#hoping to god this works and i can run it as if the disc is in my laptop to rip it

[dennisboobs]

going to attempt to rip the season 6 blu ray to an .iso with my ps3 wish me luck lol

[mylittleredgirl]

finally, m*a*s*h update!

season four disc two! ("quo vadis, captain chandler" to "dear ma")

there is a LOT going on in the frank and margaret department

i kind of tipped my hand here when i posted about my new obsession, but even if you are not circling the drain on this doomed ship... the Unresolved Breakup Tension is fuckin WILD in this disc

she literally punches him in the face!!! how was that not a breakup!

but then he buys her something or does something to charm or impress her, and it works! then he blows it again!! rinse and repeat!!!! i am 👀🍿

sam and diane from cheers are still theeee platonic ideal of slap-slap-kiss but these clowns definitely walked so they could run

i literally jumped off the couch when his wife found out, aaaaa it's so juicy

I'M SORRY i realize this doesn't speak well of me as a person, but those long close-ups on her face as she voluntarily eavesdrops on him dismissing their relationship (twice!!) and her heart gets fully crushed??? i could eat popcorn to this all day.

this is the kind of dysfunctional relationship that my artist friends would choose in our youth so that we could Suffer and Make Art, so i really hope margaret is writing terrible poetry about it

anyway, we're peroxide-roots deep into GIRL WHY??!??

and then bj very gently explains to radar that well, see, frank and margaret both kinda suck and we're in the middle of nowhere, so they're all they've got

and i had to spend three or four days staring at the ceiling about it, because YEAH. it's not just that they're each other's only rank-appropriate source of star-spangled orgasms

(and they both care far more about military hierarchy than they do about marital fidelity)

but they are so consistently unkind to everyone around them that they have no other choice for any human connection full stop.

i'm not even talking about their ongoing bullying war with hawkeye and trapper or bj, because that's dirty pool on both sides, but i could count on one hand the number of times either of them have interacted with a subordinate nurse or enlisted man without threatening them. like they literally would not have anyone else to talk to.

but the reveal that she still wants to MARRY HIM? oh god. ohhhh honey. noooo.

that fake proposal prank was so genuinely mean. mostly because they ruined her hot date! 👏 let 👏 margaret 👏 fuck 👏 random 👏 dudes 👏

"isn't general barker the one who wanted you to spank him?" lmaoooo

OKAY i swear i can talk about other things:

hawkeye continues to just NOT pull without trapper here. the nurses are fully dismissing or ignoring his efforts, and honestly is he even trying that hard?? have we seen him get even one date?

i've been trying to come up with an "intricate rituals" joke about hawkeye and trapper but where the rituals are... girls. you get me.

i re-watched the pilot and the desk ep (for frank/margaret reasons DON'T JUDGE ME), and hawkeye and trapper LITERALLY end the pilot handcuffed together, and in the next episode talk about sharing a nurse. how am i supposed to take this???

speaking of nurses, you know that little 🙄 you have to ignore in 2024 whenever the women on m*a*s*h get called honey and sweetheart and baby on the job (though tbh i worked on a construction site and an ad sales office in the 2010's and got the same treatment -- but in the modern day it's done ironically babe)

BUT when potter calls margaret "good girl" after he gets shot??? total opposite feeling. i literally had to pause and take a moment. he's her dad now.

also when he tucks radar in???? everyone's dad actually

in loving memory of radar's other dad though, two important points:

how proud would henry have been of drunk & disorderly radar??

and henry's "i've always wondered if i might be radar's dad" bit is genuinely 900% funnier now that we know radar's mom looks EXACTLY like him.

i don't think i have ever circled back to talk about klinger, who became so so so awesome

it's so funny that in klinger's very first appearance and 30 times since then, he has been told straight up that wearing women's clothes will never work to get him out of the army. there's no explanation for his commitment to this particular form of passive resistance except that he genuinely loves it

the swamp rats built a still and klinger got a sewing machine and learned a craft. he's so good at it!! his looks are 🔥

i feel uncomfortable when i see him in fatigues tbh. it happened a few times in this disc and i would like it to Stop actually

also precious baby father mulcahey... Protect Him.

i LOVE that everyone showed up for his church service when the grand poobah chaplain was in town. they love each other!!! (also the life magazine jeep shoot!!!)

"quo vadis, captain chandler" was really good. i'm still over colonel flagg's whole deal but i now understand why everyone loves sidney freedman, and the guest actor they had playing not-jesus was incredible

bj continues to be the best little brother hawkeye could have asked for

also he maybe invented cpr?

i didn't say much about him here but I LOVE HIM and also his off-screen wife

forward and onward!!!

[akiumzeno]

Update on Survivor Ye-jun

After uploading to the disc server, I've been getting suggestions to make him more balanced so his perk is changed up a bit.

Perk

Ye-jun can click on another survivor’s icon to make them Concealed. When a survivor is Concealed, it will raise their undetectability to 75%. Whenever the Concealed survivor avoids detection, Ye-jun gains a stack which gives him an extra 10 points of stamina. Ye-jun has a max of 5 stacks at a time and loses the stack once the stamina is used up but can regain it.

However, if the Concealed survivor does get detected, the detection stays for the Concealed survivor 15 seconds longer than usual. This ability can only be used on one survivor and cannot be transferred if the survivor dies and the perk disappears once Ye-jun dies.

(He now gets 10 stamina instead of 20.)

“No one is going to find you. Don’t worry.” - Ye-jun Im

Stats:

Speed: 8/10

Stamina: 7/10

Stealth: 3/10

Composure: 3/10

Repair: 2/10

Healing: 7/10

(He now has 8/7 chase stats, 2 repair and 7 healing. People said he'd be too busted if he had high repair and high chase + good perk. So in compensation, his healing became higher. He also has his stamina lowered since his perk already helps him get stamina + his speed as well for more balance. So his stats are very similar to Nathan's now.)

Voicelines:

“Run away!”

“5, 6, 7 and 8!”

“I wonder how Dae is doing…”

“I’m not an obsessive freak, don’t look at me like that.”

“You never know who is looking.”

“Can’t find them, now can you?”

Quotes:

(His memories have been severely changed so now his voicelines are changed to fit new aspects of him. He doesn't have many voicelines when picking up certain survivors bc he's now in the social ranks of Yeona of not being liked by the other survivors since the other survivors are convinced that Survivor!Ye-jun is the same as Killer!Ye-jun but is keeping up his facade to remain in his relationship with Dae-jung with a few exceptions.)

Picking Up Ally:

Dae-jung (Alternate Universe Skin)

[Ye-jun]: “Guess I’m going to have to be your knight in shining armour.”

[Dae-jung]: “Aren’t you always that though?”

[Ye-jun]: “Please, don’t go just yet.”

[Dae-jung]: “No need to worry, sweetie. I’m not going anywhere.”

[Ye-jun]: “I’m here now.”

[Dae-jung]: “And I couldn’t be happier.”

Dae-jung

[Ye-jun]: “Hang in there, Dae-jung! I’ll get you back up!”

[Dae-jung]: “Oh… Thank you, I suppose.”

[Ye-jun]: “So, the whole you know…”

[Dae-jung]: “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Yeona

[Yeona]: “Thanks, Ye-jun!”

[Ye-jun]: “No worries. We gotta move.”

[Ye-jun]: “Ooh… They got you good.”

[Yeona]: “Yeah… I’m fine though.”

[Ye-jun]: “You can still keep going, right?”

[Yeona]: “Of course!”

Eman

[Ye-jun]: “It’s not too suffering to be around her, right?”

[Eman]: “I’m used to it.”

Aaaqil

[Ye-jun]: “Why don’t you say anything to him? Perhaps it’ll be just nice to just get the feelings out. It’ll be cathartic.”

[Aaaqil]: “Thanks, but I’m not too sure about that.”

Crosby

[Ye-jun]: “Just so you know, I also know what it’s like to be in a forbidden relationship. If you need it, you got someone to talk to.”

[Crosby]: “Thank you! And I hope things work out for you!”

Rayner

[Ye-jun]: “Just so you know, I also know what it’s like to be in a forbidden relationship. If you need it, you got someone to talk to.”

[Rayner]: “Much appreciated, friend.”

Cora

[Ye-jun]: “Safe to say I returned the favour.”

[Cora]: “I suppose so.”

Nathan/Jun

[Ye-jun]: “You’ve got to teach me how you take hits like that.”

Javier

[Ye-jun]: “Hey, Dae’s other boyfriend.”

[Javier]: *insert response*

General

[Ye-jun]: “Don’t worry. You aren’t staying down.”

[Ye-jun]: “Hold still. I’ll help you up.”

[Ye-jun]: “Dae could probably teach me little more about this…”

Picked Up By Ally:

Dae-jung (Alternate Universe Skin)

[Dae-jung]: “Don’t worry, sweetie! I got you!”

[Ye-jun]: “Thanks, boo.”

[Dae-jung]: “Please don’t die on me, Ye-jun!”

[Ye-jun]: “I wouldn’t even dream of it, Dae.”

[Dae-jung]: “Oh god, that looks real bad.”

[Ye-jun]: “It doesn’t hurt much. Not when you’re here.”

Dae-jung 

[Ye-jun]: “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”

[Dae-jung]: “Thanks, Ye-jun.”

[Dae-jung]: “It still feels weird to do this with you.”

[Ye-jun]: “I’d imagine.” 

[Dae-jung]: “It’s like looking into the past…”

[Ye-jun]: “I’m sorry.”

Yeona

[Yeona]: “Ye-jun! I got you!“

[Ye-jun]: “You’re a life saver. Quite literally.”

[Yeona]: “When do you think they’ll start liking me?”

[Ye-jun]: “I don’t know. It’s probably happening sooner with you than me.”

Yronica

[Yronica]: “You practically drool when you look at that boy.”

[Ye-jun]: “Gee, I could say the same for you with that green-haired girl.”

Cora

[Ye-jun]: “Hey, it’s you!”

[Cora]: “Hello again. Not doing so well, huh?”

Survivor Died:

Dae-jung (Alternate Universe Skin)

[Ye-jun]: “DAE!!! PLEASE, ANSWER ME!”

[Ye-jun]: “No… Don’t leave me! Please…!”

[Ye-jun]: “No, no…! I should’ve helped! I should’ve…!”

Dae-jung:

[Ye-jun]: “I swear when I see that guy…”

[Ye-jun]: “You son of…” 

Last Survivor:

[Ye-jun]: “There’s no one else?”

[Ye-jun]: “Time to get serious.”

[Ye-jun]: “Alright, I can do this no problem.”

Chase:

The Idol

[Killer!Ye-jun]: “So you’re dating Dae-dae… You wouldn’t mind trading places, now would you?”

[Survivor!Ye-jun]: “You better not get close to him! I’m not afraid to throw hands!”

[Killer!Ye-jun]: “So it’s true that he does love me! I knew it! He’s just in denial!”

[Survivor!Ye-jun]: “He’s not loving you with that behaviour!”

[Survivor!Ye-jun]: “You’re sick in the head! What kind of monster are you?!”

[Killer!Ye-jun]: “You’re me and I am you. How come I am the monster?”

[Killer!Ye-jun]: “I don’t care if you’re me! I’ll get rid of anyone standing between me and Dae!”

[Survivor!Ye-jun]: “No one is standing between you two! He’s not with you because you messed up!”

The Showstopper

[Ye-jun]: “Fame has its drawbacks, you know!”

[Jules]: “Not that you’d know the joys. You were only in spotlight for a mere boy.”

[Ye-jun]: “Wh— That’s not true!”

The Ghost

[Kiara]: “You love to dance? I do too! You seem like my type of person!”

