hurt a little because of the huge smile he kept.

"Oh, and Chan.." Principal Kang stopped him just before he walked through the door.

"Yes?" The boy asked.

"Try to wear a more presentable and new uniform, you will be the head of the committee, not of some street gang." He told him, making a slight face, looking at his faded clothes.

Chan furrowed his eyebrows before nodding furtively.

"I sure will, sir, thank you!" He exclaimed before running out of there, smiling happily again.

He couldn't believe that finally the opportunity to be part of the committee, in fact, LEADER of the committee, had come to him. He had wanted to be one for several years, but strangely he had never been chosen no matter how high his grades were and instead, a boy from his same year, Choi Yeonjun, was chosen.

Chan was walking so happy through the hallways that he didn't pay attention to the mocking comments of his bullies, nor so much to the tremendous slap that one of them give him in the back of the head.

The boy left just in time when the bell rang indicated the end of the classes, causing scores of students to pile up the stairs to leave. As he made his way down the sidewalk, Chan visualized a group of three boys, one of them being the famous Kim Sunwoo, who seemed to be playing with what appeared to be a poor dead or almost dead animal, presumably a deer. He unconsciously formed a grimace of disgust, as these three fools laughed while poking the deer with sticks.

Suddenly, Sunwoo noticed Chan's displeased look, and quickly gave him a dirty look. "What the hell are you looking at, Lee? Go wait for your mommy somewhere else, worm," Sunwoo said in a mocking and rude manner, causing the silly laughter of his friends.

Chan just rolled his eyes slightly and just started his way home, trying to ease his bitterness by remembering that he would now be part of the committee. And looking forward to tomorrow...

Present.

Chan felt that at any moment his lungs would give away but surprisingly they didn't. Turning back, he saw how the bloodied ones were diverted and instead, they were going to attack another neighbor, who was just collecting his mail.

Hearing the poor guy's screams of horror and pain, Chan turned onto the last street. Which, ha!, had no way out. Great.

"Shit. Shit. Shit." He muttered agitatedly, looking back several times just in case.

Where the hell he was supposed to go right now? To the city? No, he didn't know if it was safe or not at this point. The countryside? Could be a possibility, but he didn't want to go alone.

He stood still for about two seconds before his mind clicked. Chan desperately seek through his pockets and let out a sigh of relief when he felt his phone in one of them. With trembling fingers he scrolled through the contact list and hesitantly pressed one of it.

1 ring...

2 ring...

3 ring...

"Hello?" A raspy and lazy voice was heard from the other line.

"HYUNG! Thank god! Where are you? You're ok? Nobody bite you, right? Tell me that you're safe right now..." Chan muttered at the speed of light.

"Chan, what the hell are you talking about? Why would someone bite me?"

"There's no time to explain, Jeonghan-ah! Whatever you do, don't leave your house and close the windows and doors with locks and cover them as much as possible," he indicated, starting to walk around.

"Woah, woah! Calm down kiddo. What's going on? Also, I can't do any of that since I'm not at home right now," Jeonghan muttered softly, not caring at all why Chan wanted him to do that.

"Huh?! Where are you then?!" The boy groaned against the phone.

"At the supermarket," he simply responded.

"Damn it... OK. Tell me which one. You have your car with you, isn't?" Chan's knees shook and almost best towards the floor due to nervousness, but he was able to straighten himself up.

"Obviously. Do you really think I would walk all the way from home to here? No way!" Jeonghan giggle, making Chan roll his eyes. "I'm on the Sansok one..." He finally told him after.

"Alright, don't move from there hyung! And don't interact with anyone, I'm on my way!" Chan said and without waiting for the older man to respond, he hung up and turned around, seeing where he could go.

The boy's head stuttered in various directions as he barely spotted a bicycle near the porche of one of the houses. Chan carefully reached out and took it, beginning to pedal clumsily, almost falling in the process.

Briefly thinking about how he was wearing his new uniform in vain today.

[•••]

The brunette sighed heavily as he put his phone back in his pocket.

"Who was it?" The other boy questioned, without looking at him, while continuing to examine the cereal boxes. 

"It was Channie. He sounded a little... weirded out," Jeonghan responded, dropping his weight onto the shopping cart.

"You asked him what was wrong? Maybe he had another nightmare again..." The guy finally turned to look at him as he was wearing a worried frown. "Or perhaps he smoked again that strange weed Soonyoung gave him."

"Oh, don't worry, Shua. It didn't seem like that... Well, actually, he didn't give me many convenient details. But I told him to come here if he was so worried," humming, Jeonghan walked to the ice cream section, closely followed by Joshua.

[lemon-3ds]

Super Mario Bros. Wonder doesn't sound like the title of a real Mario game. It sounds like either something I'd see in our dreams or some obscure fan-made Mario flash game.

Watching the direct trailers after the direct since it streamed while we were asleep. I gotta say that Mario RPG remake though. The graphics + art style look absolutely amazing and all of the characters are so so tiny <3

[retromotherfuckers]

When the Sun Sets - Part 4

Adriadne

Characters:

adriadne/morgan winchester (OC), dean winchester, sam winchester

Summary:

adriadne finds out who she was before she went to hell. and the winchesters will not rest until they fix what their sister did all those years ago.

Warnings (for entire story):

SPN typical violence, so so much suppressing of emotions, vague mention of SA, depiction of torture, a very pro-torture main character, murder, vague mention of not eating for a while, parental abuse, slight suicidal ideation, SPN typical alcohol abuse, spoiler warning up to the end of season 10, following canon stops after the end of season 2 but things are sure to be mentioned

Word Total:

4k ~ roughly

A/N:

hi, so sorry its been so long, but i finally got the inspiration to continue writing this little mini series. i'm not convinced anyone is still interested in this story, but here's part 4. there's a little hatred towards blondes in this chapter - guys i actually love blonde hair i think its gorgeous - your girl is just a demon. my search history after writing this chapter, god help me.

this takes place loosely around season 10 and i kind of combined when sam tries to cure crowley with when he cures dean.

let me tell you, writing about a person who has no idea what's real is not easy to make good - its a 0/10 for me and i'm not convinced i even succeeded at that

italics = inner thoughts/memories

dean: 36, morgan: 35 (her body is 27), sam: 32

Adriadne vaguely remembered hating the moon coming up when she was human. For some reason, she detested nighttime and all that came with it. She had wanted to believe she wasn't as bad as the humans when she was one. But as she roamed the street of whatever bumblefuck town she was in, she remembered staring blankly at a street lamp once.

It was the only light she had seen for several miles. It illuminated a small bus stop with a bench and a pay phone attached to it. She was in some loud car, with even louder music playing, with her intolerably quiet family. The faces, names, and details of any of them had been long washed away. Somebody in her family needed to make a call, so they stopped, and she was left alone for a few minutes. The yellow beams that kept that area lit were the only thing keeping her from panicking. She had assumed she was only a child in the memory because, I mean, seriously? An adult scared of the dark?

If she had been an adult, Satan help her if she was, it would have been further proof of how weak humans are. Actually, regardless, it was proof. There was no light in Hell. Everything was dark, and only with the sight of a demon could anyone see. She bristled at the thought. Since being on Earth, she had no desire to go back downstairs. 

The darkness of the night did give her a little sense of reminiscence, though. Of home, Alastair, Crowley, her tools. Where she could roam freely without having to cling to that damn sack of flesh. But the daytime was a close second, in her opinion. The sun, as bright and almost blinding as it was, was warm. And it felt…kind of nice.

Turned out, she was a natural blonde, a type of blonde that got even lighter when she lay in the sun. And that rubbed her the wrong way. Like, who was actually blonde nowadays? Every blonde Alastair assigned to her was quickly scalped. And when they were healed, she would do it again. Then, she'd make them drink anti-freeze because many of them had blue eyes. It really had been a fun game.

Watching them die slowly and painfully was always an excellent way to waste an hour. And when they were brought back to life, it was back to her regularly scheduled programming.

It sucked even more that she had blue eyes too. They were so light. Like the human fucking sky or some shit. She liked her black eyes. They were who she was, a dark and malevolent visitor on this planet of fluffy little bunnies. 

At the sound of a whistle, a very loud one, she turned to find the source. "Damn, baby." The man said. He was some random guy on the corner of the street, watching her as she walked. "What's your name?"

She planted a demure little smile like she was so flattered by the attention. With a blush, she said, "Mary."

He smirked. "Are you a virgin, too?"

Imbecile, she groaned inside her head. She had heard that joke back home. It was usually the first thing a demon said when assigned someone with that name. After hearing it for the first time, she chuckled. The second time, she grinned. The fifty-seventh? She ignored it. 

Come up with something new, people, will you?

She flashed some doe eyes at him and pretended to blush even more. "How did you know?"

"I tend to sense these things."

"Oh, do you?" She asked with a grin, flashing her natural eyes at him. But before he could scream, she was slitting his throat.

When the jugular veins are severed, there is a relatively low spray of dark red blood, accompanied by the sound of escaping air, and the human coughs it up. So, to get a forceful spray of bright red, Adriadne's favorite, she cuts the carotid. And usually aims to sever the trachea so they gasp and wither at her feet. And with this guy? She hit the nail on the head.

It only takes a few minutes, but it's such a satisfying death. Being in the land of the living, slitting throats quickly became one of her favorite forms of sending them exactly where they belonged.

When Sam and Dean Winchester caught wind of a case; six hundred sixty-four bodies across the country with a slit throat and the Latin symbol for "hellhound" carved over their right eyebrow, they got on it. They didn't want to let it get to that magic number.

And when they got to the most recent crime scene, Lena Franklin, a thirty-one-year-old female - mother of three - with the same injuries, they found who they were looking for, taking another victim. Only they weren't expecting to find their sister standing over the body.

After knocking her out and locking her up, they summoned Crowley as soon as possible. It was like their lives depended on it, or really, it was their sister's life that they were worried about.

And when he explained the situation to them, they knew what they had to do.

With a whine, Adriadne awoke in a strange room. Filled with walls of file cabinets and Enochian or Latin symbols. She tried to rub at her head, where that damn vase had been thrown at her, but she noticed she was chained down. Usually, she wouldn't have an issue with chains; she could break through steel, and they were so satisfying when some human tried to escape them. But not only were these not steel chains, they were iron. And they had warding signs carved in them.

