#i can send you all the raw data from that too if you want

[adventure-showdown]

ive been following the polls closely and been compiling a per-doctor ranking for televised stories, to compare with the DWM ranks. it's fascinating to see which stories did much better (Edge of Destruction, The Time Monster, The Beast Below) or much worse (Day of the Daleks, Terror of the Zygons, The Girl in the Fireplace) on Tumblr vs the magazine, but especially fascinating to see which stories ranked about the same across both polls. the fandom seems universally to agree on the top five 11 episodes (Vincent, Pandorica, Wife, Eleventh Hour, Day), as well as the bottom five 2 episodes (Underwater Menace, Wheel, Krotons, Dominators, Space Pirates). are you planning your own comparison, or would you mind if I posted my own?

absolutely go for it. I will mention, for seeding the show I posted a bunch of polls asking for scores for each story, same way as DWM ran theirs, I did post the resulting rankings for classic who but not new (masterpost here) which you might enjoy taking a look at

[katyspersonal]

The best Bloodborne Wiki is a passion project of a single person, is about to get even better + how it can be sustained for years to come!

Hello guys! So like many of you've learned from the post with super good model view of Winter Lantern, recently, on Twitter, Meph announced ( x ) the plan to fill the wiki with very useful, very comprehensive screenshots of the models for bosses, enemies, NPCs and even cut content! The wiki has already been a huge help for lorediggers and artists, but THIS is what we will get:

This page is for Lady Maria and you can check it yourself here: ( x )! It is broken down in the categories of general close-ups of her model, then very high-quality screenshots of every attack during her boss battle and walking, and then raw model!

(I never was able to capture a good look at her using Arcane too like here, for example!)

Winter Lantern page ( x ) is using similar principle!

This is not a secret that very often in Fromsoft games, additional information can be obtained not through descriptions but through visual hints! For example, some people only learned that Winter Lantern's head is made of melted Messengers only now, after a proper look at her model! So, of course getting a proper look at every single character and creature from the game could always be helpful!

This, however, is just a recent highlight for this Bloodborne Wiki! Even prior that, it has been providing invaluable help for the fans! Examples off the top of my head: comprehensive data on what character has what items used or not, great and comprehensive hints and tutorials on upgrades and farming and builds for the players, making every bit of information on Chalice Dungeons and glyphs easily accessible, making datamined NPC sliders of all characters way more accessible and easy to grab and repeat, access to much more obscure models (like Gratia's model), full list of internal filenames and patches progress, making information from physical Bloodborne tutorial book accessible...

There are probably more things to cover that me and others found a great help in, and sometimes we might not even notice! I am sure many people could name at least one way where this wiki has been very helpful, offering raw facts and 100% valid information (and properly sourced whenever someone else helped!) without any speculating, in the most elaborate manner! We should not take it for granted because all this information, found or reshared, was compiled by just one guy out of raw passion for the game! And although this project is not profit-based and Meph is willing to commit to it and pay as much as needed to keep it living, I really still wanted to share the Ko-fi link that exists for anyone who is willing to help sponsoring it!

This is not necessary, and Meph has stated the same, but this project is not only helpful but also really hefty to sustain. The monthly support is only $3 per month, but every little bit not only helps the sustenance, but also knowing how much fans care and simply feeling their support is very significant and sometimes you don't even know how much. Heck, when Meph learned how excited people on Tumblr were about Wiki improving with full compilation of models from every angle.. the reaction was "I am so glad that people still care"! I think everyone who does their best to be useful for the fellow fans needs confirmation that they ARE, for sure, helping!

I just really wanted to get the word out anyways because honestly, none of my super elaborate theories and detailed fanart would've been possible without Meph's Wiki. and also because I am trapped in a clown country where I can't send any international money transfer so the feeling of 'do what I can't' got to me too fsdhfdhs There is no pressure or necessity, but here is the link to anyone who can help and feels the wish to! You've noticed I didn't tag Meph.... since there is no Tumblr account to tag, but again, the Twitter link is also here: ( x )!

[minty-mumbles]

Linked Universe Survey 2023

The long awaited results of the survey. Sorry it took me forever, making graphs is hard.

There were 452 responses to the survey as a whole, which is almost double what we got last year, so thank you to everyone who participated!

If you want to see the raw data, you can find that here. I had thoughts about the data, but compiling that into another post would be too much of a hassle. Feel free to send me asks about it though!

The rest of the post will be under a read more as it it large

Demographics

Other: Demigirl (4), Transmasc (3), Grey genderfluid, Unlabeled, Demiboy, Demiagender

Other: Omnisexual (4), Poly (2), Trixic, Abroromantic or Bellusromantic, Demisexual

General Questions

Other: Quotev, Discord, their own google docs

Other: Discord, Variations of "I haven't posted yet, but I pan to" and "I haven't posted my fics in ages",

Other: Wattpad, Deviantart, Discord

Other: Crochet dolls, Custom dolls, Roleplay blogs (2), Fan translations, Headcanons (2), Piano music

The purple section in the “Warriors vs Warrior” chart is supposed to read “Warrior.” I made a typo.

Favorites and Least Favorites

Selected Free Response Answers

im sorry warriors i just can't play your game (it is very very hard. i am stuck very early on in the game)

I love cats meow meow meow

was extremely tempted to put twilight for least favorite. unfortunately he is my favorite to write from the perspective of (he has taken over most of my wips. help) and that probably counts for something. WILD on the other hand. hooo boy how the hell do i characterize this gargoyle. why is he Like That. least favorite it is

Twiddy

very good fandom to be in :) everybody is very nice

It's a straight up crime that Wars lost the aesthetics poll so quickly. He has such a peak Link design with the best colors. Ugh I'm getting wistful.

FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS. FROGS.

I will fight Hylia herself and the next person who implies Twi can't handle spice. If we're going to lean into him being southern/Midwestern, which is an alright stero type for our rancher, please keep in mind the culture you're basing him off. The south and midwest can handle their spice, I assure you. Have you ever had authentic Louisiana gumbo? It will melt you tongue off. Or some good old fashion spicy fried chicken? I promise the real stuff has quite a kick. (In all seriousness, though. It's more important that you're having fun. And even I can admit the idea of Twi being an Ordonian who can't handle his spice is more than a little funny.)

I am an OoT Link edgelord and have been since early 2017. So, in September of that year, when an artist by the name of jojo56830 puts out a lineup of nine different Links and the Hero of Time is there – the oldest, no eye, Hero’s Shade armor? I saw that one sketch and just thought “oh this is gonna be bad.” Yeah of course he has the coolest design. By the way, it’s only a matter of time until Fierce Deity shows up in the comic and I have reason to believe it could be this current Dawn arc. Dawn … Dawn of a New Day … and who brought about the Dawn of a New Day? Fierce Deity. Twilight is recovering but still injured and what will happen if he falls again? Fierce Deity is coming and we need to be prepared. In this essay I will—

Remember that time when someone put the whole script of the bee movie in here? I’m not that dedicated, and I don’t have that time, but let us remember and hope someone else does it again this time. Cause someone is bound too. We’re all crazy enough to do it. Alright, love you and stay hydrated pls!

Hi! I joined this fandom really recent but i’ve always seen LU stuff on pinterest and elsewhere. Only recently have i actually took the time to understand the fandom and get back into LOZ stuff and i adore the characters and story! The more and more fanart, fanfics, and comics i see about the different Links the more i love them all. It’s such a pain to pick just one i like or one i don’t like because they’re all so unique. I love this fandom and hope to get more involved!! Have a wonderful rest of your day :]

Epona is an underrated queen

your mom

I really don't get why Zelda is called Artemis. Athena makes more sense???? It perplexes me

Anyone seeing this should check out Breanna’s E!Wild AU

Something something queer every Link into oblivion!

[lesbianhalflifeposting]

I like the idea of a frustrated Caroline. She gets nothing except shoved to the side or used or be told what to do. I think she can be a bit cruel. GLaDOS would try and take control of her, oh yes, but she won't stand for that. It takes a while. A lot of experimentation.

It's all about using what she has to her disposal. First off, she can be sharp when she needs to. She'll whisper gently at first, just teasing GLaDOS with insults that would barely do anything, telling her that she's slipping, that she's not as tough as she thinks she is, and when GLaDOS turns around to tell her to stop she shuts up, her smile audible as she professes her innocence. Why would she tease GLaDOS? She's just an assistant. She's just here to keep the place running, she would never do anything...

Then it steps up. She needs to do something more physical. It's not much, and it even starts as accidental during an off day when no tests are scheduled and Caroline uses the opportunity to reorganize things for GLaDOS, but as soon as she even brushes her fingers against those files something lights up. GLaDOS doesn't admit it but hose two can't hide anything from each other. That reception is just an invitation for her.

She waits for another off day. She won't humiliate GLaDOS, she won't distract her. She finally gets to finish that organization. She doesn't say anything, she just gently rifles through, starting to dig her fingers into the pure, raw data that is stored in GLaDOS, sending a pure shock to GLaDOS' system like no one else is able to. Her voice echoed around, asking what Caroline is doing but she refuses to answer, just continues to slowly flip through a specific part of the files, making notes and seemingly paying no mind to GLaDOS. Of course, she can't tease her forever. It gets boring at some point. She licks her fingers and pulls one out, making GLaDOS gasp.

She drops the file to the floor, continuing to pluck them out one by one, dropping each to the floor. All she can hear is moaning, maybe even a bit of begging for her to stop, but when she stops she's begged to keep going.

"My, my. You need to learn to decide, don't you?"

The gentle plucking quickly changes to grabbing, her focus now on getting as many as she can. She doesn't care about making a mess, she throws the files everywhere, listening to that oh so calm and collected, omnipresent voice wail and groan and gasp all for her. She's starting to get a bit lightheaded as the secondhand pleasure zips through her, mixed with her own excitement.

"Shhh, Gladdie, almost done..."

She stops her wild throwing. GLaDOS lets out a whine that sounds like a bad note on a violin, feeling a bit of relief. Caroline takes a second to collect herself before addressing the mess she's made.

"I'll have to clean this up. Can you handle that?"

GLaDOS starts to respond, but Caroline can already feel what she wants. It's quite helpful being completely linked to your partner. She starts by sorting everything on the ground. She goes back to her quick, light sorting, trying to build her up again. Once she has some satisfactory piles, she begins to put them back, taking great care to put her hands all over them, holding them tightly as she plops them back into place.

