#holy shit i need to start fucking. checking my work goddamn

[m1d-45]

Can I offer you the thought of gifting Kazuha a music box to keep during his travels?

songbird

notes: yes. ignore that it took me [checks notes] like several months to get to this request. and that it was meant to come out on his birthday. shush.

word count : 3k

-> warnings : none ! minor spoilers for inazuma AQ but nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist : @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

there was little you could give a wanderer. he only carried what he needed, and what was needed was already kept close and well-maintained. there was little room for extra trinkets or unnecessary weight, either sacrificed in a moment of exhaustion or left behind when fleeing from those who wished him ill.

your kazuha was no different. even after joining the cruz fleet, he travelled light, with barely the clothes on his back to keep him company. he kept his pen in one pocket and paper in another, rarely carrying so much as a coin purse. this was fine and good, except his birthday was coming up and you had not a single clue what to get him.

you couldn’t ask beidou or the crew, as he’d certainly be lingering by and his hearing was far sharper than his blade. you couldn’t ask him—you’d tried, actually, but he’d just smiled and promised that he didn’t have want or need for anything. he spoke of his birthday very casually, as if it was any other day and not the reason he was by your side at all.

but kazuha was nothing if not thoughtful. for your last birthday, he’d gotten you a book of pressed inazuman flora, each carefully labelled, and had spent the entire afternoon telling you exactly where he’d picked each and why he’d chosen it. a lavender melon flower for resilience, a sakura bloom for change, a maple leaf for love. it was a painfully sweet show of affection, especially considering that the sakoku decree was not yet lifted.

“kazuha- are you sure you want me to have this? it could be years before you could collect these again.”

“please, my muse, the decree will not last forever. i have faith. and even if it doesn’t…”

he slips his hand into yours, looking out across the harbor. he’d taken you to a ridge just outside the city, letting you appreciate the sights without being unable to focus on his book. he looks away for a while, out to the sea, out to what lies beyond, the world seeming to slow to a crawl around you. the very air held its breath, allowing a wayward samurai’s sigh to linger, his mind far, far away.

“…inazuma is my home, but it is not my only place of rest. even if i never again got to experience a wondrous autumn, i’d still have this book.” he dragged his eyes from far-off shores, the same color as the maples sewn into his clothes.

“i’d still have you, wouldn’t i?”

and oh, archons, just the memory of that was enough to make your cheeks warm from more than just the liyuen sun. it’s early morning and the crowds are just starting to pick up, the shops of the lower harbor slowly selling off their wares. you’ve been looking for the better part of an hour now, and nothing seems to quite stick.

he already has pens, and is rather fond of the kind he already has. while you have the name and seller of said pens—he’d lent you one a while ago and never took it back—he already kept several spares tucked into his pockets. no matter how often he writes, how many papers he folds and gives away, his pad never seems to thin. the thread he uses to repair his clothes never fades or grows sparse, and he’s never so much as lost the tie in his hair. the week is growing shorter, and you have nothing.

and sure, kazuha isn’t materialistic to begin with, but you can’t think of anything else. it’s not like he dislikes liyuen food, but you’ve caught him frying his own fish enough times to know that he far prefers simpler tastes. he’s the one more familiar with liyue’s plains and hills out of the two of you, and you’re not eager to hurt yourself looking for somewhere new only to find out he’s already been.

he never asks for anything, never shows a hint of wanting. if he likes something, he gets it, leaving little for you to grasp at. it’s hard not to feel helpless, when he knocks at your door with your favorite flower in hand and you can hardly think of a single thing to do for his birthday. you can’t very well buy the sight of gardens of maple, nor somehow import those odd jelly-fungi he’s mentioned eating while in inazuma. based on the way he describes them, you’re not even sure if they’re meant to be edible…

his sword is kept in pristine condition. his shoes don’t seem to wear. you’re not familiar enough with medicine to try at getting him something for his aches, but it doesn’t matter, because every dawn means a fresh set of bandages, the faint herbal scent of whatever medicine underneath staying strong. he doesn’t need anything, and what he does he already has, and what he wants is quickly paid for through months of saved wages. he catches his own food, embroiders his own clothes, and you’re certain he’d filter and drink seawater if beidou didn’t stop him.

what can you get someone so minimalistic?

you prepare to loop around a final time, pricking your ears for the slightest call of something interesting. an array of local fruits, the freshest on the market. silk textiles, horsetail baskets, handmade chopsticks. you push through the crowds, eyes flicking over each stall. food, clothes, more food, building supplies? the harbor is crowded, overlapping shouting and negotiating and the barest sound of music through it all, quickly becoming overbearing.

…music? you stop and turn and seek out the delicate sound, surprised enough that your purpose for browsing has been lost. it’s rare to see street performers this far from the city center, not to mention the sound is so thin… normally there’s at least a set of drums to cut through the chatter. you’ve looked over everything twice anyway, it wouldn’t really hurt to look.

you don’t find a performer. instead, the sound leads you a few stalls over, to one full of various odds and ends, each carved from a dark wood. a lone chair, a set of cups—one has a weird chip in the lip—on an uneven plate, a good dozen set of chopsticks, somewhat clumsily painted. it’s tended by a young man who’s very nervously watching the customer in front of him fiddle with a wooden box, turning it over and inspecting every angle. there’s a key sticking out the back, and when they open it again, a single thin note floats out, quickly dashed away by the crowds. it’s beautiful, clear and crisp, even with the noise around you.

“maybe another day,” the other customer shrugs, and though the vendor’s face falls, yours lights up.

it’s perfect. sure, yeah, as the would-be buyer steps away and you look closer, the lines of engraving are uneven and hesitant, but the music was what made it worth it. kazuha always talks of the song within whispering wind, and you’ve seen how his pace slows when passing an opera, lingering just so. you never bought tickets because you didn’t know which he’d seen before, but this… this would do just fine.

“sorry about the wait,” the vendor apologizes, a slight sigh to his voice. “feel free to take a look around, just please be careful when handling the pieces. i don’t need another scolding from master lu…”

you pick up the box before he’s even done speaking, flipping open the lid. inside is some sort of flower on a plain pedestal, the same color as the rest of the box and largely unremarkable. you turn it, twisting the key in the back a few times, letting the song play again. it’s a slow, dancing tune, clear through the bustle. the little flower spins slowly, and you’ve made up your mind.

“what song is this?”

the vendor perks up, picking through his pockets until he finds a folded note. “’moon in one’s cup,’” he announces, “composed by yu-peng from up in yujing terrace.”

you dedicate the name to memory, closing the box and latching it shut. already, your heart is beating a bit fast, excitement and relief filling your chest.

“how much?”

you were hiding something from kazuha. he didn’t know what, he didn’t know why, but he knew it.

well, that was a bit of a lie. if he had to guess, it was whatever you’d gotten for his birthday. he’d done his best to assure you that you needn’t do or buy anything for him, but you’d gone and found something anyway. he couldn’t mind too much, not when the wind around you seemed to curl and skip along, ruffling your hair with self-inflicted pride. you were happy, and that was a fine enough present in itself. it was better than the poorly-hidden worry that always colored your features before, and it was a relief to know that it was a shallow issue you had been hiding. birthday or not, he’d hoped you’d tell him if something was wrong…

but it was nothing, thankfully. you asked him to find you after dinner on the day of, and that was that. the rest of the week slipped away like clouds from the sky, leaving him with a clear mind and a faint smile as he slept.

beidou was, surprisingly, not the first to wish him a happy birthday. it was furong that first saw him enter the breakfast hall, raising a glass with a shout that quickly spread across the crew.

“happy birthday!”

“here, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

“a toast!”

“to another year of smooth sailing!”

“to our stormwatcher!”

beidou was, however, sat closest to the door, and so she was the first to throw her arms tight around him, not minding the way his armor certainly dug into her skin.

“happy birthday, kazuha. don’t mind the noise, yeah?”

it would be impossible for a day such as today to turn south. the crew settled down and food was pressed into his hands, the shouting cooling off as they refocused on whatever they had been doing prior to then.

aside from the commotion at breakfast, his day was relatively normal. monitor the supplies coming in to ensure nobody tampered with them, then unpack them below decks. there was less to do, but that was simply because the date of their departure was approaching. within a few more days, he’d be off across open waters once more, keeping eye on the horizon.

that was for later, however. after lunch, he left port and took a stroll north, sitting for a while in an open field. the sky was cloudy, but not enough to worry about rain, so he lay on a flat-enough stone and let inspiration ebb and flow. a haiku here, a scratched out line there, though he was admittedly less focused than usual. the joy from that morning hadn’t really left him, sticking to his clothes and filling his thoughts. he wasn’t blind to the fact that he was welcome aboard the alcor, but it would be foolish to deny the appreciation of such a loud gesture, in meaning and volume.

his birthday didn’t mean much to him. sure, there was another year’s worth of memories to look back upon, a year’s worth of friendship and connections, but that could be declared any other day just as easily. when on the run from the shogunate, there was little time for such things as celebrations…

perhaps that was why he was still smiling. not just because of his friends, but because he had the energy to appreciate them. the ability to take off work and sit in the sun, soaking in nature. the energy to look forward to later obligations, instead of being permanently stuck in the moment.

dinner was far calmer than breakfast. he returned to the fleet late in the evening, ducking below deck to help cook. very few crew members liked (or were even good at) cooking, which meant it often fell to him. today, though, he was ushered out quickly, a few more people than usual seeming determined to block him from entering. it was strange, but not unexpected. the crew was close-knit, with every milestone met with raucous celebration.

he didn’t mind, though, returning above and busying himself with odd tasks. ferrying messages from furong, sorting papers with huixing, any and everything to keep himself occupied until the bell rung and dinner was served. the smell of alcohol quickly stained the air around the crowded dinner table, joining the heady mix of relaxation, joy, and a bit of anticipation.

another surprise awaited him, it seemed. he stuck around after he’d finished his food, noticing when little yue slipped out but not mentioning it. he also looked the other way when he snuck back in with a plate with a somewhat dented cover, letting someone else take his empty plate as the new one was pushed into its place. the conversation fell and he ignored the smell of sugar in the air, lifting the lid.

inside was a cake with shaky, cramped writing, struggling to fit his name in such a small space. it had obviously been made in-house, and was likely whatever secret the chefs had been determined to keep.

the cake itself was okay. a bit too sweet, dense, and with an odd sourness that he couldn’t tell was intentional or not. but the crew was happy and laughing and he didn’t need wine to get dizzy off their high, sitting at a well-worn table in a familiar seat surrounded by those he loved.

there was only one thing left…

he packed one of the last slices and kept it close to his chest as the halls grew quieter, the night air far cooler above deck. anemo softened his fall onto the pier, the wind leading him through the city and into familiar streets. the sight of your house had long since engrained itself into his mind, but he still felt his smile grow, tucking his cake behind his back as he knocked.

you were as beautiful as ever. he was certain you could pick yourself up from a pile of mud and still be sstunning, but tonight you had put in effort. still dressed for the weather, but with a bit more care into the set of your hair, standing straight.