Fucking hunters.

Surprisingly, if there was any human she didn't entirely detest, it was hunters. They were more robust than the rest and really knew what the real world was like. But they were after her, so now, they had to die. Slowly, bloody, painfully.

"Welcome back, jackass," A voice she recognized said. The same voice threw the vase at her however many hours ago. It was the shorter of the two, but he had the more resounding voice. They were tall for humans, but the other was way bigger. Gigantor also seemed like he was friendlier, the dumbass.

She had heard of the Winchester brothers in Hell. Sam and Dean, she believed their names were. Two brooding brothers with mommy and daddy issues that jumpstarted the apocalypse. Then they fixed it and sent Lucifer back into his cage with Michael. They'd been in and out of hell themselves a few times. The only humans to ever accomplish such feats.

Clearly, they weren't stupid, but goddamn, were they annoying.

Sam was younger but a bit more book-smart, and Dean was the older but sarcastic one. She vaguely knew they had a thing for dying for each other, but that only made her roll her eyes like she so often did at these creatures.

"Dean," Sam scolded.

"And what a warm one at that. You ever have people over?" She groaned. The boys didn't respond, both just shaking their heads. They started pulling stuff out of a cooler, and she read what it said on it with a scoff. "Human blood? You're seriously gonna try and cure me?"

"Yep," Dean deadpanned.

"Oh, please," Adriadne drawled as her head fell back on her shoulders. "Spare me."

"You're a demon, Mo," The youngest said, like it was the worst thing in the world she could be. "We're not just gonna leave you like this."

"Mo? Who the hell is Mo?"

"Morgan," Dean explained, his voice monotone but somehow angry at the same time. "Our sister. The human that you used to be. So we're doing what we should'a done years ago. And saving you. Even if it is from yourself."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah," Sam quipped, annoyed. "Crowley said you wouldn't remember."

"Crowley's the one that-"

"We know," Dean said. "Just shut up."

I didn't even know the Winchesters had a sister, Adriadne thought. But to hell if she wanted to become a damn human. Why would she even consider it? "Ever think maybe your sister wouldn't wanna be saved?"

"Doesn't matter." The oldest Winchester remarked, his voice flat. "You don't get a choice."

With a huff, Adriadne chuckled darkly. "Just let me go do what I wanna do. I don't bother you; you don't bother me. So what the hell do you care?"

"What do we care?" Sam asked, almost dejectedly. He shook his head, not dignifying her with a response, and started pouring holy water around the devil's trap. Reciting the Latin to start the ritual, he grabbed a needle, loaded it up with human blood, and handed it to Dean.

Adriadne looked at her supposed brothers, she didn't even know their birth order. She knew Dean was the oldest and Sam was the youngest. But where did she fit in the lineup? "You got anything stronger in there? Some heroin? Meth? Maybe it'd really make me feel somethin'."

"Don't worry, honey, you're gonna feel a lot."

And before she could fight it, he put the syringe in her arm and pumped the blood directly into her arm. She could feel it coursing through her veins, traveling through her bones, her arteries, her cells. Weaving its way throughout her body like an itch you can't scratch. Involuntarily, she let out a loud roar, a demonic roar, of pain. This damn human blood did not agree with her.

"Look," Sam said as both brothers backed away from her. "We've got a whole bunch more of these to go. You could make this a lot easier on yourself."

"And just in case some part of you gives a crap, we got your blood type."

"You wanna know something?" Adriadne asked, but a new wave of pain from the human blood cut her off. She groaned but wouldn't let it cut her off too long. She was a demon, after all, and pain had never been something she feared. It was something she admired, longed for, craved. "The part of your sister that cared died a long time ago."

Five times, the Winchester brothers had streamlined her with human blood. They didn't say anything when they came in this time, silently injecting her with round six. Like it was the only thing keeping them from breaking.

Adriadne was a demon; she knew that. But now things were becoming a little muddled. There had been small things, small tidbits of images popping in and out of her brain.

They weren't like dreams or nightmares. They were more like poorly done movies of being beaten by someone she was supposed to call her father. Dreams of fighting with her siblings, where even they'd beaten her - but also when she fought back, and they took the beatings themselves. She won and lost over and over, losing the fight when Sam left them for school, winning when Dean tried to get her to stop seeing her high school boyfriend, losing when Dean took away the knife he gave her, and winning when she eventually stole it back. She remembered watching their so-called father yell and scream, practically torturing who she was told were her brothers. She remembered not being able to do anything about it.

She saw herself hunting other creatures - not humans, but monsters. Vampires, werewolves, ghosts, djinns, banshees, rugarus. She saw herself taking beatings from them, nearly dying from her injuries several times. She saw herself lose her virginity to a sweet guy from her high school at the time. She saw herself take that night and turn it into a string of drunken one-night stands.

She saw her father coming home drunk almost every night, beaten up. She saw herself patching him up, giving him stitches when necessary. She'd been the one to set her brother's bones when they were broken or dislocated. She'd have to be the one to reset her own because none of them were as good as she was at it. She saw the woman who was supposed to be her mother burn to death on a ceiling as her older brother - a toddler himself - pulled her and her little brother to safety.

And she remembered her father dying, making a deal with a demon to keep his oldest son alive and breathing. Then she remembered doing the same thing for her younger brother.

"You're the Winchesters," Adriadne drawled. "You're hunters. So am I an idiot to assume what you're gonna do once you realize this won't work? You think you got the stomach for that? Killing the girl you think is your sister?"

"We're not worried," Sam denied. "Because we've done this before."

It had been nine hours, nine injections of human blood in her veins, and she could name nine parts of her body she could barely move. She hadn't felt so useless since she was on the rack, and even then, she had a purpose. To postpone, to make it as long as she could. Alastair had given her a choice. Stay on, deal with the consequences, or get off, and then do it to someone else who deserved it too.

She had been at the end of her rope; her soul was already ripped to shreds. And then they healed her and broke it again.

The humans deserved it - that's what she was taught.

But then, why was I the one on the rack? I'm not human.

Yes, I am. Or...I was.

No. My name is Ad-Adria-

She had been having so many memories over the last several hours. But they had to be dreams; she didn't remember them belonging to her. Of the Winchesters, of growing up on Earth, of being a part of an admittedly screwed-up family.

My name is-

"How you doin', Mo?" That was Sam, her…younger brother, she had remembered. The memories were like a plague, keeping her sedentary in a time she had long forgotten. A time, she didn't know if she wanted to go back to or not. It was a time when she cared about them, about humans in general. A time when she had the ability to care.

Mo. Morgan.

She was confused when they called her that. She didn't know how to describe it. But something was weird about that name. These were people that she knew before she went to Hell. People she loved. People she would've sacrificed everything for. People she did sacrifice everything for.

"It doesn't feel right," She rasped, shaking her head as much as possible. Which, apparently, was not a lot.

"No, shit," And there's Dean.

"When you call me that," She explained, despondent, trying to blink away the new memory attempting to take hold of her reality. "It doesn't feel like my name."

"Well, what is your name?" 

She didn't know. Adriadne was supposed to be her name. Morgan was supposed to be her name. How could someone not know their own fucking name? It was the most basic form of identification. Even demons had names. A new wave of pain hits her, and she grips the chair with all her strength. It wasn't a lot; she was so weak. But then another memory took over, and she wasn't even in that room anymore.

"What is your name?" He had asked, his voice cold and unemotional. The girl only shook her head in response, knowing what was coming with her answer. "You will answer me when I speak to you, girl.

"Morgan," She choked out, tears already rolling. "Morgan Winchester."

"You don't deserve my last name." Before she could blink, her cheek was stinging, and she was on the motel room floor. More tears fell involuntarily at the searing pain, at the blood dripping down her face from his ring. She flinched at the hand he rose again, but no hit came. Instead, he laughed - a heartless and calculating laugh. Like it was amusing watching his thirteen-year-old daughter cower at his feet. "You are no Winchester."

He was ready to strike a second time when someone got in the way. 

"Get out of the way, Sam."

"No," his little voice announced. She could hear the emotion in his words as he continued. The little ten-year-old was scrawny, even smaller than she was. "She knows what she did. You don't have to hit her again."

Ignoring the boy, her father turned back to Morgan, practically looking through her little brother. "So this is what you've come to? Making little Sammy fight your damn battles for you?"

She looked him straight in the eyes; the green they usually held was almost black in the room's dim lighting. She had seen this so many times when he was angry, when a hunt didn't go his way, when his children disobeyed him. When she did something wrong. 

"Boys," Her father called, ordering them to shut up and listen. Dean took his hands away from his face with a wince. Sam winced, too, backing away from his father. Nearly crashing into her. "Take this as a learning opportunity. We fight our own battles in this family. And we don't rely on other people to do it for us." 

And with that, Sam was pushed out of the way, and he was on top of her.

"Dad," She gasped, finally back in the present but staring into space. Both brothers' heads shot up at the recall. "He was- he was mean."

"Yeah," Dean agreed, making her eyes lock on his. The whites of his eyes were red like the mention of his father had him holding things back. A storm was brewing behind his eyes, one he wouldn't let come to fruition. "He had his moments."

"He was so mad all the time," The girl croaked, her voice breaking even more. She was lost, not looking at them. Keeping her eyes down, they darted back and forth as she practically stared through the flesh and bone before her. "Watch out for Sammy. Make sure Sam's safe. Don't let anybody touch Sammy. If anything happens to him, I'll know whose fault it is." Her older brother only nodded, but Sam's eyes fluttered back and forth between his siblings. Like he was realizing something he hadn't before. "We were always watching out for Sammy. Who- who watched out for us?"

"Well, for one, Sammy watched out for us. And I watched for both of you, and you took care of us."

"I took care of you?"

"Yeah, Mo, you did," Sam said plainly.

"But I-I went to-" She denied, not entirely believing them. "I went to Hell, and now I don't know anything. You're my brothers? My family? My family tortured me. They-they're the ones that put me on the rack."

"Is that what they told you?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"I saw it!" She roared. Everything came back to her in waves, and not like a movie this time; these were memories. She knew it; she couldn't question it. "You hurt me- you- you touched me." She finally looked up at them, unable to hide the tears. She shook her head, trying to shake away the red, the blood, the screaming, the agony. "You- you- family isn't supposed to do that!"

