#it would be painful... especially this one girl who frankly we had a WEIRD ass relationship I won't delve into

[lonesomedotmp3]

also there was this smart gay girl who came to my school for a levels and became friends with the friend group I used to be in in year ten (comparatively way less toxic than another group I hung out with (I was a group hopper I was disloyal but really I didn't fit in anywhere so I'm the victim and I've never done anything wrong. never forget this) but still kind of shitty and just NOT conducive to being gay in that group at all that was not the vibe) and all I could think about was how we'd probably be so close if we got the chance to talk and also I needed to save her from that group. but anyway it never happened. maybe she absolutely loved those guys it's not my business. but let me sound like a cunt for a second. she was better than them. sorry. low-key if I just initiated a conversation with her it could've changed the trajectory of my life. or maybe it would have fizzled out in a week idk. anyway there's a little backstory drop that basically tells you nothing at all except that I was and am kind of a bitch. heart!

[saltskinandasociopath]

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

--------------------------------------

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

or

or

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

--------------------------------------

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

--------------------------------------

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....'  he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

--------------------------------------

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

--------------------------------------

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

--------------------------------------

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

--------------------------------------

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.

[askmerriauthor]

Rampant spoilers for the anime "Super Cub" after the jump, for those of you who want to avoid such. As much as it should be obvious, below are my personal opinions and what I experienced in watching the show, so YMMV.

I've had a few days to mull over my thoughts on the whole matter since that initial kneejerk post (ie, ramble at my ever-patient roommate about stuff she barely tolerates). My thoughts have come to the conclusion that I'm more annoyed with the writers' direction than the protag Koguma herself. As I thought back on it, I felt as though Koguma suddenly went rather out-of-character for how she'd been depicted thus far shortly after the introduction of Shii. It felt as though Shii took on the role that Koguma had previously filled while Koguma became more like Reiko, which is two Reikos too many if you ask me.

From the get-go I was all rooting for Koguma. She was a very sympathetic character dealt a brutally raw deal, and I was keen on seeing her finally get a break. The show did a great job of highlighting those moments of sedate depression and momentary surges of happiness that covered her day-to-day life. Given how much I outright hated Reiko (seriously, this girl is an inconsiderate pain in the ass), having her around made Koguma all the more likeable. Doubly so when Koguma started calling out Reiko on her bullshit as they settled into an old-married-couple sort of dynamic. Reiko is like some kind of weird inversion of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope, where all her antics are just self-indulgent rather than a mere plot device to fix the protag's life. While she undeniably has a positive influence on Koguma's life and the two make a good pair, I can't shake my constant annoyance with how selfish Reiko is. Koguma was a hard counter to Reiko and it made their interactions a lot more fun.

So then we have the introduction of Shii: the purest of cinnamon rolls. Shortly after Shii's arrival into the story, Koguma suddenly started acting more like Reiko. Both Cub-riders acted aloof and superior because of their Cubs (normally it was just Reiko doing that, but Koguma started too), Shii was constantly being left behind, and despite her efforts to be their friend they just blew her off whenever they pleased. I started to get that sinking feeling when Koguma and Reiko visited Shii's family cafe when they stuck around just long enough to have a free cup of coffee, then immediately bailed and ditched Shii when the urge to do something with their bikes came up, leaving Shii confused that they weren't going to stick around and visit any longer. That struck me as this sort of "wow, they're being extremely rude and taking her for granted..." kind of moment. And it just kept happening! I get that we only see glimpses of the overall progression of time throughout the girls' year and there were surely plenty of off-screen visits where they actually hung out together. But all we as the audience get to see were these highlight moments that made Koguma and Reiko seem like lousy friends just taking advantage of Shii's kindness.

Things really came to a head in the pivotal winter episode, since that one rang weird against everything building up to it prior. The writing had made a big to do for a good three episodes prior about how winter is a major problem and dangerous, especially for bike riders. The Cub-riders spent that entire time worrying about it and taking precautions to protect themselves from the cold. Then, in the spirit of having a good time, promptly went and frolicked about in the snow on their Cubs while discarding all their protective gear down to t-shirts (because falling off your bike at high-speeds is just good fun, apparently?). Which didn't do any favors toward the whole "not being good friends to Shii" when Shii voiced disappointment on them not even thinking to invite her at all. Then, later on in the episode when Shii crashes into the river, Koguma is massively foolhardy and channeling the full force of the Honda marketing team with the idiotic "My Super Cub is coming to the rescue" bullshit. Friend potentially injured and suffering hypothermia after being stuck in an ice-cold river in the middle of winter for hours? Just strap her to the front of the Super Cub like Mad Max: Fury Road! Wind chill by driving at high-speeds in the middle of the night in winter isn't a problem to someone who's already soaking wet and chilled to the core, right? Call an ambulance? The police? Her parents? Nah. Who needs that? We have "THE SUPER CUB". I mean, seriously, Koguma couldn't have at least ditched her storage bin off the back of the bike and let Shii actually sit on the bike to hold onto her, or given the freezing, injured tiny girl her winter coat to try and protect her, or do anything beyond the bare minimum to show some level of emotional concern and willingness to sacrifice for her supposed friend?

It's an outright miracle/convenience of the plot that Shii didn't suffer massive consequences as a result of her accident and Koguma's foolishness. After the fact, while Shii is recovering at Koguma's apartment, neither Koguma nor Reiko show the least bit of concern for her even when she has an outright emotional breakdown; hell, Reiko's selfishness is on full display throughout, both toward Koguma and Shii regardless. Reiko actually has the poor taste to celebrate the whole mess when Shii's parents give the girls free food for a year out of gratitude for saving their daughter! Then afterward, when the girls go on their Spring-seeking road trip, it wasn't even framed as a way to try and ease Shii's trauma from her experience but just as something they wanted to do because they were sick of the winter interfering with their ability to ride their Cubs as much as they pleased. By the final episode, when Koguma's inner monologue echoes the sentiment she'd voiced throughout - that she has no family, no friends, no hobbies or goals - I was expecting the obvious change in her acknowledging that, yes, she now did have at least some of those things. In that scene she was literally riding alongside her new friends on their Cubs, which certainly qualified as a hobby. But, nope! She reiterated that her situation hadn't changed at all, but that it was okay because she had her beloved Super Cub to give her life some meaning, and any improvements she experienced were solely due to it.

It just... it all left a really bad taste in my mouth. I get that the anime was ostensibly a big Honda commercial at its core, sure, but it really felt like the writing sacrificed the quality of both characters and story for the sake of pushing how amazing their bikes are. Koguma herself shifted from being a no-nonsense, methodical sort of person to being reckless and callous like Reiko, then stopped being an actual character and just a vehicle - pun always intended - for talking up the Super Cub. The last time Koguma felt like Koguma, to me, was right when Shii was introduced and she wanted to try and help out using their bikes to solve a problem, which she never would have/could have done prior. The overall shift away from Koguma's core and into some kind of semi-Reiko/overt Honda shill got ridiculous and frankly really annoying for me.