“my muse,” he breathed, taking the small box from behind his back. “i have brought you a gift.”

and of course, you made a fuss about it, about how it was his birthday and that he didn’t have to do anything for you. but was that not the same logic that he had given you? did it matter, really, when the air was sweet with more than sugar and even your mock anger couldn’t hide your excitement?

at your behest, he took your hand in his and led you out of the city. his ‘favorite place’ was rather vauge instruction, but his mind had been made up from the moment he’d seen you. not too far, as he’d hate to stay out too late, but still somewhere nice. past bubu pharmacy, up the stone path, and on the low ridge beside it. few people would be passing by this late at night, but it was still close enough to the city that there were no real threats. a blanket was laid out and you both sat, exchanging gifts. his was in a plain bag, carefully wrapped in layers of protective paper, a small wooden box that looked as if it was meant to have legs but the designer had changed their mind halfway through. it was fine work, if a bit clumsy, but he knew it wasn’t yours. your sudden shift in attitude earlier could only be explained by a storefront. further inspection found a latch on the front and a key embedded in the back, and he understood. inside the music box was (what he could only guess to be) a carved silk flower, though again, one of the stems seemed to have been snapped and hastily covered. he reached for the back and turned the key twice, letting the song begin to play.

it was beautiful. careful notes plucked a carefree song, sounding very much alike to the lighter bands along feiyun slope. the music rose and fell, cheerful but quiet, like a soft satisfaction instead of a bright outburst. it was a lovely song in its own right, but his mind was far elsewhere. you were waiting for his reaction intently, face held in suspense like you thought he might hate it. he’d think it foolish, but that would imply that he disliked it, and that was far from the truth. to know you cared so heavily about his reaction to a simple music box, that your worry was for him, that you had been so excited for him, that you were hoping for his approval as if you didn’t already hold all that he was in your palms. the box could be stolen on his way back to the city, knocked out of his hands and dashed under a heavy cart, and his day would still be all the brighter simply by virtue of you being in it.

it was his birthday, after all, and you were one of the best gifts he could ask for.

[bleuberrygliscor]

i know its 90% venting at the bleakness of american politics but like...

it really fucking blows to know that most people are probably not gonna vote this year. i cant wait for the fallout of that.

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls 14 part 1/2

masterpost

“Hey, what’s up? Just checking in. Any luck so far? I finished my books!�� Danny read mockingly off the burner phone with only one contact. He felt his eyebrow twitch. “What is this guy’s problem?” He got up in a jerky motion and started pacing around his one room apartment like the world’s most broke-ass tiger. It took three steps to get off the rug and onto the 3 tiles in front of his front door. He wheeled on his heel and did it again, and again, and then he forcibly collapsed back onto his couch in a huff. “What a bitch,” Danny complained. He kicked at the cushion. “Where does he get off talking to me like he doesn’t know…”

His voice trailed off as he accidentally had a thought. The thought happened to him entirely against his will. He really hated the thought.

Like. What if, just as a guess. What if he supposed that Jason the hapless performance-art biker tough guy rough guy had not found his secret identity? What if he had just like, gone out to a dark coffeeshop to read a new book? And from his perspective, some weird guy had yelled at him and made a funny face like a pissy toddler?

Shit. Shit, fuck, and damn. Danny groaned. Was Jason just a local??? Had he walked into that place by chance- oh. Holy fucking shit.

“I am the dumbest engineer I know,” Danny marveled. He looked up at the ceiling and sort of wished it would fall in and kill him instantly. “Jeremy is in Arkham. That implies he committed this crime in Gotham. That would imply his victim was from Gotham.”

Honestly… He had kinda just thought that Jeremy was in Arkham because it was convenient for him. But of course not. No one knew he was in Gotham. If Jeremy knew that Danny Phantom was on Gotham he would have been taking out creepy billboards to beg for his attention and damnation or something.

‘So Jason just thinks I am a total weirdo.’

Pain. Pain. Psychic damage. Danny threw his arm over his face and muffled a scream into his forearm, fucking mortified. Why was he so embarrassing? 

‘I don’t actually know that this happened in Gotham; Jeremy could have gone outside of city limits for his little ritual. Jason didn’t ask me to take him to Gotham from the GZ,’ Danny clung to in faint hope. ‘Maybe he really did hunt me down. Or maybe he looked up ectobiologists, learned about my family, and just sought out the geographically closest Fenton.’ 

…Get real. Come on. Jason wasn’t a detective. The straightest line between two points was the most likely path of events.

He unlocked his phone with numb fingers and started searching for any proof that this guy was a Gothamite. 

Jason Gotham

A bunch of Linked in profiles, a bunch of articles about rich people, and a flood of bookface profiles. It was a common name.

“That figures,” Danny huffed, feeling a little stupid for thinking that would work. He blew out a long breath. “It’s not like there’s ever just one guy in the world. There’s a billion Dannys out there for chrissake. There’s a Danny in my Econ class.”

Jason Gotham big strong guy

There was a wrestler from Gotham whose agent was named Jason. Danny clicked through the article to look at the photos just in case. No dice. His Jason was built prettier than the agent or the wrestler, Danny thought absently. Oh. He did have something that a wrestler didn’t, though.

Jason Gotham guns

Weirdly, the Linked-in profiles came back up. Danny was baffled and curious enough to read through a couple. “Gotham is such a goddamn place,” he marveled, eyebrows traveling up. “I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about things like…” Then the penny dropped. “Henchmen get hired off Linked-in?” He sat up explicitly so that he could shake his head in disbelief at the state of this city. “Wild.”

Well. The mission was not a success. Danny buried his face in his hands and accidentally smacked himself with the phone still in his hand. He ignored the stinging of his cheekbone to wallow in self-pity. It would heal up fast anyway.

“I think I need to answer his message,” Danny said. He felt real low. He felt like such a silly bastard. “I have to be smart and feel out if he knows I’m Danny.” He paused. “Danny Fenton, not Danny Phantom. Because I introduced myself as Danny Phantom.” Danny groaned. That seemed like an unnecessary clue, now that he really thought about it.

‘I need to avoid Jazz,’ Danny thought grimly. ‘If she sees me, she is going to sense weakness and find out what I did.’

He mulled over his options for a bit, trying to plot a response that would reveal all of Jason’s secrets and also make sense in conversation.

He failed. “I’m not a smart man,” Danny said conversationally, and sent,

You finished all those books already?? You unemployed, dude???

Jason must have been waiting on him. His response was pretty fast. 

Self-employed, actually. 

[javierpena-inatacvest]

You're My Home

Summary: You and Javi have both had one of those weeks where no matter how hard you try, nothing seems to go right. It only takes so long before something stupid makes the both of you snap. When Javi confesses to you what's been putting him on edge, you find a way to make it up to each other.

Word Count: 4.9K

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), established relationship, unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap), vaginal fingering, creampie, angst, PTSD (poor Javi has a panic attack but you help him through it), hurt/comfort, makeup sex (!!!!), bad communication but apologizing/forgiving each other, mentions of food/eating, reader wears Javi's shirt and is carried by Javi, fluff fluff fluff bc you two are so in love with each other it hurts

This can be read as a stand alone or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!

A/N: I don't know what's been in the water that has me so compelled to make something angsty, but here we are!! Once I started writing this I quite literally could not stop, and it turned out to be one of the most intimate things I have ever written 😭🥺 I love these two sm

It had been a week. 

A long fucking week. 

One of those weeks where it felt like no matter how hard you tried, everything just felt… off. You had just started volunteering to run the Alma Pierce Elementary School drama club, which had you staying an extra hour and a half after school every Monday and Wednesday, on top of preparing for Parent-Teacher Conferences next week. You loved your group of students this year, but holy shit, were they chatty, and the past few days you felt like you might as well have put a cardboard cutout of yourself at the front of the room and left, because your class had absolutely zero interest in paying attention to you. To top it off, you could tell that Javi was having a bad week too. You hadn’t seen much of each other the past few days, with you working late and prepping for conferences, and Javi working on a new project the department had dropped in his lap without notice. Even though you lived in the same apartment, you had felt like strangers this week. Sure, you’d had off days before, but the two of you were always open and honest with each other, seeking comfort and safety in the other's presence, knowing that you were both there for one another, through good times, and bad. 

But this week was not like those “off” days. Something about it had felt tense, cold, even. You hated it. You hated every second of it. The two of you were never like this. Javi was your best friend, yet somehow, sitting in the same room, you still felt a million miles apart. Every interaction that you’d had left a worse taste in your mouth than the last- snapping at each other over stupid things like unclosed containers in the fridge or leaving towels on the bathroom floor. The worst was that Javi just could not seem to let things go, his presence feeling overbearing, almost bossy, with everything that you did. 

“You left the iron on while you were getting ready, you’re gonna burn down the fucking aparment.” 

“Double check the locks on the door, you forgot this morning.” 

“If you don’t fix the bath mat before you get in the shower, you’re gonna break your goddamn head open.” 

Even worse than that, when you tried to politely remind Javi about something, or do something helpful for him, he had been a complete asshole to you. 

“Yes, I can remember to clean it up after I’m done, I’m not fucking 8 years old.” 

“Jesus, I know we need more coffee creamer, you put it on the grocery list and reminded me twice.” 

“I can put away my own laundry, just let me do it.” 

It felt like he was breathing down your neck, the fly in your ear that just wouldn’t go away, and it made you want to scream. You had considered yourself to be a pretty patient person- working with kids, you had to be, but this week, Javier Peña seemed to be testing every ounce of patience you had left in your body, and you were about to run out.  

Your Friday night routine with Javi normally consisted of the 3 same things every week

Javi picking up pizza from place down the street on the way home from work

Eating the pizza and watching a movie 

Pausing said movie to have sex, finish watching the movie, and then fall asleep on the couch. 

On this particular Friday, you had a very strong suspicion that none of those 3 things would be happening tonight. When you came home, you practically collapsed from exhaustion the moment you got through the door. Dropping your bag and kicking off your shoes, you crawled your way to the couch, completely collapsing in its cushions, taking a few deep breaths to try and regain your composure from the hellish day it had been. You finally mustered up enough strength to get up and change out of your work clothes into something more comfortable before sulking around the apartment, making yourself finish chores that had seemed to go neglected all week. Javi was normally home a half hour after you, but as you looked up at the clock, he was 20 minutes later than usual. It wasn’t long before another hour had gone by, leaving you absolutely starving, unable to wait for the dinner Javi may or may not be bringing home. You scavenged through your fridge and pantry, pulling out sauce and spaghetti to make yourself pasta to at least tide you over. 

When Javi got home two hours past his normal arrival, you were shocked by the smell of pizza that filled your apartment as he walked through the door. You were even more shocked by the reaction he had to seeing the pot of noodles you had left out on the stove while you sat at the kitchen table to finish report cards to hand out at conferences. 

“Did you already fucking eat?” His tone was sharp and brash as he dropped the pizza box on the kitchen counter. 

“Well you’re home two hours later than normal, Javi. What was I supposed to do? Not eat? I’m more than capable of fending for myself if you’re not here with pizza.” You could feel pressure in your stomach rising, clenching your fists to try and hold in the last bit of patience you had. 

“That’s not the fucking point. You know I always get pizza for us on Friday, you know I’m bringing you dinner, I can’t help that things have been a shit show at work and I’m still trying to at least do something to take care of you.” 

Take care of you? Nuh, uh. That was the last straw. 

You stood up out of your chair, palms flat on the table as you glared at Javi. “Take care of me? Seriously, Javi? Like I’m some sort of helpless little puppy that can’t fend for themself? I am more than fucking capeable of taking care of myself, and this whole week you have been acting like I am literally incapable of doing anything in this house. Listen, I can tell things have been shitty for you at work, and this week has sucked for me too, but every time I try to go do something nice for you, something to actually help take care of you? You’re already halfway down my goddamn throat, telling me to stop or fix whatever it is I’m doing.” Your heart was racing, blood pumping through your veins so intensely, you could feel your hands begin to shake. 

“Because it’s my fucking job to take care of you!” He growled, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as you stood with your hands on your hips, laughing at him in the least humorous way possible. 

“Your job? Your fucking job? You don’t think I’m capable of taking care of myself? That’s fucking great. So you can take care of me, but I can’t take care of you? Yeah, that makes sense. Un-fucking-believeable. I don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you this past week, but I can’t do this right now. I’m going on a fucking run.” You stormed to the door, throwing on your shoes as you white knuckled your keys in your grasp. 

“You fucking hate running!” Javi yelled, clenching his jaw before burying his hands in his face. 