[Ye-jun]: “Then this is going to be fun!”

General

[Ye-jun]: “I can dance and sing for hours on end! This is nothing!”

[Ye-jun]: “Get ready to dance with me!”

Escaped Chase:

The Idol

[Ye-jun]: “What in the world did I become?”

[Ye-jun]: “Why did I do that? What happened with me?”

Backstory:

Ye-jun grew up in a well-off family that provided him with everything he could have ever needed. He knew he had it better than everyone else. He could have anything he wanted yet there was always this jealousy that existed inside of him. 

Because of this, as a kid, Ye-jun was the most stuck-up and spoilt brat you could’ve ever laid your eyes on. He whined whenever another kid had something he wanted, whether it was a toy or candy. Although people weren’t that surprised of his behaviour considering his upbringing, he still got scolded on it. And Ye-jun began to understand that this behaviour was wrong.

As Ye-jun grew up, he became nicer. He tried to be polite to others and treat others respectfully. But even still, there was always that jealous and envious feeling inside himself. To have, to own. Ye-jun recognised these feelings and never understood them. He already had everything and the best of everything at that, why did he want more?

Ye-jun tried to ask teachers and other adults on what he should do with these feelings and Ye-jun gained a suggestion to instead give and be generous instead of feeling jealous. So Ye-jun followed it. Whenever he got a jealous thought about someone, he would instead try to do something nice for them, whether it was helping out with their homework or buying them a snack.

Students loved this and everyone soon knew him as a helpful person. Although it kept the feelings low and controllable, it did still exist within Ye-jun. But the feelings came at an all-time high when he met someone.

Dae-jung Pak.

He was also someone known to be a social butterfly and he just could click with others so naturally. He was so likeable, so genuine, so optimistic, so caring… But for some reason, Ye-jun wasn’t jealous of him. He didn’t want anything he had, materialistic or otherwise.

But he did want him. He wanted him bad. And that want spilled onto others. Whenever Dae-jung talked with others and acted like his normal, cheerful self, Ye-jun gained this insatiable feeling that he wanted that person to go away. He didn’t want anyone else to have him. But Ye-jun hated it. He hated the feeling. So he only did what was the natural instinct. Giving.

He tried to helpful to Dae-jung’s friends and even to Dae-jung himself, although he helped out Dae-jung because he genuinely felt like helping him out. Eventually, he soon became a part of Dae-jung’s social circle and they were practically inseparable. And although he had feelings for Dae-jung and knew it, he was never sure if he could ever confess. What if he’d just ruin everything between them? He didn’t want that. So he kept his feelings, like he always did.

One day, Dae-jung was thinking about auditioning to be an idol and all his friends encouraged him to try out, including Ye-jun. Dae-jung listened to them and he ended up getting in. But when he found out, Ye-jun soon realised that Dae-jung would never have any time with him to do his idol business. And selfish as it was, Ye-jun didn’t want that so he tried to audition as well, in a desperate attempt to stay with Dae-jung.

To his surprise, he got in. And soon, the two were going to be idols together.

After years of training, their group, STAR*STRUCK, made its debut and they became big. People loved them. Ye-jun and Dae-jung were soon big stars alongside their two other members Byung-ho and Han-gyeol. They were doing fan-meetups, making albums, even getting presents and letters from their fanbase. Although he shouldn’t been happier than anything, his jealous feelings raged at the fans and even his band members.

Why should they be around Dae-jung? Why should they be around someone who’s so selfless? He’s so kind and gentle, what gives them the right? Why should he share?

But Ye-jun didn’t want to feel that way. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. They had a right; they could talk to Dae-jung. Ye-jun could only feel disgusted at himself.

However, after months of their debut, a miracle happened. Dae-jung pulled Ye-jun aside one day and confessed of how he was in love with him. Ye-jun felt euphoric. He couldn’t believe it. He accepted Dae-jung’s feelings with glee.

Ever since then, Ye-jun and Dae-jung have been secretly dating. They didn’t tell anyone about it, not even their trusted members. They didn’t want to take even the slightest chance that they could be exposed. 

One day, they decided to have their first date. Of course, they first made it seem like they wanted the entire group there. But secretly, they planned it on a day where both Byung-ho and Han-gyeol were busy. They soon both went to a private spot on a hill. Just a simple romantic dinner for the two of them.

But when they woke up the morning after, they couldn’t have been expecting what came. They both woke up to a racket going on within the dorm their group shared. 

Their manager came in, revealing that their date had gotten out and how everyone was talking about it. They were soon swiftly fired for breaking their contract. Dae-jung and Ye-jun soon started to feel melancholic about what was in store for the future as Han-gyeol and Byung-ho left them to process everything.

As the two held each other for comfort, a white mist filled the room. And when Byung-ho and Han-gyeol went to check up on the both of them, there was no sign of them. Nothing that showed they left or were hiding, like they disappeared into thin air.

(He's now updated to harbour the same feelings as his killer counterpart but he has the self control and moral compass to never enact on his feelings. However, his murderous tendencies do not exist at all.)

(This now exists bc two of the alt universe backstories have come out and it has shown that the people are the same as their other selves but an event happened differently which made them go down a different road. So in this case it's that Ye-jun recognised his jealous behaviour early on and tried to combat it which prevents him from murdering his band members and dating Dae.)

[bumblebeerror]

I’m getting more and more worried that I’m not going to get my EBT card replacement for food this week, even though I requested the replacement over a week ago. We’re running really low on mom and my safe foods and we’re already out of money for this week till Friday.

I just. Goddamn it I’m so fucking tired. I have to call so many doctors on Monday and get up so early to get fingerprinted even though logically I don’t have the money to finish my name change. I should be keeping my savings and waiting to change it but I already started the process. The court date’s already set. I just lost all my savings so quick with my insurance fucking up my payments.

It just feels like something’s gotta give and I fucking hope it does soon.

The ablation of my back nerves fucked up my hip ones so it’s harder to walk and if I don’t sleep on my stupid leg I can’t put weight on it when I first wake up and it’s fucking excruciating. I’m so fucking tired and my joints are so inflamed and there’s a growth inside my spinal disc that, without my nerves working properly, I can now FEEL with perfect clarity when that growth hits my spinal cord inside it and sends lightning through my back. I wake up in previously comfortable positions so stiff I can’t bend or twist and struggle to move into a different one so that my back will loosen up enough to sit up.

The thing my pain doc wants to do about it? Not scheduled till fucking MAY.

I need to talk with my pcp about pernicious anemia still, and my antidepressants not being fillable because apparently I somehow lost 90 douloxatine without noticing according to the pharmacy, and ask if I can be put on long term steroids because it’s been five years and nobody has answers and frankly, I would rather develop diabetes than continue to walk around on constantly swollen joints.

God. Money can’t buy happiness sure. But it could buy me a lot of fucking help man. I genuinely don’t have money to spend on anything besides my car insurance.

[marshmallowprotection]

playing around with the logistics of saeyoung w an mc who has a kid, the only work-arounds I can think of,

-the kid didn't initially go with them. we have 5 days for the common route, we could say MC was running errands or something while the kid was with a relative/friend/other trusted babysitter for a bit when the prologue happened, and it wasn't until after MC more or less moved in that they brought their kid (MC's prior living situation IS like, never mentioned. so maybe moving to the apartment after establishing it seemed safe seemed like a good choice. more space, nice neighborhood (according to unknown anyway. tho if rich bitch V was paying for it, he could def afford a decent place). they don't like, KNOW yet)

-mc & kid def go to stay with jumin when saeyoung leaves for mint eye but maybe they can support from like, a distance? like stay on the phone with him as much as they can. so like the only difference with day 10 is their physical presence. they're still There in a sense, so saeyoung can keep his head on straight

i dunno. I'm trying to think about it but yeah he'd definitely be 1,000,000% more stubborn about everything if a kid is involved

It's definitely a tough situation because Saeyoung's priority would be to tell you that your child comes first. He's right, your kid does come first. You have someone to protect. In that sense, he can relate to you and he understands what it means to be in charge of someone who is completely innocent. He was the only one who could take care of his twin because their mother wasn't going to do that. He knows what it means to be responsible for someone's safety.

Which is why any MC with a child is on thin ice with Saeyoung in the sense of, "I hope to God you didn't walk into this apartment with your kid because he is going to trust your judgment a lot and it's not going to matter how much damage control you do now, there's just no way to go back after that. "

If MC does go to the apartment, your assumption might be the only one that's feasible. They would need to be alone. Unknown wouldn't pick someone with a child, that's a liability, but! If he did, this MC has to be like, in parent mode, wanting to help Unknown. "Oh, goodness. Okay, I'll lend you a hand in this! I'll leave a note by the door and give them your number!"

This MC might be more trusting of the apartment complex since it is in a good neighborhood. It's still never advisable to go to a secondary location. Never do that, kids! But, if they decided to chance it, I think the area might convince them it's not dangerous. It would, at least, in this sense, be enough to make sure that Saeyoung wouldn't think so much less of you for risking a child's safety.

I just genuinely don't know how you could play out Saeyoung's Route being a parent. He wouldn't let you go with him on the mission, and you'd be in the dark for a damn while because Saeyoung has to duck and dodge a lot of agents in the field to get by. You being there in his route makes a lot of difference in Mint Eye. So, not even counting the Secret Ending content, I'd have to wonder—

You're the one that shoves the floppy disc in the computer to jolt Unknown before he pounces on Saeyoung to attack. How does that play out this time? When you're not there as a liability, Unknown goes for the kill. I wonder how that plays out, since, unfortunately, you're not going to be there. You're locked in the penthouse with Jumin for safety measures.

Like, I can see him doing his best to get by in a life on the run while he tries to save his twin, but you being there is what gives him a real chance to delay Vanderwood, too. You're not going to be there, how is Saeyoung going to fight the agency? You're the one that drives all of you out of there. How does that play out?

Like, yes, supporting him over the phone and video games is a really important factor that would help out... but there are so many things in the Route that depend on YOU.

It's not impossible to make this work out perfectly, but Saeyoung is the toughest character to play with in this situation because of what we know about him. I think this concept could be interesting to see written out but there are just so many factors that make it seem like...

Saeyoung will be killed later on because he doesn't have what he's getting originally, or Saeyoung never gets close to you because you have a child and he's afraid of A) more innocent people hurt due to his recklessness and B) we don't have time to unpack his parental trauma.