Sam and Dean stared, their faces pale and drained. They didn't hide their emotions - like she remembered they did so often. They wore it plainly on their faces. Sam was a mixture of deep regret and sorrow. Dean wasn't just angry; he was simmering with rage.

"Now, you listen to me," Dean ordered, and she could almost hear a trace of their father in his voice. He leaned against the arms of her chair - her current prison - and gave her a stare that kept her captive in his gaze. "I went to Hell, too. They did the same thing to me. It. Wasn't. Us. And I know you don't believe that. But you will. Eventually."

When he finished, she nodded. He was wrong. Some part of her did believe him. The conviction in his words, the way he didn't bother to hide the angry tears in his eyes. Some part of her - a minuscule part - hoped he wasn't lying. That her family was still there for her. That maybe, even after everything that had happened, they would hold her when this was all over. 

At her slight confirmation, he nodded, too, and stepped back, giving his younger brother room for the next shot. Sam came forward and quickly, without hesitation, put the syringe in her arm and pressed down.

"I don't even know my own name."

Sam didn't balk at her words. He just shook his head and gave her a small, barely there smile.

"You will."

"I don't wanna be human," She cried. Eleven injections in, she could feel the human blood becoming her own. Integrating into her bones, her DNA changed with every second that passed. Her power was draining, and she didn't like it. She was returning to who she was before Hell, the young girl with daddy issues, with two brothers who loved her - but could never get along with.

"Humans are weak, they- their emotions, it's too much," She continued, shuddering. "They feel too much, they don't see how useless they are. How- how small they are. There are eight billion of you, and all of you think you're the most important one. You all think you have some fucked up purpose, that there's something more you can do with your pointless little lives."

"No one here is gonna tell you that being human is a walk in the park," Sam said, his voice calm and steady as if he was expecting her to say this. "But it is better than being a demon. Than killing for no reason. Because even if you don't believe it, I believe we do have a purpose. Maybe it's a tiny one, maybe you're just supposed to be here to make someone else happy. Maybe you're here to teach someone a lesson. Maybe you're here to save the world." His words got light at that, like it was an inside joke, and Dean let out a small laugh. But just because you don't know what it is or can't see it doesn't mean you don't have one." 

Before she could respond or give any words to the contrary, he put the needle in her arm and gave her the twelfth shot.

Morgan Winchester opened her eyes. And they were black. She could feel it, feel the remnants of Hell in her eyes. But as quickly as it came, it went. And as they cleared, she groaned. It was a strange feeling, but she felt lighter. Like there wasn't as much weight on her shoulders as before. Her eyes were blue again, like the sky people loved to stare at. Then she remembered she was human again. She was just a young girl again, not a demon, not a monster. 

And then the weight returned. Only this time, it was even heavier, as if someone had tied an anvil around her neck and thrown her into the ocean. She remembered everything. Her life, her father, her mother, her brothers, Sam dying, her dad dying, her deal with a demon, Hell, being tortured, then turning around and doing the same, becoming a demon, becoming Adriadne, taking a joyride upstairs, murdering so many innocents. Then, being in here, the crowded but well-protected safe room in some place she had no knowledge of. 

She could see her brothers a few feet away. Sam stood in front of Dean, holding a flask - their postures were identical. Tight and reserved, with their brows furrowed and their feet cemented into the floor.

Her face contorted into a question, and she greeted them with their names. She didn't know what else to say. But before she could speak again, Dean threw whatever was in the flask at her face.

Water. Water. Water.

And without needing a second to think about it, Morgan realized it was blessed. Holy water. They were putting her through one final test. To see if their work had paid off. When it didn't burn, sizzle, or boil her skin, her brothers let out a deep exhale of relief. Then, so did she.

"Welcome back, Morgan."

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝔼𝕟𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕌𝕟𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨𝕟 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TW: sentient

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @hayillaaaaaaa @miguelito-maruti-blog

ᵀᴼᴰᴬʸ'ˢ ᴬᴿᵀ : An Encounter With the Unknown!? Cosmic Opera - Emu Otori

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Recently, you found a single player VR game that you absolutely fell in love with!! It had great storyline, fun minigames, managable and enjoyable exploration... it almost had no flaws! And even if you wouldn't like something, you could usually jsut skip it, thanks to not everything being forced!

Few days ago, you got on higher level~ Being 30! It wasn't much compared to the max. level, but you were still pretty proud of achieving this in such a short time~

"(Now I just have to craft some stuff and I can... Who's that?)"

You wondered as you noticed weirdly dressed for a village, short pink haired girl that was standing nearby the crafting table. She was... hitting it with minerals? As if trying to figure out how to start the process... as if she was the player...

But you just took it as fun NPC and side quest ocassion so you came up and crafted something out of minerals you took from her and handed her finished product, which she seemed to appreciate!

"This is so cool!! I was waiting so long for a player to come by finally!"

"(Is this part of some late April Fool's joke?)"

You couldn't help but question... though overthinking won't do much good, so for now... you might as well go on with it and see where it goes! It's just a game after all! It's not like anything can actually happen, right?

What concerned you more was that this NPC was staring right at you and you had no dialogue options available.

"Why's there no dialogue options..."

"Oh! That's because you can just talk to me! I'm not like other NPC's!"

"What-"

"I'm Emu!! And looking at your profile... you must be Y/N!"

"Yeah... you got it..."

"Hehe~ I'm so glad! Hey, how about this! I'll show you super duper cool place!!"

"(I meet weirdly sentient NPC, praying it's some kidn of joke... do I seriously want to go with them just to calm down my curiosity?)"

You took a moment to think a little bit about this offer, not wanting to jump into this too quickly...

"(Yeah, I do. I'm curious.) Sure."

"Yay!! No one ever agreed before! But I promise you won't regret that! You'll LOVE it!"

Not even getting a chance to react, you got teleported into some... weird space location... You never saw it on any spoilers, trailers or anything!

Not to mention the fact this felt so.. real... you lietrally couldn't feel ground under your feet... this must be a very cool and detailed design! Right?

"What the hell is this..."

"This is space of the game! Kinda like the backstage~ Even players become part of the game here!"

"Coo- Wait. What do you mean 'become part of the game'?"

She just shrugged and took your hand, jumping over invisible stones as you tried matching her peace. During your little tour, she pointed out many places... but what you found the weirdest was that through all of this, you couldn't see your stats anymore and she always brushed off your question about it...

You were honestly pretty creeped out by now, so you wanted to log out while she wasn't looking... but the menu wasn't working... Classic movement that you'd make to open the menu, didn't work... And when you raised your hands to take off the helmet, you felt just cold air...

"Emu... Why can't I get out...?"

"Oh! I told you! It's backstage of the game!"

"That's... this is very cool place but uh... I need to go now."

"Awh... are you busy? Will you come back tomorrow?"

"I'll... try...?"

That was straigh up lie. You weren't about to just come back as if nothing happened, but you needed to play a little play pretend to make it easier on yourself...

"Alright! I'll help you get back to the game world!"

"(Well that was easy...)"

You thought as she took you back to the village where you met her, as if nothing ever happened... You just dropped quick "bye" before quickly taking off the helmet, not even bothering to save and quit the game.

This was... too weird to be happening... She was literally sentient! You considered reporting this to game developers... but could you really do that after seeing she just wanted to make friends, despite being a bit too hyper about everything?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[delafiseaseses]

Beatrix Russell's insights

Beatrix Russell, I'm sure most Fallout New Vegas players know her, but when was the last time y''ad a proper conversation with her? I should also say we ay gonna be analysing 'er recruitment into the Wrangler's employment 'ere or her sexual side (mostly, it'll come up a bit).

Beatrix's Advice

Beatrix offers a lot of insights into Freeside and also offers a few bits of advice. We'll start wi' those for structure all of these responses come from saying 'Got any advice to share?' I'll be honest wi' ya, the 'these are reffrence to X' I'm gonna be sayin' is jus' Wiki information. But I'll also provide me opinions on the quotes.

"Feed a man for free, and he'll be back asking for more. Feed a man a bullet. You won't hear from him again."

That's certainly true, and pretty applicable in the Wasteland, I s'pose.

"Good, bad... The guy with the gun makes the rules."

That's a reference to the movie Army of Darkness and the line 'Good...bad...I'm the guy with the gun.' and, apparently, that's also something John Browning said possibly? Reportedly, anyway. Still, also applicable in the Wasteland (and, if we go metaphorical, applicable to most authority). Personally, I think 'good' isn't applicable when anyone makes rules with the authority of 'gun'.

"Time you enjoy wasting isn't wasted time."

This is an adaption of the quote 'The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.' by Bertrand Russell. The wiki points out the fact that they're both B. Russells, which is pretty curious. The quote itself I agree with (naturally, I mean, why else would I be doin' this? Hahahaa.) and is probably important to consider as someone as old as Beatrix.

"The only thing I know for certain is that I don't know nothing."

That's a pretty famous one, even wi'out the Wiki tellin' me I know that's Socrates accordin' t' Plato. Let's not get too deep into this 'un. Unlike the last two I see no particular relevance to Wasteland life and, quite frankly, this isn't even advice, Beatrix.

"Longing makes the heart grow fonder, but I've always been a fan of hog-tying my lovers to make sure they can't escape."

I'm sure that's advice to people who're into that sorta thing, but I'm very much not the target audience for it (bein' a proud aroace repulsed at the very idea of engaging personally in such acts). Still, maybe someone over the years has gotten into BDSM because the Ghoul Cowgirl who's name rhymes with 'dominatrix' an' good for that 'ypothetical person.

So, in review, some advice that makes sense in the Wasteland, some philosophy and a bit of oversharing that I s'pose could work as foreshadowing of her future profession in a lot of playthroughs. Let's get t' the juicy stuff now, the reason I decided t' make this.

Beatrix's on the History Freeside

Yes, this is the excitin' part. We'll start wi' the start 'Tell me about Freeside.'

"What starts in misery tends to stay there. Freeside wasn't Freeside until six or seven years ago. That's when Mr. House's robots rolled out of the Lucky 38 and started pushing everyone who wouldn't join him off the Strip. Lots of folks died. Some scattered to the winds. The rest wound up in Freeside and seem never to lose the habit of living like refugees."