“I don’t fucking care!” You grunted back, deliberately slamming the door behind you as you sauntered down the stairs of your apartment to the parking lot. Javi was right, there was no physical activity you hated more than running. You weren’t really sure what your plan was, just that you couldn’t stand there fighting with Javi anymore. You could feel the adrenaline flowing through you, enough to make you pick up your feet and actually begin sprinting down the sidewalk. You just kept running. Running until you could feel your sides begin to hurt, until your eyes began to sting from the tears welling behind them, until your chest felt like it was collapsing in on you, making you stop in the middle of the cement pathway in a full on breakdown. You could barely catch your breath, sobbing, as your hands dropped to your knees, your body trembling with each pathetic whimper. 

What the fuck were you doing? Why was Javi being like this? Why were you being like this? Why won’t he just talk to you? Why can you just not make things right? Why was the one person you loved more than anything in the world the one who was making you feel like you’d been run over by a semi-truck? 

Wiping your tears and snot with your sleeve, you took a deep breath and turned around to head home, determined to get to the bottom of whatever was causing you to both suffer through the worst week ever.

“Javi?” You peeked into the apartment, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“What?” He answered, his voice still sharp, making you wince as you walked over to the couch where he sat. 

“Javi… Javi what’s going on? I can’t do this anymore. If I did something to make you mad, I’m sorry, I just-” 

“Fucking work has just been a shit show, okay?” He snapped, cutting off your sentence. “I’m going to bed, I’m fucking exhausted.” He sighed as he got up, storming his way down the hallway, leaving you there alone on the couch, your bottom lip quivering as the tears began to stream down your face again, leaving you in a silent, sobbing heap on the couch. 

You waited a while before getting into bed with Javi, entering your bedroom in its already dark state to avoid crossing paths while the two of you finished your nighttime routines. You crawled into your comforter, eyes still red and puffy as you lay back to back with Javi, without so much as even a good night, let alone, an “I love you.” 

You could feel yourself stirring, tossing and turning in your sleep as you rolled over, outstretching your arm to an unfamiliarly empty space. You turned over to face Javi, now finding yourself wide awake at the fact that he wasn’t there next to you. Immediately, you shot up, calling out his name as you got out of bed, wondering where the hell he was. As you made your way into the hallway, you whispered his name once more before hearing the sounds of heavy, labored breathing coming from the living room. You rushed in, finding Javi sitting on the floor, his hand grasping at his chest with a look of pure panic on his face. 

“I feel like… Fuck, I feel like I can’t breathe. My heart is beating so fast.” He whimpered between his shaky breathing and sobs. “I just- I just kept seeing it over and over again in my head and I woke up and it still wouldn’t go away. Every when I wake up, it’s like it’s fucking haunting me. I feel like something’s crushing my chest. Baby, what’s happening?” He gasped as he looked up at you, helpless and desperate.  

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You knew exactly what was happening. 

Immediately, you climbed into his lap, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as possible, stretching your arms as widely as you could around the broadness of his body. You tried to slow your breathing down, taking long inhales and exhales as you held him. “Just breathe, baby. It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise. I’m here. Deep breaths, okay?” 

“Osita, I can’t- Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” His voice was trembling, each word low and labored as he grasped at the back of his shirt you had draped over your back. 

“I know, baby. I know. I know it’s scary. I promise that you’re safe. I’m here, okay? Just breathe. In and out. I’m not leaving. You’re safe with me, I promise it will be okay.” Even though your heart was shattering, you did everything you could to be the calm in his storm, whispering your reassurances in your soft, sweet voice. Slowly but surely, you could feel the intensity of his breaths lessen, the rising and falling of his chest easing as he grasped tighter at your shirt, pulling you closer to him. 

“It’s okay, Javi. It’s okay. Listen, I’m gonna ask you to do something, alright? It’s gonna sound stupid but it’s gonna help.” You could feel him nod against your chest, his sobs finally beginning to slow. “Can you open your eyes and tell me 5 things you see?” You felt him lift his head, looking up at you, his face wet and red as his deep brown eyes locked with yours.

“Fuck, um, the- the wall, the carpet, the uh, um, the couch, shit, the TV, you. I can see you.” 

“Okay, perfect. What about 4 things you can touch, like feel in your hands?” You smiled gently at him as his breathing was now at a near normal rate. He raised up his arm, wiping his damp face with his palm. 

“My fucking wet face.” The both of you smirked, bringing you relief that Javi was already half laughing. “The carpet, my shirt, that always looks better on you than it does on me. Fuck, I can feel your skin, it’s always so soft. I love feeling it.” He ran one of his hands along the bare skin of your thigh, his fingers grasping at your flesh. 

“You’re doing great, baby. How about 3 things you can hear?” 

“Um, the cars outside, the fan, I could feel your heartbeat when I was on your chest.” He pressed his head back against you, raking your fingers through the ends of his damp curls, sticking to his forehead from his panicked sweat. 

Okay, almost done. What about 2 things you can smell?” You asked, running your fingers along the nape of his neck. 

“Your shirt smells like laundry. No matter how hard I try it just always smells better when you do it. And your shampoo. It always smells so sweet and fruity, it’s my favorite.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hand gently tugging at the ends of your hair, twisting his fingers through it. 

“Okay, last one. Something you can taste.” He lifted his head, looking at you as he slid the hand in your hair to cradle your jaw, cupping your face. 

“You.” He rasped, his lips barely pressing against yours, feeling the hot breaths between your mouths as they met. He pulled back, pausing for a moment before he spoke. “Baby…I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. This week has been all my fault. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this and I was scared. I was so fucking scared.” 

“Javi, it’s okay. Please, I just want to be here for you. You know you can tell me anything, okay? I love you, Javi. I love you more than anything. I know it hurts to talk about the things that scare you the most, but it’s even scarier watching the person you love hurt so badly and not knowing what to do to help them. I don’t care what it is, baby. There’s nothing you can tell me that’s gonna scare me away.” The look on his face nearly broke you. You could tell he was so hurt. Hurt by whatever had been haunting him. Hurt by the fact he wasn’t okay. Hurt by the fact that he had hurt you. 

“The project I’ve been working on this week… It all started because of how bad things are getting across the border in Mexico. A mom was out with her kids and they were all shot in a hit and run accident between two people making a drug trade. It was only an hour from here. I watched so many people do so many fucked up things that I thought I would never have to worry about again once I got home. And even if I did, I was going to be the only person I needed to worry about. But I couldn’t stop imagining that mom with her kids was you. You and our future kids. Every night since that fucking case file got set on my desk, I wake up to the same fucking nightmare of me running down the street, trying to grab you, push you, do anything to get you out of the way, but every fucking night I’m never fast enough. All I can do is watch as that bullet goes through you and you fall to the ground. I can’t let it happen to you. What if something goes wrong and I can’t protect you? I couldn’t fucking live with myself. I just want to keep you safe Osita. I’m so sorry. I love you too much to lose you.” 

Fuck. 

It wasn’t long before you were crying with him, squeezing him tightly once again, pressed against the warmth of his bare chest. That’s what had been going on. That’s why he had been so overbearing. That’s why he hadn’t been the Javi that you’d known and loved this week. On the night he’d told you the worst of the things he had seen and done away in Colombia, you had seen how his eyes had filled with regret, remorse, even anger. But this was different. Never once in the time that you’d known him had you seen Javi so scared. The look in his eyes when you found him sitting on the floor was one of pure terror. You couldn’t imagine what it would be like, waking up night after night to the image of Javi slipping away, let alone coming to grips with the reality that you couldn’t even fathom, and he knew far too well. Javi knew you had no problem sticking up for yourself. You were strong, tough, and fiercely independent- those were all things he loved so much about you. But those things weren’t enough to protect you from the dangers that haunted his past, or the terrifying reality of the present. 

Through the silent cries of your sobs, you felt Javi’s hand under your chin, lifting your head to force your eyes to meet. “Osita, I’m so sorry. Pease, please forgive me. I’ve been so lost in my own world this week because I’ve been so scared about what could happen to you. I had my head so far up my own ass that I thought I was doing everything I could to try and keep you safe in any way that I could, and instead I’ve just been a fucking dick to the person I care about more than anything in the world. I don’t wanna fight anymore, I fucking hate it. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

You draped your arms around his neck, your fingers tracing small, gentle circles along his back as you stared back at him. “I didn’t know, Javi. I didn’t know you were so scared. I’m so sorry. I don’t wanna fight anymore either. This has been the shittiest week. I missed you. I missed my best friend.” He pressed his hand against the back of your head, cradling it in his palm as he hugged you tightly. “You just have to promise me something, okay?” 

“Anything. Anything, baby.” 

“You have to promise me that you can’t keep all of this in. You have to promise me you’ll talk to someone about it. Me, your dad, people at work, Steve, a therapist, someone. There are so many people who care so much about you who just wanna help. You’re the strongest person I know, Javi, but it’s okay to not be strong sometimes.” He let out a long, shaky breath, darting his eyes down at the ground, the Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “You promise me?” You asked again, grabbing his face in your hands, swiping your thumb along his wet cheeks. 

“I promise.” 

In that moment, it was like the two of you could feel something in the air change. The tension lifting, the frustrated fog fading, the both of you desperately needing the other to know how sorry you were for the way you had acted. You found yourself face to face, eyes closing as your mouths came together in the most gentle, tender kiss. But even as your parted lips barely pressed against one another, you could practically feel how desperate you both were. 

“I love you.” 

Even though you whispered it against the soft, unshaven stubble of Javi’s cheek, it feels like you’re screaming it, determined to make sure he hears those 3 words as they fall from your lips, that he knows how much you mean each one, every second of every hour of every day. You can feel the heat in your chest as his hands grasp around the small of your back, pulling you closer as your bodies melt together, the tension straining in your muscles dissipating with each second he pulls you closer. 

“I love you too.” 

It felt like suddenly, all was right with the world again. The Javi you knew and loved had come back, returning home to you. All of the fear and sadness was replaced by a rampant desperation to know how much you needed him, almost as much as he needed to show you how desperately he craved you, too. The tingle built at the base of your spine as his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, his hand creeping further up your belly, pressing against the curves of your sides. You raised your arms as his fists balled up the worn fabric, carefully lifting it over your head as his hot breath ran against your neck, leaving gentle, tender kisses along your newly exposed skin. Your hands pressed against his hips, tugging at the waistband of his cotton sleep shorts as he locked his arms under your legs, bringing you both to stand as you wrapped your legs around the small of his back, the skin of your bare chests brushing against each other as he carried you toward the bedroom. Each kiss of your parted lips was like a plea, begging that the other would forgive you, that despite the way you had treated each other there was no one in the world that you loved more, that you would rather be with right here, right now. 

Crossing the threshold to the bedroom, Javi leaned his body over the mattress, carefully placing you down in the warm, tangled sheets of your bed that had felt so cold and harsh only a few hours ago. You looked up at Javi standing at the end of the bed as he nudged his shorts off of his hips, leaving him exposed, the clothes now pooling around his ankles. Crawling over you, he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, the only thing left on your body after your shirt had been left behind in the living room. You lifted your hips, helping him shuffle the fabric down your legs as he ran his hands along the meat of your thighs. He leaned over you, the temples of your foreheads pressed against each other as his fingers danced along the skin of your bare legs, barely grazing against your entrance. You could already feel the slick of your arousal pooling under his touch, the calloused pads of his fingers ever so gently tracing up and down your folds, making you shutter. 

“Javi... Please.” Your voice trembled as Javi nodded, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You gasped as you felt the thickness of his fingers heedfully pushing themselves inside you, arching your back against the bed as his thumb delicately pressed on your clit. Each thrust of his hand in and out of your heat was dragging and deliberate, the rubbing of his fingertip along your sensitive bundle of nerves making your moans muffled against his chest. Every touch of his hand made you feel better than the last, but there was something primal about the way that you needed him inside you, how you ached to feel him buried deep in heat, to feel every inch of him. “I need you. Please, I need you.” You whimpered against his skin, making him lift his head to look at you as you watched the chocolate brown of his eyes grow darker with lust. He worked in silence, removing his fingers as he stroked himself, making your cunt throb in anticipation as you felt the tip of his cock stroke along your entrance, a moan escaping from your parted lips as he guided himself inside you. 