[scientistowengottlieb-newtkelly]

Thoughts and feelings about Pacific Rim 2?

you sure you wanna open up that particular can of worms?

movie review time! be warned i'm not in a good mood as i am shaking in pain, however this review would have been scathing regardless. and none of this is to say pacific rim is perfect, it's not, but... aye, i have no words for the world of difference there. oh wait! i do:

so. first and foremost, i hate it. as both a movie and a sequel. did i find it entertaining? yes, mildly, so i suppose it did its job, however the only thing that keeps me watching it is because, simply, it's part of the pacific rim franchise whether we like it or not. therefore, i squeeze as much salvageable content from it as i can, such as how one might analyze the precursors, how we are to view hermann and newt as characters pre-, during, and post-uprising, what we are to expect from drifting (though this one i take with a grain of salt, there is a whole other rant preserved for the joke of an attempt to develop that shit within the movie)

one of my biggest issues with pacific rim is really simple: it plays out like DeKnight did not watch the first fucking movie or was scrolling through twitter while doing it and decided he'd make a cash grab since the first one was relatively popular. "haha the kaiju were going for mount fuji the whole time!!" bitch no they weren't!!! why the fuck did they end up anywhere near sydney, australia, then!!! why did they turn tail on places like manila and san fran instead of heading straight for japan!!! WHY DID THE ONE THAT WAS IN JAPAN NOT SUCCEED, THERE'S NO WAY WITH THOSE MARK 1 JAEGERS THEY'D HAVE BEEN ABLE TO REASONABLY FIGURE OUT THEIR PLAN AND WHERE THEY WERE GOING IN TIME TO STOP THEM!!! newt literally lays out what they are doing in the first movie and they completely ignored that!!! not to mention, if the destruction from elements found in mount fuji would have been enough to terraform the earth, WHY DIDN'T THEY JUST FUCKING DO THAT WHEN THEY WERE SUPPOSEDLY ON EARTH AGES AGO??? THERE WERE VOLCANOES WITH THOSE SAME ELEMENTS BEFORE RIGHT NOW, VOLCANOES ARE NOT A RELATIVELY NEW THING EARTH CREATED SUDDENLY AND I WOULD IMAGINE NEITHER ARE THOSE ELEMENTS!!! IT MAKES NO SENSE!!! and.... okay the fucking drones. how did those bitches make breaches??? we know the breach is some result of precursor/kaiju technology, apparently they know the breach's atomic structure as hermann said in the first movie, but how tf some kaiju organs and tech from earth only is ALL it takes to open a breach... illudes and confuses me... why were no more breaches made by the precursors once they realized how long and how many resources it was taking to kill the humans off??? if it's??? shit they could do with simple earth materials + their own biology??? they could have ended things much faster??? shit just doesn't add up, idk, that was Vague and Annoyed Me

and the jaegers.... were....... strange? the fight scenes were so underwhelming, i could count on one hand the number of maneuvers—NOT SCENES, MANEUVERS—i thought were badass and moved well. their fighting was confusing and paced really weird and some of the moves they pulled... don't... work like that... like some of those scenes were just hand-to-hand combat but in big robot form and they didn't sit right with me at all.

and the characters......... oh my word, the characters. look: i love jake pentecost with all of my heart and soul and john boyega's beautiful acting just barely saves the movie from its poor writing. i do love him as a character. but can someone explain to me why in the world they thought it was a good idea to make the only black guy a black market thief/runner, deep-record criminal with daddy and authority issues, and who they dare try to play off as some kind of lazy??? they made him every stereotype they could and said "yeah let's go with that". i'm- aaaaaaaaaaaaaa and what was with the child soldiers??? ROBOCOPS?????? mako....... character assassination at its worst........ my baby......... but the movie was paced so GOD DAMN POORLY I GOT BORED AND LITERALLY MISSED HER DYING THE FIRST TIME I WATCHED IT. and i couldn't tell you the names of half of those poor damn kids, i really couldn't. and can i also say they killed off one of the only two darker skinned kids?? like y'all???? the other darker skinned kids (one of the children i can't remember the names of because it was uttered ONCE in the entire movie or some shit) didn't even GET characterization. my whole heart goes out to her and those other underdeveloped fucks. speaking of...... i am ashamed about jules. from the movie that brought us the mako mori test, they threw in a girl simply for the sake of some shitty, awkward, and unexplained love triangle between jake and White Angst without much else to put to her name. she deserved better. amara was... a decent shot, but very hit or miss because of the writing. i, personally, am very neutral about her leaning towards liking her, but i know people who swing love and who swing hate. liwen was like,,,, they tried really hard to make her unlikable at the beginning because "oh no, she must be the villain! GOTTEM plot twist!!!" and then suddenly she's no longer. threatening everyone except newt. idk i feel like they leaned to heavily one way and i got whiplash when she's actually another but there was nothing to... portray that. at all. i do like her character, and that says a lot because they got me to sympathize with a capitalist without actually regretting it later, but there could/should have been More there. she was powerful, though, in multiple different aspects, and we saw that from her CONSISTENTLY and i 😳🥵👀💕 mako mori test pass for her

now, let's talk about hermann (and by extention, newton, however he'll be getting a section all his own the rat bastard). that man is one of the single instances of decent cross-movie characterization i saw in the whole god damn film. the idea that he takes on newton's roles, that he is more outspoken for himself, that he is just slightly more unhinged after his drift with newton: THAT is on point. he's himself, you can see it, you still know that he's hermann with ever step, but there's something that has shifted in him in those 10 years and it's good without being too much. the "i still get nightmares" scene, the way he presents himself, that scene gives me chills because god bless burn gorman and his acting ability. every face and intonation of his voice is just wonderful and i think his performance was great for what he was given. king shit.