[chososcamgirl]

HIHIHI IYA DAILY CHECK IN HRUUU⁉️

IVE BEEN LACKING ON MY TUMBLR ASKS LATELY BCUZ IVE BEEN GETTING MORE SUN IN (due to recent events) BUT IM HEALING AND THINGS ARE MAKING PROGRESS 🤗🤗 IM SOSOSO SORRY I HAVENT CHECKED IN ON U RECENTLY BUT IM GOING THRU UR PAGE RN AND TRYING TO CATCH UP🙏💯 (UPDATE ME ON ANYTHING/EVERYTHING THATS HAPPENED 🙏🐺)

IM TAKING A BREAK FROM SCHOOL RN BECAUSE I NEED TO MEET CERTAIN CONDITIONS TO BE ABLE TO COME BACK ON CAMPUS 😭😭 AND I MIGHT NOT BE ON TUMBLR AS MUCH SO HERES MY DISC (mikikoo.o) AGAIN IM SO SO SOOO SORRY FOR NOT CHECKING IN AND STUFF I PROMISE IM TRYING TO BE MORE ACTIVE 😔💔

I STARTED WATCHING MOB PYSCHO AND ITS SO GOOD OMG⁉️⁉️ TBH WHEN I GOT BACK INTO ANIME I THOUGHT I WOULD ONLY WATCH JJK BUT NOW IM GETTING INTO OTHER SHOWS🤗🤗

AND I GOT BACK INTO ARTTTT YAYYYY CUS I HAD A HUGEEE ART BLOCK BEFORE BUT IM GLAD IM DRAWING AGAIN 🙏🙏

ALSO YES I KNOW ANON IS OFF CUS THIS IS AN ALPHA ANON REVEAL 😈🐺 ALSO I WANNA GET INTO POSTING STUFF BUT IDK WHAT TO POST 😔💯

SO EXCITED FOR SJAP WEEKENDDDD OMFJENEBDNEJEBE ‼️‼️ BUT MAKE SURE UR NOT TOO TIRED ITS OKAY IF WERE EDGED 💗💗🤗

ALSO HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL PURPLE EYED ONIGIRI SPEAKING BF TOGE 🤗💗🤤

SORRY THIS ONE IS SO SHORTTTT ‼️‼️💯 ILL MAKE SURE TO DO A LONGER ONE TMRW + I BELIEVE I HAVE ONE IN UR INBOX⁉️⁉️ UNLESS I FORGOT TO SEND THAT ONE 😔😔

ALSO AOTD… NONE TODAY 😭😭 SORRY I REALLY NEED TO KEEP MY ASKS UP TO DATE 😔😔😔

QOTDDDDDD WHAT ARE U GONNA BE FOR HALLOWEEN??? (Idk if I did this one alr or not if I did then sorry 😢💔)

OKOK I HOPE U HAVE A VERY VERY SKIBIDI AMAZING DAY SIGMA ILYSMMMM TAKW CARE🤗🤗🤗 #BLESSUP😇‼️

MIKO!!! <333

hi lovely i meant to answer this last time but i completely forgot and the ask ended up glitching😭 hi hello how are you angel i hope you are well!! <3

btw NEWS GUYS!! miko is alpha anon🙂‍↕️ if you can’t tell already… HOORAY!! another anon revealed!!! i’m so glad you’re healing and taking precautions on getting better lovely! i’m so glad you’re here with us again :) ERM SO!!!! i’ve just been working LITCH that’s it. my life is so boring atm i honestly just want to start uni so i can have something more FULFILLING but omg i’m meeting up with my long distance friend VERY SOON so i’m sosososo excited like i miss her BAD😭 it’s been 551 days since we last saw eachother 💔

OOOOO okay i’ll add you on discord after i send this ask but that’s totally okay!! do what you need to do to get better🙂‍↕️ we’ll definitely talk more on there too! OOOOO mob psycho is def on my list after i finish aot and bsd🙏 i wanna start demon slayer again TOO rahhh so many things to do!!!! YAY FOR ART BLOCK BEING OVER!! blocks in general SUCK but the relief after is SO GOOD🗣️🗣️🔥 WHOOP i’m glad you can post pictures now.. heh… 😈

IM SUPER EXCITED FOR SJAP WEEKEND AND SJAP HALLOWEEN!!! i’m like shaking in my boots.. DONT WORRY ITS DEF GETTING POSTED THIS WEEK🤫🤫🙇‍♀️ also i litch missed my favs birthday too😓 the ONE day i wasn’t on tumblr it was his birthday KMS💔💔 HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY THO KING!! UR FINE!! DONT STRESS!! also i do not believe i have any other of ur asks in here 😭 UNLESS MY INBOX IS GLITCHED OUT BUT I’LL DOUBLE CHECK!!!

AOTD‼️ I AM DRESSING UP AS MAXINE MINX !!!! i am sososoos excited for it to debut i did a practice run and god it looks so fire HBY🫵

ILY TOO MIKO/ALPHA!!! <33 HAVE A SUPER SKIBIDI DAY😏😏

[preshtagonist]

Marble hornets!stuck thoughts bc its that time of night again and talking into the void of shit nobody cares abt is my thing and bc this has been brewing in my head for half a year now i think? Some of these are disconnected thoughts and concepts that dont work together

their session is a horribly glitched out seemingly void session where the white queen and black queen were not separate entities (may also include black king and white king idk!) (this is the operator)

This entity is also their first guardian. Lord english esque in how it perpetuates its own creation (yknow how arasol found the code for sgrub. I think it does smth similar w tapes or some other method. Arg to find your sburb disc loser) and in how it seems almost to have always been present in the life of tim (you know) and alex (birthday video)

Possibility: Alex discovered the sburb code or whatever the mechanism was and tried to hide it thinking it would prevent the apocalypse from happening. It doesnt and never would have. Jay finds them i think (maybe for a while alex blames jay for the apocalypse bc he couldnt keep his goddamn nose out of it)

as an amalgam of four game constructs (WQ BQ BK WK) it is considered the exile of the main four (alex, brian, tim, and jay) and indirectly fucks them via “commands” on the computer terminal. Tims pills run interference for whatever reason.

Brian (as hoodie) eventually gains access to his terminal and occasionally through “hacking”, the terminals of the other four guys. TTA brainblasts you w audio visual hallucinations sometimes

Jessica, seth, amy, and sarah have “normal” exiles. Thank god

Heres a fucked up thought: tim and alex have opposing views on initiating the scratch. Who is on what side probably requires a more nuanced understanding of their characters than what i have but heres an attempt to pick a side for each and figure out reasoning:

So first of all neither character has a perfect understanding of what the scratch truly is or how it works. They do not have a doc scratch or trolls to yell at them for universe cancer so there is no real way for them to have a full picture of the implications of doing this.

alex is actually for NOT initiating the scratchz his reaction to finding out they “caused” the end of the world (or more accurately were harbingers of that end) is “we all deserve to die.”, heavily rooted in christian/cartholic (i am tired sorry for conflating the two) guilt for what i hope are Obvious Reasons and the whole “you need to kill everyone and then yourself” thing. Additionally does not believe the scratch will destroy the operator (he is right) so trapping it in this dead universe is the best they can do in his eyes (he can not actually hope to trap it). Sees them all as infected by it but ESPECIALLY Tim as “the source” (why? I dont know. I think it favored him as a doom player. Tim being a doom player also makes him the most literally representation of everything alex hates and resents about the situation).

Tim is for initiating the scratch. He believes that the scratch will wipe out the operator for good (it wont). I had mlre thoughts on this but i got sjdetracked sorry

Jessica survives the scratch somehow

Maybe she is hidden away by tim before the scratch starts, maybe he even is able to hide with her from it? Would imply tim knows the scratch is surviveable and thus the operator could escape from it but would also reflect how his self preservation kind of outweighs any desire to be a martyr unlike alex. Tim Will Survive a la final girl? I had better ways of expressing this thought but i lost it. If you look at this and say “you dont know what youre talking about” you are so correct

Either way, due to tims planning or a glitch in their already buggy session, she falls through the fabric of spacetime and into the new universe but loses all her memories/has a fuzzy recollection.

If tim does survive this could explain how she is able to be situated in a universe where she should not exist (he got everything arranged the way sburb guardians (non first ones) would)

This is how marble hornets comic happens and that cast would get involved

Have you considered skully sprite for your troubles. Yes? Okay i dont have a more developed thought than that i spedread the comics from excitement and did. Not internalize the meaningful stuff bc im small brained

….i just rmbrd the ^2sprites and. Thinking sbt that in relation to skullysprite is… yeah id be wanting to fix the broken too if i was an amalgam of several dead bodies shoved into a sprite in this timeline (maybe)

Obviously real skuly is more than that but i dont fully understand them so. Ack

Anyway this sessions FOR SURE players are jessica, taylor, adam (who i ALWAYS tag as seth bc i dont have a BRAIN) and david (and skully! In a way)

Adam kills david during the session. I know it in my heart. Bastard >:(

I cant think of anything else good night

[griffintail]

I’m surprised people think techno’s grief extends to pure violence. When it’s clear the news of his S/O death leaves him trembling on the floor, and letting out pained wails his first night alone. Leaving him delirious in denial as Philza has to keep watch to make sure he doesn’t kill himself trying to bring them back. And as the grief seeps in he is left to sleep through dreamless nights and live through thoughtless days. And at the end, acceptance isn’t voluntary, he’s too tired to do anything else. (Please write smth for this I can’t sleep this idea’s been eating at me for days)

I went a bit off script- I hope you still enjoy. :)

The Bolt

In-Game

Pairings: Technoblade x GN! Reader

Warnings: Death, Blood, Angst

Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

        Techno blocked the axe coming for his face with his shield as he chugged his last regeneration potion.

        The last battle of L’Manberg was over and he needed to find (Y/N) and get home to safety. He gave a whistle that echoed across the battlefield before pushing Sapnap away from him. Booking it away, he went towards the meet-up spot Phil and (Y/N) had agreed with him.

        “Phil, I want you to have the totem.” Techno held it out to his friend.

        He saw Phil running from the wreckage the withers were causing as he could see the (H/C) head of hair weaving through the chaos. Techno lost his concentration as he stared at (Y/N), everything a dull roar as he smiled softly at their figure. Creating the scene of anarchy and chaos.

        “Wait, I’m your damn fiancé, why don’t I get it?” (Y/N) gave a dramatic huff as they put a hand on their chest.

        It was true, they both only had one life but…

        “Because, you and I, we never die blood goddess,” Techno smirked.

        “TECHNO!” They screamed.

        He had missed seeing the crossbow aiming at him because he had been looking at (Y/N)…

        He went to get his shield but he would be too slow…

        Then there was a cracking as an ender pearl shattered in front of him and in a cloud of purple sparks appeared (Y/N), who gasped as they caught the crossbow bolt in the stomach.

        “You’re such an idiot.” (Y/N) laughed. “Now! Let’s celebrate our freedom from the child by blowing up a nation!”

        Techno laughed as he enjoyed the sparkle in their eyes at the thought of the anarchy.

        “No, no, no!” Techno caught them as they fell, Jack quickly loading his crossbow again.

        He needed to go.

        Scooping them up, he bolted for where Phil was watching in wide-eyed shock. Phil managed to snap out of it though and covered Techno’s retreat as he tried to reassure (Y/N).

        “It’s ok, we’re going to get you home, alright? Come on, you’re going to need to keep your eyes open for me beautiful.”

        But (Y/N) winced before crying out as the crossbow bolt brought them pain. The voices were screaming in panic with them and Techno.

        WE NEED TO GO FASTER! WE’RE OUT OF HEALTH POTIONS! WHY DID THEY TAKE THE BOLT! PHIL, HELP TECHNO! GO GO GO GO!

        “I’m here mate!” Phil ran beside him now, taking off his jacket. “We got to keep pressure on it till we get to the potions. I sent a crow ahead to get one faster hopefully.”

        Phil kept pace as pressed the jacket around the bleeding wound, (Y/N) letting out another scream. Techno wanted to scream himself as he ground his teeth together to keep himself together.

        They had to cross the nether to get home!

        They had so far to go!

        That crow needed to get here yesterday!

        “T-Techno.” (Y/N) sputtered.

        “Quiet, keep your strength,” Techno demanded.

        “I-I-I…” They muttered before their eyes blinked closed.

        “We got to stop.” Phil panicked.

        “We don’t have any potions!” Techno also panicked.

        “We have to slow down the bleeding now!”

        The pair stopped as Techno put (Y/N) down as Phil tried to work as fast as he could being the experienced healer. He tried to stem the bleeding as best he could, he couldn’t take the bolt out though and it had to have hit something important because there was too much damn blood!

        Then a few minutes later…

        (Y/N)’s chest stopping moving…

        “No. No, no, no. Breath damn it!” Techno commanded, putting a hand on their shoulder.

        “Techno…” Phil said quietly, tears in his eyes.