“Fuck…” He whispered, pushing himself in further, inch by inch, before bottoming out, his tip bumping against your cervix. You wrapped your legs around his back, doing anything you could to bring him closer to you, trying to melt your bodies into one and hold him so tightly you could never let him float away again. You dug your nails into his muscular back as he began to thrust in and out of you, taking his time with each stroke, as if he was savoring every sweet moment. “I love you, Osita. I love you so much, baby. Gonna make you feel good, okay? I promise.” It was like you could feel his words with each stroke, the promise that had fallen from his lips burying itself deep inside you with every rock of his hips against yours. Your bedroom was filled with the sounds of your mixed moans and skin hitting against each other. Even when no words escaped from your mouths, it was almost as if you could hear each other through the sounds between the two of you, coating your walls. 

I love you. 

I need you. 

I’m so sorry. 

His palm pressed along the sheen of your skin, snaking down your body to rub against your clit, intensifying the throbbing that you already felt growing between your legs. With each thrust of his hips, his cock pounded deeper into your heat, hitting the spot within you that had the arousal beginning to pool intensely within your belly, that creeping familiar feeling building at the base of your spine. You dug your nails deeper into Javi’s skin, grasping for the damp curls at the nape of his neck, your whimpers growing louder and more desperate with each stroke as you could feel yourself beginning to crumble beneath him. 

“Javi, pleaseee. Bab-ahhhhh, I’m so close.” You felt your cunt begin to clench around his length, making him moan as each push and pull of hips became more intense, punching against your g-spot and making your writhe under his touch.

“I know you are, Hermosa. Cum for me baby, cum all over me and show me how you’re mine.” 

His words make something inside you snap, making you shake and your body tense as your arms and legs tightened their grip around Javi, crying out his name as your orgasm rushed through you. His lips met yours, swallowing your moans as his pumps became frantic and sloppy, only taking a few more before he was chasing his own high. “Fuck, baby. You’re so fucking perfect. Te amo más que a nada. Soy tyuo para siempre. (I love you more than anything, I’m yours, forever.). Fuck, I’m gonna- shit- I’m- ahhhhhhh” With one last push, you could feel him throbbing inside you, spilling against your walls, pumping every last drop of himself inside you as he slumped into your body, your hearts racing, chests rising and falling as one. The two of you laid there for a moment, your bodies tangled in each other, letting each of your breaths sync as you came down from your blissed out highs. Javi hissed as he turned over to pull out of you, making you whine at the loss, before rolling over to lay your head on his chest. You could feel his arm wrap around you to pull you in closer, his fingers tracing along your shoulder blade as you draped your arm across his stomach. 

“I guess that’s one way to make up for this shitty week.” You giggled as Javi shook his head, joining you, the both of you glad to hear the sweet sounds of each other's laughter for the first time in much too long. “Can we never do this again? I never wanna fight like that ever again. These last few days have sucked without you.” 

“Never. This was the fucking worst. Never again. I promise.” He kissed the top of your head, burying his nose in your messy curls as he held you just a little bit tighter. 

“Okay.” You smiled against his warm, tanned skin before looking up at him. “You wanna know the worst part?” 

“What, baby?” 

“I didn’t even get to eat any of that pizza.” Javi chuckled as he shook you playfully in his grasp, making you squirm and snicker as he held you. 

“There’s still some left in the fridge. Let me go get it and you can tell me all about your week, okay?” He kissed your forehead as he pushed himself out of bed, making his way to the door. 

“Okay. We’ve got a lot to catch up on, I didn’t even get to tell you how I had to call Mark’s mom in the middle of math because he stuck a crayon up his nose yesterday.” The both of you snorted as Javi looked back at you. 

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” 

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

[xoxoladyaz]

It Hits Different This Time, Part 2

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie x Steve Harrington

TW: Mentions of alcohol, drug abuse

QUICK AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm so sorry that the last entry was so angst heavy, I promise this one provides some comfort! Eddie needed to take a big step here and he really, really does. Also, much love to everyone who commented, I've tagged you at the bottom of the post - let me know if anyone else would like to be notified of the next entry!

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five

It was another five days before Steve heard from Eddie. Another five torturous days of radio silence, only this time, there wasn’t anything online. No new articles were popping up saying he’d been spotted somewhere, no new TikToks of him meeting fans on the street. The rest of the band was MIA too; Steve had thought about sending Jeff a text to check-in but ultimately decided to wait another couple days. Robin had been texting with Chrissy, after all, and if something bad had gone down, she would know.

When Eddie did finally call, it wasn’t from a number that Steve recognized.

“I’m getting a call from Malibu.”

“Holy shit!” Robin sat up on the other end of the couch and shot him a look. “Okay, just breathe dingus, okay? It’s going to be okay, I’ll be here the whole time.” She squeezed his ankle comfortingly. “You can do this.”

Steve accepted the call with shaky hands and brought his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey Steve.”

He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “Eddie.”

He heard Eddie let out a watery laugh across the line. “Do you, uh, have a minute?”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Steve hummed. He physically couldn’t get an actual word out. 

This was it. Eddie was leaving, he’d cheated, it was over – 

“I’m in rehab.”

Steve’s eyes shot open. “You’re what?”

Robin started rocking back and forth. “Turn it up!” She hissed, and Steve obliged, turning up his volume so she could just barely hear what was being said. (Was this a private conversation? Yes. Did Eddie know he’d probably immediately tell Robin everything? Also yes. 

Was this news big enough to warrant having Robin eavesdrop?

Absolutely yes.)

“Yeah, I’m, uh, at the Promises Treatment Center in Malibu,” Eddie continued. “We got back about five days ago and when I saw your note, I – 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie continued, and his voice was choked up, like he himself couldn’t speak, “I fucked up. I’ve fucked everything up. You are – you said in that note that you didn’t want me to give up on my dreams, and you’re right, making it big and getting famous for my music was my dream for literal years. Because I kept thinking “once I get a record out there,” “once I go on tour,” “once I win a Grammy,” “once I get a million dollars,” then I’d finally be happy. 

“But it turns out the only thing being famous has done is make me pretty fucking miserable,” Eddie let out a harsh laugh. “But I was so goddamn convinced that this was it, you know, that I’d accomplished my dreams so I must be happy that I started taking whatever I could get my fucking hands on to make me feel that way. The thing is drugs and the alcohol and the parties never made it fucking last. It just made every other second that I was in the public eye that much worse.

“But I’d still made it, you know? I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel this fucking miserable. And everyone back home was so fucking proud and I didn’t want to let them down - ” Eddie paused for a few moments to clear his throat before continuing. “I didn’t want to let you down. Because Eddie “The Freak” Munson didn’t deserve you, but maybe Eddie “The Rock Star” could.”

Steve can feel his own throat closing up and he can barely see Robin’s face, his eyes are watering that bad. “Baby,” he sobbed. “I wish you’d told me.”

“Me too,” Eddie sniffled across the line. “I didn’t though, I just kept self-medicating and ignoring it, because that’s always worked,” he huffed sarcastically. “But then - ” Eddie cut off again, and Steve can hear that he’s trying so hard to hold back his own sobs, “then I came home last week and realized that I’d missed our goddamn anniversary because I was too fucking high and that you were gone and I just – I called Jeff and I told him to get me on a plane out here because you – you, Steve Harrington, you are the best thing in my goddamn life. And the only dream I want to chase now is the one where we get married and adopt some kids and grow old together.”

“Eddie,” Steve sobbed out again, and he heard Eddie start to cry too, and then suddenly they were crying together, even from hundreds of miles away.

“So I’m gonna be here for the next six weeks,” Eddie finally continued, his voice still full of tears. “I’m, uh, meeting with a therapist for a few hours every day and working through my shit. I wanna be a guy who deserves good things, baby. I wanna be a guy who deserves you.”

“What – what about the band?” Steve sniffled, rubbing at his eyes. A handful of Kleenex appeared in front of him. Robin must have gotten up to grab them at some point. He shot her a thankful nod and patted at his eyes; Robin nodded back and did the same, her face flushed that bright shade of red that accompanied her own tears.

“Murray wrote a provision into our contract where if one of us checks into rehab, then the band is instantly put on a two-year, non-negotiable hiatus.”

“But – what about your momentum, the label kept talking about it?”

“The label can go fuck themselves” Eddie practically growled over the phone. “Who do you think hosted the party where I first got my hands on the hardcore stuff anyways?”

“Babe - ”

“Murray said he was going to look into some sort of contract termination so we can sign somewhere else. And even if we didn’t have that thing written into our contract, we probably would have gone on hiatus anyways, or worse. That – the last leg was rough. Gareth was just as fucked up as I was and Jeff was fucking pissed. He kept having to pull Gareth out of orgies and shit while babysitting Phil and I too.”

“Did,” Steve swallowed harshly, “did - ”

“No, baby, never,” Eddie declared quickly. “Even when I couldn’t fucking see straight, you were the only one I wanted to be with. I honestly don’t even know who we were partying with at the end there, the label sent them for some PR shit, I don’t know. It’s just another reason why we want out.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, “okay. Good. Or, well, not good. You know.”

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Eddie replied softly. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, just listening to each other breathe. “I, uh,” Eddie started up again quietly, “I’m wearing the ring.”

“Yeah?” Steve found himself smiling despite the fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Eddie’s voice was just as choked up as before. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Eddie - ”

“Look, I know, I know I hurt you so, so badly and I’m never going to fucking forgive myself for what I did, but I – you’re everything I want, baby. If I had to give up Corroded Coffin tomorrow for you, I would do it in a heartbeat. And I – I know I can’t expect for you to just, like, forgive me after the shit I pulled, but – will you be there, when I get out? Can I – I want to come home to you,” Eddie finished, and Steve could hear that he was crying again.

Steve looked over at Robin, who was wiping more tears out of her own eyes. They looked at each other for a few moments.

It might be crazy, but I think I want to say yes.

I don't blame you. I mean, this is one hell of an apology, especially from Mr. “I’ll Never Need to Go to Rehab Ever.”

Yeah. And I love him.

And you love him.

“I’ll be there,” Steve murmured reassuringly, and Eddie burst into a new wave of muffled sobs on the other end of the phone. “Just do what you need to do and come home when you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting for home.”

“At home?” Eddie’s voice broke on a whimper.

“At home. I’ll even clean the bathrooms and everything,” Steve joked, and Eddie let out a loud laugh despite the quiet sobs Steve could still hear. 

“Really? You’ll be there?”

“Yeah, Eddie. I’ll be there. We can get through this.”

“Together.”

“Together. Because I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”

“Fuck, Stevie,” Eddie let out an incredulous laugh again, “I love you so fucking much, baby. I’m going to marry the fuck out of you someday.”

“Save the sweet talk for when you get home, okay?” Steve could feel his heart settling in his chest, and whatever tears he’d had left to cry were all gone now. There was just the twinge of missing Eddie, but that would go away soon enough. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Eds.”

“Thanks, baby.” Eddie’s answer was soft now. “So I, uh, get a couple hours to call people every day from one of the site’s phones. Can I keep calling you?”

“Please,” Steve heard Eddie exhale in relief. “Every day sounds perfect.”

“Good, good. I’ll have to, uh, use some of my time to talk to Wayne, but the rest of it is yours, baby. And Gareth, Jeff threw him into a different center too. His check-in was much less voluntary though.”

“Shit,” Steve winced. “Is there anything Robin or I can do to help?”

“Take Jeff and Chrissy out to a nice dinner and use the Amex,” Eddie snorted, causing Steve to laugh.

“Consider it done.”

“Good." Steve heard the sound of another voice behind Eddie. Eddie replied something Steve couldn't understand, but it was in the affirmative. "Doc says my time is up for today. My, uh, talk with Wayne took up a lot of time,” Eddie returned, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “But I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll see you in six weeks.”