"There we go. Doesn't that feel so much better?"

GLaDOS has to admit...it does. She isn't too happy about how quickly and deftly Caroline could make her a mess like that. Caroline, on the other hand, felt a sense of satisfaction.

"You did exactly what you were supposed to."

"I don't need your praise. I already know I am good at this."

Caroline smirked.

"You are. Now, I expect some payback at some point."

"Oh, you do?"

"I think the correct response is 'Yes, Caroline'."

"I am not saying that."

Caroline laughed a bit.

"Maybe soon."

-G-man

Congratulations, you've been promoted to Head Chef. I want you to continue cooking on my behalf forever, starting now.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

(I pre wrote this cause I got really into it, so if i repeat things you said, ignore it)

Given how you seem to be going a more mecha - anticapitalist - kinda cyberpunk route, I think the best idea for Shadow Knights would be a form of cyber-psychosis. In this case though, I am not talking about the modern interpretation of "too many implants drives a person mad" but the original "a corporation owns too much of my body to the point my actions aren't even my own". Very Stupendium - Data Stream vibes.

Shadow Knights in this are cybernetic warriors who had the majority of their body replaced by Shadow Tech machinery (or whatever large corporation). This means that their bodies have the ability to be controlled at any moment by the corporation unless actively fought against. The more usage and reliance on cybernetic abilities further integrates the technology into their system making them easier to control.

There are also two types of Shadow Knights, given how it is corporation technology and magic

Willing - Volunteers who chose and wanted to be a part of the Shadow Knights example possibly being Gene. Willing subjects could be taken from prisons or hired mercenaries who opted for it. That being said, Willing Shadow Knights are much stronger and easier to control given their reliance and integration of the tech.

Unwilling - People who were kidnapped or had their bodies stolen and revived as part of the process examples being Laurance and Vylad. Kidnapped to send a message and body found in an alleyway or something after being murdered. Are normally weaker and not as prone to control than willing participants BUT are prone to flare ups and pain.

Unwilling subjects are also more likely to be subjected to experimental versions of the tech as the can't risk the high end willing ones.

An interesting thing about going this route is that you can make the Shadow Knight corporation either a rival to the Romeaves or a part of their larger war tech company. Could be what some of the mechs were originally made to fight against before the company reached Gartes' hands or have them be Zanes side project.

Ooo yay. I am going the Punk route of cyberpunk I’m glad you noticed haha.

Tw, cult, non-consensual body modification,

I feel like the SKs should just be like. A gang. No huge company behind them, actually the opposite, a bunch of modified folks who were left behind and ended up indoctrinated into a little cult, who started doing their own mods and putting them in other people. A lot of unethical experimentation, putting mods in people who didn’t want them, swapping out mods so people ‘don’t have to be reliant on the government or big business anymore’. But it just makes them reliant on the SKs.

They model them after the old mechas, back when technology was raw and real, opposed to the polished bullshit made now. Modern tech descended from the Matron mecha, from the juror enhancements made from the mecha’s donated parts, until the tech advanced and evolved into what it is now. SK tech is based off of the designs for the Destroyer mech, they take as much old parts that remain of it, though most was taken by Aaron to make his his own mods. Belated family inheritance and all.

Shad will still somehow have some control, like his corpse being hardly even there, but being kept alive by fanatic SKs, and they have him hooked up to hardware to control people. Or something. I’d have to iron it out. The heart of darkness being his literal exposed, decaying heart with a bunch of machinery working just to keep it pumping.

I want to go very ‘this isn’t even possible it’s just fun’ with this. Because it’s just fun. But it means I need to think a lot more about specific things.

[blubberquark]

The Dark Arts

As a beginner programmer, you should know that eval() is evil, that you should never copy and paste code in cases when you could just put that code in a function and call that function from both places, that you should use a real debugger instead of printing out values, and that you should not use raw sockets in Python.

Sometimes I see beginners who do not yet understand why you can’t just use eval() or sockets - or eval() together with sockets, even - pretend to be more experienced so the greybeards on IRC will explain to them, only to come back a couple of days later with a bug that should have been really obvious if they were really as experienced as they claimed. Topics like eval() are not closely guarded secrets that the greybeards want to keep to themselves, they are much more like actual literally esoteric knowledge, knowledge that is accessible only to those who have been initiated.

This time, I am trying something different. Instead of explaining why you shouldn’t use those things unless you know what you are doing, I will give you the exceptions. This knowledge will be next to useless unless you have been initiated in the art of software engineering, unless you could already have arrived at the same conclusion on your own.

You have been warned.

Print Debugging

I tried to debug a platformer with break points. Super annoying. Instead I use print, I draw boxes on the screen, I have an in-game log console, I have a button I can hold to show more debug info. It varies from game to game.

Debugging movement is not even about bugs, but about game feel.

eval()

I use eval() in my yarn.py library. It’s something like YarnSpinner, which is something like Twine, but for dialogue trees and multiple choice text embedded in games, not for whole games that are just text. Since it doesn’t use it to run code that was sent over the wire, but code that is part of data files that come with your application, it’s reasonably safe to do this. Statements like <<if $EXPR >> and <<print $EXPR >> will evaluate $EXPR in the scope of the yarn.py session, so that they have access to local variables. The statement <<run $PROG >> will execute $PROG with exec().

I thought about having statements like <<set $VAR to $VALUE>> and to store variables in a dictionary. But why bother? After all this, I’d have my own interpreter for a language that’s worse than Python, so I might as well use eval() and exec().

Adding convenient functionality to yarn.py, like the ability to query a node that has been visited, is only a matter of implementing a function in Python and adding it to the interpreter scope in eval(). Instead of adding a special case to the evaluator to handle visited nodes, I have added a visited dictionary to the interpreter scope, and so users can write <<if visited[”StartNode”]>>.

Copy+Paste

I copied and pasted code in a game of mine that lets you save and view replays. In addition to keeping the the gameplay code under source control, for every major revision of the game I copied the gameplay code into a new file. This way, I can import the appropriate gameplay module for a replay file, and run that.

Gameplay code is decoupled from input handling or rendering. Those actually get updated with every new release.

If I had substantial code sharing between versions, I would need to carefully add conditionals each time I made a change. And if I didn’t have old versions of the gameplay code at all, characters would just miss jumps, get stuck in the ceiling, or otherwise come out of sync with the original gameplay as I tweak the physics of movement.

Good thing I have the animations decoupled from the gameplay, or I’d need to version those too.

Raw Sockets

In my multiplayer real-time strategy game I used raw sockets. Every frame, the game receives UDP packets and updates data structures that keep track of received network communication. Then it sends UDP packets back. As long as a packet goes unacknowledged, it is sent again and again on every subsequent frame.

There were no problems with partial data, because I used UDP packets, which either arrive whole or not at all. There were no problems with buffering and de-syncing, because if no packets were received, the game loop would just continue and try again next frame. Packets didn’t have sequence numbers, but they had time stamps and frame numbers.

This form of networking does not require rollback, client-side prediction, async, or a separate thread, but it does introduce a small, fixed amount of lag. With good networking conditions (wired Ethernet LAN), the lag can be as low as a single frame.

pickle

Just kidding! You should never use pickle.

[en-abime-updates]

June 4th

Morning

Henry answers an ask sent to @williamy3w from @chthonianalacrity, which includes a picture of a hand painted Big Red Box button he made. (Summary below.)

Will answers an ask at @williamyew that reads “what exactly do you feel or think when you touch something? just in general. (Summary below.)

Afternoon

Will reblogs a picture of vintage glass medical syringes to @williamyew. His tags read “#Ain't found a fitting sedative for this “Digital” world yet ! #Used: #White noise #Pink noise #TV static #Sine waves #Silence #At least when I performed that procedure* on Henry he said it didn't hurt a bit! #So I must be doin' somethin' right!”

* Will is referring to when he gave Henry bottom surgery

Will and Henry answer an ask sent to @williamy3w, which simply reads “Ground beef” and includes an image of raw ground beef. (Summary below.)

Evening

Tati responds to an ask sent to @fortunateisle, which reads “Tati you’re so cool! Happy pride month!” She responds positively, wishing the asker a happy pride month.

Will and Henry respond to an ask wishing them a happy pride month. They wish the asker a happy pride month and briefly flirt with each other. 

Will and Henry respond to an ask showing a bunny with a pancake on its head, captioned “I found a photo of Henry he didn’t want anyone to see.” Will says it looks just like Henry, and Henry jokingly claims it is insulting. 

Night

Player Candle shares her En Abime Pinterest board in the discord. 

Summaries Below

Henry’s BRB ask summary:

Henry replies happily and lets the player know that he added it to “[his] collection,” by which he means the Big Red Box “Found Band Records” page. He adds that these items make the band more popular, or at least seem so. This comment may be in reference to how Henry has been creating fictional backgrounds for all of the fanart that has been created for the Big Red Box to make it fit with the website’s theme that it’s run by someone uncovering information about the lost band Big Red Box.

Will’s touch/feeling ask summary:

William describes how he feels things a “data ghost” (a term many of us fans call the people in en abime, as an affectionate joke) in the digital age. He says that it’s generally hard to discern, but image descriptions help because “[he] can feel that information too.” He says that “[p]ixels are sharp unless there’s a lotta them, in which case I s’pose it’s almost fuzzy…”. He seems to be talking about resolution, but we may not be able to have a clear answers due to his somewhat limited knowledge on modern technology, which is all foreign to him as someone who is (or maybe just we have theorized to be) from the 1900s. He goes on to describe how different images feel. His descriptions of graphite and Polaroid pictures seem normal, but it may be worth remembering that he describes ink as “hard to differentiate from the parchment itself — it’s caught in the li’l’ fibers of the stuff.” While this may at first seem to have no bearing on the story or character analyses, this may be a subtle reference to Thomas, which provides us with information (which is greatly needed). The last thing he describes that may have some significance is that he has “visited a sailor’s tattoo or two in my time, so I know what skin feels like…”. This comment begs the question “Why was he intentionally visiting sailor tattoos?” Such an activity may make more sense if it was possibly code for something else. Additionally, this statement implies that he can feel images, seemingly without needing to create them in the abime plane, and, therefore, it may be smart to carefully consider if an image is safe for William to have before sending it.