Things like this, it puts it all into perspective Freeside, The Strip, Hell even Westside and North Vegas Square am all recent developments. The walls an' divisions aren't even 10 years old. Robert Edwin House created modern New Vegas through violence. We have no idea how many people were killed by it, what 'a lot' means here, but think about it this way: there's a good chance that everywhere on The Strip that ain't the Lucky 38 were all inhabited by people who were either killed or displaced by House less than 10 years prior to the game. That is t' say The Tops, Gomorrah, The Ultra-Luxe, the NCR Embassy an' Military Police HQ and even Michael Angelo's Workshop all were potential homes to people who's lives are now lost to time.

There were people already in Freeside, the buildings and streets not claimed by House, that's why you'll meet many people who are 'Freeside Locals' and have been far longer than 7 years, but as Beatrix said, Freeside as we know it wasn't the Freeside before House. None of the three families lived in those casinos (the Boot-Riders weren't even stationary before becoming The Chairmen). The place was created in an act of miserable violence by House.

Beatrix's Views of Factions

Now for faction opinions. After hearing Beatrix's statements about Freeside's violent and very recent founding we can ask 'What about The Kings?'

"What about them? Pretty much the sort of gang you'd find anywhere else, just with better clothes. The King himself, though? He's got that something special you can't put a finger on. Too bad he likes girls with skin."

I'm not 100% sure if Beatrix knows that last part or presumes it, regardless she overall has a rather cynical view on The Kings as 'just another gang'. An', y'know, while they do have points over a lot of nastier gangs, I'm gonna guess 'Gang as de facto government' is a very common arrangement throughout the entire Wasteland. The Kings isn't the worst bunch in the world and The King is a flawed idealist, but its worst tendencies, encouraged by Pacer and its other more nationalistic and violent members certainly makes them not as clean as I'm sure many see 'em. Still, the gimmick is fun (I bet Beatrix even knows who Elvis is).

'What do you think of the NCR?'

"I reckon they care about getting water and electricity from the dam, and that's where it ends. The locals here are just an inconvenience to them, something to step over or stomp down. They're here for the resources, plain and simple."

Beatrix is correct. Here's a link to Colonel James Hsu sayin' as much an' gettin' called an imperialist bastard by me due to it.

'What's your opinion of Mr. House?'

"Before or after the human race shot itself in the foot? I been around long enough to have both opinions, see. Before the war, Mr. House was a famous captain of industry - robotics, to be specific. Seemed charming in interviews, until he became a recluse. Since the war, though? Didn't make a peep for near two hundred years - but when he came back, he came back strong and killed a lot of people."

Some stuff we already knew there. Unlike Raul, Beatrix is 100% convinced and aware about House bein' House. Beatrix don't actually say her opinion on modern House, but the implication in the way she highlighted that he killed a lot of people 7-8 years ago says all that needs t' be said. She also revealed that House preparing for the War was noticed by the public.

'What do you think of the Followers of the Apocalypse?'

"I don't know how they do it. They're like saints, those Followers. If they didn't charge for their services, I'd think they was crazy. But no, they're just naive. Warms your heart."

Beatrix is a bit of a cynical person, as one would expect from someone who saw the War, saw the next 200 years, saw Mr House's rise and is aware of the intentions of the NCR. So, it's nice to see her have a bit of fondness for the Followers even if she sees them as naïve.

'What do you know about the Van Graffs?'

"A couple of Radscorpions, those two. Gloria is the stable one, but she'd slit your throat if there's a profit in it. Or rather she'd tell her brother to do it for her. Jean Baptiste is one of the sicker humans I've had the displeasure of observing."

Hmm, pretty comprehensive view. Wonder if she ever did any work for the Van Graffs from this view. Prob'ly not, actually, I'm gonna guess she just means she's seen Jean-Baptiste bein' a monster, been in the Silver Rush or maybe she knew the original inhabitants of the Silver Rush who the Van Graffs did a Mr House to. The only other time she uses the term 'observing' there am some sexual undertones, but I reckon that's not 'er intent 'ere.

Conclusion

So, that was Beatrix's insights Freeside, Various Factions and... life, I guess. Some interestin' stuff, I think. An' 'opefully me own provided thoughts an' commentary 'as been int'restin'.

[hislittleraincloud]

Surprised Jenna - like many other Latino/Latina people with influence have already - hasn’t come out to endorsement Kamala after Tr*mp and his supporters made that Puerto Rico garbage comment

HEY.

SHE'S 22 YEARS OLD. AND SHE DOESN'T HAVE TO DO SHIT. YOU CARE MORE THAT SHE DOESN'T FIT YOUR PERCEPTION OF A YOUNG WOMAN WITH A POSSIBLE INFLUENCE ON HER FANS WHO DOESN'T "USE" THAT POWER. LEAVE THE GIRL ALONE AND STOP INSULTING HER INTELLIGENCE, INTEGRITY, AND TAKE ON THE WORLD. YES, SHE IS A CELEBRITY BUT SHE DOESN'T OWE ANYTHING TO ANYONE.

🤭

Yes, m'dear.

I expressed the same sentiment of yours that earned me the ire of the shitbird anon I just quoted verbatim a few days ago.

I hope that everyone remembers how silent Ortega is being on this, especially when she's made a big shit about "wanting to be the Puerto Rican Dakota Fanning" (even mentioning this in newer interviews, still), whining about not having/seeing representation, etc. My critics here hate seeing me crit her up, but she's the one who puts herself and some of her views sparingly out there; but this Puerto Rico thing is just as big as the insults that happened in 2017 after Hurricane Maria (the paper towels, the lack of response from that POS orange fuckface). That ugly ass diaper wearing motherfucking imbecilic rapist from Hell wanted to trade it for Greenland. Our baby girl here was only 15 then, but she is now old enough to fucking put her platform where her mouth is (yeah, as the days have gone by, my anger about it has only risen, especially since we're even closer to Tuesday).

I'm not Puerto Rican, but I am Mexican and Spanish on my father's side. I'm a full on burrito with extra rice (my mother is Southeast Asian)

If I were famous and had a platform like she does, I'd have been begging my fans to vote blue since Day 1, because 1) we know Trump hates us brown people to begin with and has been saying horrific things since the 2016 campaign and 2) Project 2025 is terrifying and facets of it are already cutting into our lives and making a huge mess of it for women, trans people, and people of color. I mean for fuck's sake, Tennessee (our Jairo's home state 💕💔) ratified a law earlier this year that brings back Jim Crow era-like anti-miscegenation discrimination regarding marriage (it was targeted towards 🏳️‍🌈 marriages, but if an officiant objects to solemnizing the marriage of a mixed race couple, they're legally allowed to do that per the law...even Jon and Cairo [if they were real] wouldn't be able to marry if the officiant objected to Jon marrying an obviously not white Cairo). It's exactly what the Heritage Foundation wanted, and it's only going to get worse if the orange fuckface is let back in.

As usual I digress, but this shit is serious.

Anyway, all of the most famous contemporary Puerto Ricans have spoken up about the floating island of garbage and the whole "Latinos love making babies"/have no pullout game (which yanno, Ortega should really be on top of too, it was a DOUBLE insult to her and her family), but she's ✨busy✨. Too busy to stand up for her mother's peoples, but not too busy to make TikToks with Thing. Fuck that, and y'all should keep it in mind the next time she does say shit about politics.

But here's a celebrity who has (another Puerto Rican who has a massive, massive number of 🏳️‍🌈 wlw fans, even though she too is into guys and married), and I love her for it:

"Oh, but Tor, that wasn't an endorsement!" — Okay babies, 4 years ago vs. now

Bonus "Like" from Johnna Dias-Watson that Imma take for soft endorsement, so even freaking Divina has a tiny voice here...and she's queer. 💕 🏳️‍🌈💖✨

Once more, if Ortega finally does come out for Kamala, I will issue corrections and apologies, but it's almost too fucking late — the election is only five fucking days away — and it'll likely be too little. There are already a good handful of kids her age who think that it's okay to either vote 3rd party* or sit it out, spouting rhetoric that is well-observed and intended but impractical.

*Psst: No, it's not okay to vote 3rd party in our solidly 2 party system in our general election. The last two times a crapload of people voted 3rd party, it gave us Bush & the Iraq War and Trump & his maelstrom of domestic destruction. Republicans adore 3rd party candidates for the general election because they fucking know the kind of people who will choose them are mostly sanctimonious, ignorant and/or unhinged leftists whose votes would otherwise be unfavorable to them. Cut the shit and get serious if you're one of those 'but Republicans and Democrats are the same!' crap à la Chappell Roan (the elder Gen Z whose attitude about our politics is influencing other Zs). They are not the fucking same. Just looking at the SCOTUS picks should tell you that it's fucking laughable every time someone says this. Democrats are also not the ones who are passing misogynistic anti-abortion and phobic anti-🏳️‍🌈 and anti-🏳️‍⚧️ laws that affect everyone at their state level. Do your due diligence AND your civic duty towards your fellows and pick the one who isn't intent on destroying anyone who isn't a white (male) Christian nationalist.

[kame-writes]

Cannibals Curse Part 3

- Reflections

They walked side by side through the picturesque victorian style estate. Pretty pink townhouses giving way to wide parks, and a large town square with a gazebo in the center. It all looked very pleasant, especially considering this was apparently Hell, where people were lead to believe you'd suffer in endless eternal torment

“I must say, you're taking the whole ‘Being damned for all eternity’ thing mighty well. Most start freaking out by now.” Rosie pointed out, leading him towards her emporium, and the little apartment she had above it.

“I lost my faith a long time ago. But, I suppose I always knew that if there was any truth in the good book, then this is where I would end up.” He spoke so casually, that Rosie tilted her head curiously as she listened. “I made my peace with what I was, and where I was going, a long time ago.” His voice was casual, but there was a sad edge to it. His opinion on who he was formed so solid, that it was impossible to be anything other than the truth.

“I'm guessing you indulged in more than just the odd spot of cannibalism then?” Rosie guessed. Cannibalism was obviously not acceptable when they were alive, but for him to be so sure he earned a place in hell, there had to be more to it than that.