the biggest disappointment of my life came in the form of a kaiju vest wearing bitch at work. at his corporate job. as a boss. for a tech company that undermines all of his and, frankly, hermann's work over their lifetimes. 10 years older and exaggerated to the teeth. newton "move you fascist" geiszler. let me preface this by stating for all to see that i do not hate the idea of newton being the villain. story wise it was a bold move and there was something possible there. BUT THE IMPLICATION THAT ONE OF THE MOST OBVIOUSLY NEURODIVERGENT CHARACTERS IN THE WHOLE FUCKING FRANCHISE, ESPECIALLY GIVEN THAT HE HAS BEEN CHARACTERIZED AS HAVING A "BORDERLINE MANIC PERSONALITY" AKA HAVING ONE OF THE MOST DEMONIZED MENTAL ILLNESSES OUT THERE, ENDS UP ACTING AS THE GOD DAMN VILLAIN OF THE STORY IS A HOT GARBAGE TAKE WHEN YOU FACTOR IN THINGS LIKE POOR WRITING NOT MAKING IT CLEAR WHETHER OR NOT NEWTON IS EVEN IN CONTROL OF HIS OWN FACULTIES AND THE VAGUENESS OF "WILL HE BE 'REDEEMED' OR NOT" BEING UP IN THE AIR LIKELY NEVER TO BE CANONICALLY FUCKING ANSWERED BECAUSE BECKHAM AND DEKNIGHT SHAT OUT A MOVIE THAT BOMBED IN THE BOX OFFICE. we aren't even gonna TALK about the fact that this bitch got AWAY with it despite not even acting in a remotely stable way comparable to himself in the first movie in the 10 years he supposedly dropped off the map from all of his friends because, clearly, hermann hadn't seen him or he wouldn't be so excited with a picture of the two of them on his desk, nor would he have to tell newton about his idea for rocket thrusters with kaiju blood fuel because he would have simply written to him about it. for some strange reason people see his ass show up decked out in a suit he wouldn't even wear for Stacker Fucking Pentecost and a behavior of "Haha Gotta Listen To The Boss" and think "ah, yes, well, time changes a person. THIS BITCH HAS APPARENTLY BEEN LIKE THIS THE WHOLE TIME, YOU THINK HE GOT A JOB WITH LIWEN LOOKING AND ACTING LIKE HE DID BEFORE AND THERE WAS A SHIFT OVER TIME? NO, HE HAD TO HAVE CHANGED IN A SPLIT DECISION AND LIED ABOUT HIMSELF THROUGH HIS TEETH AND NO ONE CONTACTED HIM, OR WAS WORRIED ABOUT HIM, OR DECIDEDLY THOUGHT "YOU KNOW, HE MAY BE EMBOLDENED THAT HE SAVED THE WORLD, BUT I THINK SOMETHING LIKE THAT WOULD HAVE THE EXACT OPPOSITE EFFECT ON HIM AND HE WOULD DO HIS BEST TO AMPLIFY HIS CURRENT STANDING TRAITS. LISTENING TO AND KISSING THE BOOT OF AUTHORITY FIGURES? DIVORCING HIMSELF FROM HIS WORK WITH KAIJU XENOBIOLOGY THAT EVEN HERMANN PICKED UP? TO BECOME THE THING HE HATES? AND FOR WHAT? MONEY? FAME? BITCH WHO ARE YOU?" unreasonable. ridiculous attempt to do this just for a plot twist that was underwhelming at best. i've decided to stick to the fan theory that he was not in control 99% of the time but literally that movie causes such a hellfire path to appear in my wake as i think about it because i know people who don't take it like that and think newt wants what's happening because "haha horny kaiju man" and i wish to scream at the top of my lungs because this is exactly WHY you CANNOT spare ANY EXPENSE to the GOOD, PROPER, INTRICATE directing and writing of a character who is neurodivergent and also ONE OF THE CENTERS OF NOT JUST THE MOVIE YOU'RE WRITING, BUT THE FUCKING MOVIE AFTER THAT. i could go on but i sincerely don't fucking want to, despite how long i've been waiting for someone to willingly hear me out on all of this. all i'll say is if by some miracle they are greenlit for a third film and deknight's working on it and i see ANY sign of a bury your gays end for newt, i'm going to commit the first hate crime against a cishet white male.

to end, the only valid kaiju in that movie was the mega-kaiju, i don't remember the appearance or the names of the three that got through the breaches but the mega-kaiju could kill me and i'd die happy 🥰 beautiful design, that scale comparison when it came face to face with newt? amazing, chills, *chef's kiss* there are exactly two things i liked about uprising and that bitch is one of them.

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but as i said i am in a bit of a bad mood and have been curled up in bed trying not to think that i'm dying and i've repressed all of this for a couple months now and very few people have actually heard PORTIONS of my frustration so. here it is.

[rubyofhouserocks]

figayda - the kids are all right (right)

(reposting for formatting reasons)

hi, this is an adorable prompt and was really fun to write. thank you!

ao3 link here

“You want me to teach you how to flirt?”

“Yes. Did you not hear me? Should I speak louder?” Ayda asks, raising her voice slightly.

“No, love, I’m just surprised is all,” Garthy says from where they’re lounging in the Gold Gardens. “After all, it’s not every day your parent-slash-child asks you for love advice. Ah,” Garthy sighs, “they raise you, die, then reincarnate and grow up so fast.”

“Please,” Ayda says, and though her level tone does not betray her, Garthy can tell that she is practically begging, “it is imperative that I learn this skill as quickly as possible.”

“Why’s that?”

“Fig will be arriving in Leviathan shortly,” she responds, hands fidgeting with the scroll that she is holding.

“Fig? The little tiefling girl who runs around with the Bad Kids?” This might be more challenging than Garthy originally assumed; if they remember correctly, Fig was pretty charismatic. She was probably rather experienced at flirting.

“Yes, she is extremely attractive, and I would like to be in a relationship with her.”

“Okay, well, you don’t wanna come on too strong, yeah?” Garthy says, gesturing vaguely with the bottle of mead in between their fingers. “Compliments are nice and all, but you don’t want to overdo it.”

“Is it weird or strange to compliment someone a lot?” Ayda looks nervous, and Garthy suddenly wishes that they could find every person who had ever made her feel bad about herself and personally kick them in the groin.

“No, no, compliments are very kind and wonderful, but flirting is about the chase, all right? It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth, like a dance. If you spend the whole time complimenting the person it’s hard to sustain any…” Garthy gestures with the bottle again, trying to convey the delicate communicative interplay of romantic repartee. It doesn’t quite come across. “Tension.”

“Duly noted. How, specifically, does one build that ‘tension’?” Ayda does not physically do air quotes around the word, but it’s evident enough in her tone.

Garthy thinks about it for a moment. The art of flirting is such a context-dependent one, but they also want to give Ayda actionable instructions. Eventually, they say, “if you can find a way to challenge her somehow, engage her in a little banter or maybe a friendly competition or some such, that can help build that tension you’re looking for.”

“And what do you do once the tension has been established?”

“Well, then you can start getting a little more physical, maybe put a hand on her arm, y’know?” Garthy says, waving the bottle rather dramatically now.

“Got it. I should keep the compliments to a minimum, challenge her to a friendly competition, and then touch her on the arm,” Ayda nods, committing the steps to memory like she’s reading an instruction manual.

“That’s about it, yeah,” Garthy replies, taking a sip of the mead to punctuate the thought.

Just then, the tiefling in question walks into the room.

“Hey Ayda, you look really nice today,” Fig says, voice bright and sincere. Garthy clears their throat. “Oh, and um, hi Garthy.”