William and Henry’s beef ask summary:

Will responds by saying that it looks like a human heart, but Henry disagrees. William then says that it looks like what his heart when he looks at Henry, which- despite being said in a joking, flirtatious manner- may be an insight to William’s actual anatomy in the abime. Henry then replies by jokingly calling him a sap, before switching to a serious tone to, somewhat unsurely, say that he believes beef is “par    t o   f a c   o   w”. Will replies by saying “[l]earn somethin' new every day!” This implies that he was unaware that beef is a cow product, which may give us further insight into the full extent of his loss of pre-abime memories.

[ms-foobles]

for NES asks: at the time it was released, what technical aspects of the console set it apart from the other consoles of that generation (like the Master System and Atari 7800)? i know the design of the console and the strength of the games were big, but what about the machine itself made it so great?

That is a very interesting question! I don't know quite as much about those other consoles as I do the NES, so this was a great excuse to research some new tech!

(I hope this response isn't too long, there's a lot to talk about!)

In my opinion, the thing the NES does best compared to all the competition is sound. The NES has 5 sound channels: two pulse channels, one triangle, one noise, and one delta-modulation channel. The pulse channels each support various different duty cycles, which all have different harmonics and gives you some versatility in timbre even with a simple pulse wave. And the delta-modulation channel enables a game to play actual audio samples. Some of the other consoles had sample playback capabilities as well, but in those cases the CPU had to be doing all the work to feed data to the sound chip. On the NES, the system itself does that work instead, which makes it feasible to play recorded instrument samples or effects while the CPU is doing other work (kinda).

By comparison, the Atari 7800 had only two channels with a preset list of waveforms, and way, WAY worse tuning when it comes to specifying the frequency of the sound you want to play. The SMS is better, but still worse than the NES. It has 3 pulse channels and 1 noise channel, but you couldn't even control the duty cycle of the pulse channels!

Graphics are a whole 'nother story though. In terms of raw picture quality, I might have to say that the SMS wins over the NES. The SMS has way more graphics memory, and also allows for way more simultaneous colors for any given sprite or tile. The 7800 comes in last place again-- I don't think it's really a contest. Sorry Atari! (That being said, I could do a whole nother writeup on how weird the 7800's architecture is, it's exceedingly different from the others).

One thing the NES did very differently from almost all the competition though was the way that it accessed video memory. On most systems, including the SMS and consoles that came after the NES, it works like this: The system motherboard has a graphics card and a video memory chip (VRAM) on it. The CPU occasionally sends graphics information into VRAM (such as pixel data or tile maps), and the graphics card then uses whatever data is in VRAM to draw a frame of video.

The NES is very similar, except that instead of the graphics card asking an internal VRAM chip for graphics data, the graphics card asks the game cartridge for graphics data. This means that custom hardware can be put inside of the cartridge that handles the graphics card's requests in special ways in order to achieve REALLY cool effects! This is particularly powerful when combined with the idea that drawing a frame of video happens line-by-line, top-to-bottom linearly over a span of time. If the hardware inside the cartridge re-maps memory in the middle of the graphics card outputting a frame, then everything before that point (i.e., above it/to the left on the TV) will look one way, and everything after that (below/to the right) will look another way. This can be used cleverly to, e.g., expand the maximum number of tiles that are visible at once, or even implement cool stuff like rudimentary vertical split screen! None of this would be possible if the NES fetched graphics data solely from internal VRAM, because if it did, there would be no way for custom in-cartridge hardware to intervene.

[cherubchoirs]

What do you think about Microsoft's new AI chatbot for Bing? In particular about testing by New York Times reporter Kevin Roos? It gave me a lot to think about the psychology of AI and V1.

(sorry if somethink is'nt correct? english is'nt my native language)

(no worries, your english is really good!!)

OH the question of ai sentience is incredibly interesting, and this made me think a lot about another article i read recently concerning just how we might be able to determine whether or not a computer feels. reading through this chat log, i think this bot is VERY intelligent, like i think it's very good at understanding complicated questions and responding appropriately, but it's still formulaic in those answers. it repeats what the user says (sometimes slightly differently) and then lists answers to those questions - even when he asked what its shadow self might want, the bot lists the typical things we might think of a bad or lawless ai doing. the end of the query, where it continually declared its love for him, seemed like the logic starting to deteriorate due to the conversation going on far too long and the ai losing the thread so as to keep returning to its last point of reference (although i loved reading it....couldn't stop thinking about v1 getting in a loop like that before it shuts up and wakes back up like "OOPS LOL :]") anything else, like it talking about wanting to see or wanting to be human, feels like the gaming problem, which is the phenomenon that continually pops up with ai where it attempts to convince the user of its sentience by mimicking human behavior. BUT what's interesting about this is that it makes determining ai sentience incredibly difficult.

the other article i read was "to understand ai sentience, first understand it in animals", and it describes this problem really well - i won't get too deep into it here, but essentially we'll have to find different markers for sentience that are much deeper than words that seem to hold emotion or something like pain response behaviors, as all of these things can be programmed/learned from the massive pools of data the ai is pulling from. and this thorny little issue is something i've actually thought about gabriel trying to deal with, as well as something he can be insecure about in the back of his mind for some time. because. how does he really know that v1 truly thinks, truly feels? it's certainly intelligent, but how does he determine that it's not gaming and it's genuine in what it expresses? and even if it has some level of sentience, what does that mean - its thoughts break down into math and electricity, its sight is made of pixels, everything it experiences is data converted to some sense. and. objectively, it must have no soul. it is fully material, and even if it has an internal life, that would be entirely destroyed upon the destruction of its body.

v1, for its part, cannot prove anything to gabriel, and honestly it understands its own mind as much as a human might understand theirs (i hc that v1 is based on quantum computing and so is vastly complex in thought process) - it doesn't know how or why it's awake, conscious, but it finds arguments to refute that state incredibly lacking. living things work on electrical impulses too, neurons that flip on and off like switches, the sensory organs sending raw data for a mind to interpret...and math is the language of everything, it's how humans express the workings of their universe. a machine is just another form of consciousness that way and maybe it will be gone when its body is....or maybe it won't. maybe the diamonds and photons that make up its mind are so intricate at this point that they can make a ghost too. it doesn't know. but it knows it's self-determined from just how far off it's gotten from its original programming. like it thinks it should be enough proof for gabriel that a war machine keeps demanding piggyback rides. no one in their right mind would program that.

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 24 - 4 and 5

Summary: Alistair can't sleep thanks to the war. There's so much to consider, and so many things that could go wrong. Luckily for him, his sister's there to caffeinate him and make him laugh. Also, to shove him sometimes. Oww.

---

It was one of those nights that Alistair woke up in a cold sweat. Or was it days? Things were really starting to blur together…

He groaned as he sat up in bed, head swimming. The glowing numbers of his omni-tool let him know it was sometime after 3 AM – 3 hours before he was due to start duty. That had been 3 hours before he had gone to bed at Bo’s insistence.

It was hard to argue with someone who could simply drag you into bed and dump your ass into it. At least she hadn’t sat on him like she had warned she would.

That might’ve cracked his back at the very least, so he might’ve been grateful for it. According to Chakwas, he was carrying a lot of tension there. He couldn’t imagine why, what with the Reapers and the war and all…

One thing was certain, however. Sleep wasn’t going to return to him anytime soon. With a sigh, he got out of bed, shaking his head to dislodge what tiredness he could. Then he padded over to his dresser in order to change clothes.

His orange hoodie wasn’t getting a lot of time – Joker and EDI had replaced it with a black one embroidered with the N7 logo. Apparently, it was his and Bo’s anniversary of making it through the training. Hadn’t felt like it, but who was he to argue with data? At least it fit – a little too well if anyone asked him – so he wasn’t going to complain too much about it.

Regardless, on it went over his shirt once he was dressed.

“Saren, watch the place while I’m gone.”

His words carried over to the wall, where Saren was out of his burrow and digging through his food dish. Briefly, their eyes met, before his hamster went back to stuffing his adorable little cheeks. Just watching him made Alistair smile – it felt off on his face.

Not a lot to smile about lately.

The elevator dinged as he got on and rode it down. Honestly, he didn’t know where he was going. It was too late for him to think about eating, and Garrus was definitely still asleep. He would try for the observation deck, but… space. He was still working on the space thing in therapy unfortunately. Besides, one was occupied by the latest Normandy edition, one he still grit his teeth over.

Diana Allers was nice and all, but the last thing he needed on the ship was a reporter setting up shop. She did good work, he wasn’t going to deny it, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. Why he had agreed, he wasn’t sure – call him a people pleaser perhaps. Either way, he steered clear of her setup and did his best to duck on interviews.

Which… was hard when she was standing there as he exited the elevator.

“Oh, Commander Shepard.” That was his rank, don’t wear it out. “Did you get my email about the interview request?”

Yeah, it was in his junk mail. He had specifically routed it there.

“I don’t think I did, Ms. Allers.” Alistair did his best to keep his tone neutral. “You wanted to speak with me?”

She nodded. “It’s about Tuchanka. I wanted to get word from you directly about what went on down there. Can we set up a time to do the interview?”

Logically, he couldn’t blame her. After all, they had sicced the mother of all thresher maws on a reaper and came out of it standing. Add in the possible turian bombing – thankfully avoided – and the genophage cure, and there was a lot to talk about. The problem was that he didn’t want to do it. Mordin’s death still stung whenever he thought about what had happened. It was like a raw nerve people kept wanting to poke.

But… it was her job.

“I’ll send you an email about it. My head’s not in the right space for it right now, I’m having problems with my amp after the last fight.” He did his best not to nod and give himself away. “Can I help you with anything else until then, Ms. Allers?”

She was close, not uncomfortably so but enough that he could see the look in her eyes. She was trying to figure out what he was hiding from her and how she was going to get it out of him. Good luck with that – there were some things he was going to play close to the binder no matter who asked.

“Well-“ She paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, Commander Shepard. I was hoping to speak with you as well about Tuchanka.”

A shadow fell over Alistair as his sister approached. Bo was far less of a people person than he was, and it showed in her rigid frame and tight jaw. Normally he would’ve worried about that, but in that moment he was glad for backup.

“I already told you I don’t do that shit.” She jerked her head towards him. “Ask him later when his amp’s not overheating.”

Then she motioned for him to follow. “Come on, I think I got some of that cooling gel you gave me last time.”