“Well, there is the question of how I acquired so many bodies to be able to acquire a taste for it.” He said with an almost sly air, one hand folded neatly behind his back, the picture of a gentleman who was comfortably where he believed he belonged.

“Yeah, I guess that sourcing your own ingredients would land you a spot down here.” She practically snorted out a laugh. “Sorry. Ya get so used to how things run down here, you tend to forget how taboo things are up there.”

“Sourcing my own ingredients… What a delightfully vague way to describe it! Wish I'd thought of that when I was alive.” Alastor laughed, a genuinely amused sound. “You just referred to mass murder as a taboo.” He tilted his head as he walked beside her, not able to leave his curiosity unanswered. “Does that mean murder is just a casual thing in Hell?”

“Oh no, it's still something you should try to avoid. But it's not the be all and end all most of the time. Very difficult to keep the dead down for long without specialist tools don't ya know. Wouldn't be much of a punishment if we could just take the easy way out.” She explained. “So that guy you killed will be back eventually, and might hold a grudge against you. That's a pretty good incentive not to go killing willy-nilly.”

“Hmmm, I can see how that would dissuade people. I think I'm starting to understand.” Why put sinners through being tortured or burnt in sulfur like religious text suggests, when you could give them no laws or rules and let them do as they pleased to eachother. Hell was not endless pain, Hell was other people.

Most of Humanity was rotten and self-serving at their core, if it put them on top, then they'd trample anyone underneath them. Pride was a very human affliction after all, and not one that Alastor was deluded enough to think didn't apply to him. He just had a very particular set of rules and exemptions for who was fair game to target.

As they walked, he caught his reflection in an empty shop window, and stood dead in his tracks to stare into the darkened glass. He took a step closer, hand hand lifting automatically, as if to touch the glass and check it wasn't a trick, but it never made contact.

Alastor didn't look like himself. Well, he did, but a very twisted version. His skin was a deathly desaturated colour, eyes two different shades of red, including dark eyelids that only emphasized his pallor. 

His usually dark brown hair was a vivid shade of crimson, tipped with inky black, and two large tuffs stood upright from the top. He reached up, and was surprised to be able to feel them twitch, were they his ears not hair?

Then his hand moved to two sharp horns. Antlers? That protruded from his skull. Why would he have antlers? Antlers and sticking up ears, like a deer. Why did he look like…

It was as if suddenly the world closed around him. Nothing existed outside of his own mind, and sudden radio feedback was so loud in his head, like a bastardisation of tinnitus. He remembered where he'd last been before waking up in hell. Suddenly thrown back into a memory he'd blocked from his mind.

He'd been in the bayou, part way through disposing of his latest victim. There was a hunter. He could hear the dogs closing in on him. They tore at his skin. There was a gunshot…

He stumbled back from his reflection, breathing quickly and frantically. His hand raised to where he'd felt a sharp pain in the center of his forehead. He was shot! The hunter must have mistaken him for prey and… And, and, now he was here.

“Easy Darling. You're okay.” Roise tried to soothe, giving him plenty of room to breathe and not feel trapped. He might be fine with being in hell, but facing your own death, especially since she figured it was quite violent from his reaction, was a lot to take in.

He spun around to stare at her with wide eyes, that smile of his gone once more, looking around quickly as he reoriented himself from the daze of reliving his final moments. He was clearly shaken, and he hated how vulnerable he must have looked for her to try and comfort him. Bringing his hand up to run through his hair, he tried to physically make himself presentable again, even if it wasn't as easy to do so emotionally.

Rosie made no comment, pretending to be distracted with something happening on the other side of the street, giving a polite wave to a passerby, who returned her gesture enthusiastically. She only turned back to the shaken sinner once she was sure he had composed himself enough to not lash out in defense, he seemed to be very adamant on putting on a strong front.

“Come along darling, we're almost there. I think I have some old clothes from an ex husband of mine that will fit you for now.” She said in a cheery voice, turning and listening for his footsteps to follow behind her, giving him plenty of time to recover from his panic in his own time.

Prev - Next

[beaversatemygrandma]

i keep thinking about the time I was going around a small town amusement park looking like the butch that I was that day. As seen here having found the cowch.

I mean just look at how empty the main street is in the pic. It wasn't like I waited to take this pic. It was like noon. It was as packed as this place gets. I'm surprised it's still running tbh. It feels like a relic of the past really.

I spent way too much time on an arcade game. I kept winning the small prize. Bouncy balls. The cool ones. The small and colorful and vaguely edible ones. I had a pocketful of these fuckers

I think the big prize was some gacha ball item from like 15 yrs ago. This small town place was outdated as hell. My sister won beanie babies from '97 from another game that had a PC game that couldn't have been newer than 2001 as its grand prize. This was merely 2022 btw.

Anyways. What do I think of to do with this pocketful of wonderful orbs? I can't live having like 20 of these lil shits in my pocket. My pants can't survive my thighs in this heat, let alone a pocketful of balls.

So I start passing them out to kids as we pass by.

The way I look and the fact that this is in a small southern town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere is very important. The only person there who didn't look like they were 18-23 with 3 kids under the age of 5 was me and my weird ass 13yo sister who was wearing a metal band tee she stole from our dad. So, we basically just looked like visiting satanists in these good christian kids' TM eyes.

We get one kid and his brother in the arcade where the older one is just "Oh NICE!" and his brother just shyly comes up and picks a ball from my hand. The dad in the background just worriedly watching and as they walk off he just yells "Remember to say THANK YOU." They do. It's all great. Another one, two other kids. One of them is excitedly wanting a ball. The mom immediately shoos them away from me.

Probably doesn't help that my sister is doing her thing where she repeats a word that sounds funny. It was "balls" that day.

This goes back and forth. I either get some LOOKS from parents with some excited then disappointed kids getting shooed off. Then others who are just shocked that somebody is just doing this for what reason? Literally none. I have a pocket full of cool balls from the arcade. I think I only gave away like 6 balls out of MANY. These people did not trust me in the slightest.

We head to the car. We're gathered around the trunk getting sandwiches from the cooler for the drive back home. I pull out my pocketful of orbs to my sister, dad, his friend, and her kid, and just ask "Balls?" Everybody grabs a ball with a laugh. My sister. Still saying this a few more times before my dad tells her to quit doing that in public. Saying balls that is.

Anyways happy pride to that one older butch in the bathroom. You were the only one who didn’t bat an eye at my actions or look.

[dreadreverendryan]

I can't believe Akira Toriyama is gone. I know everyone's going to be more upset about Dragon Ball, and I'm sad that Daima will be his last work, but Chrono Trigger means so, SO much more to me. I didn't get it at first: I'd never played a turn based RPG before and didn't understand the menus. I could have read the manual, but I only looked at the character section because the designs were fucking awesome. Hell, the only good memory I have of my great grandfather was him flipping thru the manual and saying Lucca's name. I have no context as to why he was reading it, I was fully capable of reading it myself and he had no interest in video games, but it's something. My best friend, Justin, saw my copy of the game and asked if he could borrow it. I was so annoyed with the menus that I told him he could HAVE the game, but he gave it back after he was done and he'd shown me how the game works. Once I got it back I was HOOKED, but stuck on the first boss, Yakra. We didn't have dial up internet yet, so I just threw myself against that wall so much that when my sister decided to literally sit on her controller and bounce on it to randomly select commands I was all for it (no clue why I didn't just ask Justin). It worked, somehow, but her controller... Well, let's just say that I have *my* original controller and had to replace hers many, many years ago. Luckily we got dial up not too long after that, so if I needed help I could go to GameFAQs, and I found Icybrian's RPG page, which had fanart and fanfics for Final Fantasy and Chrono Trigger. The message boards there became my first online community and the older members of the forums mocked my typing so hard that to this day it pains me if I don't type properly. It was still fun, and I was pretty annoying so I don't blame them for it. My other early internet community included a Star Wars RPG forum, the Star Wars Council (SWC for short). Everyone made their own OCs and I really liked Frieza (but just him, I wasn't into the show enough to care about anyone else yet because I had no consistent way to watch it), so Frieza Omega (shut up, I was like 11 or 12 and it was cool back then), leader of the Bounty Hunter's Guild was born. A bit after that I also joined an actual DBZ RPG group with my cousin and his friends as Trunks. That group was less fun because the fights were judged by other people, not co-written like the SWC. All those little interlinking pieces of my life (and other bits I left out) started with Chrono Trigger and I can honestly say I wouldn't be the person I am today without it. And while the music, mechanics, and story were all amazing, the art Toriyama did gave the game so much charm. I honestly don't know if I'd have gotten into DBZ without Chrono Trigger. Even when I saw Super Sayin God for the first time my brain immediately went "that's literally just Crono!" It's kind of funny to imagine the silent protagonist Crono screaming before doing his techs, or Goku losing his voice from all the screaming and becoming a time traveling mute stuck in Super Sayin God. I'm also really surprised that I've got more to say about Akira Toriyama than I did about Kentaro Miura, the author of Berserk. I mean, I have a Berserk tattoo because of how much the story resonated with me, but then again I also have a clock tattoo because of my time obsession that started with Chrono Trigger. It's like... Berserk changed me and has an extremely warm place in my heart, but Chrono Trigger is in my bones, my veins, my DNA, and my soul. Also, I do have one piece of DBZ merch: the Devil card from the Dragonball tarot deck, which has first form Frieza on it. Now I'm thinking about buying a copy of the full deck when I can afford it, but anyway...

Rest easy, Toriyama-san; you will be missed dearly and remembered fondly.

[ducknotinarow]

Her anger may be that of a single lit match, but it did not mean she couldn't cause an explosion. Brooklyn may have calmed down enough to have civil conversation, but rage was still simmering deep in her veins - she was simply far better at keeping a hold of the reigns.

Holding the glass of Pilk between her hands, she quirks her mouth, staring at the liquid inside. She was growing angry again, she could feel it. Setting her jaw, eyebrows furrowing, her voice is back to its usual softness as she looks to her dad,

"I'm still mad yanno," She admits, "Especially cause I haven't even told you the worst part...well, worst part for me."