        “Where’s your crow!?” Techno shouted. “We need a potion now!”

        “…It’s not going to help Techno.”

        “It has to! We—They’re not gone! They…they…”

        Techno put his forehead on theirs as tears gathered in his eyes.

        “Please…don’t leave me. I love you; I need you…”

        But (Y/N) had fallen and lost their last life…

        …

        Techno had carried (Y/N) all the way home to the tundra and he held them for a while before he finally let himself bury them. Then…

        He just sat there for hours, shaking.

        In the freezing cold.

        Next to the mound of dirt.

        “Techno, mate. You got to come in.” Phil muttered as he came out as night was starting to fall.

        “I don’t want to leave them,” Techno mumbled.

        The voices were quiet whispers as they talked about all the things they loved about (Y/N) and Techno just sat listening to them, ignoring as Phil protested.

        “They wouldn’t want you to die with them mate.” Phil finally broke through the voices.

        Techno huffed, tears falling behind his mask. “And they didn’t want to die either.”

        Phil sighed before just sitting next to his old friend.

        “What are you doing?” Techno looked at him.

        “You got to pass out eventually. Doubt all the adrenaline from the fight is helping.”

        It really wasn’t. Techno felt bone tired and his body wanted nothing more than for him to sleep but he wanted nothing more to sit here with…(Y/N). He was covered in the blood of his lover and those he harmed today. Maybe it was all karma everything he had done…

        It took another hour but finally, Techno’s body took control and he was out. Phil let out a long sigh before dragging the man into his own home. It was going to be a hard time for a while…

        …

        Phil thought Techno would be the same as the first night, that the other man would become unresponsive. His assumptions had been false though. In fact, it was worse.

        Techno didn’t eat or sleep properly, which Phil had expected, but what he didn’t expect was for Techno to practically go insane as he poured over hundreds of lore books, trying to figure out how to bring (Y/N) back.

        “Techno, mate, you need to take a break from this.”

        “No, I will get them back. If I can just figure this out…I can do it.”

        “You can’t do it if you die too!”

        Phil went around these circles for hours, Techno sometimes striking low saying if he can figure it out, he could bring Wilbur back as well. Techno went full force into his work, the voices only encouraging his behavior as they threw out ideas to research. He had never listened to his voices more than now.

        Techno had been so invested in his work, he didn’t notice when Phil gave Ranboo to build on the land, mostly because Phil gave him one rule, leave Techno be. Phil knew Techno the best and was trying his damn best to knock Techno back.

        The blood god was pouring over notes for a hopeful experiment when Phil came in, food in hand as always.

        “It’s late Techno, eat and go to bed,” Phil told him.

        “After I’m done,” Techno muttered.

        “Techno.”

        “After. I’m done. Phil.” Techno gave him a dark glare before going back to his notes.

        Phil sighed, putting the food down on the table. “Tommy locked Dream in prison.”

        Techno frowned. That made him glance at Phil.

        “Why?”

        “Something about his discs as usual.” Phil crossed his arms, shrugging. “We got a notice on the radios that Dream lost two lives to Tommy.”

        “Huh,” Techno mumbled, looking at his work again. “Kid should have finished him…”

        Techno scribbled out a sentence. That wouldn’t make sense.

        “Probably, I don’t know why he didn’t. Ranboo might know though.” Phil smirked to himself, his tactic working a bit well in his favor.

        Techno’s interest was at least separating a bit from his research.

        “Who?” Techno pulled over one of his sheets.

        “The kid living outside the house.”

        “Heh?” Techno looked up fully at that.

        “He’s been here for weeks Techno; you’ve just been so caught up you haven’t noticed.” Phil pointed out now. “You need a break mate. You’re going…you’re going to kill yourself doing this.”

        Techno looked at the papers in his hand.

        “Techno, you need to fight another day. Come on.” (Y/N) tried to coax him away from preparing potions. “I’m tired.”

        He clenched the papers as the voices were scattered, none of them focused on one thing right now.

        “…Fine. I’ll at least talk to the kid.” Techno grumbled, getting up.

        “Take the food.” Phil grinned.

        Techno rolled his eyes, taking the bread but nothing else. He ate it as he left the house, his eyes not daring to travel to the beautiful flowers around the mound of dirt. Indeed, on his land, was a little house in the side of the hill. Huffing, he went over as the voices were skeptical, remembering one boy named Ranboo from L’Manberg and visiting Tommy.

        “I can’t believe the little brat!” (Y/N) screamed as they paced around the house. “We gave him shelter! I should him love! AND HE BETRAYS US!”

        Techno closed his eyes, his body shaking before trying to distract himself by knocking on the door.

        “Phil?” A voice called from the other side before they opened the door.

        The tall boy shrank seeing Technoblade at his door.

        “Uhhhhh…hi,” Ranboo muttered, looking anywhere but the pig masked man.

        Techno didn’t care really for pleasantries right now, so might as well get straight to the point.

        “Hi, heard you might know why they locked Dream away rather than just kill him,” Techno grunted.

        He hated the fact that Dream also had a favor over him. Would have been nicer for him if they had killed the smiley masked man.

        “Oh yeah…I was there…hang on,” Ranboo muttered, taking a book off his belt and flipping through. “He uh…Dream said he had a book that could bring back the dead.”

        Every. Single. Voice. Went silent.

        As Techno stared at the tall hybrid, who shifted nervously at the stare.

        “He did now?” Techno muttered.

        “Y-Yeah. He said he could bring Wilbur back for Tommy.”

        Techno didn’t care about the rest as his cape fluttered behind him as he took a determined march to the house to grab his things. If Dream wanted to cash in that favor, he owed him one more thing…

[superphantom]

It’s Christmas, Danny Phantom!

Welcome to the Superphantom Christmas special! I honestly can’t say I’m the biggest fan of Christmas myself, so this mayyy be a little bit of Santa slander. sorry? I hope to have the entire fic posted by Christmas, but it’s getting a bit longer than I intended for it to be. Either way, I’m having a really fun time writing it. Enjoy the prologue!

--

The picking had been rather dry for the last few months on the hunting front. Near complete silence from murderous supernatural creatures should be a good thing, a chance to relax. Instead, they were getting incredibly stir crazy. The library was almost completely catalogued, a testament to just how bored they were. Dean had turned to cleaning out the impala. He sorted through weapons, bottles of various substances (lamb’s blood doesn’t keep well. Especially when left under a seat for god knows how long), and old papers and floppy discs washed up into seams like they were sand the ocean had swept in. That last one was quite a surprise to find. With their Dad having died literal years ago and their general ransacking of all his notes there was little they didn’t know about his life. Or so they thought, at least. 

Dean carried in a light cardboard box. All the technology within it was years out of date. 

“Sammy, come look at this,” He shouted as he walked through the kitchen into the war room. Sam (who was rereading and notating a particularly dry book on Australian myths) shot in.

“What is it? Do you have a case?” 

“Maybe. I think I found some of Dad’s old stuff, like old stuff.” He said, holding up a blue floppy disc. 

Sam considered it, snapping and pointing at him. “Hold on, I remember unpacking a reader with all of Frank’s stuff.”

Sam, god bless him, took less than two minutes to go from the storage room they’d designated as the tech closet and back. Neither of them was particularly great with technology, especially as far as setting it up goes. A life on the road’ll do that to you. But messing with wires and trying not to get shocked was a welcome change. Finally, they had a new task to work towards. The computer systems were much too old to run tech as recent as the 80s, but the screens still worked just fine when running solely on the reader, if a little slow, malformed, glitchy. It was like running twitter on a 3Ds. 

Three grey files popped up on the screen. The computer lacked a mouse, so Sam had to tediously click through them on the keyboard. The way Dean breathed over his shoulder, you would think him the younger sibling. Sam double clicked on the first one. A little loading ball appeared, rotating in small black and white increments. The lack of progress bar was a little disheartening. Each tick of the ball seemed to come slower than the last. 

“You want snacks? I’m gonna go get some snacks.” Dean left his brother to lean on his palm and attempt to keep his eyes open. A bag of pretzels later the file finally opened. It was an archive of a newspaper, The Spectator. A big red banner ran across the top of the screen, headlined with the University of Wisconsin logo. The front page was pretty standard, welcoming students back to campus and giving their opinions on housing prices and coffee shops. A few pages down in the entertainment section a small clipping on band called the Skunk Punks caught his eye. 

“Look at those mullets, yikes.” 

“It was a different time.” Dean shook his head. 

The real kicker was at the very bottom, barely a paragraph long. Tacked onto the bottom was a grainy photo of a woman and two men, all with iconically 80s haircuts. 

Pictured: The Ectobiology Research Club. PhD Students Jack Fenton, Maddie Walker and Vlad Masters have successfully constructed “the first fully functional portal to the Ghost Zone”. Meetings are at 8 daily, all are welcome. 

“Ghost Zone, huh. That sound familiar to you?” Dean squinted at the words as if the blocky text might contain more detail. 

Sam shook his head. “Not that I can remember. Either way a portal to anywhere sounds like a bad idea.” 

The next file took half the time to load, still enough to brew a pot of coffee. Dean set the pot down on the map table, wisely keeping it nearby. This page was full of notes. Photocopied chicken scratch of equations and diagrams, all detailing a miniature portal. Trying to read it cohesively was impossible, and figuring it out in chunks was just as boring as all the reading and organising they’d been doing before. 

The third one contained screenshots. This time of emails. 

--------

To: Jack Fenton  5779025813356327189                      Thurs. 20 Nov 1980 10:42

From: Owen Booker  8790976895877463565

Dear Mr. Fenton

What exactly is the function of your “Ghost Zone Portal”? I have great interest in your work and would like to meet up to compare notes. 

Owen Booker.

--------

“Not another portal, for fuck’s sake.”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                           Thurs. 20 Nov 1980 11:00 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker

8790976895877463565

Dear Owne booker

We’re studying ghosts bringing the supernatural to the forefront! Club meetings are at 8 all are welcome we will be happy to see you!!!!!

Jack Fenton

--------

“Is this guy drunk?”

“He’s Dad’s friend, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

--------

To: Jack Fenton                             Thurs. 20 Nov. 1980 11:00 5779025813356327189                   

From: Owen Booker 

8790976895877463565

Dear Mr. Fenton

I will be there. Thank you. 

Owen Booker.

--------

“Jack Fenton… I feel like I’ve heard that name before. Any chance this email is still active?” 

“I’ll go get my laptop.”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                             Mon. 1 June 1985 01:00 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

Hello! Sorry for the break in correspondence, there was an accident. On the plus side, we’ve made exciting new strides in our research! Come over and catch up anytime, Jack and I have relocated. Look us up in Amity Park, Michigan.

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

--------

“Oh, they got married. Good for them.”

“Wasn’t there three of them though? What’dya think happened to the other guy. 

--------

From: Jack Fenton                             Fri. 12 Jan 1987 12:27 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

Hello! Happy New Year. Just wanted to let you know we’ve relocated. 336 Sattee Creek Way, look for the Fenton Works sign, you can’t miss it. One of our samples has shown reactivity to harsh weather. More details will be provided in person. 

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

--------

“Sounds like a hipster tech startup.”

“Timing’s right, it might be one.”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                             Fri. 14 May 1990 15:50 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

Big project in progress. I think you’ll be interested. Feel free to bring George and Logan along. We have a new son. 

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

--------

“George and Logan? Those are really the names Dad chose for us?”

“You’re just mad ‘cuz you got George.”

“Shut up, you’re George.”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                            Sun. 28 Sept. 1996 03:03 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

First official tests failed. What do you know about motors? Tests on enhancing explosive properties are inconclusive. 