“Hello, Fig,” Ayda says, and then opens her mouth as though to say something else. She quickly shuts it again, and Garthy imagines that she had intended to say something effusively kind back to Fig. Garthy maybe should have specified that it’s fine to return compliments, now that they think of it, but they figure that it won’t hurt her to play it cool.

“I’m really excited to visit the library,” Fig continues, not deterred in the slightest by Ayda’s terse greeting. “I can’t believe you’ve worked on it for so long. It’s really amazing.”

“You know, if we were to race to the library, I would probably get there first,” Ayda says matter-of-factly, despite it being a complete non-sequitur. Garthy’s heart clenches at how uniquely Ayda her attempt at following their advice is, all sweet and awkward and heartfelt, and they are filled with renewed affection for the girl. Sure, it might not be the smoothest flirting they’ve ever seen, but Garthy thinks teaching Ayda coy smiles and playful tones would have been above their paygrade.

The only question, then, is whether the advice that Garthy did give her is working; they watch Fig to gauge her reaction to Ayda’s challenge, and they see her frown momentarily, confused. It only lasts an instant, however, before a beaming smile graces Fig’s lips.

“I bet you would, since you’ve got those dope-ass wings and everything—you’re probably, like, built for speed. It’d be cool as hell to see you in action, too.” Then, Fig coughs and looks away nervously, “I mean, everything you do is cool, so…”

Fig’s outpouring of compliments flusters Ayda so much that she accidentally singes the edges of the scroll in her hand.

“Oh,” Ayda says, jaw clenched against some emotion, “that is really nice to hear. Especially coming from you, because…” She stops mid-sentence as she seems to remember Garthy’s advice. “I mean, yes. I am very cool and would definitely beat you in a race.”

It is clearly causing her physical pain not to return the praise.

As Fig and Ayda trail awkwardly into silence, Garthy realizes that it is possible that they have miscalculated the situation entirely. When Ayda reaches out a hand to touch Fig’s arm despite the very-much-not-romantic tension in the room, Garthy realizes that it is possible that they do not know anything about romance at all, because their advice was kind of terrible.

“Fig, darling, would you excuse us for a moment?” Garthy asks, a hand placed lightly on Ayda’s shoulder to steer her into the next room.

“What’s wrong? I was about to touch Fig on the arm.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I pulled you out,” Garthy says, scrubbing their palm against their forehead. “Look, forget everything I told you, all right?”

“I do not understand. I followed your advice to the letter,” Ayda frowns, brow furrowed.

“No, lovey, you did great, okay?” Garthy reassures her. “I just don’t think my advice will help you all that much. Listen,” they nod at Fig, who seems to have difficulty sitting still as she waits for Garthy and Ayda’s return. Her eyes keep not-so-surreptitiously sliding over to Ayda every couple of seconds before quickly glancing elsewhere. “I think your best bet is to tell Fig how you feel, honest and straightforward-like.”

Ayda frowns. “Garthy, I would never question the validity of your wisdom, but I do not see how that is different to my behavior in any of my interactions with Fig, save for just now.”

“Yeah, love, that’s sort of the point,” Garthy says. “Fig has said about fifty words to you, and nearly all of them have been about how wonderful you are. I think the rest might have just been prepositions.” They squeeze Ayda’s shoulder. “Frankly, I don’t think there’s anything that will make that girl like you more than you just being yourself.”

“Oh,” Ayda says. “That is…very relieving to hear.” She nods once, determined, and strides back into the room with Fig.

“Fig,” Garthy hears her say, “I think you are incredible in every conceivable way. I would like it very much if you would hold my hand as we walk to the library.”

Garthy sees a face-splitting grin form on Fig’s face as she reaches her hand toward Ayda. Fingers intertwined, the pair leave the Gold Gardens and head toward the library.

“Well then,” Garthy says to themselves, “let’s see if Ayda’s strategy works on the celestial down at the bar.”

[wowzers-howzers]

Cursed Fanfic

They did surgery on a grape Cioccolata x reader

"Nurse, what's the schedule for today?" Cioccolata snapped his latex gloves on. Secco hummed happily in the corner, adjusting his camcorder and checking it had enough memory for another operation.

"Uuuuhhhhh...a grape?" (R/N) rechecks their chart. "Is this for real?"

"Ok! I'll just need to make smaller incisions. Wouldn't want the grape getting disemboweled too soon," the surgeon winked, as if he had just made a flirty comment at you.

“Um ok? I’m confused as to what we are even doing still...” (R/N) trails off. Cioccolata smirks and rubs your head.

“You’re not here to know things! So don’t worry! Just be a good (boy/girl) and hand me the utensils I ask for,” the green-haired doctor spins around with a flourish. “Now let’s get started. Secco, film this well and I will reward you with three sugar cubes.”

Secco squealed in pleasure. THREE WHOLE SUGAR CUBES!

“And you,” Cioccolata eyes you hungrily, “can also have a sweet treat.”

You shudder. He’s probably only thinking about what you would look like back up on this very same table.

You finally approach the operating table. The surgical light beams harshly down at the cold steel surface. On the table, a lonesome grape sits in the middle. Secco holds his camera and eagerly awaits the first incision.

“To start, I will need a scalpel. Nurse?” Cioccolata reaches his hand out towards you. You place the requested item in his waiting hand.

“Thank you,” he looks back down. He approaches the grape with surgical (HA!) precision and slowly slices through the outer layer of the fruit. The mushy grape meat glistens under the bright light. You catch the gleam of pleasure in Cioccolata’s green eyes.

The doctor reaches a gloved finger down and lightly smushes the grape. It squelches and you hear Secco zoom in with his camera.

“Did you get that noise? That better be in the video or no sugar cubes!” Cioccolata glares at his filming assistant. Secco nods quickly and whimpers quietly at the threat. Still confused as to what is happening, you just stare at the now smushed grape.

“Now we will peel back the skin to get a better view,” he continues. He uses both hands to slowly peel the skin off of the grape. “Notice that the inside is a completely different color than the outside. Fascinating!” His cheeks lift up. If he wasn’t wearing a surgical mask, you are sure he’d be smiling.

“I thought that was common knowledge,” you question. Cioccolata whips his head around to glare at you. You shrink back in fear and throw your hands up in defeat. Cioccolata returns his attention to the grape.

“This is the most important part. Secco, it’s very important that you capture this!”

Secco lees closer with his camera. Cioccolata let’s out a crazed laugh and slams his hand down, smashing the grape, and making a large metallic clang as his fist meets the table.

Your eyes widen from the display and you stare at the pulpy mess. Cioccolata’s laugh trails off and he looks to you. His eyes are clouded with lust. He gets hard for grape smashing? You are even more confused on his motivations than you already were.

“Now to finish up.”

Cioccolata throws the grape skin and bits into a red biohazard bag and removes his latex gloves. He waits for you to follow suit. Secco has already stoped filming and is checking his footage to make sure he got everything. Cioccolata moves to the sink in the corner to wash his hands and motions for you to join him. You slowly approach after removing and tossing your gloves.