Brook takes a sip of her drink; it's really not helping her feel any better. Scrunching her nose up a little, Brook looks near disgusted as she says their name,

"Red Skull..." Brook murmurs their name like its poison, "He called me 'Experiment' the last time we ran into each other, I guess I looked more confused than I wanted to, so he mocked me about how I didn't know what I really was, that I was his kid technically because he made me," She shudders, "Didn't believe him, why would I... but, you know when something sticks with you? Well, I had to look into it, it was driving me nuts...I didn't expect him to be telling the truth though, to find that file and see what I am..."

Lucky for Steve, the fuse burned out before she could truly explode. That was Brook though; easy to calm despite being a storm mere minutes ago. With a sigh, she leans against Steve, clearly upset. Though not said, she couldn't help but one of her many secrets thoughts had been confirmed: that she was always bad, now she knew it was true. But dad has enough to worry about without her being a moody gremlin about all of this too,

"Why is he so messed up dad?" Brooklyn asks, clearly rhetoric, "You think I can ask him the next time we have to deal with him?"

| muse interaction

It all felt like a nightmare, just a dream he couldn't escape from the second he heard Brooklyn was in critical condition. When he was told they were taking her back to S.H.E.I.L.D, when he could hear the clear distraught in Nina's voice over the coms. From there it was all this blur. Hazy and out of place memories. He didn't recall how he got there. Was Tony there? He thinks they were. He recalled a talk with Peggy least to tell her what happened but his words still just didn't seem to come from his mouth. All a blur. Sometimes he needed to double check that Brook being up and well again was real. No battle field buzzing with the sounds of explosives going off or bullets flying over head was ever enough to make him freeze not like that.

So the sight of Brook sitting down with her well gross mixture of Pepsi and milk was a welcome sight. When his mind decided to play games with him. Not that he was one to talk though he still feels his coke with peanuts is different than the things Brooklyn comes up with. Steve made his way over to her eyeing the look on her face. the tension was so clearly there from the winkled up brow to the tightness in her jaw. Not often a look Brook wore. Nina? sure but that girl could get angry three times before breakfast. Not so much Brooklyn.

"Hey, uh what's up? Did Nina put in those Captain America ice cubs in your glass again?" Seemed like a good guess in his defense. Nina did enjoy messing with Brooklyn though it been sometimes since she pulled a prank. And Brooklyn didn't always enjoy the attention those pranks included.

"I'm still mad yanno,"

Steven quirked his mouth at that, "What she do?" still assuming this was about her sister over anything else in the moment in fairness there had been no real build up after all.

"Especially cause I haven't even told you the worst part...well, worst part for me."

Steve lifts uo a brow to show his interest at the moment. He knows kids are going to fight hell Bucky was the closest thing he had to a brother himself, and they fought a lot. But Steve could even tell this wasn't the same thing? So he's guessing he was wrong on that original guess of Nina having pulled a stunt that resulted in Brooklyns mood. Watching how she nearly grimaced when sipping from her drink. Yeah, this was something else. He moved to join her, not wanting to interpret this time around.

"Red Skull..."

Oh.

In hindsight, he should have guessed. Brooklyn was still recovering clear to leave her room, with some minor restrictions like being benched from field work for the time being. But still Steve knew part of him was also keeping it out of mind or else he really wound be storming the first hydra base they knew red skull had been to so he could deal with them for what he did to Brooklyn.

"He called me 'Experiment' the last time we ran into each other, I guess I looked more confused than I wanted to, so he mocked me about how I didn't know what I really was, that I was his kid technically because he made me,"

An old name an old life. But a pain that's never really healed. In part because she never has let the air hit that scar of hers. Red Skyll would use it to taunt her though claim she was his creation and belonged to him. The narrasicts that man was. Didn't stop Steve from flexing his fingers ready to curl into a tight fist. For making such a statement. He didn't get to call himself that. Nkt with all he done to Brooklyn.

"Didn't believe him, why would I... but, you know when something sticks with you? Well, I had to look into it, it was driving me nuts...I didn't expect him to be telling the truth though, to find that file and see what I am..."

Steven's expose grew solmen. He wasn't sure what to say about that. They knew there was a lot in those files after all everything she faced, how they made the clone that became Brooklyn all of it. But she had every right to know.

Luckily it seemed she was starting to clam down despite Red Skulls words. She did have a much shorter fuse she wasn't one to stay mad simply to be mad. It was a good trait of hers.

"Why is he so messed up dad?"

Steve knows it rhetorical. No different then asking why are people bad. There's not really a good answer to that question.

"You think I can ask him the next time we have to deal with him?"

Steve moved to put his arm around her and pull her in close to his side, for a slight side hug. "Why you wanna hear him monolouge about his why of thinking and about himself? Cause that's excatly what you'll end up getting." Steve boy trust him he wants to say so much else he turly dose but right now? He just glad he still had his daughter.

He gently rubs her arm a moment as he let's his thoughts sort of drift away for a moment. He wished he had the answers she clearly sought out. But Steve may never have them, Nina wouldn't either. Funny enough not even Red Skull would. Brooklyn herself would be the only one who can answer any of that. "Ya know kid" He speaks up finally. "He can blow all the hit air he wants over where you come from and such but he dosent even know you. He wanted you to be clay and shape you into what he wanted. Kids don't work that way. Your sponges your aboard stuff. Like your odd food habits. I'll take blame on that, my time had some werid food after all. You small temper? Let t s blame Nina she's clearly got enough to spare." He chuckles a little then contuines smile down at her.

"Brook, you are gonna shape yourself taking parts from what you feel are part of you okay?" He offers at least to her in some vague advice at best. "And I think every day your prove your a Rogers to your bones. I mean only a Rogers can come back from getting shot in the chest and only feel annoyed over something Red Skull said to them." He moves to ruffle up her blond hair before moving to stand up.

"Speaking of which h i see a free kitchen and two Rogers who shouldn't be in there? Wanna try mkre of thise recipes keeping your mind busy might do you some good and it's with in your restrictions.

[cheerandcosplay]

"It didn't count," I said. "It was barely in the correct vicinity."

"It did count," she said. "It's easy to dismiss if you don't count it. Once you realise it counts, you'll have to process it. You'll have to come to terms with how you didn't consent."

"I said it was okay," I said. "I guess it's not a 'Hell Yes' but it isn't Its fault I lied."

"But you didn't lie," I said. A tiny voice in my head said. The part of her that rubbed off on me and took residence in my brain and is reminding me self-compassion said. She said through me.

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked myself.

"You might have said okay but your body was saying no. The only person you lied to was yourself."

"But that's not Its fault?" I persisted, unconvinced.

"You didn't say it was okay. You said 'Sure. Whatever.' That's not exactly consent. You weren't an active and enthusiastic participant. You would watch a movie so you wouldn't have to think about it. That's not really consent. You would try to drink yourself into a stupor when you knew it was coming. That's really not consent."

"But that's still on me-" I started to insist.

"Sex is a two player game and needs input from both parties. It would take a really shitty partner to see that you that weren't into it and keep going. It would take an even shittier partner to not notice at all. It's not in any way your fault that It thought it was okay to do that to you."

I said nothing. I broke.

"You were right," I said. "That wasn't just some weird gross thing that happened to me in college. That was..."

"Say it aloud," she reminded me gently. "It'll help."

"That was assault." I said. "It assaulted me."

She pet my hair and held me for a long time.

"Assault feels like such a violent word. It wasn't violent. It was boring. It didn't feel good or bad. Just slimy. I just laid there, a little chilly."

"Many things can be assault," she said gently. "Assault is not one single scenario."

"I always thought I would fight back. When you're a kid, you imagine these dangerous situsituations. What you would do if someone broke in, if you were kidnapped, if someone...

I always thought I would fight back. I would kick and scream and bite. If I couldn't get someone else's attention, I'd at least make it hard for them. But then it actually happens, and I just laid back and watched TV. There was no struggle. I paid it no mind."

"That's victim blaming", she said. "You were in a very bad headspace at the time. You were so mentally unstable, you probably couldn't have consented even if you were sober."

"What a silly goose I am," I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. Joking about it eases the sting. "This happened seven years ago and I'm only just now realising how fucked up that was."

"You're still victim blaming," she said gently, jokingly scolding. "Brains are tricky. It'll hurt to process, but you'll feel better over time."

"I mean," I said, still joking but already feeling less sting. "Processing might hurt but it can't hurt more than when It tried to finger me when I 1. Wasn't into it (and therefore was as wet as a tumbleweed) and 2. Was still undiagnosed and untreated for endometriosis. It didn't get a centimeter in before I was writhing in pain and pushing It away. Processing this can't be nearly that bad."

[stark-illerbase]

Listen Here and Listen Well, Wally

(Mini Fusehound Fic, in which Maggie gives surprsingly good advice during a Game) SFW !!

Read below OR Now on AO3:

The game could not have started off worse. Fuse was assigned to a squad with Mirage and Maggie- and Elliot was Jumpmaster. The kid decided to hot drop them right into the center of two other teams got himself eliminated within the first 30 seconds. Leaving Walter and Maggie a long road ahead of them to make it to zone.

His head and his heart hurt, thinking about his earlier conversation with Hound...If it could even be called that. There wasn't many words exhanged between them since Vantage had put them on the spot. Walter knew that they needed time and he was willing to give them all the time in the world if they asked...but it was hard.

It was hard not knowing where they stood, not to mention awkward. He had stumbled over calling them 'mate' several times because that's just what he called EVERYONE but now it had a different meaning, and it left a bad taste in his mouth to think he could ever make Houndy uncomfortable.

It was hard to dial back the smug flirtations. Keeping his mouth shut was never something he was good at... and most of it started off as jokes- it was so easy to flow into that kind of banter with Hound, they had been friends for so long now it felt like Fuse had known them for years, like they were kids back on Salvo together....like he and Mags used to be.

"Oi! Wally!"

His squadmate's voice cut through his thoughts.

"You gonna stand there staring at the clouds all day? Or are you gonna put those frags to good use?"

Fuse stopped walking to glare at her. "I could think of a few good uses for em' actually."

The Salvo women laughed, loud and obnoxious and clapped her former friend on the shoulder, rougher than most would find appropriate.

"There's the Walter I know."

"Piss off-"

"Well! Whats got YOU all up in a tizzy?" Maggie snickered. "Things go south with your little pup?"

When Fuse didn't respond Maggie's smirk grew, but was quickly replaced by a look of faux sympathy.