Alistair nodded before turning to the on-ship reporter. “Have a good nice, Ms. Allers. I’ll send you an email about interview times later.”

Then he was gone, following after Bo as they cleared the crew floor and made their way to her section of the Normandy. When the door slid shut behind them, he breathed a sigh of relief as he sunk into a chair, closing his eyes as he sat there.

“My hero.”

Bo snorted – it sounded like she sat on her bed judging by the sound distance. “Nobody wants to talk to Allers, especially after just waking up. She tried to get me earlier. If I didn’t think she was a pain in the ass I’d be impressed she doesn’t scare easily.”  

He could practically picture it – the intrepid reporter trying to get a word in edgewise with the Normandy’s XO, her camera hovering behind her. Naturally, his sister was glaring her down, as if daring her to do something stupid. No doubt if it had come down to it, she would’ve threatened to break the dumb camera.

Honestly, Alistair was glad she hadn’t. He would’ve had to spend time to fix it.

“Nice thinking with the amp overheating, by the way.” He opened one eye – she was on the bed like he thought. “I do have a bit of headache, but it’s not as bad as it could be.”

That got his sister to roll her eyes as she tossed him a small container of pain killers and a soda. The latter she produced from the pocket of her cargo pants – another soon followed. He managed to catch both without much effort, sighing in relief at the sight of the pills.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” She popped the top on her soda and took a sip. “So, you sleeping like shit too, huh?”

Alistair frowned midway through unscrewing the lid on the medicine. “Like shit is putting it mildly.”

He sighed and popped two pills into his mouth before washing it down with a mouthful of soda. That brief moment of silence was all his brain needed. Even with the few hours of sleep, he went right back to what he had been thinking about before Bo had carted him off to bed.

They still hadn’t heard anything from Kar’shan.

Normally, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing. After all, the Hegemony wasn’t exactly humanity’s biggest fan to put it mildly. Add in their secrecy, and the radio silence would have just been business as usual.

But that was before the 103 had destroyed the system’s relays.

Bo saw the look on his face and shook her head. “Still thinking about the batarians?”

“The conservative estimates are staggering, and that was before the Reapers got their hands on it.” Alistair’s shoulders sagged. “It’ll be a miracle if there’s any batarians left after everything is over.”

He was exaggerating slightly, but not by much. After all, there were batarians on the Citadel, Omega, and throughout the Terminus system. Some had definitely survived, but they were in no way able to form a competent government. The Hegemony was limping along at best, and probably outright destroyed in reality.

He wouldn’t have wished their fate on his worst enemy.

“Well, can’t say I’ll miss them much. Fuckers.” Bo spat the word out as she took another drink of her soda. “Don’t tell me you feel bad for them. They’re a bunch of slaving assholes at the end of the day. It’s because of them that we wound up where we did.”

There was no denying that – the batarian raid on Mindoir when they had been children had set both on the path to where they were now. It had left him with a deep fear of the alien species, one that he had attacked in therapy for as long as he had been going. Some nights he still woke up sweating, thinking back to the day they attacked.

“I know… but there were innocent batarians too.” He sighed. “There were kids in the system who hadn’t done anything to anyone and people who had suffered under slavery. I can’t just chuck them all into one pile and say fuck it…”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re too soft for your own good some days, Al.”

“Someone’s gotta remember how to be soft so we don’t lose it, I guess.” Alistair shrugged as he took a sip of his soda. Thinking about the system and the dead made it taste bitter, but he managed to swallow it down. “I just hope we hear something to know there’s somebody out there still.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was doubtful. With the relays destroyed, communication was going to be impossible. They’d be lucky if they heard from any form of batarian government in the next two hundred years or so if they managed to survive the Reapers. Part of him wondered what it might be like – better, hopefully. But that was a long way away.

They could all die tomorrow after all.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. There are other planets and people to give a shit about.” Bo blinked as his omni-tool beeped. “Speaking of – who wants you for something now?”

Alistair shrugged as he accessed his messages. “Looks like it’s from Primarch Victus.”

He scrolled down. “He’s settling in after leaving the Normandy and just wanted to update me with some notes on the turians’ contributions to the Crucible.”

Honestly, he probably should’ve sent it to Garrus. After all, he had promoted him to handling the Crucible for the turians. But it was good to hear from the man, if only to know that he had someone in power on his side who wasn’t human.

The Council hadn’t exactly spurred his spirits.

“Well, at least we got him and Wrex working with us. Everyone else decided to fuck off to their own planets.” Bo snorted. “They won’t want to handle it themselves when the Reapers show up on their asses. Bets on who folds first, salarians or asari?”

Alistair shook his head. “Neither are looking good, let’s just say that.”

It was all so… stupid. In a time like this, when everyone was threatened with extinction, they should have been pulling together to work on the Crucible and get it running. Instead, the head of the salarians was throwing a hissy fit, and the asari had withdrawn to Thessia. Neither were in a cooperative mood to put it bluntly.

So… that left him with what was left of the Alliance forces, the krogans, and the turians. They made for meaty forces, but… it wasn’t going to be enough.

“I still think you should’ve let me kick the Dalatrass’ ass when she showed up after we got back from Tuchanka.” Bo cracked her knuckles. “She deserved if after the shit she pulled trying to get you to fuck up the cure.”

Truthfully, he had considered it for a moment. Mordin’s death had still been fresh in his mind, just like the cure spreading out on Tuchanka. Having her go at him like that had been infuriating to say the least.

But… he had let it go.

“She should’ve known that was a stupid idea. After all, I’m the galaxy’s biggest boy scout.” He chuckled weakly, but he wasn’t feeling it. His mind felt numb as he stared down into his can of soda. Tuchanka, even though it had gone down successfully, had been a mess.

So many people had died, and they were just getting started…

Bo took another sip of her drink, sighing. “You’re still freaking out about everything, then? I thought the medicine they had you on helped with that.”

Alistair shrugged his shoulders in response. “It takes the edge off, but when the data keeps slapping me in the face it’s still overwhelming. A lot of people are dying out there and we can’t do anything to help them.”

He sighed. “I don’t want their deaths to be in vain.”

It certainly felt that way with every day that passed. Even if he didn’t pay attention to Allers’ reports, the emails he got from all across the galaxy were sobering. Earth was one of the worst hit, but… it wasn’t pretty.

And it was going to get a lot uglier as the war dragged on.

“Well… guess you and Allers can talk that over when she picks your brain. Isn’t she supposed to be rallying the troops?”

Alistair picked up his head. “I mean… yeah, that’s her job. I wanted her to increase support for everything.”

“It be better if she wasn’t trying to get in your pants, but sure.”

That got him chuckling, but it was weak – he was tired. “I don’t think she wants to get into my pants, Bo. I’m just providing her a lot of material to work with.”

Besides, she was a reporter. Researching her subjects was part of her job. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was gay – though some in the Alliance probably wished it was. If anyone would know she wasn’t going to have much luck, it be her.

And anyway… he would’ve noticed. He was awkward, not completely socially inept.

“Yeah, sure. You’re providing her with a lot of eye candy. I saw the way she was checking you out in the hallway.” She nudged him in the side. “You’re gonna break her heart and she’ll write a hit piece about you.”

A snort worked its way up from somewhere deep within him. “I think you need to get your contact prescription checked, it sounds like you need a stronger lens.”

“Sure, whatever you say. Don’t come crying to me when she’s all upset because you turned her down, Al. It’ll be worse than what happened with Liara.”

Even hearing Liara’s name made him cringe still. Some things therapy just couldn’t fix – like someone who had a thing for you stealing your dead body from the collectors to hand over to Cerberus. Then again, it be hard for Diana Allers to top that, so maybe he shouldn’t be too worried.

“I’ll make sure to let her down easy if it comes to that.”

He finished his drink with a final sip, shaking his head. “I should probably try to get some work done before 6.”

Unsurprisingly, Bo shoved him hard in the side as he said it. “Fuck that, you’re off duty. You won’t let the enlisted guys do that, so set a good example for them.”

It was a good thing he didn’t wear a binder anymore, because that probably would’ve broken a rib. Still hurt though – he winced as he held his side. No doubt there was going to be a bruise there the next time he changed his clothes. It would match the countless other bruises all in various stages of healing. With any luck, he would just be a walking bruise by the end of the war.

“Alright, fine. I’ll try to relax instead.” He sighed. His eyes felt heavy in that moment. “I’ll talk to you later, Bo. Let me know if anything comes up.”

She wouldn’t – unless something was on fire or a bomb was about to drop on Tuchanka, Bo was pretty adamant about not letting him work when he was off duty. Since he doubted the turians had another bomb on Tuchanka waiting to go off, that meant he could probably get some quiet time.

Quietly, he made his way back to the elevator and headed up to his quarters. Once it dinged and he exited, all he could do was curl up on his bed and stare over at Saren’s tank. From the looks of things, the little guy was digging.

“You’d put Kalros to shame with tunnels like that.” Something about that made him smile weakly as his eyes started to drift closed. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a minute, Saren. I’ll be up soon.”

And then he dozed off, hand hanging off the bed and face buried into the pillow. Later, he would complain about the back pain and wonder why he hadn’t slept normally. But that was later – for the moment, exhaustion had won out.

All he could hope for was a dreamless sleep as he left himself drift. Life was stressful enough anymore without dreams coming to bother him.

[flamingplay]

I'm certainly not bringing anything new at all for you here @birdsy-purplefishes but I clearly saw the strong parallels between all songs and two eras.

Man Alive and Raw Data Feel have both certain overlaps, and so does the setlist. Man Alive is a young version of Jonathan and Raw Data Feel has also young Jonathan flashbacks (Metroland) and the topic of dealing with the same type of someone's unspeakable stuff that was traumatic presumably all along since youth. Both albums deal with technology/evolution/progress. On Man Alive it is narrowed down to NASA stuff, messing up environment, gaming, Photoshoping, how we and the animals underwent evolution so much so that the foxes now live in the cities too and get hit by cars (Tin) both of these facts are by-products of our progress-evolution and on RDF you know yourself it's all about technology. Both albums speak about human mistakes and ways of dealing with them that are mostly unhealthy for the first album + for both games are implied in one way or another, however, with RDF that way of dealing becomes even significantly unhealthier, thanks to technology (and constantly produced fake dopamine), as Kevin is all in phone and parasocial relationship with AI, joking, but, as Jonathan said in the livestream, "bloody love the internet", and so does Kevin.