Once you are next to him, he leans over and you feel his hot breath on the shell of your ear.

“You know, amore, I’m really in the mood to explore your insides,” the man watches for your reaction. You blush and stutter out some response as you wash your hands.

“You’re my favorite pet, but don’t tell Secco,” he whispers far too close for comfort again. “Meet me in my room in five minutes,” he instructs. You nod sheepishly. On his way out, he tosses three sugar cubes at Secco, who quickly catches all three in his gaping maw. You will never understand how he is able to do that, and frankly it is kinda terrifying.

As Secco crunches, you quietly make your leave and head upstairs. You feel an apprehensive excitement for what awaits you up the stairs and past the door. You also take this time to process what just happened. They did surgery on a grape.

Your footsteps echo on the wooden staircase. As you climb, the grape surgery replays in your mind over and over. One specific thing about it in particular stands out. Cioccolata was especially excited and you really weren’t sure why. Of course you knew about his odd tendencies and interests but this was new to you. Grape surgery. Is that a kink?

You swing open the door at the top of the stairs and continue onwards down the hallway until you reach a black door. You knock twice and hear a muffled “come in.”

Closing the door behind you, you turn to see Cioccolata sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for you with his coat and pants already removed. This isn’t the first time he has invited you to some “private play” in his room before, but it feels different this time; more primal.

Upon your entrance, Cioccolata springs up off the bed and envelopes his arms around you. As he hugs you close to him, he pulls your shirt off over your head.

His room was kept at a cold temperature usually, so your nipples were already erect. The doctor pulled away from the hugs and stared you down. You felt like shrinking away from his gaze but you knew you would be reprimanded if you did. He licked his lips hungrily.

“You look sweeter than any grape could ever hope to be,” he looked you in the eyes before groping your chest. You moaned as his hands roughly twisted your nipples. A heat started between your legs, and you were excited. Cioccolata, for how weird he is, you had to give the man credit for knowing how to pleasure your body. You chalked it up to him having an intimate knowledge of human anatomy, including the erogenous zones.

You felt him hardening inside his thong, so after he leaned his head down to lick one of your nipples, you reached your hand down to cup him. He let out an animalistic growl against you and the vibrations added a new level of pleasure to the sensations he was giving you.

As you moaned, Cioccolata continued his ministrations against your chest, lightly biting and tugging against you. His unoccupied hand reached down to your waist band and he expertly slid them from off of your hips.

He broke off from your chest with a pop and you felt extremely cold from the lack of contact. Before you could whine, he met your eyes, “I’m sure you taste sweeter than a grape too.”

Cioccolata picked you up by your hips and you automatically wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck to maintain balance. He slammed you down onto his plush bed.

You gasp as he moves his body down and roughly grasps your thighs. Before you can press your thighs together, he uses his hands to separate them forcibly, keeping his hands on your legs to keep them spread.

“No underwear? How naughty of you, kitten.” You whimper at the lust lacing his voice. His eyes are half lidded and you shudder at the feeling of him staring at your sex.

“Please,” you put a hand on the back of his head. He smirks up at you.

“Since you asked so nicely, uva,” he purrs. Cioccolata bows his head and slides his hands down your thighs to spread your ass.

He licks a long stripe up your sex and moans onto you. You gasp and sigh from the sensation of his warm tongue on your swollen parts. “Cio~,” you mewl. He squeezes your ass, leaving nail marks for sure.

You pull at his hair and yank when he hits particular spots with his mouth. You’re shocked that he’s being this gentle and loving with you. He usually takes what he wants and leaves you hanging, but something has sparked in him that has him yearning for more. You definitely aren’t complaining as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten.

He must know you’re close from your increased moans and jerks because he pulls away from between your legs licking his lips. His face is wet with saliva and your own secretions and he seems to be enjoying every bit of it.

Despite just eating a full meal, he looks at you with increased hunger in his eyes. He sits back on his legs in front of you, still looming over you. Your eyes trail down his body, landing on the green fuzz just above the black of his thong. His dick has pushed out of the thing awkwardly, so you reach forward to grab him and fix it. Cioccolata gets the message and quickly slides his thong down and kicks it somewhere in the room.

Fully uncovered, he laughs at you unabashedly looking him up and down.

“Like what you see?”

Nodding eagerly, you lean forward and take him in your hands. He lets out a hiss and leans his head back as you pump him slowly. He is average length but very girthy, so one hand isn’t enough.

His hands grasp your head, fingers slipping through your hair and grabbing.

“I’d love to do this another time, but there’s something I’d enjoy even more, uva,” he leans your head up to look at your face.

You feel paralyzed, but in a good way. Looking up into his green eyes, you feel comforted in a way you’ve never felt around this doctor before. Although he looks down intimidatingly, you get the sense that nothing could distract him from this pleasure right now, not even the urge to inflict pain and despair.

His face softens as he leans down on the bed with you. One hand rests by your shoulder, propping himself up, while the other firmly holds your hip in place. His grip is bruising but nothing you can’t handle, certainly not the worst he’s done. Again, this isn’t your first rodeo, just the easiest one.

Lining himself up, you feel his firmness prod between your thighs. His saliva from early thoroughly lubed you, and he slides into you with little resistance. You moan loudly as you feel him fill you to the brim. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip as he bottoms out in you.

“Cio please,” you moan his name and scratch his back.

“Cazzo,” he groans as he rocks his hips against yours. The friction burns in the best way possible and the coil in your stomach tightens again.

Picking up speed, he moans more and more as you clench around him. You wrap your arms around him and hold him against you as he fucks you. He uses the hand that held your hips to squeeze your upper body closer to yours. The new angle has you gasping as his body rubs against yours.

Hearing you, he speeds his thrusts up and your vision blacks out as you see stars, the force of your orgasm forcing you to arch into him.

“Sei la mia uza. Sto venendo!” Cioccolata growls out. His head burrows against your neck and he bites down as his hips stutter. You feel his teeth puncture your skin and draw blood, but at this point you don’t care. His nails scratch down your back as he rides his orgasm out in you.

Your chest still heaving, you drop your arms back at your side. He slides out of you and rolls next to your body. Both of you are covered in sweat and panting, but neither of you make a move to get up to clean off. You are vaguely aware of his intense green eyes staring down the side of your face as he holds you in his arms. Surprising, usually he immediately kicks you out of his room when he’s done with you.

His hand makes lazy patterns against your body and he hums in content.

“Something about that grape, it’s juiciness, made me need you. You’ll get a good reward for this, I promise,” he pushes his lips against you in an out-of-character act of passion. Honestly, you don’t mind this side of him and you wouldn’t be opposed to watching him operate on grapes again if it meant you got this treatment afterwards.

You smile sweetly against his lips. They did surgery on a grape.