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

--------

“I don’t like that these people have explosives.”

“It says inconclusive. Maybe they didn’t work?”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                           Mon. 07 Jan. 2000 07:41 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

Thank you for stopping by. Hope you had a safe drive. Seeing some new progress on the portal. Should be up and running in the next few years. We’d like to invite you to come over next year as well. 

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

--------

“Looks like they didn’t end up getting blown up, that’s good.”

“Looks like Dad was with them for New Years. He said he was hunting a shapeshifter.”

“Oh, I remember that year. I mean, speaking of explosives…”

--------

From: Jack Fenton                           Sat. 30 Nov. 2008 23:10 5779025813356327189  

To: Owen Booker 8790976895877463565

Dear Owen Booker

Hey bookie! Guess what! I cannot tell you i n email. Remember when you used to come over for holidays ? we are having a party would love to see you. Come stay for christmas you can stay in dannys room!!!!!!!!!

Best,

Jack and Maddie Fenton

----------

“This one’s from only a few days ago,” Sam frowned. “What do you think?”

“Why the hell not, we need to check out this portal of theirs anyway. You feelin’ merry, Sam?” 

“You bet. But if you put the on Christmas station in the car, I am jumping out.” 

“Promise?” 

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Jingle bells! Jingle bells!…….”

[bobgoesw00t]

Top 10 Video Games of All Time: bobgoesw00t Edition

OK, I’m officially gonna start listing my Top 10 Video Games of All Time now and I’m starting off with the only game from my original Top 5 that has survived the cut: Star Ocean Till the End of Time

Now I should mention something real quickly and it’s the following: I’ve played this game MULTIPLE TIMES, cleared the story at least 3-4 times, and only one of those clears was done without the use of an Action Replay… I know that’s rather sad but the first time I got to the Moon Base, without using it, that god damn Reclaimer FUCKED ME UP SO HARD that I ended up resorting to using the, “Max EXP” cheat on the entire party.

When they released the HD Remaster of the game on the PS4, I knew that I would have to play smarter (no Action Replay will do that to you), once I got that far and I was actually able to beat her on the first try somehow…I think. ANYWAYS, what I’m trying to say is that this game is one of my three favorite JRPGs from the PS2 (one of those is in my Top 5 right now) and no matter how many times I boot the game up and start from the beginning I have a blast. The story is awesome, the graphics hold up surprisingly well in the HD Remaster (at least IMO), combat is fun and challenging at times, and the cast of characters is phenomenal (hell, my top Star Ocean OTP is from this game and they are SO CUTE AND FLUFFY AO;SDGHASOLGJAPO;STGIJLAGPO…it’s Fayt x Albel/FayBel in case your wondering). I even think the big plot twist is awesome, given how it re-frames the ENTIRE series, even with the games that got released after it. I know one of the people who work on the series said that The Last Hope takes place in an alternate timeline, but I call bullshit on that.

That’s cause if we factor in the information that the Universe as Edge and the party know it is actually a giant MMOesque creation, we can come to the logical conclusion that the Missing Procedure is a bug or virus of some kind in the Eternal Sphere that had the potential to crash the entire system. As for the impact it has on Integrity and Faithlessness, along with The Divine Force, that is a conversation for another day.

I also like how in order to get enough Battle Trophies to unlock all of the bonus content, you actually have to play through the story multiple times with different party configurations when it comes to the optional characters. You’ve got Nel, Rodger, Albel and Peppita and which ever characters you don’t pick end up becoming bosses in the Urssa Cave Temple, and you get Battle Trophies for defeating the different configurations.

I only really have two complaints to talk about but both are pretty minor for me. The first one is the lack of a “Synopsis” section in the Info part of the Camp Menu, someplace where you can look up what’s happened so far and easily figure out where to go next. If you’re like me and you’ve taken a long break from the story, chances are you won’t remember what the current objective is the only way to figure that out is to run around like a chicken with your head cut off hoping for a cutscene to trigger…which sometimes can lead into a Boss Fight that you might be under prepared for. Thankfully they added that into the next game and this is no longer an issue but it’s still a pain in the ass to have this happen.

The other complaint is the MASSIVE difficulty spike at some points in the game. The only places I can think of when this happens is when you stop the Vendeeni from getting the Sacred Orb, the start of the second disc (or the equivilant part in the HD Remaster), and when you reach a certain level in the post-game part of Sphere 211. If you have any party members that are under-leveled, the enemies here will FUCK THEM UP. But even with properly leveled characters, one wrong move will wipe them from the battle.

And that’s all I have for gripes with this game, nothing really game breaking, and once you get a grip on the tougher enemies in the main story, it becomes a breeze to get past them and move on with the plot. Great gameplay, good cast of characters, music by the BADASS Motoi Sakuraba and a theme song from the Japanese Artist renown not just for being the first J-R&B star, but also sung the Japanese National Anthem at the Tokyo Games Opening Ceremony, MISIA. Her song, “A Little Bird Who Forgot How to Fly” is GORGEOUS and I almost ball my eyes out during the ending credits every time when it starts playing.

SO for my score of Star Ocean Till the End of Time, I’m going to follow in the steps of X-Play, use their scoring system and give this JRPG a 5/5.

Lastly for my Honorable Mentions today, I’m highlighting:

Forza Horizon 3 - the racing game that got my into not only the Forza franchise in general, but also introduced me to the music of CHVRCHΞS. Even the the next Horizon game wasn’t able to top this one for me, no matter how good it was.

Tales of Xillia/Xillia 2 - I’m doing a two for one deal this time only cause I feel like you can’t talk about one game without mentioning the other. Both games are awesome, both have their merits and flaws (not many of them to be honest though) and both have my favorite theme songs in the franchise from the Queen of J-Pop, Ayumi Hamasaki.

I’ll be giving more a in-depth reviews of these games sometime next year so that’s all for today! Keep your eyes peeled for when I post the next entry in this series and I hope you all continue to have a wonderful holiday season.

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

[wh6res]

chase — renhyuck

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

tw bullying, violence, swearing, yandere themes, possessive themes, blood, weapons (a gun, a grenade), implied noncon, implied kidnapping, mentions of stalking

disc i dont condone this behavior

wc 5k

‏‏‎ ‎

29 hours before the annual purge

“hold her down—i said hold her down, idiot!”

putting everything into account, they saw you more like a glorified chew toy than an actual person. 

they ruined your life simultaneously and it's ironic, that despite being sworn rivals, it seems you were their neutral ground—after one has had their own fun, you’re passed on to the other person so they can deliver that final, shattering blow that weakens your resolve. 

it was meant to be that way because it had always been that way. you’re the unlucky loser that ignited the worse sides of both lee haechan and huang renjun. 

they’re like oil and water; they don’t mix but with you, they found a compromise. stealing your lunch money, trashing your homework, quickies in between lectures. all of these should’ve been enough to give them a good power trip. but they’ve developed a hunger so severe that these past instances are but mere crumbs that hardly satisfy their cravings. 

it was beyond exhausting, being caught in between two headstrong people that were unwilling to back down at any cost. their aggression and anger towards each other directly being channeled onto you as they shove and swing you around like some ragdoll. 

you weren’t a bunch of kids, you knew that. you don’t cry and sob and say that it’s unfair, you hold your chin high and walk up to the guidance counselor’s office to report them for bullying. but you never should’ve underestimated the power of money and their respective families’ broad network of connections. 

without a doubt, the empty promises for justice is what broke your heart the most. it breaks with every bruise, every tight grip, and every nasty name the people willingly turned a blind eye to. 

it’s sad but it was a reality you taught yourself to get used to—the meek mouse learning how to evade the cats hot on her trail. 

but you weren’t as lucky today. 

“i am holding her down.”

a pair of lips comes in contact with your neck. its feathery and light at first until its biting down to mark you with his teeth. not too strong to draw blood, but enough to dent the surface of the skin. 

haechan has an oral fixation. biting his lips. his nails. whenever you see him, he always has a lollipop on his mouth and if he doesn’t, he’s painting hickeys across your skin. you hated his oral fixation, especially when makeup and clothes proved useless to hide the marks he gives you. 

“why run?” renjun asks you, slipping his fingers underneath your skirt as he kneels. “you know you have nowhere to hide in the campus.”

haechan snorts. “or anywhere else.”

it’s always the same thing. you go to school. you sit in your first period for thirty minutes until one of them shows up. then the other boy probably felt a gut instinct that he’s missing out on the fun. last time, it was an empty classroom in the abandoned left wing. 

they like taking you there all the time, it was always dark, the blinds pulled and shut tight. not to mention it was incredibly dusty. but both male knew you’re afraid of the dark, exactly why it’s their favorite spot. but empty classrooms and supply closets are close seconds, too. 

“you’re so pathetic. useless—only know how to whine like a fucking pornstar,” he quickly comments, feeling you arch against him when renjun’s tongue comes in contact with the pearl between your legs. “my cumdump.”

you feel a sharp exhale against your lower lips. you shudder. renjun clicks his tongue in annoyance. “can you shut up? you’re making my dick soft with all that talking.”

but haechan had ignored him completely, blissfully ignorant of the petite boy’s frustrations as he angles your head up to crash his lips onto yours. when he slightly pulls away, still playfully nibbling your bottom lip, what he said next made your blood run cold. 

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6 hours before the annual purge

the price to pay for protection started rising again this year and you, much like your neighbors, are in a sense of turmoil. jamming the doors with cabinets and nailing your windows with wood is hardly enough to satisfy the gnawing feeling in your stomach. much less when you didn’t even have a weapon to wield other than a wooden bat and a cheap taser you bought on sale. 

“its not like anyone will be coming for you, right?” the little girl says, touching the randomest stuff in your apartment. her name was naeun and she never really liked pink and sparkles like most girls her age, maybe that’s why she took a liking to you. 

her mom works a 9 to 5 and her grandma stays with her on occasion. but the old lady loved to sleep, naeun said, so she gets the chance to slip out and come knocking on your door. you tried shooing her out of your apartment countless times but she’s stubborn. 

she reminds you of yourself. 

“well, i hope no one does.” you joked, putting on a turtleneck. 

naeun’s mom doesn't like you as much as it is, but if you yourself let naeun see the bruises on your skin? you’d hate yourself forever. “now, come on little missy, go back to your grandma. i need to head over to the bank to settle my protection fees.”

“but you just said no one is going to come for you anyway,” she whines stomping towards the door. “mom already settled ours yesterday becase grammy forced her to. mommy said it was just a waste of money because who’d bother to rob us anyway?”

a memory flashes in your head. two boys who’ve sandwiched you between them in the dark of a fucking supply closet at uni. wandering hands, labored whispers, curt giggles, one pair of lips trailing up your neck while the other up your inner thigh.

“needy kitty. i can’t wait for purge night.”

you needed that protection. that was no slip up because haechan never makes mistakes. if he wanted to make you feel like some animal on the run after catching a whiff of trouble then he sure is doing a good job. 

“hey! i think you just went someplace else there,” naeun says, nudging your side irritably to get your attention again. 

you try forcing out a chuckle but it doesn't work, still deeply peeved by a memory from last week replaying vividly in your mind. if they ever mean what they meant (which you know they do) then this is now more than just trying to get through the night—you have to survive, prepare, and pray neither of them finds you. 