"I thought you two seemed less snuggley than usual last match. Poor Fusey It's not fun when your best mate gets tired of ya is it?"

"That's NOT-" Fuse erupted only to cut himself off and hold the bridge of his nose. He wouldn't let her rile him up like this. Not here. Not now in front of the all the cameras.

"Its none of your buisness what goes on between me and Houndy. You lost that right years ago."

"Oooh. Struck a nerve did I? Ol' Maggie can see right through ya. Just like old times. You scrunch up your nose when you're down in the dumps"

"I do not!"

"Do too" She echoed childlishly

"Mags-" Fuse began, his good eye twitching with bubbling annoyance. "We have better things to worry about."

"Oh Rubbish. Theres seven squaddies still here! Let them duke it out while you blubber about your crumbling love life"

Walter took a deep breath. He hated that Maggie was the genuinely best option he had to open up to. Maybe Chey would listen over a drink after the game. She'd probably have pretty sound advice too but... they weren’t mates like that.

"For starters-" He flopped down against the rock they were using for cover. "Houndy isn't-...We're not-"

"Not shagging in the drop ship when nobody's around eh?"

"Bloody Hell Mags- No!" Fuse could feel his cheeks flush at her obvious teasing. "I've barely ever seen them without their mask- We've never-" He shook his head, red as a beet.

"So if you're not swapping spit-" She paused when Walter glared again. "Not... seeing each other 'IntIMaTely"

"The other day that new Vantage pup showed up while Houndy and I were packing things... said Witt had sent her on a quest for friendship and she wanted advice"

"She went to the wrong place for that" Maggie snarked, but Fuse continued.

"She made a point to say that she wanted PLATONIC advice, not... 'Whatever me and Hound had going on' "

"-Get to the point Wally."

"Houndy got all jumpy- Swearing up and down that we were 'just' What the hell does "just" Mean?"

Fuse felt all the panic of that moment come flooding back, he ran his mechanical hand through his hair then down his face.

"I thought we really had something...If Houndy doesn't see it like that-"

"Well did you ask them about it? You bloody Walnut." Maggie yelled with a dramatic wave of her arms.

"I tried! They told me...told me they needed more time."

"Thats it?"

"Thats it. I know they're still figuring things out after their last partner and thats all well and good but-"

"But nothing-" Maggie turned and gripped both of his shoulders tightly. "Listen you big idiot. They didn't say NO. They said not yet. And don't you do what you always do and run in bombs blasting and screw the pooch you hear me?"

"I-...what?" He genuinely wasn't expecting her to have such a strong reaction- or to offer any sort of legitimate help either.

"If what you said is true? That pup has a lot to sort out before they are ready to let someone else in again. Between their own feelings and everything Hammond's been doing to Talos they've got it twenty times worse than your sorry sack"

"Mags..." Fuse spoke gently then shook her arms off and punched her just as hard as she had done before "Now who's going soft?"

The Salvonian woman's expression turned to a snarl and she lunged forward pushing Fuse into the dust. She wrestled herself to her feet and stood over him threateningly, her boot on his chest. "You listen to me Walter Fitzroy and you listen bloody well- If i hear you do that pup the way you done me I'll rip your tongue out your head and hang you by it myself. They don't deserve that."

"Maggie..." Walter stared up at her with his eyes getting wet. "I'm sorry-"

She shifted her boot higher to shut him up. "And if you ever call me soft again. I'll add your other arm to my collection."

Then she stepped off of him and stuck her hand out to him as the ring timer went off a second time. The automated announcement sounded above them signaling 4 squads remaining and Fuse couldn't help but chuckle.

"I believe you."

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

not jealous | jake sim

summary: jake sim is not a jealous person. at least that's what he tells himself. so why does he find himself going through your phone when a certain "bluejay park" decides to text you?

pairing: jake sim x y/n [ft. mentions of jay park]

genre: angst, fluff 

warnings: angst, cursing (very minimal), one slightly suggestive sentence, jake being cute, some more angst lol, slightly cheesy bc jake’s just too cute ugh

wc: 3.8k

a/n: ok i loved writing this, which is why i went on to almost 4k words LOL oops. but anyways, i love jake a little too much and this type of scenario has been running around in my head for a while now so i decided to put it into words. also i may have created this blog just so i could post this somewhere LMAO anyways yeah this was my first fic so hope you guys enjoyyyy <3

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

At least that's what he tells himself. To be fair, in his past relationships, he never showed any jealously. Then again, he doesn't know if he can call those relationships, "relationships". Does a fifth grade relationship with a girl who he was once dared to kiss during a game of Truth or Dare in the basement of a classmate's house during their 11th birthday party count? He doesn't remember being jealous when the same girl was later dared to kiss his classmate, Sunghoon. (Funny enough, that's how the two boys came to be best friends 'til this day, but that's a story for another time.) 

But really, Jake doesn't think jealously is one of his traits, even if he's now almost 20 years old without any experience with love other than his current relationship with you and that short-lived romance in the fifth grade. (What was her name again? Jake would have to ask Sunghoon later.)

So he doesn't know what clicked in that brain of his that lead him to this current situation he was in. He doesn't know why he felt a little spark of anger in him when your phone, which you left right next to him on the couch while you went to take a shower, kept buzzing with texts from "bluejay park". He doesn't know why he couldn't kept his eyes distracted from the messages, although your phone was constantly lighting up because whatever it was Jay had to say to you, he would not shut up about it. He doesn't know why he questioned what your relationship with Jay was for a split second.

In fact, you're close with all of Jake's friends. That's one of his favorite things about you, you get along so well with all his friends you might as well replace Jake himself in the friend group. So he doesn't know what tells him to take a little glance at your phone—at the messages.

But he finds himself doing it anyways.

Hearing that the water in the shower was still running (you were always the type to take long showers), he quickly grabs your phone and scrolls through the lock screen just to find that he couldn't even read the messages since you had your notifications set so no one could read them unless the phone was unlocked (darn you and your settings!) Thankfully, Jake knew your passcode––and you knew his too––or he thought he did. Until the iPhone vibrated, telling him the passcode was wrong.

He must've entered it too fast or something. So he tries again.

And again.

And again.

Until the iPhone switches its screen to say: "iPhone is disabled. Try again in 5 minutes."

There's no way. You never change your password. And even if you did, you would tell him—you two even had each other's fingerprints saved into each other's phones in the past (you know, before the world decided that Apple's home button was too lame and decided to just completely get rid of it). If there was an option to save multiple faces for Face ID, you two would be that couple that saved each others faces in your own phones.

That being said, Jake sat there, your phone in hand, frozen. Why was your phone locked? Why was Jay texting you 10 texts per second? Why did he feel guilty about this entire situation?

He hears the shower switch off and in that moment, he swears he feels his heart beat just a little faster. He tells himself there's no way you'll be out before the 5 minutes are up. You followed a really meticulous skincare routine (one that Jake memorized by now) that took an extra 15 minutes of your time after each shower.

"Hey Jake?" Your voice calls out from the tiny bathroom door crack that you left open before you hopped in the shower, "Is my phone out there? Do you mind bringing it to me?"

Fuck.

Jake shifts on the couch. Taps his foot on the ground. Returns your phone to its original spot. Clears his throat.

"Don't you want to get dressed first?" he calls back, quite timidly.

He can hear you stop moving around in the bathroom. Probably telling yourself what an odd response that was. To be fair, it was an odd question, considering the fact that you two have been together for so long, it’s not like he hasn’t seen you undressed before...intentionally or not. 

Next thing he knows, the steam is rolling out of the bathroom door and you're stepping out in your towel, eyebrows raised.

"If you didn't want to get up from the couch, you could've just said so, you lazy butt," you smirk at him as you walk towards him and the couch, leaving a faint trail of water drops behind you. Jake's eyes follow your figure as you go to grab your phone and lift the screen towards yourself.

That's when he freezes. You do too.

You cock your head, as if asking yourself why it was disabled. He can hear the gears in your head turning.

"Jake, did you try to unlock my phone?"

He runs through all the possible excuses he could blurt out. Come on Jake, think of something! But he knows he can't lie to you.

Too many beats of silence pass by.

"Maybe," he finally says—or more like murmurs. He looks up to you like a child looking up at their mom, who just them caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. To his surprise, you don't show any hint of anger. A flash of confusion—and is that worry he sees?—crosses your face for a split second before you shrug and turn towards your room to change, dropping the subject. It was natural for you two to use each other's phones anyways. So then why did you have that look of worry?

Jake knows you well, a little too well. But that's what you love about him. He can easily read all your emotions. One of the many things he picked up from dating you for almost two years now. But why would you care if he tried to get into your phone? Why would that worry you? All the possibilities run through head and his own worry begins to increase. He trusts you. He does.

So then why does the thought bother him throughout the entire day? Why does he bring it up during dinner later that night, when you're both cuddled on your sofa, slurping take-out ramen while rewatching your favorite k-drama under the thick blanket that you always keep in your living room for nights like these?

"Huh? Of course I've heard from Jay today, we had that conversation about that stupid meme you boys kept laughing about in the groupchat we're all in, didn't we?" You answer him when he asks if you've heard from Jay lately. You sit up from your warm spot under Jake's arm to put your empty bowl on the coffee table in front of you. When you lean back, you look up at him,

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it's nothing, just wondering," he says, avoiding your eyes by keeping his own trained on the series currently playing on your TV. This would be your third time rewatching this series together. He would never complain to you though, he knows how much you love it and if he were being honest, he was secretly attached to the characters—not that he would ever tell you, he would never hear the end of it from you and the boys.

"You're being weird. Just tell me, or did you forget that I can practically read your mind," you say with a giggle and shove to his side, the one you were currently warmly cuddled into. Jake wasn't the only one who learned how to read emotions; you could read him just as well as he could read you. And like you, that's one of the many things he loved about you. But maybe not in this case.

He toyed around with the contents inside his ramen bowl with his chopsticks.

"I just..." God, how does he word this? Why was he having trouble explaining it? You were the easiest person to talk to. To him, you were the only person he could tell everything to.

"Jaywastextingyouabunchearlier," he blurts out quickly, but not quickly enough for you to miss it.

He feels you shift under his arm. He feels the air in the room shift. Tension.