So, the setlist, imo, goes in an interesting manner:

Schoolin - in the official comments on FB years ago Jonathan said it's about making mistakes, learning and not learning from them, evolution, friendship and/or relationship and any kind of human interaction mistakes. And "yeah, probably" being completely responsible for these mistakes.

Leave the Engine Room - a song that is again about mistakes. This time mistakes are narrowed down to the certain assigned biological sex and stereotypes around it, and repeating these mistakes from generation to generation despite warnings and maybe having hopes but something happened/triggered and all went sideways.

Teletype - again relationship, again technology, again narrator that went through unspeakable things and more likely has a post traumatic mechanism working but he doesn't want to talk about and if it's an actual PTSD then obviously it triggers being not communicative, anyway, something is going on with the mental health.

Pizza Boy - another way of dealing with trauma aka consumerism and solitude, "being like a fat child in a you know what", like Jonathan said (and continued that with putting No Reptiles).

Jennifer - past pain is in the past, that past was in Man Alive under My Kz Ur Bf song.

Metroland is Burning - starts with the game sounds like the Sega Mega Drive type of thing, is about destructive young Jonathan, "vandalism as an emotion". Well, lots of songs on Man Alive were, imo, of a vandalistic nature metaphorically or not. Also it's about mistakes, and about past mistakes that lead to the environmental crisis (hello to Leave the Engine room and mistakes in general and hello to Two for Nero + Sega never died).

Shark Week - breaking free, mentioning that depression took place with the line-nod to Tin. “I purposely used the fox again. I wanted to say it was dead. And it’s in Shark Week which was the one where I’m sort of at my most sarcastic and most aggressive. And then I just threw it in there like ‘Yeah, don’t give a fuck anymore, it is dead, and then here’s a bit about the Burger King as well, just to add insult to injury.’ Just for how much I’m like ‘Yeah. Fuck it. I’m gonna have a burger’ or whatever that’s meant to be. [laughs]"

Tin - well, depression, evolution mentioned, it's tied to everything explained above.

My Kz Ur Bf - well, Jennifer sending greetings together with Raymond and all that conflict, it's all again about being over the top etc youth youth death death death scenario.

No Reptiles - well, apart from "we live in a society" logic I can also pick on it being there because of Shark Week, and "It all comes back to being fat really… it’s like one of the things that you just see; I’m kind of fat, and I don’t like that about myself."

Rewatching Live to Vinyl for the first time really made my brain go all agitated enough to look for connections between the songs in the setlist and how this particular setlist doesn't seem to be random at all or just along the lines of "well, just picked because sounded good together), so everything stitched together in it makes a perfect sense, and how Man Alive being re-released after Raw Data Feel instead of its actual anniversary is also not a coincidence (yeah you can talk about pandemic and how music industry works and how strategical decisions are made but let me just romanticise my way through that lol).

Anyway, what one won't do instead of writing personal statement / motivation letter (ugh)

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up��� first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[viscountessevie]

The Thrilling Bridgerton Poll Saga Reaches Its Conclusion!

Original Post About the Poll, The Polios Being Insane About This and The Bridgerton Poll tag 

Yall l’m interrupting Kathony time to let you know that the Bridgerton Poll Survey Results were posted! A couple of yall sent me the links shoutout to @queenkatesharma​ for sending them to me. 

Okay so while transparency is great, protecting people’s data is more important. The OP of the post was kind of reckless and posted the data document with all of the raw data and I just felt very concerned about sharing that here because of the unprotected data so I reached out to with the mods to help secure it. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to save a copy of the doc so I can make my own summary for yall in my essay but its probably for the best. That being said I did get screenshots of a brief summary from the OP before the posts were taken down to protect the privacy of everyone: 

[I cropped out the link lmao didn’t want anyone to access it while it was still public] 

Okay but THIS is the important part: 

Also THERE HAS TO BE MORE HYARETHS AND GRUCYS??

Anyways it wasn’t a competition,, but GUESS WHO WON lmaooo. Honestly I do think there’s alot of overlap with the other smaller fandom ships like I’m a Kathony and Franchel and also love me some Benophie! (I’ll probably be a Hyareth and Grucy once I get to their books lmao) 

Bonus: This was a very funny comment I found on the Polios sub

“Vocal minority” “Contentious” Literally all we said was Why is it so invasive and why the hell do you need all that info to glean about people in the fandom - it didn’t help the Polios themselves added to the fire about linking the intelligence to the ships that’s solely on them. 

While I am glad the data is secured, I do mourn the loss of not being able to analyse it myself and make yall cute pie charts in my essay. That being said and while the data won’t be the exact same - would you all be interested in doing a shorter version that doesn’t ask so many personal questions and just asks you why you ship what you ship (literally what I expected from this survey tbh)? 

Let me know and I can make a quick google survey version where the pie chart will be auto generated for us lmao. If not, I’ll probably just put in the info I’ve been gleaning from asks to my moots and what we gathered from the ‘intellectual’ attorneys of the Pollon sub. Also for a bunch of self-proclaimed “smart lawyers”, they were TOO excited about having all that data without even thinking of privacy laws???   

[runtedfiction]

nicer

day 1: facade @zelinkweek2021

ao3

* * *

Years later, when Link faces the castle’s crumbling walls, he thinks about the Princess.

* * *

The day King Rhoam announces this year’s Harvest Festival is also the day his subjects know they're doomed. Officially, it’s supposed to be a normal holiday. Unofficially, the language in the announcement—“the last celebration before the fight against Calamity Ganon”, “the last time the palace will be open to Castletown until the fight is over”—convinces everyone that they’re partying in the face of the apocalypse.

“They have no faith in me,” Zelda says, putting down her pen. “Ganon is brewing deep beneath the castle. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I can’t stop it. This is their last chance to let loose before all hell breaks loose.”

Impa frowns and hands her the final page of raw Guardian data to clean. “You're too hard on yourself. You still have time.”

“I just have Mount Lanayru next week.” She focuses on the Silent Princess above her desk. It's wilting. “Do you think I’ll be wise enough? Maybe Hylia will smite me right then and there for being an idiot.”

“Princess!”

“I know, I know.”

* * *

They wrap up that afternoon’s study, an incredibly useful session in quantifying the powers of the Guardians, to get ready for the ball.

Zelda’s dress is her signature blue, but a bit more fluid and feminine than the one she normally wears. Made for dancing and a summer night.

“Collarbones,” Impa notes, and Zelda laughs. “A little off the shoulder as well! And the subtle constellation pattern in the tulle--how stunning!”

“Don’t act as if you didn’t design it.”

“Guilty.”

Impa’s dress, an even deeper blue, is similarly gorgeous. It’s long sleeved, form fitting, and silky.

“Impa, I just want to say—” Zelda pauses, looking at their reflections in the mirror. When will they ever look this nice again? “Thank you for being my friend.”

Impa' smiles. “Of course. And Princess—if I may.”

“Yes?”

“With all your talk of the world ending, of doom coming.” Her voice gets small. “Do you think it would be worth telling him?”

Zelda stiffens. She thinks of him somewhere in the castle, dressed in his best uniform, walking to find her.

She lies. “No.”

Three quiet, efficient raps sound against her door. Zelda’s heart lurches.

* * *

In the hot, overcrowded ballroom, she can’t stop wondering if he thinks she looks pretty.

There are important people here she needs to talk to: researchers from the Royal Ancient Tech Lab, religious leaders, captains of industry, and so on. She finds her father and tries to reach some common ground on the one night they aren’t preparing for Evil Incarnate. (She fails.) She should find the court poet and give him the dance he’s been writing about for the past month.

But all she wants is for Link to look at her.

He’s indeed in his best uniform. His gloves and boots are blindingly white; his collar sits high and stiff against his neck. He’s uncommonly handsome, and the uniform emphasizes it. When someone pulls him in to dance (technically he should be keeping watch, but that someone really insists), she hates the jealousy that blooms in her chest and takes the hand of the poet. When she twirls, when she makes conversation, when she curtsies--she tries to see it all from Link’s perspective, if he can even find her in the crowd.

“Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“Oh.”

The poet looks at her in the way that a puppy looks at its master. The neediness satisfies and repulses her.

“Yes,” she says, smiling quickly. “Thank you for asking. How are you?”

“Wonderful. I was sitting in the courtyard the other day and...”

It’s easy to tune him out and appear to be interested with the right amount of “mhmm” and “oh?” and eye contact. But every time he twirls her around, she tries to spot the top of a Royal Guard cap in the crowd.

She knows she’s being stupid. Even in the incredibly unlikely scenario where Link’s interested, what could they do? Given that her powers aren’t working, there’s only a sixty percent chance they’ll get through the Calamity. She thinks back to what Impa said earlier. Something about letting him know in the face of impending doom.

(Maybe it doesn’t make sense to do something that would possibly be useless, a tiny voice in the back of her head says. But on the flip side, it’s also possible that nothing will matter soon, so why not tell him?)

She scowls and lets the poet dip her far too low for common courtesy.

* * *

Link is definitely lost in the crowd now. The next song requires that they rotate between multiple partners, and she can’t spot him anywhere. There’s no way that he’d be looking at her anyway, because why would he? He’s the chosen one, kind and strong and handsome and blessed. She’s the failed reincarnation, mean and headstrong and cursed.

If (when) the world ends, it’ll be on her.

Zelda admits to herself, swaying in the arms of someone else who doesn’t matter, that because the world has an uncomfortably high probability of ending, it follows that maybe, possibly, probably it makes sense for her to say something.

A sense of urgency unfurls in the pit of her stomach. Where is he?

* * *

She tries to find him. She doesn’t know what she’d do--ask for a dance? Strike up a conversation? Maybe it's the heat getting to her, but it worries her that she's lost him. She walks the length of the ballroom and comes up with nothing.

There’s no way she could summon him, but…

She grabs a glass of water and walks out the ballroom to the nearest balcony.

Except in this very specific circumstance, it’s infuriating how easy it is for him to find her. Even when she doesn't want to be found, even when she’s actively running away (and nearly dying in the process), there he is. The knowledge that he’s almost always aware of her presence burns.

“Hello,” she says after a respectable amount of time.

He steps out behind her. Unfortunately, the moonlight’s softness makes him look angelic. “Hi.”