“Yes you will.” Steve shut his eyes and imagined Eddie was standing right in front of him. Eddie with his riotous curls and holey graphic tees and tight jeans. Eddie with his rings on his fingers, with Steve’s ring on his finger. Eddie, standing across from him and smiling at him with that twinkle in his eye that had first caught Steve’s attention all those years ago. 

“I love you, Eds.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Tags List: @gregre369 @starman-jpg @skoomy-doompy @thequeenrainacorn @sleepyboosstuff @strawberrykore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @amoris-no-smut-allowed @steve-the-hairrington @iknewyouweremuggle @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sunfloweringstories @loverkasp @hyperfixationgoddess @steddie-as-they-go @zerokrox-blog @messrs-weasley @thelittleclare @lovelyscot

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

NO WAY IN HELL ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: i return from the actual dead guys. live has been hectic as hell recently so im staying up late so i can get the part out to you!! its like 12am when im posting this so delusion is feeding me here

lia and riley crowd around you as you recount for the millionth time what happened at the rooftop party.

they've been at you all week asking what happened - it definitely didn't help when that stupid gossip account posted about it. so now you face the downfall of trying to be a decent human being.

clearly it worked out oh so well and everything is perfectly fine.

you've been drained all week working out a few details for your upcoming shows, going to the gym every day to stay in shape for said shows, dealing with lia and riley, the pile of emails and work related things you should probably answer but haven't gotten around to yet.

honestly all you want to do is curl up into bed and sleep.

a nap would be really good right now.

instead you're stuck here with lia pestering you about the whole rooftop ordeal.

"oh my gosh, we've been over this, as i said the last time you asked - which by the way was," you check your watch. "thirty minutes ago. i said hello, we stood there awkwardly for about six minutes i asked how his day was he said decent, he asked me how my day was, i said decent, i randomly blurted out that the stars were pretty and then proceeded to complain about the party, then said i was going home. end of goddamn fucking story."

riley just laughs at your frustration and lia grins sheepishly at you.

"im sorry, please let me stay here tonight."

shaking your head you get up off the couch to start making dinner. your phone starts blaring as you do and lia picks it up and launches it across the room. "its stacey." she says as you catch it.

"hey, stacey what's up?" you ask your assistant/ agent. she does a lot of shit for you honestly, its hard to keep up with what she does.

"i just got a call from someone on percy jackson's marketing team-" you drop the onion you were holding. "and they want to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week." the silence is loud.

"why?" you croak out

"they want to discuss the rumours going around." fucking finally you hiss internally.

"okay...."

"okay you'll do it? or okay you want to tell them where to shove their discussions?" stacey asks skeptically, having worked with you long enough to know your tones.

sighing you answer her, "okay i'll do it, but i want riley and lia there with me."

"of course," stacey replies likely jotting this down.

"and for the love of god not in a public space."

you hash out some more details and hang up turning to face to very eager eavesdroppers, "what do you want us for?" lia asks.

letting out another sigh, "guess who's meeting us this week?"

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest and 923, 872 others

percyjackson i won both games btw

view all comments

underovergrover only cause you cheated!

percyjackson don't be bitter because i won

underovergrover fucker

user1 these little bits of his life only make him more hot oml

user2 i so wanna know if y/n was there

user3 no cause real??? i wanna know if us percy/n shippers have a chance

user4 im in love with him holy

user5 Y/N'S FRIENDS LIKED THE POST AGAIN AHHHHHH

user6 oml i ship them so hard i need to know if they're dating

☾. ⋅

percy was pissed.

ok that's an understatement. he was- is livid.

he had only agreed to this stupid meeting because he managers had suggested to him it might be good to clear the air. what he wasn't expecting was y/n to agree, let alone agree with a list of fucking demands.

and not only did she come with demands she shows up thirty minutes late with her friends in tow.

what. the. fuck?

once she settles in her agent leans froward and addresses percy's team as if y/n is incapable to do so.

"hello there everyone, how are you all doing today?"

percy's manager reply's out of curtesy before getting right down to business. "ok, i'd like to start by introducing myself, y/n i'm lauren i'm percy's manager and i organised this meeting because of the rumours i'm sure you've heard all about."

y/n nods. "yes i've heard of them."

"good because my team and yours have come up with a few ways to deal with the rumours." she place's a her hands on the table and leans forward when she talks. "the first and most obvious is for both of you to post an announcement that you aren't dating, but are simply friends and or acquaintances." you both nod at that. "the second option is to address the rumours via getting into another relationship - but obviously since you're both single right now its a poor decision." she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes over to y/n's managers. "and the third and mine and stacey's most favoured one is that you.... fake date."

the silence the follows is deafening.

percy practically leaps out of his chair. "what the hell?"

"no fucking way-" y/n says at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me," you both say at he same time you eyes shooting up to meet, stacey's and lauren's hidden smiles don't help the situation either.

"obviously if you don't feel comfortable doing that we understand," stacey says calmly.

"but if you are okay with that we can move forward with that plan... if that's what you wish for."

percy glares at y/n as she gathers her stuff and mutters "no way in hell am i doing that," before storming off.

her friends... lia? and... riley? stand up after her hastily making apologies, "we'll go.. get her, i'm so sorry about that."

stacey obviously knowing that y/n isn't coming back starts to gather all her stuff. "so sorry about all that," she looks at me and then lauren. "we'll have an answer by the end of the week."

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, lukecastellan, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams and 1, 489, 326 others

yn.official life's been good 😊

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lia.mandel im so excited to for our dinner tmr night!!

user1 mother posted!!!

user2 percy's friends liking this is my roman empire

user3 ikr i need to know if they're dating

user4 ugh seeing y/n happy make me smile

rileywest coffee with you was fun!!

underovergrover new album maybe??

yn.official maybe 🤭

user5 GROVER COMMENTED??? AND Y/N RESPONDED???? THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS.

user6 HOLY FUCK!!!!

☾. ⋅

you pace the room, stacey watches you with lia and riley on the couch as the phone dials.

lauren picks up on the third ring. "hello this is lauren smyth speaking."

"hi lauren, its stacey here. i was just ringing about our answer to your offer," she makes one more glance at you before focusing back on the call. "our answer is...."

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[desecrated-guacamole]

I know I’m *checks watch* twelve years late coming to this realization, and two years late to talking about it when it would’ve been at all relevant, but godDAMN

Young Justice wastes NO time being good after season 1. The producers really just said “hey, y’know all the characters and relationships you’ve loved seeing develop for the past 26 episodes? Well actually, fuck that, fuck them, and fuck you! Everything’s different now, everyone’s developed in new ways that you won’t get to see, but not even in a way that makes sense for a FIVE YEAR TIME-JUMP!”

Take Robin for example; in the five years that take place offscreen, Dick becomes Nightwing, Batman recruits Jason Todd as the new Robin, Jason Todd gets killed, and Batman recruits Tim Drake as the new-new Robin (oh and also Barbara Gordon becomes Batgirl). I love the Batfamily, but I can barely call it the Batfamily when we don’t ever actually see them becoming a fucking family! We don’t get to see Dick struggle with his mentor’s legacy, we don’t see Jason struggle to live up to the Robin that came before, or Barbara picking up crime fighting despite what Bruce tells her to do because fuck that guy. We don’t get to see any of them grieve Jason, we don’t get to see Bruce go off the deep-end, only to be brought back by a young Tim Drake, who shows him what makes Batman, well, Batman; helping those in need, saving people.

INSTEAD, we’re introduced to two characters we knew that are now wildly different with ZERO explanation as to why, and one that we’ve never seen before and is (so far in my watch) severely underwritten, but because they’re the characters we love from the comics we’re supposed to love them here. It’s using the iconography of the characters to get us invested without putting in any of the actual work DEVELOPING them as people. It’d be one thing if this was the first time we met any of them, but we’ve already been introduced to Barbara, and we’ve spent an entire season with Dick, but now both of them have undergone massive development we aren’t made privy to.

I read an interview with Greg Weisman talking about the time jump, and he says this;

“We wanted a big time jump between the first two seasons to truly illustrate what our series was about, i.e. GROWING UP. After that, honestly, it’s more about what feels right. There are always things we want to skip, so that they become reveals.”

Man, I wonder if maybe allowing the audience to actually watch the characters grow and change might illustrate that growing up thing better than just skipping ahead so you can make it a reveal??? Imagine a show where we get to see these characters grow up together, maybe even grow apart, some leave, some stay, some are replaced, some come back. Like, imagine getting to see Dick reckon with the fact that Batman REPLACED HIM, only to watch that replacement die! Imagine getting to see Tim Drake come to Dick for advice, instead of just skipping ahead to the point that they’re already an established team. Imagine getting to see M’gann help Gar learn to use his powers for the first time. Imagine the team throwing a goodbye party for Wally and Artemis! Imagine seeing Wally and Artemis continue to develop their relationship instead of just jumping to them being fully moved in and together! WE WERE ROBBED!!

Like I’m still gonna watch it (not in the least because my roommate’s already seen it) but I need everyone to know I’m doing it under duress. I love these characters, and they did not deserve this lazy bullshit. I do not understand how Greg Weisman made Spectacular Spider-Man because HOLY SHIT the writing decisions made on this show are pissing me off, and don’t even get me STARTED ON CONNOR AND M’GANN BECAUSE WHAT THE FU

[malehypnofantasy]

As a programmer, I don't need to go to the office unless my boss told me so. Today, I have the luxury to do my work from the comfort of my bedroom, so I cannot help but directly checks out the personal messages I received

Rodrigo sent me this gorgeous pictures of his with the faint sheen of his sweat still covered that rugged bodybuilder physique of his. He worn the skimpy poser I gave him as a present for his obedience and he seems fitting wearing it

"Just got back from the gym after finishing all my morning errands. You can join me here if you want, wife is going home late and I only have client after lunch,"

Fuck, if only I read this message earlier, I would be working from his home for the day. Well, still several messages to go. Alex. Fred. Lamar. Desmond. Jésus and.....wow, Derrick.

"Can I see you today? It's been a while and I got no class or anything anyway, just a quick dinner with Trish before the party starts at 9 in my frat house,"

From the background, he's clearly in Trish sorority bedroom. The young broncos clearly have a great night last night, and he's still thinking about me? Cute. Let's put him on reserve, because Scott clearly sent the best tease of them all

Holy. Fucking. Shit

The history teacher is clearly not playing around! Look at him dancing like a little slut! Fuck I think I'm leaking pre just from seeing his little dancey dance

"As I said, it's still summer break so I'm all yours, Master.

He's a playful guy from its origin, and the teacher for the drama club in his highschool too, so him being all teasing and erotic shouldn't be this surprising. But putting it into perspective, he's a well respected and charismatic guy in the local community. And now here he is looking so goddamn slutty with no authority whatsoever showing off his hairy muscular body for my enjoyment as if I'm a lover of his rather than a full-blown perv that hypnotized him by messing up his personal laptop where I put the subliminal background and audio that put him under my control.

I really want to get fucked by Derrick's jock cock, but I think the history teacher brought his A-game today so I guess I'll reply to him

[hannahhasafact]

Gonna treat my tumblr like a journal and ramble some thoughts, feel free to read if you want:

Little by little, my apartment is becoming a place that doesn’t feel… embarrassing? Like being an adult woman, many of my friends and family my age have living situations that are nice. In some ways, I feel like my apartment still looks like one a college kid lives in, and it’s just embarrassing. I’ve never really had people hang out at my apartment because 1. There’s no space for people and 2. It’s just not a nice hang out space. But I feel like I’m getting better at making it a nicer space I think.