“i think your grandma’s right in doing what she did, naeun. with humans, you’ll never know.”

and just like that naeun went silent, bid you goodbye, and disappeared behind the apartment door.

the bank was a quick walk from your apartment. you hardly broke much sweat and you even managed to stop by the grocery store to make some last-minute runs. the store’s nearly empty, deserted of any human being as the seconds slowly but surely ticked away. it was only when you walked past aisle seven did you pause, the hairs on your back standing as a slow chill crawled up your spine. 

you look over your shoulder. 

no one’s there. 

you swallow, quickly looking down your watch to check the time as you made your way to counter. 3 hours before the annual purge. you needed to get your ass moving. you just need to grab one more thing and you’ll best be on your way. 

you practically ran towards the dairy section and just as you spin around, strawberry ice cream pint in your hands, you jump as he appears before you in thin air and you drop whatever you’re holding. 

“such a skittish little kitten,” renjun clicks his tongue, bending down to retrieve the ice cream on the floor. “here you go.”

you couldn’t even stare at him in the eye. your hands shook but it wasn’t because of the cold desert. now you get it. it’s his eyes you felt on you earlier, ever intrusive and piercing as he watched you from afar. was he stalking you?

“i didn’t quite catch a thank you, kitty.”

how foolish of you to think he’ll let you duck away without at least speaking to him, hm?

“thank… thank you?”

renjun grins, satisfied with your stuttering as he raises a hand to ruffle your hair—he ignores how you flinched away from him—before walking away with one hand in his coat pocket, whistling an eerie tune that can haunt your nightmares way after purge night. 

“see you later, kitten.”

if it wasn’t the whistling that set you on edge or that clear promise of your doom—it’s the pack of zip ties and duct tape in his hands.‏‏‎ ‎

you were watching a rerun of your favorite morning reality tv when it cuts to the dreaded blue screen showing the flag of korea. 

this is not a test.

this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the south korean government. 

weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted. 

commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. 

police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 am when the purge concludes. 

may god be with you all.

you’ll never get used to the blaring siren that echoes through the empty streets. you can feel the floor vibrating and it travels throughout your whole body as the dread starts sinking deep into your skin. 

you’ve already double checked all your windows and the front door. activated the security system provided by the bank. and you’ve also already charged your taser and have hammered down nails into your wooden bat. fine. if they wanted to scare and bully you into a panicked frenzy, it did its job but fuck no will you go down without a fight. 

you shut all the lights, the apartment basking in the moonlight glow brought by the translucent curtains as you make your way to your bedroom, nearest the emergency exit just in case they barge through your front door by force. 

at first, nothing happened. it was peaceful. tranquil. you can hear a pin drop with how quiet it was. both inside and outside. you were almost tempted to cover your mouth in case you were breathing too loud. 

it’s silent. until it wasn’t.

your phone rings. it’s there, vibrating on your desk and you make long strides until you’re face to face with a set of numbers on your screen. an unregistered contact. there’s a debate inside your head whether to answer it or not, fingers hovering between the red and green button… until it eventually lands on the green. 

you put it up to your ear, hands sweating as you wait with bated breath for the person on the other end to speak. 

“kitten?”

it’s renjun. you don’t answer. 

“i can hear you breathing, you know. i can’t wait to see you. we’ll have so much fun together. it’s sad that i have to share with that imbecile but better half of you than nothing of you, right?” he laughs and you feel a rush of anger surge through you. yet, you don’t bother to give him the satisfaction of a reply. 

“i can see you’re angry, little kitty. while it’s cute and hot… don’t be. turn that frown upside down for me, wouldn’t you?”

but the blinds are drawn he couldn’t have seen you—

“you’re never going to get me, you fucking bastard. i’m not scared of you,” you sure do hope he can’t hear the tremble in your voice. “whatever you plan on doing to me, you’ll fail.”

you walk back slowly, eyes darting everywhere to look for a camera they could’ve installed in your room. they have connections and the money to do it so you won’t put it past them. 

“oh, my stupid kitty. how can we fail when we already got a head start?” 

the floorboard behind you creaks and before you could turn around, someone slams your head against the desk. you hear a crack, whether it’s the screen of your laptop or your nose, you couldn’t tell. the person is agile and silent as he maneuvers you to the ground and seals your lips with duct tape. 

“after all,” haechan giggles. “you can’t lock out what’s already inside, kitten.”

your phone lands somewhere near your head. renjun has already dropped the call and the line goes silent. 

squirming, you glared at the person on top of you. is this how you’re gonna go? you can’t deny, even you yourself find this pathetic. the security alarms you bought, the nail-studded bat, your taser, everything was all for naught? just because you didn’t check under your bed to make sure no one was there?

how long was haechan waiting? when naeun was still here? when you went out to buy groceries? 

you thought it would be fear you’ll be feeling as you get caught but the emotion isn’t present at all. instead, it’s white hot anger that overrides your system and forces you to act without thinking—and it just fucking saved your life. 

haechan always saw you as a vulnerable, sad little human being who couldn’t do shit on her own. it’s easy to underestimate you and that’s his first mistake. 

the second is rather foolish—not tying your legs up first. it’s all too easy to slam your forehead against his before jerking your leg up to knee him in the balls. 

you can see the anger in his eyes clear as day as you made a run for it to the kitchen, having come up with another escape plan—because surely if you went down the emergency exit, haechan would’ve caught up easily with those long legs after he’s recovered from your assault. 

your nose was probably bleeding and your head is in the early stages of a full blown migraine, at least you were able to function enough to wobble your way towards the trash chute situated near the stove. you had cursed that chute the first day you moved in here (who would put a trash chute next to a fucking stove) but the day has come for you to thank the gods that you have that in your house. 

going for a swim in all your neighbors’ trash is disgusting and unplanned (plus, falling down maybe six floors to your doom) but you’ll choose that over lee haechan and huang renjun any day. 

“don’t you dare fucking think about it!”

you flashed him the middle finger to tick him off. a petty retaliation for all the bullshit he and renjun put you through but it felt good nonetheless. 

“catch me if you fuckers can.”

and you were falling down the trash chute.‏‏‎ ‎

okay, yeah—maybe you should’ve thought it through before hurling yourself six floors down only for some half-filled dumpster to catch you but at least you’re still alive, right? alive and free, mind you. but you don’t have time to celebrate. 

it smelled awful and you swear your knees and elbows are bruised but you scramble to climb out and run away as fast as you can. 

it was only haechan inside your apartment. no sign of renjun but he did see you somehow and you have no doubt it was a camera inside that room. you didn’t have much time to ponder for how long they were installed in your room. it’s the least of your worries at the moment.

you’re outside. 

during purge night.

even if you did manage to escape it felt more like a win than a lose, forced out of your own apartment in nothing but shorts and a shirt—heck, you don’t even have shoes on!—it felt like they won. again. 

if you’re not going to die in the hands of some other wacko, you’ll die of hypothermia. how nice. 

you didn’t know where you were running to, the only thing you knew was you need to get the hell out of this neighborhood as fast as you can. you didn’t want to run in alleyways and risk getting stabbed for fun. maybe the sewer system… oh, right. you don’t have your phone on you and it’ll probably be pitch black down there. 

you really, truly, genuinely didn’t want to run so out in the open but it was the best you can impulsively come up with. 

when you feel like you’ve put a reasonable distance between you and the apartment, you stop, hands resting flat on your knees as you crouch to catch a breath. just as quick the adrenaline appeared as fast as it had disappeared. you feel the weight and tension crushing your legs, not to mention you’re really starting to feel that headache settle after headbutting haechan. 

you almost collapse against the brick wall. 

the last person you ever thought you’ll see jumps out from the corner of the alleyway and you almost broke their nose. 

until you saw who it was. 

“NAEUN?”

their apartment got raided, some buffy sickos who they had the misfortune of breaking into their house to purge. luckily they got away, but after getting attacked on the streets, naeun got separated after she ran for her life just like you did. you can’t help but feel sorry for the little girl, who experienced the full effect of this godforsaken holiday. 

this is bad. you can’t leave her but it’s tough enough to have to fend for yourself. you’re not so sure whether you can protect another human being but you’ll have to try. 

“did your mom or grandma tell you anything? anything at all?” you ask, crouching to her eye level. “you said your mom knew the way… where? what do you mean?”

“mom said they’re providing refuge on the other side of town but it’s a 30-minute drive. walking would take longer.”

shit. you didn’t want to risk it. you don’t have a car and you’d rather die right here right now than walk another step out in the streets—

“who’s ‘they’?”

“i don’t… i don’t know. she didn’t say.”

you licked your chapped lips. you can’t trust what she’s saying, not when you didn’t even know these people. it’s too risky, not to mention you’re already running from not one, but two people.

naeun sits next to you against the bricked wall of the alley, looking down at her lap. “i’m scared,” she admits. you hear a tremble in her voice. “are mom and grammy de—”

“no,” you cut her off, pulling her tiny body against yours. when you feel her fists clutching your jacket, you swear to protect this girl with your life. “no, they’re not. i’m sure they’re heading there now to the refuge center just like we are.”

her head pokes out, looking up towards you. “we’re going? i thought you didn’t want to.”

you shake your head, wiping her tears. “well, it’s the one way for you to meet your mom and grammy, right?”‏‏‎ ‎

walking down the streets during purge night—man, this has got to be the most ballsy thing you’ve ever done after that one time you spat at renjun in the eye. you managed to find a litter of bodies way into thirty minutes of walking and you nearly sent naeun flying onto the asphalt with how hard you pushed her back. she couldn’t see this mess, you’d be damned to allow a nine-year-old walk right into psychological trauma. 

you pocket a gun—you didn’t have enough courage to fight with a knife. you wiped the blood off using your shirt before shoving them down onto the garter of your shorts. you didn’t bother to take their shoes, none of them would’ve fit you anyway and it’ll just slow you down. 

“hey, are you alright? is that blood—”

“it’s not mine, naeun. come on, let’s get moving.”

for two hours you walked towards this mysterious refuge center on the other side of town and both you and naeun managed to evade death three times. 

the first attack: a group of high schoolers with their uniforms on. there were three of them, about your height, and while you weren’t responsible for the blood on your shirt, you’re not so sure about their lot. they looked crazy, excited even, but sloppy in the way they flung their knives and bats around. their first purge, you assumed, so it was fairly easy to take them down. a bullet to the head worked like a charm. naeun didn’t say anything when you urged her out of her hiding place to flee the scene. three bullets left. 

the second attack: it was a surprise, one that got you stabbed in the shin of your right leg. it was a drunkard with a knife, you could smell him as you walked past by his slumped form in the sidewalk. he wasn’t moving, so you thought he was dead and it was poor judgement on your part. it’s pathetic getting injured this way, you thought, but at least it was you who faced the consequences and not naeun. two bullets left.

the third attack: two men but deadlier than the girls and the drunk. you didn’t get to reason out with either of them, not when they drove their cadillac at 140 miles per hour and nearly ran you over. a chill crept up your spine when you saw the bloody, naked women strapped down onto the hood. victims. you didn’t engage in any form of combat, it’s impossible, so you took naeun in your arms and ran straight to the back alleys. number of bullets remain the same.

three lucky strikes. 

three times you’ve cheated death. 

but time is up and your luck has run out. 

“beating up a girl? what a coward, if you ask me,” you say, spitting out a tooth after someone kneed you in the face. you were in no position to say such things when they’ve got you busted up and bloody, left eye swollen after one hard punch. 

naeun is nowhere to be seen. 

good. 

who knows what these assholes could’ve done to her. you told her to run so she better fucking run and make sure she lives through this nightmare. 

another kick flies to your ribs and you lie sprawled on the dirty pavement of an alleyway—what an uncool way to die but at least you’ll die with a clear conscience. 

you passed by city hall a few minutes ago. surely, the refuge center is not too far from there. naeun will make it safe. she’ll make it. 