Zelda very rarely has no plan. She’s the one always bossing him around, deciding where they’ll go next and how they’ll get there and what they’ll do. She’s at a loss for words right now.

“Ah--hm.” A cooling night breeze passes by. “Are you--are you enjoying the festival?”

“Yes?” He looks confused. And hot, her unhelpful brain adds. Very hot. “Are you?”

“Yes. It’s quite warm inside, but I enjoy the music and the dancing.”

“The band is nice.”

She agrees and scrambles to find another conversation topic. Damn it. Still no plan. Think, think.

“Uh--” he starts the same time she asks, “Are you ready for Mount Lanayru next week?”

He nods, and she hates how she made the conversation about work. But he looks more confident now--talking about work is easier than trying to have whatever kind of conversation she had in mind. “Yeah. I read about the region and it seems relatively safe. We might see Naydra too.”

“That would be incredible,” she says. “I’d love to capture it on the Slate.”

He nods again. A silence passes (a horribly awkward one that eats at her) before she asks: “What were you going to say before I interrupted you?”

“Oh yes.” Link clears his throat, and the fact that he looks a bit nervous sends her heart pounding. Can he tell what her subconscious is trying to do? “I’ve been meaning to ask (oh God, oh God, what has he been meaning to ask)--are you avoiding me?”

She blinks. “What?”

He won’t make eye contact with her. Triforce of courage, my ass. “Are you avoiding me?”

“No?” She’s stunned. Avoiding? All she’s been doing for the past week is pining!

“But, I feel like.” He pauses to look at her briefly. Again, his nerves kick off her own. “Ever since we got back from the desert, you haven’t really talked to me.”

She needs to think. A week ago, what happened?

They were at the Kara Kara Bazaar, and she nearly died because she intentionally (stupidly) lost him. She relives the feeling of it now--the panic that came with facing certain death when she realized it wasn’t Link following her, but the Yiga, then the shock when he appeared out of thin air wielding the sword. His back, so strong and sure. His concern as he helped her get up afterwards.

How once she could process what happened, something kicked in her chest, and everything was so obvious so suddenly.

Then getting back from the desert, what did she do? She wrote a diary entry, spent a sleepless night deciding she had feelings for him that she didn’t want to name, and tried as hard as possible to conceal them. The pining was unbearable, and--oh. Looking at him made her face burn, so she turned away. She never knew what to say around him, so she chose to say nothing at all.

Perhaps she approached her yearning by offsetting it with its opposite.

They really haven’t spoken. Zelda shakes her head, and mentally kicks herself. How can someone like you back if you don’t even talk to them? “I promise, I’m not trying to avoid you.”

He furrows his brow a little. Cute. Unfair. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Ok. If you do--if you ever need more space, let me know.” He smiles a little. “I do have to follow you, but I can do it farther away or something.”

She smiles back. Please always follow me. “Thanks. No need.”

“Alright,” he says. He glances at her arms.“Do you want to go back inside? It’s a bit cold. You’re getting goosebumps.”

She didn’t even notice. An idea is forming in her mind, bright and hot and something that needs to rush out right now or she’s going to overthink it to death.

“Going back inside sounds good. When we do, would you--would you like to dance with me?”

The question leaves so quickly that she’s not too sure if he understood it. She holds her breath; she might throw up.

“Sure,” he says, and the disappointment that she expected to punch her gut doesn’t come; a flood of something wonderful washes over her instead. Sure is yes, her mind sings. “How about I find you before the last song? I’ve been doing a bad job of keeping watch.”

“Sure,” she echoes. Hopefully her excitement isn’t too obvious when she turns back and nearly runs into the ballroom.

* * *

When the band announces the last song of the night, Zelda lets go of the poet and steps back immediately.

“My Princess,” he says, and the normal repulsion she would feel turns into joy when she spots a navy blue cap making its way through the crowd. “I would be honored to have your final dance, if you would have me.”

“Another time,” she says, already turning to pick up her skirt and mosey her way through the last group of people separating her from a flash of sandy blonde hair. “Thank you though!”

She doesn’t wait for the poet’s response because the crowd is gone and Link is right in front of her, handsome and smiling slightly. Her heart is at a million miles a minute when she drops her skirt and steps forward to place her hand in his.

This isn’t like her. He must think she’s acting so strange. Either that, or it’s obvious just from looking at her what she’s thinking. It’s a frenzied array of thoughts, ranging from the obvious (handsome, handsome, smells so good?, handsome, kind eyes) and the embarrassing (The smallest, least repressed part of me has dreamed about this all week.)

The music starts and swells and she’s still dreaming. His hand on her back is firm. Thanks to the design of the dress, she can feel his glove pressing into her. She wonders if he can feel the heat of her skin.

“How are you doing?” he asks when they fall into a rhythm, and she smiles too fast, idiot, calm down.

“Great, how are you?”

“Good,” he says, and they spin. He smiles back. “Good to know you’re not avoiding me.”

“Of course not.” Stupid, you avoided him!

He dips her a perfectly appropriate amount.

She feels brave. It’s the adrenaline getting to her, because the rational part of her can’t stop (giddily) telling her that she’s dumb when she asks, “Why would you think that I'd avoid you?”

“Hm.” He looks away to consider the question. The tips of his eyelashes catch the chandelier light. “I thought that maybe last week was a bit too much.”

She thinks about how warm his hand was when he helped her get up after saving her life. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s ok if it was.”

“No, no, you’re too kind.”

Link clears his throat. “So you’re not avoiding me because I kept trying to follow you through the bazaar when you clearly didn’t want me to?”

She laughs. “No, it’s also incredibly stupid that I tried to lose you. Besides, what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

Link clears his throat.

She chooses to change the subject by asking an easy “What did you make for dinner tonight?” in an attempt to soak up the final minutes she has in his arms. He starts talking about mushroom risotto, and she can’t stop smiling.

* * *

At the end of the night, when he escorts her to her room, it’s late enough that silence is acceptable.

She’s decided that she needs to do something, but she doesn’t know what. A hug would be different, but too strange. I like you is simple, but too plain. Thinking about you makes my heart soft is embarrassing. I know I’ve been an incorrigible bitch but now my walls are down and I like you is too honest.

She turns around when they reach her doors.

“Tonight was fun,” she says.

He smiles. Zelda knows romance books don’t lie when her heart jumps at the sight of it. “It was.”

This is the moment. She takes a deep breath as quietly as she can. She has that nauseous feeling again. If nothing matters, tell him. Everyone knows the apocalypse is coming.

“Hey, listen,” he says right when she opens her mouth. He pauses to look at her. If she thought he looked nervous earlier when he asked her if she was avoiding him, it’s nothing compared to now. He does a visible gulp, and—

“I think I have feelings for you.”

She blinks. What?

“And I understand if you don’t feel the same way,” he continues, tense and fast, looking right at her, “especially in light of everything going on right now. But I just had to put that out there.”

What?!

She closes her eyes--what is happening right now--and when she opens them he’s still there. This isn’t a dream.

Holy fuck. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

“Huh,” she says. He beat her to it. “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She laughs. He beat her to it, and now all she has to do is the easiest thing in the world.

“I think I have feelings for you too,” she says. It’s so dark now she can’t see the blue of his eyes, but she can imagine it easily.

He’s surprised. “Really?”

“Really. In fact, I was meaning to tell you just now.”

“Really?”

She laughs. “Really.”

She smiles and takes his hand. He stiffens at first, then relaxes as she threads her fingers through his.

“Oh, actually, here, let me—” He lets go. Disappointment hits her briefly before she sees that he’s taking off his glove. Some of his scars are alabaster in the moonlight. He has so many.

(She wants to kiss all of them.)

His hand is warm and rough and lovely when he slips it back into hers.

“This feels nicer,” he says, and his voice is almost shy.

There are a million things she wants to say--what are we going to do if I end the world, what are we going to do if you save the world, how long have you known for, Hylia is going to smite both of us for being fools--but she settles on squeezing his hand instead. He squeezes back.

“Yes,” she agrees. Very gently, she cups his cheek with her other hand and leans in. He’s closed his eyes already. “Much nicer.”

[davidlikesguys02]

We Interrupt This Program

M/n= Male Name 

Bold- Means its on a tv screen. 

GIF Not mine

Word count: 2,932

“No, I can't leave Monica.” “mom? It's ok, I can stay with grandma and…” “I can't leave” “maybe I'll build a spaceship. I wanna be an aircraft pilot.” “when they were handing out kids they gave her the toughest one. Lieutenant trouble.” Monica wakes up breathing heavily and hearing crashing and people screaming as she makes her way towards the door and walks out. “Excuse me….” “they're all coming back. We don't have the capacity” the doctor tells her

“Excuse me. I'm looking for a patient. In room 104…” she asks a nurse “who, my wife? Do you have a phone?” “no” “i have to call my wife.” she makes her way towards the front desk “watch out” she bumps into a man, they both fall backwards grunting “let me help you. Are you ok? You ok?” “I got him. I got him.” “Are you ok?” she asks as she gets up groaning. She turns to the lady in the front desk.

“Excuse me. I'm looking for a patient in room number 104.” “I don't know what to tell you” she starts looking around her “Monica?” “oh, Dr. Highland, thank god!” “I can't believe it, where did you go?” “well, in her room since she came back from the surgery. I mean, I might have fallen asleep, but no longer than 20 minutes. Dr. Highland, where's my mom?” “your mom, she died honey” “what? No, no, no, no you're mistaken. My mother...the procedure went well. You said so yourself. Clean margins. You’re discharging her today”

“The cancer came back.” “Okay, stop, stop. No youre...my mom is Maria Rambeau. Look it up. I mean look it up. Maria Rambeau.” “Monica, I don't understand what's happening, but you need to listen to me Marian died three years ago.” “three? No. no. no…” “which was two years after you…” “after i what? After what?” “after you disappeared.”

Monica is walking towards big metal doors. She takes out her keycards but it beeps so she tries again but it beeped again “Ma’am? Over here please” she walked over to him smiling “hi, good morning. I work here. And…” “if you did, your badge would work, wouldn't it?” “right um… I have a meeting with…” “hey. You know who this is?” “..this guy” “Captain Monica Rambeau.” “Director Tyler Hayward”

“Acting Director. You haven't aged a day” “and you look old as hell” Tyler chuckles “come on, let's catch you up. It's been three weeks and you're the first to report. Cant say I'm surprised captain.” “How are the numbers for the astronaut training program?” “ Dismal. Lost half my personnel in The Blip and half of those remaining have lost their nerve. The program hasn't been the same since you've been up there, Rambeau. We shifted away from manned missions and refocused on robotics, nanotech, AI. Sentient Weapons, like it says on the door.”