Related by why the fuck is my house constantly dusty I am ALWAYS DUSTING

I know there’s still probably a month until we find out about k-con artist alley but god the waiting is killing me. Like it would be incredible and awesome to get in yes but more than anything it’s the not knowing that is killing me oh my god. Probably won’t find out until the end of June and I’m dying (though I totally get why! I’m just so impatient)

I’m in this weird moment in my life where technically I probably have some sort of undiagnosed anxiety disorder but at the same time it feels weird to say that? Like what I mean is literally multiple people around me will be like “yeahhhhh there might be something up” and I’ve had physical reactions to stress in such a way, but it feels weird to say I have a thing without being like… actually diagnosed with a thing? Feels like I’m making excuses for myself.

In the same vein, I’ve been thinking about “Huh. Why am I having such a visceral response to anxiety compared to how I used to be.” And ngl I think it’s because I’m basically doing no physical activity? I’ve been a pretty physical person all my life and in the last few months it has dropped to like… zero movement. After getting covid, I allowed myself to not be physical mainly because holy shit it wipes you the fuck out. And then… I kind of just stopped moving. And it’s so hard to get moving again. Especially because I’m so tired all the time, but I know that physical activity helps with that drained energy! And I know it would help with my brain! And with so much! And I just… haven’t.

Every time I talk to my mom all she asks is if I have any job interviews. Which like… I get why she’s asking, but god it really sucks to have to deal with that on every fucking call with her. It feels like a check in that I’m failing at.

I know I need to be applying for more jobs but I also need to start working out and I need to be drawing more and oh maybe I should look into practicing trumpet again but I would have to go to a place to practice because I can’t do that in my apartment and I need to donate some clothes but first I have to wash them but also I should work on putting myself out there because I’m not going to get a date sitting in my house and I don’t need a person in my life but it might be nice because fuck man life is so goddamn hard on your own but also-

That’s where my brain is at most of the time and instead of doing anything I mute my thoughts with assorted media. So yeah that’s the vibe.

I’m trying to drink less because 1. It’s not good for me and 2. Pretty sure it’s making my anxious-ness worse but holy hell rewatching Ted Lasso really made me want rose or a pint of cider

This three day weekend has not been enough days, but at least I cleaned my apartment today

Bijou is doing alright. It’s strange because she has noticeably less energy, but like she’s okay. I’m still feeling sad feelings, but I’ve gotten to a more accepting vibe. Also it’s been weird how so many older people I know have been like “you should get another cat immediately” 1. She’s not even dead yet and 2. I’ve kind of gotten used to the idea of not having a cat after she’s gone. That might change, but right now it’s like 1. The emotional strain this has taken on me I can’t deal with immediately again 2. I’ve already been hemorrhaging money this year, a new cat would be a financial decision that i don’t think is smart and 3. Any living creature is a lot of time commitment, and I think it might be good for me to not constantly be worried about an animal at home and if they’re doing okay. Like I said: Bijou is still here, but I’ve obviously been having to think about this stuff a lot.

Tumblr this shit is so annoying please stop doing this:

I know how tags work on this fucking website

Anyways, those are just my rambly thoughts.

[tiofrean]

I feel I need to add to this because I have another bone to pick with reading assignments. Not getting to the end of the book and only analyzing fragments is a problem, yes, but have you considered how absolutely goddamned awful the books are?

Like, maybe it's only a thing in my country, maybe just our powers that be are completely bonkers when choosing them... but for the love of everything that's holy, why would you make people read something that's not only boring but also blatantly outdated?

I was 9 and I was forced to read a fully mature book about knights and history, and not in a fun way. My 9-year-old self didn't give a shit about the history of my country and the political views of the 15th century. Who gives a shit? I was a kid, I wanted to have FUN, read something adventurous, not try to disentangle the political ramifications of a stupid king's decision of getting the whole Teutonic Knight Order into my country a few centuries before.

I didn't care about Great Gatsby or the Mockingbird, and you can keep your Moby Dick, thank you very much. I know there are people who like them, and all the power to you. But to a kid, those books are outdated and boring, and if someone makes them read them as an assignment, what the hell do you expect to happen?

I'm an adult now, I consume over 50k words daily on the internet reading fanfiction, sometimes a lot more than that. I read books, too, but now that I'm curating my experience, I actually enjoy it. I was fortunate not to burn myself on the system, or rather, I was fortunate to have those burns healed so I could come back to reading. I still hate "The Knights of the Cross" (an epopei-thing in my country) with wild passion and I want to tear every single copy I come across to pieces. I can't stand the movie made about it. This is what system did to me. Very often it's not the question of kids not interested in reading, but not interested in reading your particular brand of books.

Tastes differ, even in kids. Yes, I know, there are texts that need to be talked about. But you can talk about them and show examples, without boring everyone out of their skull and assigning them shit to read they will hate till the end of their days. And before you go "oh, but how am I supposed to talk about XYZ without mentioning ABC book?" You are the fucking teacher. Figure it out. I'm a teacher, too, and I have to figure shit out. And I've seen other teachers do this the right way. They were supposed to talk about supernatural elements in writing? Great, the whole class was reading Tolkien, not a medieval poem nobody gave a shit about. Fragments from the poem still appeared, sure, but the bulk of it was on something the kids could actually relate to and not find it boring to death, something they didn't have to check in the dictionary every second word of the text.

Also, not sure how it works in other countries, but in here, schools give you an assignment and expect you to read the book. So you do, you grit your teeth through it, it's boring, old, written in a language that gives you a headache... and then you come to class and try to untangle the meaning. And it's only AFTER you've read it that the actual era-assessment comes in, and the things you were supposed to pay attention to are revealed. And you realize that you were hanging onto your sanity through the reading by latching onto the only interesting plot arch you've seen in that abomination that your assignment was, just to hear that it was not what you were supposed to pay attention to. You were supposed to focus on the historical difficulties of building a community. And you sit there, staring blankly at the text like a dumbass because you have nothing. And you start hating reading assignments a little more.

Don't kill kids' love for stories, I beg you.

Why Kids Aren't Falling in Love With Reading - It's Not Just Screens

A shrinking number of kids are reading widely and voraciously for fun.

The ubiquity and allure of screens surely play a large part in this—most American children have smartphones by the age of 11—as does learning loss during the pandemic. But this isn’t the whole story. A survey just before the pandemic by the National Assessment of Educational Progress showed that the percentages of 9- and 13-year-olds who said they read daily for fun had dropped by double digits since 1984. I recently spoke with educators and librarians about this trend, and they gave many explanations, but one of the most compelling—and depressing—is rooted in how our education system teaches kids to relate to books.

What I remember most about reading in childhood was falling in love with characters and stories; I adored Judy Blume’s Margaret and Beverly Cleary’s Ralph S. Mouse. In New York, where I was in public elementary school in the early ’80s, we did have state assessments that tested reading level and comprehension, but the focus was on reading as many books as possible and engaging emotionally with them as a way to develop the requisite skills. Now the focus on reading analytically seems to be squashing that organic enjoyment. Critical reading is an important skill, especially for a generation bombarded with information, much of it unreliable or deceptive. But this hyperfocus on analysis comes at a steep price: The love of books and storytelling is being lost.

This disregard for story starts as early as elementary school. Take this requirement from the third-grade English-language-arts Common Core standard, used widely across the U.S.: “Determine the meaning of words and phrases as they are used in a text, distinguishing literal from nonliteral language.” There is a fun, easy way to introduce this concept: reading Peggy Parish’s classic, Amelia Bedelia, in which the eponymous maid follows commands such as “Draw the drapes when the sun comes in” by drawing a picture of the curtains. But here’s how one educator experienced in writing Common Core–aligned curricula proposes this be taught: First, teachers introduce the concepts of nonliteral and figurative language. Then, kids read a single paragraph from Amelia Bedelia and answer written questions.

For anyone who knows children, this is the opposite of engaging: The best way to present an abstract idea to kids is by hooking them on a story. “Nonliteral language” becomes a whole lot more interesting and comprehensible, especially to an 8-year-old, when they’ve gotten to laugh at Amelia’s antics first. The process of meeting a character and following them through a series of conflicts is the fun part of reading. Jumping into a paragraph in the middle of a book is about as appealing for most kids as cleaning their room.

But as several educators explained to me, the advent of accountability laws and policies, starting with No Child Left Behind in 2001, and accompanying high-stakes assessments based on standards, be they Common Core or similar state alternatives, has put enormous pressure on instructors to teach to these tests at the expense of best practices. Jennifer LaGarde, who has more than 20 years of experience as a public-school teacher and librarian, described how one such practice—the class read-aloud—invariably resulted in kids asking her for comparable titles. But read-alouds are now imperiled by the need to make sure that kids have mastered all the standards that await them in evaluation, an even more daunting task since the start of the pandemic. “There’s a whole generation of kids who associate reading with assessment now,” LaGarde said.

By middle school, not only is there even less time for activities such as class read-alouds, but instruction also continues to center heavily on passage analysis, said LaGarde, who taught that age group. A friend recently told me that her child’s middle-school teacher had introduced To Kill a Mockingbird to the class, explaining that they would read it over a number of months—and might not have time to finish it. “How can they not get to the end of To Kill a Mockingbird?” she wondered. I’m right there with her. You can’t teach kids to love reading if you don’t even prioritize making it to a book’s end. The reward comes from the emotional payoff of the story’s climax; kids miss out on this essential feeling if they don’t reach Atticus Finch’s powerful defense of Tom Robinson in the courtroom or never get to solve the mystery of Boo Radley.

... Young people should experience the intrinsic pleasure of taking a narrative journey, making an emotional connection with a character (including ones different from themselves), and wondering what will happen next—then finding out. This is the spell that reading casts. And, like with any magician’s trick, picking a story apart and learning how it’s done before you have experienced its wonder risks destroying the magic.

-- article by katherine marsh, the atlantic (12 foot link, no paywall)

[blindrapture]

so, djay update. what have I been up to since I last checked in.

been watching documentaries with ellie. also the bee movie. I'd never seen the bee movie before.

I found my old Introduction to Music textbook (david d. boyden, published in like the 1950s, this is a second edition from the 70s, it's a Faber paperback!) and am back to trying to study that.

new albums I have now listened to: Camel: Mirage Fear Factory: Mechanize Phil Collins: Both Sides, No Jacket Required

stuff I had heard before but am trying to pay more attention to now: Anna Meredith: Varmints, Fibs Black Sabbath's.. everything Boards of Canada's everything before Tomorrow's Harvest Pole's everything, but I'm starting with Fading

stuff I haven't gotten to yet but keep forgetting that I haven't gotten to, therefore I need to get to: Haken: Fauna King Crimson: everything after Larks' Tongues in Aspic Liquid Tension Experiment: LTE3 disc 2. a night at the improv or whatever. Mastodon: Once More Around The Sun, Emperor of Sand, Hushed & Grim Mogwai: Come On Die Young, Rock Action, Every Country's Sun Trivium: I dunno, I have this Trivium CD that I bought several years ago and never even touched it. Ascendancy. okay but what about not music. there are things in this world that aren't music. like there's video games!

I picked up Skyrim VR when it was on sale. I'm a little shocked that all the bad reviews were exaggerating. it's literally fine. it's just Skyrim. it's got the same amount of jank that Skyrim always had. I also picked up Fallout 4 (regular fallout 4) because it was also on sale. had a good 8 hours of that, then I ran into a bug that I've gotta find a way to work around. it involves the goddamn dog. why did they add the dog? or, like, whatever, fine, add the dog, but why did they make the dog so obviously a big deal, like near the start of the game it's like "HEY HERE'S THE DOG, YOU LOVE THE DOG, HAVE THE DOG WITH YOU" and I just immediately dismiss the dog the first chance I get because I don't want to fucking play fallout with a fucking dog. anyway.

I picked up quite a few games because that steam winter sale was kinda amazing. got the Resident Evil 1 remake for some reason, got it more because it was a gamecube game I haven't played rather than anything else. and also there's this game called, what's it called, In Sound Mind? that was made by the creators of Nightmare House, and Portal: The Flash Version. I love those guys, hell yeah I want to play a new game of theirs. didn't even know it existed.