“what’s that look on her face? is she dead?”

another one scoffs. “well… if they’re after her then she’s as good as dead.”

you blacked out. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

you hate the scent of disinfectant. it crawls up your nose and you hate how the stench is so strong you can taste it on your tongue. this isn’t heaven, not when you know you’re better off burning in hellfire.

unless you weren’t dead—your eyes shoot open, sitting up in haste as you clutch the thin blanket. 

rows upon rows of the same cot you were lying on greets you. people injured, some standing, some sitting. there were people treating them, too, but they were in normal clothes so this can’t be a hospital. in fact, it looked like you’re in some warehouse, stacks of metal crates sealing off all entrances. 

“it’s the refuge,” you whisper. 

“you’re awake!” before you could even turn around, a body launches itself onto you and nearly makes the cot collapse. judging by the small frame and the pitchy voice—

“naeun, be careful!” her mother hisses but the girl in between your arms couldn’t care less. if she’d been an adult, she’d be squeezing the life out of you. when she pulls you closer, your healing ribs made a strike of pain surge through you. 

you groan, bowing in the pain. distantly, you can hear the mother and daughter fighting and it was a banter you’ve never experienced with your own mom. it nearly made you tear up from the overwhelming wave of emotions you were feeling but all else disappears when a person tenderly grips your shoulder. 

“thank you for taking care of my granddaughter.” the old lady was smiling appreciatively as she stared at you. 

that was it. it could’ve been the happy ending to a gruesome and bloody storyline—it should’ve been, family of three reunites again and that was all thanks to you, right?

but even heroes have their own bad endings. 

you heard the ticking of the grenade only seconds before it detonates. the other refugees didn’t even have the time to take cover as some closest to the sealed doors were sent flying so far back they crashed into the row of crates behind you. 

you were severely injured, limping, ribs broken, and you only had one good eye to rely on—yet the first thing you thought of was protecting naeun. maybe the midget had a way of worming herself into your heart. but before you even push yourself off the cot, a figure emerges from the smoke. 

petite and harmless, pretty as the tips of his hair grazed porcelain cheekbones. renjun’s eyes are as cold and calculating as can be and it’s the only thing that terrifies you to no end. when he opens his mouth, anger is hidden well underneath that calm tone. 

“i’ll give you one minute to come here willingly.”

there’s no room for bargain, he needn’t when he knows you have absolutely nothing to offer him but yourself. he doesn’t finish his sentence but he trusts you’re smart enough to figure out the silent threat—come, or he’ll turn this place into a fucking bloodbath. 

cornered and weak, defenseless. weird how they have a fixation for calling you ‘kitty’ when they’re the cats in this chase. 

“naeun,” you whisper, trying to crane your neck to look for her in the filth of rocks and debris. please don’t be hurt.

you freeze when you feel a barrel pointing at your head. it was only there for seconds, haechan probably doesn’t have the guts to hurt you in any way permanently (unless it’s inflicted with his own hands and not through some other medium). 

“ah, look. now we have matching black eyes,” he giggles like a madman, craning your neck up and the leather in his globes brings discomfort to your skin. 

you see the way the other refugees looked at you—scum, dirt on their feet that brought about trouble in their lives. they were already badly hurt as it is and now, this happened? you don’t blame them. 

not one man tried to stand up for you as haechan hauls you up and throws you down on renjun’s feet. your ribs were screaming and you’re cold and so, so afraid. with shaky fingers, you gestured towards the crowd. “just... please, don’t hurt them. they don’t have anything to do with this.”

renjun coos. such a cruel smirk for a pretty face. “aw, such an angel my darling is. always thinking of others instead of her own safety. funny because i don’t think you’ve ever done such a thing for me and haechan, though. i wonder why...”

the latter digs his heel in your injured legs and you scream as black starts to surround the corners of your vision. you tried to crane your neck back, pleading eyes wanting to look at the assaulter but renjun’s calloused hand is gripping your chin too tight.

“should we make a bargain, kitten?”

you stare deep into renjun’s eyes. he knows you don’t have anything left, he can see it in your glassy eyes, too wide and vulnerable. he’s doing this all for show, trying to make you even more desperate and self-aware of your eventual demise.

and you thought haechan was the only cunning one.

“what… what bargain?"

renjun practically gleams in pride. “i’ll let everyone walk free—even your precious little naeun—that’s her name, right? the little girl you’ve been protecting the whole night?—we’ll let her and everyone in this building walk away unharmed. that’s my bargain. you know how those work, right? now, you need to give me something i want.”

forcing you to offer yourself up to them.

what a brutal way to crush your pride.

choice wasn’t an option. if you don’t oblige and choose to run away on your own, they’ll kill them and still hunt you down. you gotta say, it was a tempting bargain that appealed to the sense of heroics in your heart. naturally, you have to choose where there is less blood shed. and as renjun lets go of your chin and lets you look over your shoulder to meet little naeun’s eyes, how she sobbed against her mother’s arms and shook her head and screamed…

“hurry, kitten. i don’t like to be kept waiting.”

you know what needs to be done.

“me. i’ll give you… me.”‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

they stood playing a game of pool in the dead of night. it’s peaceful inside the estate while the city beyond rampaged and burned. they achieved their goal, had finally seen an end to a plan that had been set in motion for years. they’ve succeeded and the broken woman lying on the bed meters from the pool table is proof of their victory. 

“don’t you just love it when an elaborate plan works like clockwork, injun?” he asks, voice like trickling honey as he hits number 9 with the cue ball. 

the other, more petite male, rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “oh, please, people like us always triumph, donghyuck. it’s nothing new. although i am surprised that little girl and her so-called “family” played along so well. almost had me fooled.”

“i agree. it's such a shame they had to go.”

‎

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‎

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[crystalirises]

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

[halliwellsims4]

Something Wicca This Way Comes - P2

Roger: It was my idea to spark corporate interest in private donations. Not only have I been with this project since its inception, (Prue walks in his office.) but we both know who really secured the entire exhibit. (He swings around on his chair and sees Prue.) Prue ...

Prue: I quit.

Roger: (On the phone) I'm going to have to call you back. (He hangs up.) Think about this, Prue.

Prue: Lousy job, lousy pay, lousy boss. What's to think about?

Roger: Your future. Because, believe me, if you walk out with no notice, you can kiss any references--

Prue: Don't threaten me, Roger.

Roger: You know me. Had to try. You're hurt, you're angry, your pride is wounded. I understand all that. That's why you can't see that I'm doing you a favour.

Prue: Excuse me?

Roger: I had to take the exhibit away from you. If I hadn't, the board would have come and put a total stranger in my place. Think about it, Prue. I'm here for you. Not some stranger. You should be thanking me not leaving me.

Prue: Well, I'm not worried. I'm certain that your intellect will make quick work of the seventy-five computer discs and thousands of pages of research I left in my office.

Roger: You're gonna regret this.

Prue: Oh, I don't think so. I thought breaking up with you was the best thing I'd ever done. But this definitely tops that. Goodbye, Roger.

(She turns and leaves towards the door.)

Roger: I hope there are no office supplies in your purse. (She stops and wraps her hands around an imaginary neck. Roger's tie tightens around his neck and starts strangling him. He opens his draw and finds a pair of scissors. He cuts the tie off.) What the hell was that?

Piper: Phoebe, answer the phone. Answer the phone. (She hangs up and walks out of the booth. Jeremy walks up to her.) Oh, God, Jeremy you scared me.

Jeremy: I-I can see, I'm sorry. You okay?

Piper: Yeah, now I am. I really am. Um, what are you doing here?

Jeremy: Well, I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your new job.

Piper: You always surprise me. How did you know?

Jeremy: You prepared your specialty, and everyone's who's ever sampled your work, can truly see how talented you are.

Piper: I get so turned on when you talk about food.

Jeremy: Hamburgers, pizza. (They kiss.)

[Scene: On the road. Phoebe is riding her bike. All of a sudden she has a premonition. In it she sees two boys on rollerblades and they skate right in front of a car which hits them. The premonition finishes. Phoebe continues riding and then sees the car and the two boys.]

Phoebe: No! Wait!

(She rides in front of the boys stopping them from skating in front of the car. The car honks and Phoebe falls off her bike.)

Prue: Hi, um, I'm looking for my sister, Phoebe Halliwell.

Nurse: One second please. (to Andy) What's the name again?

Andy: (to nurse) Inspector Andrew Trudeau. Homocide. Dr Gordon's expecting me.

Prue: Andy?

Andy: Prue? I don't believe it. How are you?

Prue: I'm good. How are you?

Andy: Fine. I just can't believe I'm running into you.

Prue: Yeah, I'm picking up Phoebe. She had some kind of accident.

Andy: Is she gonna be okay?

Prue: Yeah, she'll be fine. Um, what are you doing here?

Andy: Murder investigation.

Nurse: (to Prue) Your sisters still in x-ray's so it'll be another fifteen minutes. (to Andy) Do Gordon's office is to the left and down the hall. He's with a patient right now but you're free to wait outside his office.

Andy: Thank you.

Prue: Thank you.

Andy: Well, it's good seeing you, Prue. (They shake hands.)

Prue: Yeah, you too, Andy. Take care.

Andy: You know, Phoebe's busy, Dr Gordon's busy. Can I buy you a bad cup of coffee while we wait?

Prue: Sure. (They walk towards the coffee machine.) So, you're an inspector now?

Andy: What can I say? In any other city I'd be called detective.

Prue: Inspector's classier.

Andy: Liking it better already.

Prue: Your dad must be so proud.

Andy: Third generation. You bet he's happy. How about you? You taking the world by storm?

Prue: Well, I'm living back at Grams' house, and as of an hour ago, looking for work.

Andy: Oh.

Prue: I heard you moved to Portland.

Andy: I'm back. You, uh, still seeing Roger?

Prue: How did you know about him?

Andy: I know people.

Prue: You checked up on me?

Andy: I wouldn't call it that.

Prue: What would you call it?

Andy: Inquiring minds want to know. What can I say? I'm a detective.

Prue: The Chosen Ones? The Charmed Ones? Phoebe, this is insane.

Phoebe: Are you telling me that nothing strange happened to you today? You didn't freeze time or move anything?

Prue: Roger took an exhibit away from me. All right, look, Phoebe, I know that you think you can see the future which is pretty ironic.

Phoebe: Since you don't think I have one, that my vision of life is cloudy compared to your perfect hell? Even if you don't want to believe me, just once can't you trust me?

Prue: Phoebe, I do not have special powers. Now, where is the cream?

Phoebe: Really? That looked pretty special to me.

Prue: Oh my god. So, um, I can move things with my mind?

Phoebe: With how much you hold inside, you should be a lethal weapon by now.

Prue: I don't believe it.

Phoebe: This must mean that Piper can freeze time. (Prue grabs a shot of tequila and drinks it all.) Are you okay?

Prue: No, I'm not okay. You turned me into a witch.

Phoebe: You were born one. We all were. And I think we better start to deal with it.

Phoebe: When I was looking through the Book Of Shadows, I saw these wood carvings. They looked like something out of a bosch paintings. All these terrifying images of three women battling different incarnations of evil.

Prue: Evil fighting evil, that's a twist.

Phoebe: Actually, a witch can be either good or evil. A good witch follows the wiccan rede. 'An it harm none, do what ye will.' A bad witch or a warlock has but one goal: to kill good witches and retain their powers. Unfortunately, they look like regular people. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Prue: And this has what to do with us?

Phoebe: Well, in the first wood carving, they were in the slumber, but in the second one, they were battling some kind of warlock. I think as long as we were in the dark about our powers we were safe. Not anymore.

Piper: Has anything weird or unexplainable ever happened to you?

Jeremy: Sure. It's called luck or fate or some people call it miracles. Why? What happened?