Next part is https://wowzers-howzers.tumblr.com/post/185760174706/secco-x-reader-cursed-fanfic

Third part is https://wowzers-howzers.tumblr.com/post/185874753151/continuation-of-secco-x-reader

[moon-beam95]

Friends and Family

By Moon-beam95

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Ben Hargreeves x Reader

You weren't entirely sure how it happened but one moment you were being held hostage and the next you've seemed to have gained two limpets. One a sarcastic shit starter and the other an angry bad-ass with a knife kink.

You'd just gotten in from a long day of College followed by hours at work, you had just toed off your shoes when you felt a sharp pain in the back of your head and the world tilted before turning black. You came too, tied to one of your kitchen chairs while some idiot ransacked your front room.

"Ugh" your head ached like fuck "Really, what the fuck did you hit me with?"

"Shut up" the figure said slamming a drawer closed, another you hadn't seen slapped you upside the head, yeah ouch as if you weren’t in enough pain.

'In case you haven't noticed, this place is a shit hole. The most expensive thing in this place is those shiny ass boots you have on."

"I said shut it," the first man snarled.

"Wow," you said raising your eyebrows, "just trying to make a little conversation."

You tilt your head to see the other man before jerking it towards the first, as if saying get a load of this guy. "But, seriously, fuckin' moon shoes, kinda throws off the whole ascetic you got going on."

The silent one said nothing, exchanging a glance with his partner, who stalked towards you pulling out a gun.

You let out a low whistle. "Yikes, someone's a little touchy."

The man cocked the gun as two more figures appeared behind the gun roaring thug wearing black eye masks. One grabbed the first and the curly haired mask wearer moved to the silent thug.

While grateful for the save all that was running through your mind was. "How the fuck do you people keep getting in my house?"

As a fight broke out your two saviours seemed to have the upper hand as they wrestled through the flat banging into everything.

"Hey watch the TV"

"Ouch that gotta hurt"

"Careful! Blood is a bitch to get out."

The thugs thoroughly out if it, the knife toting hero cuts you lose while the other rocks back on his heels. "You know most people would be grateful."

Springing out of the chair, you ignored him pushing past. Seeing the mess you drop to the floor and gave a wail.

"Hector."

"Errr Lady, you ok?"

They crowd you wanting to see what caused such a sound only to see you carefully cradling a cactus above a broken plant pot. The curly haired one gave a laugh, but knife kink just looked extremely bewildered, before tentatively patting you on your shoulder.

"There, there," he said. "Sorry about the mess and err, your loss but we gotta go."

And with that remark they were gone and you were left with two passed out thugs gazing around a wrecked apartment, looking mournfully at Hector, wondering how the hell you were going to explain this to your mother.

The next night after a long conversation on home safety with your mother and questions by the police the doorbell rang. Opening it you were greeted by the two men from the night before.

"You," you said, shaking a finger at them dramatically.

"Klaus" said the curly haired one.

"Diego" said knife kink.

They held out a rather large plant pot containing a small cactus wrapped in a sparkly green bow.

"For you know," Diego snorted, "Hector."

You opened the door further and invited them in taking the offering cooing and saying. "I shall call you Judith." Before kicking the door closed.

That was the start of a rather strange, albeit dangerous friendship. You learned that Klaus could see the dead and that Diego despite being extraordinarily good with knives, it was not his power but could in fact hold his breath for an astonishing amount of time. Which, BTW, prompted a lot of jokes.

You three often stumbled into weird situations and you watched them fight off crime from the sidelines providing a running commentary. They were beyond cute, despite often bickering you could see how much they cared for each other. Klaus seeking any sort of thrill to hide from the dead and Diego a total mother hen, a worrier.

It was one such situation that saw you meet Ben. Who worried about Klaus' disappearing and thinking he was out scoring drugs saw the two of you and followed you intent on warning you away from his brother. Which quite frankly was adorable!

You can see why he got the wrong end of the stick, you were after all skulking around an alley in the dark.

After leaving the two brothers you began the trek home, slipping down alleys to make it quicker. You could hear footsteps behind you and sped up only to let out a shriek when a hand grabbed you, spun you and pressed you against the wall.

Eyes wide, you stared up at the Hooded Hottie™ caging you in, one arm across your neck the other above your head.  You gulped as the boy glared down at you, despite the situation you noticed that he was rather beautiful, even when looking like he was inches away from killing you or perhaps that was what made him so attractive.

He opened his mouth but paused at the sound of people running and suddenly he was wrenched from you as you gulped air. Klaus and Diego. You slid down the wall, body shaking as they stared at the boy.

"Ben," said Klaus. "What the hell?"

Ben, you thought, their brother, as Diego helped you up and dusted you off

"Why" Diego bit out when he didn't answer, "did you have Y/N by the throat?"

His eyes flickered between his brother and the girl who shifted behind Diego more, eyes wide in fear. Diego would never allow Klaus to buy drugs which meant that he had royally fucked up. He lowered his hood.

"I thought you'd gone out to get drugs."

"What" Diego said crossing his arms.

"He's been acting shifty, leaving at all hours, more hyper than usual."

Klaus laughed, slinging an arm around Ben's shoulders, tugging at his cheeks cooing. "Awe, so sweet. He cares."

Ben slapped his hand away looking at the half hidden girl, before rubbing his neck rather sheepishly.

"I'm so sorry about all that."

You stepped out, smiling. "Eh, shit happens."

He let out a laugh, grin stretching across his face. You blushed, he really was cute.

The brothers looked on in amazement at you both flirting.

"You act like this is an everyday occurrence."

"Well, when your friends with these two," you trail off, jerking a thumb in their direction. "Also a guy usually buys me dinner before we get to the whole choking thing."

His laugh rang out, echoing throughout the alley and you were gone, never knowing that the sentiments were returned.

The three amigo became four and you all often holed up in your apartment. It wasn't uncommon that you'd get home from work or school and find them there, having tea with your mom, helping make dinner, just making themselves at home.

Your crush on Ben grew and you found yourself a blushing mess often lapsing into silences. You were drew in by his rather obvious devotion to his brothers and his mischievous personality .

Unknown to you, Ben had noticed you change in attitude whenever he was around vs how you acted when it was just his brothers. He hated that you didn't feel comfortable around him, especially since he was becoming rather attracted to you.

Ben scarcely talked about his powers and you soon found out why. All four of you had just left the cinema after watching a musical (Diego's choice) when on the way to the pizza shop you came across a robbery. A rather large group if people holding up a gas station. The boys jumped into action and you stepped a safe distance away but still close enough that you still had a full view of the fight. It never ceases to amaze you how they moved so separate yet as part of a unit. You were eager to see how Ben would fit into the dynamic.