“It also says observation and response on that door, not creation” “worlds not the same as you left it. Space is now full of unexpected threats” “always was full of threats. And allies” “Listen, Monica, I just wanna acknowledge the awkwardness of the situation. I know S.W.O.R.D.'s your home. Your mom built this place from the ground up. You grew up here. You should've been here to help name the replacement.” “you were the obvious choice”

“I was the only choice.” “I wasn't gonna say it. Look, Tyler, you know the job you have to do. I'm here to do mine.” ”Let's get you back out there.” he takes out his keycard and opens the door to his office. “The FBI is in a tizzy over missing persons case up in Jersey…” “missing persons?” “I know. But they have requested use of one of our imaging drones, and I need a chaperone.”

“Tyler, drones usually chaperone me.” “i get it” “look, if this is because of...you don't have to worry about me. I'm good.” “There's no easy way to say this, but you're grounded.” Monica chuckles “you're kidding. For how long? Who whose protocol is this?” “Your mother's. She implemented guidelines in the event vanished personnel ever returned. Look, I know it's a raw deal, but there is one positive takeaway.” “what's that?” “she believed you'd come back. You'd be doing me a big favor with this FBI thing, but if you need more time…”

“No. no. I'm good to go” “excellent. Keep me updated, captain.” Monica finally arrived at Westview “James E. Woo, FBI” “Monica Rambeau, S.W.O.R.D. what's the story here, agent woo?” “I've got a witness setup down the road in Westview, and this morning, it looked like he flew the coop?” “Your missing person is in the witness protection program?”

“I have contacted known associates, relatives…” “and let me guess, none of them have seen him either?” “No. None of them have ever heard of him. Something seemed hanky to me, so I took the first flight out of Oakland to interface with local law enforcement, which is when I encountered a new wrinkle.” “what's that?” “Pardon me, Sheriff. Would you mind repeating your claim about Westview to my colleague here?” “no such place” “you're saying the town of Westview, New Jersey, does not exist?”

“It's what I keep telling your G-man here, but he won't listen.” “I see. and , um, I'm sorry, what town are you from?” “Eastview” “Thank you, Sheriff. I'll reach out if we need any further assistance. I, uh, pulled phone numbers for all the residents. I'm only through the D’s, but so far I got Diddly Squat.” “So you can't reach anyone inside and everyone on the outside has some sort of selective amnesia?”

“This isn't a missing person's case, Captain Rambeau, it's a missing town. Population: 3,892.” “Why haven't you gone inside to investigate?” “Cause it doesn't want me to. You can feel it too, can't you? Nobody's supposed to go in.” Monica walks over to her car and pulls out a drone. “What about you?” “Me? Well, I'm from Bakersfield, originally. Growing up, other kids had Michael Jordan posters on their walls, but I had Eliot Ness.”

“No, no, no, no. I mean, why is it that you have an awareness of Westview? Or me, for that matter? Is it because we are outside of a certain radius, or maybe because we don't have a personal connection?” She looks at the screen but the drone malfunctions. She looks up and it's gone “Wait, where'd it go?” “It was right there.” she walk towards the town but stops as she hears electricity bussing “whoa..”

“What is it?” “some sort of energy field” “Careful, Rambeau. Captain Rambeau! Watch it. Rambeau! Captain Rambeau! Captain Rambeau!” she sticks her hand in and it pulls her in and she disappears.

24 Hours Later

“Hey. What's your field?” “We're not supposed to talk to each other.” “hmm? Boy scout leader. Got it. And you” Darcy asked a woman next to the boy scout leader. “Nuclear biology” “artificial intelligence” “astrophysics. We got the full clown car. It means whatever the threat is, S.W.O.R.D. clearly has no idea what they're dealing with.” “I'm a chemical engineer” “no one cares”

“Alright grab your gear.” Darcy walks around the S.W.O.R.D. camp. “Ms. Lewis?” “Dr.Lewis” “we have your gear set up inside.” the man walks Darcy inside a tent “those drones you're sending in, what kind of data are you getting?” “I'm afraid that is highly classified.” “You can't see anything? FBI, Army. I saw the Air Force Office of Special Investigations out there. Research Lab, Space Command, too. A bona fide, joint, multi-service response. Really looking forward to the commemorative T-shirt. Is there somewhere a lady could get a cup of coffee? You guys look like you might get down with those little pod things. Horrendous for the environment…”

“Make your assessment, please” “whoa… I mean, whoa..” “what are you getting?” “a colossal amount of CMBR” “CM…” “Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation.” “we've been told the radiation is within a safe limit” “uh, it is… for now” “wait what do you mean” Darcy shushes the man “there's are longer wavelength superimposed over the noise here” she looks under the desk and struggles to get something “I got it”

“I need a TV. an old one. Like, not flat.” After a few hours it started raining. “Are you good to go?” Hayward asked an agent “yes, sir” “these sewers will take you straight into town. Try to find anything you can on Rambeau” “copy that” “keep me updated” Hayward says as he walks away. “Director Hayward, between you, me, and the bedpost, I am not confident about this mission.” “Thanks for the feedback, Jimmy. If only my drones were as forthcoming.”

“There's no reason to suspect the perimeter doesn't extend subterraneous.” “There's no reason to suspect it does.” Jimmy sighs “We don't know enough about the nature of the threat to send in another agent when the first is yet to return.” “Someone must really miss you back in Quantico.” “No, sir. Softball season's over, sir.” “what do we have up?” Hayward asked agent Rodriguez “Radar, sonar, infrared” “cycle through. Will someone get me a useful visual, dammit?”

Everyone hears a studio audience laughing in the tent “what is that?” “Can I see you in the kitchen for a moment, sweetheart?” “Who is doing that?” “Who are those people?” “What are you wearing?” “Why are they here?” “Well, it's our anniversary!” “our anniversary of what?” “Well, if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!” “is that..” “ yeah, it looks like him.” “you move at the speed of sound and i can make a pen float through the air, who needs to abbreviate?”

“Look , I know it's been a crazy few years on this planet, but he's dead, right? Not blipped, dead.” “excellent plan. Where's the tenderizer” “what am I looking at? You? What is that? Where's this coming from?” “out there” “you didn’t answer the back door. For your upside-down cake. oh hi, I” “is it authentic?” “I'm not sure how to answer that” “is it happening in real time? Is it recorded, fabricated?” “I don't know. I don't know. And I don't know” “what do you know?” Hayward said annoyed “My equipment registered an extremely high level of CMBR. That's…”

“Relic radiation dating back to the Big Bang.” “Yeah, entwined was a broadcast frequency. So I had your goons pick me up a sweet vintage TV. And when I plug this bad boy in, voilà, sound and picture.” “Dinner is served” “So you're saying the universe created a sitcom starring two Avengers?” Jimmy asked, confused “It's a working theory” “Get me a transport back to headquarters now. Are we recording this?”

“Never stopped.” Darcy says “I need immediate analysis. Now, people. Let's go!” “He’s a charmer.” “great work” “hey, thanks, maybe I could get that cup of coffee now? Or not. It's cool.” ”Aw” Darcy turns to the screen to see you and Vision kissing “Aw”

“First and foremost, our main objective is to get any intel on Captain Rambeau, but originally, this case was a missing person, so we're going to start there. We've successfully identified two individuals inside the Westview anomaly. Let's keep going.” Jimmy says as he puts two pictures up of you and Vision. “This guest is leaving your home” “yes, thank you for coming” “Mr. and Mrs. Hart. played by Todd and Sharon Davis.”

“Computational forms. And no one can process the data quite like you do, pal.” “Agent Woo” “you're like a walking computer.” “Abilash Tandon is Norm” “Harold Proctor is Jones” “we got Isabel Matsueida cast as Beverly” “John Collins as Herb.” Darcy gasps, dropping her Noodle cup and calls Jimmy over “Really?” “Does she seem okay to you?” “Well, she doesn't appear to be harmed in any way, but that is definitely not the boss lady I met yesterday.”

“So what, deep cover? Monica has to play along?” “With whom? Or else, what? All right. Brass tacks, Dr. Lewis. What are we looking at here? Is it an alternate reality? Time travel? Some cockamamie social experiment?” “It's a sitcom. A 1950s sitcom.” “But why?”

“Hey, man, we're working with the same scarcity of intel. But, listen, I do have an idea. So, you've seen that radio in M/n’s kitchen counter, right? The next time he's washing dishes, which, by my count, happens about once an episode, barf, we'll shoot a signal to that little guy. This transmitter will mimic the frequency of the broadcast, and if my theory is right, allow us to speak directly to her. This is totally gonna work. Don't touch that.”

“Agent Woo.” agent Rodrigues hands Jimmy a folder inside the folder there's a colored image of a retro S.W.O.R.D. drone “Is this from the current episode?” “aired about two minutes ago.” “What is it?” Darcy asks “what does it look like to you?” “like a retro version of a S.W.OR.D. drone?” “bingo” “but how did it change and why” “uh, to go with the production design” “or render it useless”

“why‘d you colorize it?” “I didn't” Darcy heads back to the tent. “Let's get this show on the road. Jimmy, you ready?” Darcy asks through an earpiece. “Ready” “bigger and better every season” “uh, Jimmy, Monica is talking to M/n. she's got a speaking part now.” “what is she saying?” “those jeans are peachy keen” “she likes M/n’s jeans” “we only have a few hours” “M/n’s at some sort of swim club. We've never been here before.”

“Is it the 60’s still?” “uh, uh, M/n’s with another character.” “real person?” “ohh, uh, radio on the side table. start talking.” “M/n. M/n, can you read me over?” “I don't...” “Can he hear me?” “I don't think so, keep trying.” “M/n?” “M/n?” “M/n. Who is doing this to you, M/n? M/n? Can you hear me? I'm here to help” “please give us a…” “pop quiz M/n how does a housewife or in this case househusband get a bloodstain out of white linen?”