"What?" Now you're sitting upright, legs criss-crossed in front of you on the couch but turned, so your body is completely facing him. He mirrors you, sitting up to put his ramen bowl next to yours on the surface, but he stays facing the TV.

"Your phone kept going off because of him when you were showering," he says with a little more confidence. But inside, he was nervous as hell, the same nervous as when he asked you out for the first time many moons ago. But it's too late to back out now, he brought it up first, anyways. Guess we're having this conversation now, good going Jake!

"Is that why you tried unlocking my phone earlier? I mean I thought you were just trying to leave selfies on my phone like you always do but you were trying to read my texts?" You question, slightly raising your soft voice. He doesn't know how to react, he hates confrontation.

"It wasn't like that, Jay just kept spamming you and like I—why was he even texting you in the first place? Then your phone got disabled because you changed your password, which you never do by the way, so I–"

"I changed it because my little sister kept getting into my phone when I went to visit my family yesterday! Did you really think I was hiding something from you? You know I can text whoever I want, right? You don't own me."

Okay so now he's managed to make you angry. Good going Jake, part 2!

"Okay but what does Jay need from you so bad that he has to send you like 50 messages at once?" He's standing now. So are you, eyebrows furrowed together as you collect your bowls from the table.

Standing there, bowls in hand, you say, "Jake, that's none of your business! It wasn't even that big of a deal, I don't know why you felt the need to nosy around."

"Well, if he's texting you non-stop, then obviously it's a big deal! We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you would just tell me what you guys were talking about," he murmurs back, eyes narrowing. You scoff as you trail into your kitchen. He follows behind and stops at the other side at your kitchen island as you place the dirty dishes into the sink.

"No, we're having this conversation because you obviously don't trust me! It doesn't matter what we were talking about, it doesn't matter who I was texting! I could be texting your mother and I shouldn't have to tell you what we were talking about! That's why we're having this conversation," you say as you turn back to face him from the other end.

He hates this. He hates fighting with you (which is a very, very rare occasion). He hates that you think he doesn't trust you. He hates his insecurity eating at him, telling him to keep questioning you on why you and Jay were talking in the first place. He was aware that you were close with his friends, but it wasn't until the texts he realized just how close you are with them. It's not that he didn't trust you, he just didn't know how to act when it came to you and other guys. God knows how he got lucky enough to meet you, let alone date you, so the thought of him losing you to someone else actually terrified him. Not only were you his first real relationship, but he wanted you to be his first and only one in life. You were it for him.

"Why did he text you." He deadpans from his side of the kitchen.

You scoff with a hint of exasperation. "You're kidding me."

You stare at him. He stares back, quirking an eyebrow, as if restating the same question back, as if testing you.

You're fuming now. Why was he making it so hard? Why was he doubting you? Out of frustration, you start laughing, which scares him. That can't be good.

"Fine. You wanna know so bad? Take a look,"  you're one tone level away from screaming as you take your phone out of your pocket, unlock it, and open up your conversation with "bluejay park", sliding the phone across the island to reach him.

Jake stares at the phone which now lies there, unlocked, facing him. Isn't this what he wanted? It is, right? That's why he started this dreaded argument with you in the first place.

Then why does he feel so fucking awful?

He looks back up at you, to see you sighing and looking up at the ceiling, as if trying to force your forming tears back into your eyes.

Yup, he feels horrible.

"Happy? Happy to know we were just trying to plan a surprise birthday party for you but you and your jealously just had to know huh, Jake?" You quickly state, voice cracking, as you tried not to choke up. You weren't sad that he found out about the surprise. You were sad that it felt like he didn't trust you. That he thought you were the type of person to do god knows what behind his back. You hated the feeling of not being trusted. Especially by Jake, of all people.

"Fuck."

Jake's face (and heart) falls with the most broken expression you've ever seen. But you're too sad, angry, tired (a mix of all?) to care. Your only goal right now is to not let him see you cry.

You hurry past him, across your apartment, and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you, leaving behind a shocked, and regretful, Jake.

His heart shrinks when he hears the door slam shut and a little more when he looks down at the still unlocked phone in front of him. He didn't have the heart in him to look at it anymore. Of course he trusted you, he knew what you said was the truth.

He mentally screams at himself for assuming the worst––for thinking that you, a literal angel, would betray him.  First, he thought he was losing you to someone else. Now, he was afraid he just lost you through his own actions. 

He hesitantly sulks over to your door, softly knocking when he reaches it.

"Y/N?"

No response.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I let my—”

"Jake just please leave me alone for now," he hears you painfully say from a distance, meaning you're on your bed. He knows the door's unlocked—the lock on your door hasn't been working for a long time now, despite the many times he tells you to talk to your landlord about it. But he doesn't find it in him to open it. He knows he messed up. If he saw you in there right now, crying, he wouldn't know what to do. He wouldn't know what he would to do himself, knowing he was the reason behind your tears.

He nods in silence, knowing you can't see him, but does so anyways and returns to his spot on the couch. He could leave right now, go back to the dorm with the rest of the guys, let you have your space like you wanted. But his heart hurts at the idea of leaving you sad, angry, or a combination of both. He can't leave this unresolved. He fucked up, he has to fix it.

And so he sits on your couch for another hour. The clock on the wall behind him continues to tick as the silent tension in your apartment continues to grow. When it hits 11pm and he's sure you've slumbered off into sleep, he quietly enters your room.

He can see your figure in the dark, your back facing the door as you're curled up into yourself under the comforter. He feels his heart drop a little more when he imagines you crying in that position from earlier. He slowly peels the comforter open and gets into his side of the bed, careful not to bother your sleeping figure.

Laying there, staring up at the ceiling, he's never felt more like a stranger in your bed. It's not that he hasn't slept over before, god knows he's probably slept over at your place more than he has in his own bed. But right now, in this moment, he just felt awful. Like he didn't deserve to be in such close proximity to you. How could he be deserving? He violated your privacy, made you feel like you weren't trusted, doubted your relationship.

These thoughts run through Jake's head as he stares up at your ceiling fan, wishing he could turn back time to a few hours ago, before he checked your phone, before he let his insecurities get to the best of him.

You can feel the dip he makes in the bed behind you when he gets in. Of course you're not asleep. There's no way sleep could reach you when you had the recent events constantly replaying in your head like a broken record.

You knew Jake with all your heart. You didn't have to look at him to know he was probably laying there, hurt, staring up at the ceiling, drafting what to say once you wake up—or once he knows you're actually still awake.

You decide to break the tension by turning to lay on your other side, facing him.

You were wrong. Thanks to the little sliver of moonlight shining through your sheer curtains, you can see him, now laying on his side, already looking at you with so much regret in his eyes. You can almost hear the cracks in your heart physically forming.

His eyes widen when he realizes you're still awake. He opens his mouth to say something, but not before you quickly shift over to his side of the bed and embrace him in a tight hold, burying your face into his chest. Without any hesitation, he returns the gesture, arms holding your body as close to him as possible. As if once he let go, he'd lose you forever.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he breathes you in. He didn't even know he was holding his breath all this time.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry Y/N," he mutters into your hair. He feels his hoodie getting wet from where you buried your face. He pulls you closer, if that's even possible, feeling his own eyes heating up with sadness. He would never forgive himself for making you feel this way.

"You know I trust you right? Please know that. I shouldn't have assumed the worst when I saw your phone. I...I let my insecurities get to the best of me."

You move your head from its home on his chest to look up at him, as if asking him to elaborate. This was new to you, you didn't know he held insecurities in your relationship. But it wasn't because of you, no, you were his entire world. Losing you meant losing everything.

Jake's never been the best at saying his feelings. That's why it took him so long (with the help of his six best friends) to finally confess how he felt about you. He was afraid of letting people in if they could easily walk out. Maybe that's why he never let anyone into his life before you. But oh, were you an exception. The second he met you, he knew he was fucked. But thank god he did, because thanks to you, he's been able to be more open, more vulnerable. He's able to talk to you about anything and everything. He doesn't have that same fear of losing people anymore, not when he has you in his life to reassure him every step of the way. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't know how to tell you that his new fear was, in fact, just losing you.

The sheer idea of you not being a part of his life anymore terrified him. 

"I hope you know you're never going to lose me Jake, if that's what you're insecure about," you softly mutter as you wrap your free arm that's not stuck in between both your bodies around him to gently play with the ends of his hair. It's as if you could read his mind, he loves that you know him so well.

"It just sucks that you could even think I would ever do something as awful as what you were assuming...with one of your closest friends nonetheless," you continue.

"I know. I know, and I feel terrible. I'm so sorry. I know you would never do anything remotely close to that, and I know you would never intentionally try to keep anything from me," he sighs. He shifts so he can lie down on his back, bringing you with him to lie on his chest, never letting you go once. "It's just...I just don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you Y/N. Everyday, I ask myself what heroic thing I must've done in my past life to deserve this life with you and I can't help but think you could just as easily be stripped away from me."

As much as your heart breaks listening to him rant, you feel your love for him grow even more. You knew how hard it was for him to put his true emotions into words, and him telling you this reminded you how much trust he had in you.

After some moments of silence, moments of him drawing random shapes onto your back, moments of you two just holding each other like it was the end of the world, you speak up.

"I love you. I'm sorry for making you doubt yourself—"

"No, it's not your fault, I can't help but think things like that. I just don't know what I did to deserve you, and I know that I need to be mo–"

"Babe let me finish," you say with a little giggle in your tone. He immediately stops and mutters a little "sorry". How cute, you tell yourself.

"I was gonna say," you look back up at him so you're making direct eye contact now. "You're the only one that's ever on my mind, Jake. I can't help the way you think, but I can assure you that there is no one else I would rather be with. And I mean that for the rest of life."

You snuggle back into the comfortable hoodie he's currently wearing (you make a mental note to yourself to steal it from him later) and decide to ease the tension,

"So you're stuck with me for life, sorry to inform you Mr. Sim."

Jake lets out a laugh, looking down at you to see you returning his smile with a cheeky one.

"I love you. So much," he says so sincerely, so genuinely, that you almost tear up again from how content you were. Now you were asking yourself, what did you do to deserve him?

Jake Sim is not a jealous person.

No, he just loves you.

A lot.