With Klaus and Diego getting quickly over run, you let out a gasp as Ben stepped into the centre of the room drawing fire. He doubled over, clutching his stomach before springing back up and tentacles burst forth from his chest. They whipped round subduing the predators. His eyes caught yours and his face went white. Now that the robbers had been dealt with you all quickly made your way from the crime scene. Slipping down an alley you all pause, catching your breath. You turn to face Ben and he shifts not looking at you.

Diving at him, his eyes go wide as you fling your arms around him, he raises his arm pulling you close. He breathes in your scent, relishing having you close. You squeal into his ear -

"That was so cool."

He lets out a relieved laugh, before you pull back and whack him upside the head.

"How could you do something so dangerous, idiot."

He stares on in shock as you rant, Klaus in the background letting out a mournful "You never say that to me."

Ben's eyes drink in your impassioned figure, admiring the fire in your eyes. Steeling himself he surges forward, one hand wrapping round your waist the other reaching to cup your face and pressed his lips against yours.

You pull back blushing in shock and he starts to apologise before you return the favour.

So there you were down a grotty alley pressed against a blood covered boy while his brothers hooted and whistled in the background.

It was about damn time.

[laufire]

Roswell NM 2x05

My thoughts of this episode could basically be summed up on “Extremely Mixed Feelings” lmfao.

Let’s start with Rosa, obviously. Gosh, I adore her. ADORE her. She feels so lively and real and colourful among... well, everything and everyone else xD. She did even in death. She makes this show better by being the point of contention in the narrative. The mixed feelings come when she interacts with anyone else, because though she remains her incredible self, (almost) everyone else isn’t and I keep chaffing against the dominant narrative :P. She’s also hilarious lmao. I love every one of her zings xD. The “bitch-ass aliens” was obviously the winner, but her calling Max & Isobel’s nonsense “psychic twincest weirdness” was close LOL.

Like, I don’t know how I feel about the show even JOKING about Rosa possibly forgiving Max & Co. The scene itself with Rosa DEMANDING her own room was perfect, but. Yeah. Don’t even joke about that xD. To add that, I actually really love her scenes with Max, both in previous episodes and this one, when he briefly convinced her of stopping his resurrection (I kind of love that the episode was so close to Easter, btw, it’s so on the nose xDD). The energy between the actors works REALLY well and I find myself suddenly paying attention to Max, which hadn’t happened so far xDD. However, I’d enjoy those scenes even more if I could be reasurred that Rosa is always going to have mixed feelings at best about him, and will never be reduced to prop him or Liz/Max (like in the moment where Rosa almost has to comfort Liz about Max loving her. Leave my kid out of this pls). But. Yeah. I also have some guesses as to where the Rosa vs. Max storyline will go now that a.) she has more control of her new powers, and b.) his resurrection is the one that’ll follow the Came Back Wrong pattern, but they’re half-formed/half-wishful thinking so far lol.

I love love love the physicality of Rosa’s scenes with Liz too, even if sometimes I’m bothered by other elements. I’m just amazed by how the actresses manage to make it come across that despite the obvious visuals, despite how ~youthful and reckless Rosa feels... she’s the older sister, still. That’s how she feels, and Liz gets ~swayed by this. Like how she bundles herself agaisnt Rosa’s chest for comfort (and in the second one, the transition to that after Liz holds Rosa’s face in her hands), or how Rosa talks about her “sweet little sister”, etc. It also helps making the relationship feel less proppy than it would otherwise --younger sisters doing something for their older ones feels different than the reverse, idk. I have Thoughts about this but they’re all tangled up with myself projecting stuff on them, so idk what I’m trying to convey here xDD

I’m less conflicted about Rosa/Isobel. STAY AWAY FROM HER ISOBEL. Seriously, I full on despise her now. Fuck her. At the beginning of the season it looked like I might start finding her interesting, but nah. That’s over. And in particular I want her as far away as possible from Rosa. I’m even surprised by the strength of my reaction lol, but I wanted to yell at her to take her dirty paws off Rosa xD (seriously, the scene where she puts her hand on Rosa’s chest felt so so creepy? Was that just me? Add that in Isobel’s comment about having a “threeway” and deugh. GO AWAY ISOBEL). And frankly, it’s hard to miss how Isobel is always at her worst with women of color (I’m wary of her attitude to men of color, after the blatant sexualization/mind control thing with Kyle or all her bullshit with Arturo, too). Her comments on Rosa’s addiction (let alone assaulting her or locking her body in a closet ofc) didn’t help her case. I really, really wish Rosa had chocked a bitch xD. BTW, I’ve seen people attribute Isobel’s shittiness to her connection to Max and his darkness when a.) we saw NO SIGNS of this, and b.) she’s been terrible from day one, okay xD. If the show goes there to absolve her of responsibility like it did in s1... ugh.

My connection was crappy af last week and I somehow missed Michael’s “help me move a body” scene until I saw the parallel done with the one this week and... did this bitch really joke about desecrating Rosa’s body in front of Liz’s face?? (who said nothing because she’s now completely on pod-people’s POV land, ofc. I had flashbacks to Delena joking about Caroline’s rape right there, too). Seriously, the pod-people, ALL of them, have an enourmous debt with Rosa (EVEN MORE NOW), and I really, really wish she collected.

I wish we’d seen Arturo & Arturo-Rosa stuff this episode. It’ll still be tainted by the circumstances (*hates Isobel even more*), but I’m very curious about them. And about how Rosa’s bio-father ties to this stuff --that side of Rosa’s family is being left out of things so far and I don’t like it, tbh. It seems to be simply because it’s too far from the pod-siblings circle of influence ¬¬. Or about how Arturo is processing all this (he still thinks Rosa drove and killed the two other girls and that Max is A Very Nice Boy *barfs*. I seriously resent the very real posibility that Rosa’s story will never be untangled, to her father and to the town).

Not-Rosa-centric stuff under the cut, I guess, because this is getting long xD

I also have mixed feelings about Maria’s scenes with Alex (and Maria’s scenes in general). OTOH, she looked amazing (this is important, js. It’s such a shame we didn’t see Michael’s reaction to that last outfit of hers *-*); I love the actor’s easy chemistry, too; and I think it’s very, very interesting, that Alex basically nudged Maria towards Michael and Miluca. OTOH, I dislike how the conversation immediately turned to supporting him, and especially the false equivalences between Maria falling for Michael and Alex contributing to the lies to her (though I don’t find him as responsibly for that as Michael and especially Liz --since it was Michael’s secret and he planned and struggled to tell her, while Liz was pretty comfortable keeping her in the dark except for her own emotional needs, and knew too well why those secrets could cost), or between looking at your mother’s search history and forgiving someone for keeping you in the dark and endangering your life, js. That he guilted her into forgiving Liz (and so fullfilling Maria’s prophecy about how Liz only struggled to tell her because she wanted support, and my own about how little her anger was allowed to last) made it worse.