Piper: Forget it. Even if I could tell you, you'd swear I was crazy. Now open your fortune cookie.

(She hands him one.)

Jeremy: Okay. (He opens it and reads the bit of paper.) Soon you will be on top.

Piper: It doesn't say that.

Jeremy: Yes it does.

Piper: Let me see that. (She snatches the bit of paper off him.)

Jeremy: Is that a bad thing?

Piper: Of the world. Soon you will be on top of the world.

Jeremy: (to the cab driver) Can you make a left on 7th please.

Driver: You got it.

Piper: Hey, I thought that we were going to your place.

Jeremy: We are, but you reminded me of something. I wanna show you the old Bowing building. The view of the Bay bridge is amazing.

Pharmacist: (to Phoebe) I'll be right back with your prescription.

Phoebe: Take your time.

Prue: Excuse me, where do you keep the aspirin?

Pharmacist: Aisle three.

Phoebe: Chamomile tea works great for headaches.

Prue: Not for this one it won't.

Phoebe: You know I'm not afraid of our powers. I mean, everyone inherits something from their family, right?

Prue: Yeah, money, antiques, a strong disposition. That's what normal people inherit.

Phoebe: Who wants to be normal when we can be special?

Prue: I want to be normal, I want my life to be... you know, isn't this aisle 3?

Phoebe: Well, we can't change what happened. We can't undo our destiny.

Prue: Do you see any aspirin?

Phoebe: I see chamomile tea.

Prue: Look, I have just found out that I'm a witch, that my sisters are witches, and that we have powers that will apparently unleash all forms of evil. Evil that is apparently going to come looking for us. So excuse me Phoebe, but I'm not exactly in a homeopathic mood right now.

Phoebe: Then move your headache out of your mind. (Prue stares angrily at Phoebe and a bottle of aspirin flies off the shelf and Prue catches it.) You move things when you're upset.

Prue: This is ridiculous! I thought that you landed on your arm, not your head.

Phoebe: You don't believe me.

Prue: Of course I don't believe you.

Phoebe: Ro-ger. (A few more bottle of aspirin fly off the shelf.) Now let's talk about Dad and see what happens.

Prue: He's dead, Phoebe.

Phoebe: No, he's moved from New York, but he's very much alive.

Prue: He isn't to me. He died the day he left Mom.

Phoebe: What are you talking about? He's always been a major button pusher for you. You're mad he's alive, you're mad I tried to find him, and you're mad I came back. Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad. (All the medicines and bottles fly off the shelves.) Feel better?

Prue: Lots.

Phoebe: The Book of Shadows said our powers would grow.

Prue: Grow to what? (They laugh.)

Jeremy: Well, here we are.

Piper: I don't care how amazing the view is. I'm not going in there.

Jeremy: Come on, come on. I have a surprise inside. (They step inside an elevator. Jeremy pressed the button and the elevator starts to go up.) You are gonna love this. I bet you tell Prue and Phoebe the moment you see them.

Piper: I never mentioned Phoebe came home.

Jeremy: Whoops. (He pulls out a knife.)

Piper: What is that?

Jeremy: It's your surprise.

Piper: Jeremy, stop it, you're scaring me. Damn it! I'm serious!

Jeremy: So am I. See, I've waited six months for this. Ever since Grams went to the hospital. I've known for some quite time that the moment that old witch croaked that all your powers would be released. Powers that would reveal themselves as soon as the three of you got together again. All that was needed was for Phoebe to return.

Piper: It was you, wasn't it? You killed all those women.

Jeremy: Not women, witches!

Piper: Why?

Jeremy: It was the only way to get their powers. (In a demonic voice.) And now I want yours.

(Piper screams as Jeremy raises his arm about to stab Piper. She puts her hands up and he freezes. The elevator freezes as well.)

Piper: Okay, think, stay calm. I gotta get outta here. Okay.

(She climbs up onto the next floor. Jeremy unfreezes and he grabs her leg. He tries to pull her back into the elevator but she grabs a wooden two-by-four and hits him over the head. He falls to the floor unconscious.)

Roger: Prue, it's Roger. I've decided to let you come back to work. Seriously, let's talk. Bye.

Prue: Piper's definitely not home unless she's turned into a cat.

Phoebe: How'd the cat get in?

Prue: I don't know. Someone must have left the window open. Um, did Piper leave a message?

Phoebe: She's probably out with Jeremy. Roger called.

Prue: Yeah, I heard.

Piper: Prue?

Phoebe: In here. (Piper locks the door.) Piper?

Prue: Oh my God, what is it? What's wrong?

Piper: Lock the doors, check the windows. We don't have a lot of time. Phoebe, in the Book Of Shadows, did it say how to get rid of a ...

Phoebe: Warlock?

Prue: Oh my God.

Jeremy: I'll get you, you bitch.

Prue: I'm calling the cops.

Piper: And tell them what? That we're witches? That some freak with powers beyond comprehension is trying to kill us? Even if the cops did come, they'd be no match for Jeremy, and we'd be next.

Phoebe: (At the top of the stairs) I found the answer, come on.

Prue: Okay, we've placed the nine candles anointed with oil and spices in a circle.

Piper: Wait, I only count eight.

Phoebe: Oh you forgot this one. (She holds up a birthday candle.)

Piper: A birthday candle?

Phoebe: I guess Grams was a little low on witch supplies.

Prue: Alright, we need the poppet.

Piper: Got it.

(Phoebe lights the birthday candle and puts it in the pot.)

Prue: Right, we're set. Get ready to cast the spell.

Piper: Okay, first I'll make it stronger. (She gets a rose and places it on top of the poppet.) "Your love with wither and depart, from my life and my heart, let me be, Jeremy, and go away forever." (She presses the rose thorn into the poppet and places it in the pot.) Okay, the spell's complete.

Prue: Let's hope it works.

Phoebe: Wait! It didn't work.

Piper: What?

Phoebe: The spell, it didn't work.

Prue: How do you know?

Phoebe: When I touched the pot, I had a flash. I saw Jeremy.

Prue: You touched the pot and you saw him?

Phoebe: He's on his way here.

Jeremy: Hello, ladies..

Prue: Piper, Phoebe, get out of here now!

Jeremy: Cool parlor trick, bitch. You were always the tough one weren't you, Prue?

Prue: Phoebe, you're right, our powers are growing.

Piper: Put as many things against the door as you can.

Jeremy: (From outside) Take me now, Prue. My powers are stronger than yours. (He laughs.) Do you think a chair will stop me?

Do you think a dresser will stop me? (The dresser slides away from the door.) Have you witches figured it out yet? Nothing, nothing can keep us away.

Piper: What do we do? We're trapped.

Prue: Come on, we'll face him together. Do you remember the spirit board?

Piper: The inscription on the back.

Prue: The power of three will set us free. (A circle of fire surrounds them. They hold hands.) Come on, we gotta say it together.

Prue/Piper/Phoebe: The power of three will set us free.

Jeremy: I am not the only one! I am one of millions! In places you can't even imagine! In forms you would never believe! We are hell on this earth! You will never be safe! And you will never be free!

Prue: The power of three.

Andy: Good morning!

Prue: Hey, this is a surprise.

Andy: I've been feeling really guilty about that bad cup of coffee. I just want to make it up to you.

Prue: So, you brought me a good cup of coffee?

Andy: Oh this? No, this is mine. I, uh, just wanted to ask you out to dinner. Unless of course you're afraid.

Prue: Afraid of what?

Andy: Oh, you know, having too good of time, stirring up old memories, rekindling and old flame.

Prue: Hmm, good point, better not.

Andy: Okay. Friday night, eight o'clock? You're hesitating.

Prue: Yeah, but it's not what you think. It's just that my life has gotten a bit complicated. Can I call you?

Andy: Take care, Prue.

Prue: Bye, Andy.

It's Andy. I told you I heard a man's voice.

Piper: What did he want?

Prue: He asked me out.

Piper: And you said ...?

Prue: I started to say yes and then I stopped. I wondered if I could date. I mean, do witches date?

Piper: Not only do they date but they usually get the best guys.

Prue: You two will not be laughing when this happens to you. Believe me, everything will be different now.

Phoebe: Well, at least our lives won't be boring.

Prue: But they'll never be the same.

Phoebe: And this is a bad thing?

Prue: No. But it could be a big problem.

Piper: Prue's right. What are we gonna do?

Phoebe: What can't we do?

Prue: We are gonna be careful, we're gonna be wise and we're gonna stick together.

Piper: This should be interesting.

[cmyknoise]

i am glad that some ppl can find the final disc confrontation as a solid ending to the dsmp, at least for tommy and tubbo, but i can't.

to me it isn't a satisfying ending, sending dream away to prison with so many loose threads and empty promises.

i think there's genuinely good stuff that would come from events thereafter for their characters as well, and i don't think revivebur/cwilbur is as bad as some people think he is. i think the problem is genuinely the timeframe everything happened in and how because of that it made things happen that wouldn't have or things that should've didn't happen.

i think, especially direct post revival, revivebur was a great character and i think the potential between him and ranboo could've been great, and the foundations they laid for their characters to learn something from each other was very very well done and good, it just never came to fruition, and wilbur had to write a book to catch us up on things no one else would do.

i think that some of the closure tommy had begun to get, such as slowly opening up to people like quackity or wilbur or his friends, or doing things he loved again was a very good thing for him.

i think that even some of the tragedies post disc finale were immensely interesting, like our glimpse into limbo and everything that would happen between sam and tommy's relationship, etc.

genuinely i think there were good things, good plans, and it all worked out when they worked together to do them. even the lore over the last few days, i think, although not ideal and clearly rushed, still has very good elements to them and because they were communicated through and talked out, it shows.

i just wished this all happened like, 6 months ago. i wish the finale for wilbur and tommy would've happened back in spring or summer or even earlier, if these 3+ month gaps in between streams didn't happen, because i think that's what really killed it. the missteps in writing and flaws wouldn't be as obvious if things had continued to happen consecutively. i think there are lots of problems with the lore and things that have happened over the last few months but i genuinely think it's not the writing that is the problem but the timing. it's like if you had a tv show season that was supposed to run for 20 episodes but they only aired maybe 5 a year. you forget what happened last time, the details, you've lost the hype and excitement, or you've analyzed the last bit of content so much that your expectations will simply never be met.

i, unfortunately, don't find the final disc confrontation as an easy fall back. i can't just pretend that that was the ending, because to me, it doesn't conclude it well narratively. in the grand scheme of things it wasn't as huge a win for tommy and tubbo, not after all they went through. dream didn't die he went to prison. there were still people around that hated them. he lived under the pretense that wilbur would've been revived, and if it would've just ended there would've been so much that they never got to talk through that they eventually did.

im glad some people can do that, but i cant. and i dont know how the finale for tommy and tubbo's characters will go tomorrow, i've only been watching clips and reading recaps and once they're available, i've been skipping through vods.

i don't know how much hope i have for tomorrow. tommy once said he wanted us to have a good ending. by the way it looks it looks more like they're setting up a promo for dsmp s2 and i hope to god it's not that. i hope something happens. i hope that something, anything lets tommy not die tomorrow.

regardless of how it does end, i'm glad it's over, and i hope that they can do new, brighter things in the future. i hope they make new smps or bring back other ones. i hope people stop hounding their chats about the dream smp and lore and let them play minecraft without mentioning it. i hope they can play other games, bring back old series, play with more people they havent much, god fuck anything please.

i hope that what they do next they can view as having fun, and not something they do out of obligation or for job reasons.

i hope they can have fun after the dream smp and that we get content that they want to show us, and that they enjoy creating with as much passion they did 2 years ago.

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route… it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!