I tried Knights of the Old Republic last night. bought it years and years ago, kept meaning to get to it. I got through the very beginning, got off the spaceship, and then uninstalled the game. that gameplay is rough, and the writing... holy shit, that's what passed as Really Good Game Writing back in the day... "wow you must have hit your head on something! so my name is dave, I've been your roommate for the last two weeks, this lady here is your mother, she's known you your entire life, and here, let me give you a tutorial on how to wipe your ass and open doors." just, I'm not gonna be able to make it through an entire complex RPG with that. plus I hate the controls anyway. and I don't even like star wars!

what else.

I got back to GTA 3. the definitive edition got a pretty good update recently, the visuals look a lot nicer now. I mean, my copy's on the switch, so it's not gonna look like PS5 shit, but that's better here, GTA 3 shouldn't even try to look like that. GTA 3 looks about right on the switch. but so, I hunkered down and did a bunch of missions, and I've finally unlocked the final island now, thus opening up the whole map. I've never gotten far enough in a PS2-era GTA to open up the whole map before. really stoked about it. but uh those missions are painful. I'm following a fucking walkthrough and the missions are painful, because there's only so much a walkthrough can really prepare you for. I might stop with the campaign and just enjoy roaming the map now. and then eventually I'll give Vice City a try.

I can't really try to speak with distance on GTA, because I did literally grow up with these games. I remember when the first one was new. I was like 3. my brother got it on PS1. we liked GTA 2 a lot more. and I grew up usually watching my brothers play them, but when GTA 3 came out it was a big fucking deal. I remember we loved the radio stations so much, we'd use my brother's computer and a microphone and record our own little radio station stuff, little inserts and call-ins and advertisements. Vice City was a refinement of how good that felt, and the music was nice, and the game looked pretty, yes! but Vice City was always the least-special of the three PS2 games for me, it's the one I'm the least attached to. San Andreas was the greatest game ever. it had fucking 2-player free roam. I don't see anybody talking about that anymore, but, it did!! go to idlewood, there's a little housing unit, and in the middle of it is an icon, you walk into the middle of that icon, then press a button on a second controller, and voila! you could just roam the whole fucking map with a friend, goof off, drive cars, it was the best!!! did Vice City have that? did Vice City have fucking multiplayer??? no!!! did Vice City have three fucking cities??? and countryside??? no!!! did Vice City have Faith No More??? what did Vice City have? fucking Ray Liotta!!! who gives a shit about Ray Liotta and his robotic laugh-face!!! I rest my case!

so!

actually trying to play through the PS2 GTA games is like unfinished business for me. I want to unlock the whole maps so I can earn my goofing off.

what.. what else.

I played through Half-Life Alyx. this was my first time actually playing it through by myself, no dev commentary, and no brother rushing me through the puzzles and spoiling my time. just me and City 17. giving me time to enjoy the game, and interpret it in new ways. I found some parallels with the Inferno this time. there's even a fucking Beatrice, who isn't even there, just like in the Inferno. and a satan chained up in the deepest pits of hell. and Portal 2 had the whole Prometheus allegory going on, so Valve have done that kind of thing before. I think Alyx is an Inferno thing. Russel is your Virgil. the headcrab zombies are lost souls suffering twisted torture. even the combine soldiers are lost souls in a way. Half-Life Alyx is a very very good game. kinda one of the best games ever made, and I think it'll only age gracefully.

yeah.

let's end it here.

[xruiningth3sh0wx]

Day 1

 

“I found this…odd book today. Kept in the, er, religious/mysticism section of my library. Was on the prowl for something out of the ordinary, and it definitely would appear that I got my wish. Heh. Seemed pretty interesting. I decided to check it out. Take it home with me, y’know? Lady who works the front desk looked at me skeptically when her eyes caught it. Only book I’ve seen her act that way towards. She was also strangely silent towards me. Didn’t bid me the usual farewell or anything. No pleasant chit-chat. Oh well.”

 

Day 2

 

“Started thumbing through that new book. Title’s…indecipherable. Written in an alphabet I clearly can’t read. Doesn’t look like any language I’ve ever heard of. Not even Arabic. Anyway, flipped through it to gauge it. Pages are filled with whatever writing this is. Can’t read it worth a damn. Lots of interesting illustrations, though. Creatures that don’t exist, hell, can’t exist. Really detailed depictions, too. Same with some of these monuments, buildings, locations. Holy shit. Whoever penned this thing had a wild imagination. I mean, none of these settings are possible or real, surely. But goddamn…they’re so vivid. So intricately penned. I also saw…what I guess were instructions? I assume that’s what they were. Next to and placed between what looked like really…really demented rituals and sacrifices. Good god, I hope no one ever tried any of that shit.”

 

Day 3

 

“Couldn’t…couldn’t stop thinking about that book. Didn’t sleep too great last night. Got maybe…maybe 3 hours in total, I would say? Every time I closed my eyes, I had these…really fucked up scenes just flash in my brain. Violent, gory. Kept jumping right out of bed, not sure where I was. As a result, I was out of it at work. And my mind would not stop wandering back to that…that stuff I saw in my dream. Fuck…it felt so real. Every time I tried to shove it down or forget about it, or the contents of that book, it only intensified. My boss and coworkers looked at me weird. Must’ve appeared I was having a breakdown of some kind. Now…I’m at home. Pacing back and forth. God, for some reason…I feel like I’m being watched. Something’s right behind my back, I know there is. But every time I turn, nothing is fucking there. I swear…I swear I hear very faint cackling. I have to concentrate to hear it. But it’s there. It’s fucking there…”

 

Day 4

 

“Haven’t slept all night. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. My hands are shaking. I don’t know if it’s from the gashes in my arms or the amount of pure fucking fear. Haven’t done much in the apartment. Certainly not touched the book. Just kinda…sit down and think. Occasionally have a loud outburst. Scream. Shout. Not even anything coherent. Lights went out at some point. All the power did. It’s so dark…I’m so scared. My eyes keep focusing on that bloodied knife. For whatever reason, I feel compelled to jam it right into my jugular vein. But I fear what comes after I depart life is much worse than the torments currently troubling me. Visions of snarling, gurgling, retching…things. Beings. Shit, I don’t even know how to describe them. Just aching for my flesh. Oh god…please…I’m not the praying type. Yet…I can’t help but hope. Have a little faith. Doubt it’d do me any good, though. I know there is no god here. Tried to call friends. Family. Anyone. Didn’t work…didn’t work at all. I’m alone.”

 

Day 5

 

“Heishereheishereheishereheishereheishere…demandssacrificedemandssacrificedemandssacrifice…oh god, the pain. Arms…hurt…painted sigils on…walls. What he wanted. What he needs…heneedsheneedsheneedsheneedsmybloodmybloodmybloodmybloodmyblood…wants to taste. Smells my…fear. The cackling…the cackling. I can hear it. Cannot see him. But the pharaoh. Oh, the howling…it’s…it’s terrible. Stop…make it stop. He will not stop. Hewillnotstophewillnotstophewillnotstophewillnostop. Oh the blood…it tastes sweet. I see why he wants…needs…must offer myself. Pick up the knife. The knife…through the knife, he shall taste the flesh and the blood. Yes…”

[movie-s-alter-egos]

Chapter 1: Burning Legs.

Our run was definitely surprising. Wu was way faster than I could be and barely was out of breath himself. Good thing I brought my inhaler for emergencies, Jesus Christ. I didn't know I was that slow! At this point, I wasn't doubting that he was actually my teacher and not some random stranger picking me up off the street. "Can... Can we take a break here?" I huff and heave as he opens the door and I walk in quickly to sit on the lobby bench. "Yes. Take as much time as you need."

I gasp out in relief and sit on a chair by the entrance of the shop, taking in several gulps of water. I was sweating a lot, my shirt was soaked. Goddamn.

"For Wu." The older man spoke up by the shop's counter, an older lady on the other side with a straw hat like his and a gray sweater. "Of course, let me get the package." She answers with a high, grumpy voice. I take a few puffs of my inhaler and watch the two interact while I try to breathe normally. "What did you get?" I wheezed and Wu smiled at me with his hands together by his chest. "I ordered chamomile and mint. And a few extra special ones."

"Ooo, drugs?"

"No."

"Here you go, for Wu," The woman came back with a package the size of my torso in her arms, and my eyes widened in surprise and horror. I'm probably going to be carrying that, aren't I?? "What the f- just a few extra??"

---

And I was right. We were already back at the bottom of the stairs and I groaned out loudly in burning pain before almost falling on my butt, catching myself and huffing. "Okay I need a break again, I'm sorry-"

"Oh no worries, take your time." The package was taken from my hands and Wu starts walking up the stairs like it was the lightest thing, and I gawk at him as I sat on the ground. "H-holy fuck..." 

And I sat there for 10 minutes in shock and denial of what just happened, drinking from my water like I was hallucinating without it. 

"Y-" I scream out with a jolt when someone spoke next to me and I turn my gaze while leaning away from the source. It was Wu. I muttered an apology after sighing and he just gives me a smile before walking in the opposite direction of the stairs. "Uh... Where are you going?" Didn't we just get back? "I'm grabbing some students who need to be picked up." He can do that?

"Okay... You want me to come with?" Please say no, I'm exhausted! 

"No no, you can head back inside and take a needed nap or break." Wu notes while walking away and I exhale with high relief. "Okay.." I whisper and get up on my feet after a minute, climbing up the hundred stairs to get to the monastery. Can you guess how long that took? Forever! My legs hurt so bad! I leaned on the big front doors and tried to catch my breath before opening them with a light push and scooting to my room after closing the front with some struggle. I muttered curses as I entered my new room and landed forward to land on the bed with a puff and I try to relax face first.

Which really worked out, everything is feeling numb.... I'm going to get muscle cramps later, shit.

---

Wakey wakey...

I groan softly and kept my eyes closed when I felt my shoulder being shook. "Ngh... What, Parker?" It's my brother bugging me, isn't it? I hear a weirdly familiar chuckle and my shoulder is shaken again. "What?!" I whine and sit up with a grunt. God damn it, my legs are burning!! FUCK!

"It's time to wake up," someone pats my arm and I open my eyes, glancing at the hand on my limb and my gaze moving up to their face. "Uh..." Is this someone I know? Darker skin tone, black hair, brown eyes. "... AGH!" I jump up when my brain finally registers danger and I scoot away from the male. "What the hell are you doing in my room!!?" The male chuckles again with a soft smile like he didn't just invade my privacy. "Sensei told me to check on you. You haven't woken up in hours." Sensei? Wait, where am I?... Oh... Shit, I forgot. "Wu asked you to check on me?" I mumble and the stranger nods with a shrug. "Who are you?"

"The name's Cole, and you?"

"You look like a Cole." I mutter with some sass. He actually looks like Cole from Ninjago, no way. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" He grumbles in the same voice as that character and crosses his arms. Wow, coincidence! "Nothing, just get out, I'm okay," I say with attitude and swing my legs over the bed with a hiss. Seems like I'm going to suffer for the rest of the day. "What's wrong?" The male asks with what I think was genuine concern when I made that noise and I huff. "Just my legs, I exercised them too much for my liking. What time is it?"

"1 pm." I gawk for a second and huff. "No wonder I'm starving," I mumble and get up, walking out of my room and my legs on fire. The stranger follows me out and we head over to the dining area. And of course he's taller than me, the perks of being 5 foot 2.

"Ah, DaKota, Cole, good afternoon. Lunch is almost ready to be served," Wu calls from across the room by the kitchen and I make a noise of some type of annoyance. Jeez, he should have woken me earlier so I could make the food, I can cook and do other stuff. I don't want to be exercising all the damn time. "I will be making a schedule of who makes lunch and dinner for each mouth, just so we all have the responsibility and chance to share food culture and tastes." Now that I can agree. I wait for Cole to sit down first before I find a seat for myself. I don't want to get in anyone's way or piss them off. "What are we having for lunch today, Sensei?" I can't believe he's already calling this guy his sensei.