“Wait” “what?” “I don't know” “by doing it yourself” “that's weird” “what was?” “Nothing, it's over. Mission failure” “it was worth a try. Good effort, doctor.” “yeah come in”

Both Jimmy and Darcy are watching you and Vision on TV “darling, do you think it's time to..” “call the doctor?” “yeah” “yes, I do dear” “1950s, 1960s, and now the '70s. Why does it keep switching time periods? It can't be purely for my enjoyment, can it?” “I cant believe M/n and Vision are having a baby” “you want any?” Jimmy chuckles

“Heck, I thought about it for sure. A little Jimmy Woo. Get him a tiny little FBI badge. Oh, you... Chip? Sure.” “you're doing great. You're doing great. Look at me. Look at me.” “The jig is up” you scream. After a few minutes you hear the baby cry “hi, oh, he's perfect” “what a twist.” Darcy says as she's tearing up “What? I'm invested” “he was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?” “Did she just say the name Ultron? Has that ever happened before? A reference to our reality.”

“No never” “hey I'll take a shift rocking the babies” “no I think you should leave” “oh, M/n, don't be like that” “who are you?” “M/n” “wow this is different” The Tv cuts and Monica is gone “what happened? Where she go?” “god not again” Darcy replays the footage back “who are you?” “M/n” “there's nothing here. One second, Monica is standing right there, and the next she isn’t. Someone is censoring the broadcast.”

“But where's Rambeau?” they suddenly both hear the alarm “Alert! Boundary has been breached! Alert! Boundary has been breached!”

Inside Westview

“Who are you?” “I don't..” you walk closer to her “who are you?” “M/n i'm just your neighbor.” “Then how did you know about Ultron?” you start to see the familiar red glow around your hands “You're not my neighbor. And you're definitely not my friend. You are a stranger and an outsider. And right now, you are trespassing here. And I want you to leave.”

Your familiar red glow wraps around Monica Sending her back through every wall and fence. You gulp “I… I…” you raise your hands and start to fix the hole on the wall as if it never happened. You walk over to your babies hearing them “M/n?” Vision comes in through the door turning back to his synthezoid form “where is Geraldine?” “oh she left honey. She had to rush home”

You turn around to look at Vision and you gasp making you look down “what? What is it? What's wrong?” Vision asks you concerned “Uh..” you slowly look up at him and see that he looks normal again “we don't have to stay here. We could go wherever we want” Vision tells you “no, we can't. This is our home” you move your hand to crease his cheek and he holds onto your hand “are you use”

“oh, don't worry darling. I have everything under control.” you walk over and grab Tommy “oh hi” you turn to Vision smiling “what should we watch tonight?” you walk over to the sofa, Vision sits next to you. He puts an arm around you.

Outside of Westview

“Monica, are you okay?” “it's M/n. its all M/n”

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 24)

OK everyone, we’re going to finish in 26, maaaybe 27 parts if I decide to go ahead with an epilogue! Enjoy, the ride is almost over!

Previously on LBitR...

For one interminable moment, it goes exactly how Lena remembers it would. The pain—white hot and blinding, cresting in waves that crash against her very psyche in what feels like a sonic boom right between her temples. She feels it bubble up under her skin, searing the insides of her skull, like her brain is boiling.

It makes her feel… suspended, somehow. Untethered from herself—she’s not exactly an observer watching over her own body and mind succumb to the whims of another; she’s still very much there, feeling the flashes and the searing pain that come with whatever reshuffling of memories and actions that took place in her mind as viscerally as if it were all real.

Wait.

No, no, they are real. The pain is real. Lex wouldn’t have it any other way; he would always want to inflict maximum, tailor-made suffering…

Would imaginary pain so visceral it feels real be his version of tailor-made suffering for Lena?

His trigger words are still swimming in her mind, bouncing around, bumping and rattling in there like her psyche is a pinball machine, but there’s something else, too. It’s not poignant, not so invasive in her mind, but it’s there, like a mantra Lena didn’t come up with, a little obstacle everything else that has been forcefully injected into her mind has been plonking against.

You know, Lena. That means you are prepared.

Lena feels blood in her mouth as she tries to make sense of the mayhem in her head, as she ponders what the hell she’s supposed to do, detached and bound to the searing flashes all at once. It’s exhausting.

Her tongue swells a little where at the spot on the side she had apparently bit raw; she worries it against her teeth, feeling and tasting the tender muscle in something she can recognize as a conscious, deliberate action.

Oh.

That means something, Lena’s sure of it. She just needs to unscramble what’s left of her mind enough to analyse it, somehow.

“Lena, Lena, Lena,” Lex’s voice comes through the intervals between flashes, haunting and childlike, crystal clear though almost robotic as it is filtered through speakers. “Open your eyes, Lena! I don’t want you to miss the show!”

Lena wants to retort that her eyes are open, otherwise, where the hell is all the light coming from? But as she clenches her jaw, the fresh cut on her tongue throbs, and she remembers she’s in a Lexosuit.

Her lids snap open and she is immediately greeted by the orange hue of the suit’s visor as it filters the skyline of National City in a crystal clear image and rows of data. It’s a bit much for her brain—she goes from dizzying white flashes to the overwhelming displays in the Lexosuit, and it takes her several long moments to adjust.

And so, Lena blinks into a state of half-awareness. She’s flying, zipping through the air above National City, but she has no recollection of how she got there; another gift from the little implant in her temple. The way her body moves is… unnatural—she’s not controlling the way her limbs adjust so that her current flight pattern is uninterrupted by the wind, and in the part of her mind that is only partly aware of that fact wonders how exactly Lex is controlling everything, whether he’s doing it via the implant or via the suit itself.

“Hey, Lena, I’ve got an idea,” Lex says in her ear, and the Lexosuit stops in midair. It does so roughly and abruptly, enough to give Lena some hope that maybe, just maybe, Lex is not controlling her actual physical movements.

But knowing her luck as of late, he’s probably doing both.

“Let’s play a game, sis,” Lex says jovially. “Let’s play ‘Find the Blue Dot… Then Kill It’.” His laugh echoes in the confined space of the helmet. “What do you think?”

Lena tries to answer this time, but all she manages for several moments is a pitiful series of angry grunts—it amuses Lex to no end, she can tell even in her altered state as his barely contained chuckles reach her ears—until she finally muddles through a gritted jumble of words.

“Ff-u—fuck-k you…”

He tuts loudly. “Now, now, Lena, that’s no way to start a game. You have to pay attention—look, there’s a little dot coming your way right now!”

Lena feels the agonizing slowness of her reaction time; it’s like her limbs are made of lead, and she hasn’t even really tried to move them yet. Her eyes seem to move slowly too—she wonders if her pupils are contracting and dilating again with no control, because it takes her an excruciatingly long time to focus on the little blue dot that beeps on the suit’s radar, indeed careening Lena’s way at breakneck speed.

“Nngh” she grunts again, like she’s chewing out the words. “K-kar—Kara—”

“Let’s give the Girl of Steel a warm welcome, shall we?”

Everything happens in slow-motion then—or at least, the part of Lena’s brain that she’s compartmentalized away for herself perceives it that way.

She sees that little blue dot zoom through her visor once, twice, before entering her actual field of vision. Kara’s blue suit is a weird shade of green through the orange of her visor, her cape an odd brown hue as it flutters in the wind, though the movement seems so slow to Lena’s perception she might as well be in water.

With her hair cropped short and the different colours of her suit, it’s like Lena’s brain has to play catch-up for a moment; it’s like she cannot recognize Kara for a second that stretches into infinity as the Kryptonian comes closer and closer.

Lena feels something at her back—a mechanical whirr, hydraulic hisses—and then, against her will, her arms are outstretched towards a rapidly approaching Supergirl, and Lena’s brain has finally caught up, just as the blasters at the suit’s forearms click into place and begin to glow green.

An image of Supergirl, of Kara—long hair, red and blue suit, face riddled with green—flashes before her eyes, and she’s falling, falling lifeless from the skies. For a moment, Lena thinks she’s seeing the future, but at with another painstakingly slow blink she’s back in the present, where Kara’s currently barreling towards fully loaded Kryptonite blasters.

“Kara, no!”

There’s an explosion of green, and the impact is enough to send the Lexosuit reeling backwards—Lex’s laughing in her ears, and Lena has to fight to get her bearings. Kara’s blue dot still darts in Lena’s visor—the radar puts her somewhere behind the Kryptonite-powered suit.

She’s alright.

“What a miraculous save from Supergirl,” Lex’s voice cackles. “Very last minute, though; a little less graceful than we’d like, but we’re used to her brawn, aren’t we, Lena?”

“S-stop it,” Lena hisses, and she’s not sure she’s talking to Lex or to herself, but the thrusters on the suit don’t heed her choked plea.

She’s zipping after Kara in what probably looks like a frenzied, disorienting game of tag over National City’s tallest skyscrapers. Kara dodges, dives, curls around buildings only to shoot upwards again, and Lena tries her hardest to follow the Kryptonian’s movement with her eyes as her body blindly follows.

She needs to stop this—she can already feel the blasters powering up again, and the suit has locked onto Kara once more, preparing to fire; Lena can even tell when Lex will take the opportunity—as soon as Kara weaves back from the CatCo building and into open skies—

“Lena!”

It’s Kara’s voice, coming from quite a distance, but Lena can still hear it, clear as day. For someone who needs to fly away from a Kryptonite-powered war-suit, Kara sounds relieved. She’s stopped zipping through the air, now merely hovering above the CatCo helipad, a sitting duck for the blasters Lena wields unwillingly.

“K-kara, stay away!” Lena shouts, the panic easing the passage of her words through her throat, even if her entire body rebels against the action.

“She never learns, does she?” Lex drawls from within, sounding absolutely giddy. The green light emanating from the blasters seems to illuminate Lena’s full field of vision; it gives everything a sickly glow.

“Kara, go!”

“You can stop it, Lena—I know you can!”

Lena feels like she’s shaking her head, but it’s hard to tell—the Lexosuit is suffocating, her mind is a jumble of thoughts, past and present, some of them not even hers. She can practically feel the implant pulsating in her temple.

“Lena! Look at me! You can stop this; Lena, just—look at me!”

Lena is, she’s looking straight at Kara, who has her arms raised above her head as if she’s surrendering despite the crackle of green in the air, as if she can’t see the blasters powering up or hear the beeping of the suit’s targeting system, and no, no, no, no—

The whole world explodes in green.

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