"Just some simple rice, vegetables and beef to have an easy start." Oh hell yeah! I have been missing that! I grin widely to myself when Wu announces the meal and Cole lets out a simple yay. Childish much?

I'm a hypocrite. 

"So, your name is Dakota, right?" Cole turns to face me across the table and I nod. "Yeah, and you're Cole. You remind me of someone though." I start and Wu glances at us. "Getting along already?"

"We haven't even started," I grumble and Cole laughs. "I think we are. Hey, how old are you, anyway?"

"Do you know it's rude to ask a females age?" I smirk and wave it off when he makes a face of guilt. "I'm just joking. I'm 19-"

Cole spits out a drink I didn't see him have before and he looks at me with shock. "Nineteen??! I thought you were 14 or something!"

"Jesus Christ, I'm not that short."

"Who's Jesus Christ?"

Now it's my time to freeze. "Y... You don't know Jesus Christ?" I ask with concern and Wu chuckles from his spot, giving us a bowl each of rice and beef. Damn, this is a first.

Word Count: 1273

[percontaion-points]

5 Survive chapters 5 & 6

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Click here for the rest of the series!

Chapter 5

“I don’t understand what we could have hit. There’s nothing on the road.” 

I don’t know how to explain to you that you don’t have to have seen the singular nail in order to pick it up.

You also could have picked it up ages ago, and are only noticing it right now. 

There was a large split in the rubber, about the size of her hand, the two sides peeling away from each other. No air at all, the bottom pooling out under the weight of the RV. Thirty-one feet long, but how heavy? 

“I don’t know,” Oliver said, searching around with the flashlight, running his hand carefully over the road. “Maybe there’s glass here, or a sharp rock. Maybe a nail.”

I don’t know how to explain to you that no nail or sharp piece of broken glass did that. Holy shit, how are the kids this fucking STUPID?

“Does your uncle ever get this RV serviced?” 

“How the fuck should I know?”

My main question is… Why the fuck didn’t YOU get it serviced before driving from New York to Florida? (I think that it’s their route?) This is standard car/road trip maintenance. 

The darkness held its breath, listening as they made their plans. Then the wind let go, dancing through Red’s hair, and the grass chattered and the trees whispered, and Red wondered what it was they were saying to each other.

Chapter 5 summary: Everybody piles outside to take a look at the tyre. Which looks less like a puncture and more like a blow-out. (Been there, done that. Zero stars, wouldn’t recommend.) 

However, since they continue to have zero cell service in the middle of nowhere, they talk briefly about walking back to a town that they passed some ways away. But others insist that it was about 5 miles, which is kind of a long hike in the dark, at 11 PM. A suggestion is floated around about trying to find something a bit more local, but for some reason, they decide against this idea. 

They also nix the idea of spending the night in the RV and reassessing things after the sun comes up. This is more because of their own schedule… Which I find stupid considering their current situation. 

Eventually, it’s discovered that there is a spare on the back of the RV, which… Why was that not your first thought? Why were you willing to hike 5 miles in the dark to find help, instead of checking if there was a spare or not? They get started to look for the jack… Except that Red stands there, zooted out of her goddamned mind. 

Chapter 6

“It’s no one’s fault.” Arthur sniffed. “Not easy navigating without a working map.” 

Oliver’s silence said all it needed to; it was everyone’s fault except his.

My main thing is… There are six people here, and every single one of them is acting like they’ve never gone on a road-trip before. No paper maps. No downloaded and offline map data. Not doing proper maintenance and routine checks on the RV before they left. 

So yeah. It is and isn’t Oliver’s fault. 

 She fumbled for the button on her jeans, unzipped, and pulled them down with her underwear, strapped around her ankles. 

She squatted. 

WHY WAS THIS FUCKING NECESSARY. 

A snap in the trees. Red’s eyes flicked up. It was dark, too dark, just black shapes among more black shapes. But there, right over there, something moved in the trees.

Chapter 6 summary: They all scramble to get the tyre changed so that they can get back on the road. You know, because of their precious schedule. While he’s doing stuff, Arthur randomly climbs up onto the RV to see if he can’t see lights close-ish. He says that there’s nothing that he can see. 

They then work to get the busted tyre off and to jack up the RV. After it’s up, Red is randomly like “I have to pee.” Which she’d thought at the start of the chapter, but I guess forgot about in the excitement. The others tell her that she can’t go into the RV right now, because it’s jacked up; she’ll have to go into the bushes. 

So she walks away from the others, picks a spot, and is about to do her business when she swears that something moved in the dark. 

[hislittleraincloud]

Children.

You need to fucking run your fics through the appropriate tech checks before you publish your shit.

Yeah, I get that some of you aren't EPL (English Primary Lang). But that doesn't mean your fucking writing program is, or that you can't translate it then run it through.

My gods. If you want to sell me a shitty WFJ story with fkn multiple Jennas in it bc you are obsessed with your fantasies, then you better make it as smooth a ride as possible. I know you're all fkn virgins (most of the writers are, apparently, according to a poll a little while back), but don't let that fucking extend to your Spellcheck & Grammar function.

However, I think that ultimately it might be the dialogue that rips me out of everything. It's the terrible goddamn dialogue. I just cannot read Cairo with completely AU characters, because y'all can't fucking write it. You want people who aren't braindead obsessed with fucking Ortega to read it? Or do you just want to rub n' shoot with others who're rubbin' and shootin', because a quick, shitty fuck is better than no fuck at all? Cairo would have a field day in a critique with y'all, and it would end up a big, bloody mess where y'all would be running to the bathroom in tears. (Or maybe that would be Wednesday, since she doesn't give two fucks. But I feel like the reason Cairo has only one friend is probably more than just her being a typical loner. Both have competitive superiority complexes, so when unleashed on those whose skills are lesser in a competitive arena, they are both likely reach for the heart of their enemies...Wednesday with Bianca (and Sheriff Galpin to a degree), Cairo with Jon and Winnie.)

But I'm starting to whine about content rather than tech specs, so. Do better if you're writing wild AUs. Actually, do the least that is expected of you as an author.

Ugh, speaking of checking shit, people who write articles about RPF need to understand the difference between historical fiction, self-insert/Mary Sueing, and RPF. There are differences. Pretty big ones, even if the genres can overlap/intersect in places.

ETA: I tried to force myself to keep reading it.

Nope, nope, nope to the nope.

CAIRO DOES NOT HAVE HAZEL EYES. DO THESE LOOK FUCKING HAZEL TO YOU? NO. THEY NEVER HAVE.

There is no reasoning given for this change...none. 🤦🏽‍♂️ She's never worn contacts for her roles because people love her big, obsidian-dark eyes. It's dark, dark brown, almost black. I have the exact same eye color. Yay Mexicans!

*GASP* an EYE reveal 🫠 Sorry about the scary Orwellian BIG BROTHER pose, but it seems that no matter how I take a pic to show my eye color, my brows furrow when I'm looking at the camera. Or at you, oh she who writes less than her potential.

For the love of all that's holy, stop. 😭 Or at least GET a second opinion for edits before you publish, preferably by someone who you will be expecting tech wreck from. Not active authors, because we're too busy...but active readers who can take the time to help you run through bad tech (spelling, typos, some grammar) and through spec check (specs = character consistency with canonical aspects you're trying to achieve, but if it's totally AU this isn't a priority, obvs.).

There's a culture going on right now where people can't critique others' works without being seen as meanie or anti. You all get rubber stamped on your creations at AO3 because no one is able to offer meaningful critique, and that means being able to take criticism. Not everyone's writing is great, or even good for that matter. I'm not perfect either, but at least I can do the bare minimum for the readers. But Tor, that's how we prac —

If you keep writing the same shitty, un-edited stuff over and over again, that's not practicing to write better. That's spewing sub-par ���� for fleeting wet fantasies.

Write your shit, whatever it may be, but god damn, respect your readers a little more but moreover, respect yourself as a writer enough to want to publish something that isn't riddled with easy fixes.

[ladykailolu]

Broooooooo

Come on now, I’m imaging Gyro being dickass Gyro and ignoring the needs of his infant daughters Maggie and Sadie-Mae (they’re close in age but were born to two different mothers) yet again and so Jake and Diego are running themselves ragged. Holy shit! These girls didn’t just shit their diapers again did they??/ Are they hungry, when did we last feed them, maybe they need to be burped???? Hey, they stopped crying as soon as they saw us, what could this mean??? And so on and so forth.

So Jake has this mental checklist to go through every time one of the girls cry or make a fuss. Ergo, Jake handles the babies.

The other menace on their hands is Gyro’s *other* daughter. THe menace to society. The miniature Gyro. The little bull herself. The little Italian (Neapolitan) girl with a super mad bad attitude. Paxe Amalia Zeppeli.

Diego does more than wear a little cinnamon-scent spice scent. He’s also a bit spicy with his attitude. So the little bull is charging at him? No problem, his people were born to be bullfighters!!!! Olé !!!! He makes quick work of the bull and sends her in her pen (bedroom) when she tries to poke him with her horns. Off you go to bed, little girl!!! And so, Paxe dreams of the days when she can charge at and launch Diego into the air.

And all the while, what the fuck is Gyro doing??? He’s either working or shirking his work as a father!!! Diego and Jake search the house looking for him, each carrying a squirming baby, and Gyro is nowhere to be found.

Then he comes home a little later than usual and is drunk as a skunk. “Where the fuck have you been? The girls have been shitting everywhere, they just vomited today, they’re crying and won’t stop!!!!”

But Gyro doesn’t give a shit, really. Out of the three, Paxe is the one he cares about most. Matter of fact, Paxe is so close to Gyro that she instantly pacifies when Gyro is near. In other words, she don’t fight, she don’t back, she don’t dig in her little heels when something don’t go her way. No, no, no!

Then Jake and Diego start nagging in Gyro’s ears when all the kids are asleep. “What kind of a father are you?” “What kind of a MAN are you?!” “Leaving your little baby girl out like that...!” “You’re a monster!!” And things like that!

And Gyro finally, finally wises tf up and thinks, “Yeah, what the fuck am I doing, my baby daughters need me...” And he makes an effort helping Diego and Jake care for the girls. I mean really, sometimes, Diego needs some quiet time in the evenings and nights to further work on his case or take care of some legal matters. Usually, he takes care of this in his office where he knows it’s quiet, but with these three kids, oh my god, there’s no way that he can keep this up!!!! He has to work on his homework from home!

The home has an office room that he could use, and he does use it, but those kids are still a handful. Many times, he’s heard Jake pace up and down the hallway by the baby screams Diego hears through the walls. Jake was struggling to pacify all of them and kept shuffling up and down the corridors. Diego couldn’t work that like. No. Way. Every goddamn five minutes, he was interrupted from his attempt at navigating the most difficult of law!

They needed more help. By god, they needed more help!!! Maybe one other person to help lighten the load. Jake became detective by day and devoted dad at night, flitting here and there to check up on each kid. But he disliked working with Paxe because she would charge him and every opportunity and only found his presence revolting. So Diego had to step in and set things straight. He’s much strict and stern and hard-attitude spicy like her father, but unlike him, Diego wasn’t her father! And he never would be! So that is why she is easy to fight him, to charge at him like a bull. But like a bullfighter, he evaded and humiliated her.

And the other thing is that Diego quickly found himself holding a baby in his arms and soothing her while looking over some business stuff on his home computer. He could no longer separate work from family matters.

They needed Gyro and his help. And so when he helped, he could balance running around, pacifying each kid individually, and pacify Paxe when the little bull stirred and wanted attention and affection. Admittedly, Gyro only needed to keep Paxe at bay. Jake could easily deduce what the babies needed and spring into action. And Diego got used to and even liked the feeling of a baby sleeping soundly in his arms after a fight, while he reads documents for work.