I feel terrible for Kyle. You could feel the toll he’s taken smh. My heart broke a little when he told Liz “you called, I broke the speed limit”, too :/. His relationship with his mother is hanging on the balance after all his lies too, which doesn’t bode to well for him either. I liked the scene between him and Alex, at least, though I still don’t think I could ever ship them, given Kyle’s romantic history with someone that ALSO was hung up on another person, js.

Other people have talked about how Alex’s scenes with Michael often highlight his classism and how little it’s talked about in this fandom, but yeah. His comments about Michael’s “wasting” his life... I Felt that.

Related to that, Max’s comment about how someone “has to clean up [Michael’s] messes” is part of why the pod-siblinghood thing is never ever ever going to work for me, sns xDD. Sure, it’s mostly because I don’t like Max or Isobel at all, or Michael 40-50% of the time, but yeah, things like that, or Isobel assuring him of the BLATANT lie that Michael means as much to her and Max as each other... they make it harder to get into the ~spirit lol. Another issue is how TERRIBLE the editing to make them appear younger looks xDD

I had to, HAD TO, roll my eyes at Max’s martyrdom. Ooooh, he’s not doing this for HIMSELF, he would NEVER care about being in PAIN, he’s doing this for US. And the narrative conveniently doesn’t take him at his word and saves him, ofc, because’s he’s a lead and that’s what’s up. It was interesting seeing the other characters coming to acceptance at first, however --I hope it’s a Sign. There are other Signs (of Max’s narrative maaaaaaybe weak spots) that really *pop* in this episode. Like the fact that there’s doubt over who is more important to him, Liz or Isobel. In a show with a really strong male lead, the answer would unquestionably be Liz: she’d know it, Isobel would know it, we’d all know it. And sure, I know a lot of people would say that it’s “better” (?) for a show to acknowledge the ~importance of familial and platonic bonds~ and what not, but c’mon. I don’t doubt that if Liz had been white things would be different. But that’s not the case here. And there are strong arguments for Isobel being number one... like the fact that this amnesia plot in the promo seems to ONLY involve Liz? I mean, he seems to remember Isobel just fine. A male lead forgetting the love of his life is very, very tricky. OTOH this is good in the sense that I’m all for anything that makes Max take a fall... but his & Liz’s stories are too tangled up and I’d fear she’d surely go down with him :/

[neuropathicgypsy]

So there's this guy who isn't so great...

So i saw a photo of him and I'd seen it before but this time i was thinking about some dark shit...

And I realized who he is...

It doesn't always happen that way... Actually... Like it was dark but not bad... Then what i remember was bad...

And so may be this girl was lying and it was the way it was initially with the memories about this guy... And maybe she did deserve her ass beat...

But their relationship wasn't as he wanted me to believe... Like it was more like how she said it was...

And may be 100% like she said... Like maybe it really does only take 20 minutes for an abortion. How would i know? I never had one... Or may be her mom was confused... About what time i dropped her off... Idk im trying to remember 10 years later and frankly i don't even care.

I washed my hands of both of them fully in 2008....

So now randomly he's popped back in my life... And completely random...

I didn't have a problem with him until he kept lying to me... Like for real lies like "I'm coming over" and he doesn't. Like that. Not like i think he's lying... Like its really obvious hes lying... Like its a fact.

Then i was all fuck this shit. And Matt happened to be with him and I waited like 8 hours and he did this huge song and dance and so i told Matt, punch him 5 times, at least 2x in the face.

So Matt did... Cause dam dude it was ridiculous. I already seen him and i already identified his alter ego but i was okay to over look it. Like it wasn't my relationship and it wasn't like it been 10 years since she had him arrested for beating her and i went with her to the court...

Yeah he definitely can't handle alcohol...

Like he would be cool at my house at first but as the night wore on... I would be like 2 hours later... Time for bed and make an excuse of life i had the next day instead of drinking and hanging out all night

He would be all "its nine o'clock!!" And i would be all "yeah Tom, sometimes we all have to grow up and admit responsibility"

Yeah sometimes he was a bitch... Like when i said anything with sense he would be all "i need to duct tape her mouth"

Or that one time he wanted to put me in my kitchen trash bin... I told him i didn't give a Fuck so he put it over my head and i told him to pick up the trash off my kitchen floor and he did then swept it and left a big pile in the floor...

But overall he was just his unique self that i kinda got used to...

Because his drama with my friend was between them -- unless my friend bitched about him later, like when we took the kids to the park, and i tried to help her figure him out.

Anyways so now i know my friend wasn't lying about him...

And i know other shit he did... Like to me...

Cause i actually knew him in Alabama, NYC, Texas, Oklahoma and now here... Like a stalker...

And so i am wondering... Should I tell him what i know? What i remember? The bad things?

Or should i just not?

I wonder if it will do any good... Like Why for put myself through his bull shit when i really just want to be left alone?

Do i want to remember?

No... I don't want to feel my ribs feeling like they're about to break or sharp pains on the side of my head -- the side closest to the wall in the bed so he could say i fell instead of it being on the side where he slept...

Like being drugged... So he can lie as to why he and my ex husband thought it was great to spike drinks.... Like ...

I don't care. I really don't.

He knows what he did and I just want him to go away. Obviously he isn't going to stop... Obviously he shouldn't be around the female human...

But what I'm just gonna pull evidence out his ass? My ass? Prove it?

I really don't think i can...

He already was sentenced 9 months for what he did to my friend.

May be he learned... Idk.

Obviously hes not going to come over and despite his recent meddling, people have come to their senses about him... Like he totally doesn't give a shit about me. Or them.

So obviously i left him when i was younger, between his father and mine, i got out of the house with him and he quickly moved on to "someone better" and he brought her over and the next one an the next cause he thought when i told the girls he beat me, i was jealous and trying to break them up...

When i was saying, I am so glad i left and I'm left alone 90% of the time and he isn't all up my ass bugging me and being weird and hitting me cause he had nothing else to do and no brain activity. And that it could happen to them, too. For no fucking reason.

It took a while, too for his dad to help me understand it wasn't me... Like he was just crazy... Stupid. Jealous. And dumb. Not too long but i did have to be taught that there's no difference between an abusive boyfriend or girlfriend or husband and an abusive parent or sibling. I always thought i really did something wrong

Now I know... I let him live and i was afraid of him and to let the "monster inside of me" out. And i was afraid I wouldn't win and i would die at his hands.

Now I'm not. Now I don't even care although I know for a fact he could probably break my neck in less than 10 seconds... Not because I'm suicidal or don't care about myself.

But because I do care about myself and I know that i can kick his ass. I know i don't have to and i know i can kick his ass soft enough that he behaves better and also that i can kick it so he never breathes again.

Because I'm angry. At what he did to me. Im angry that i believe without a doubt he would do it again if i didn't know all HIS male friends that would kick his ass, without a doubt until he quit bleeding.

Because I'm angryi have to feel the physical pain he did to me and i have to remember the bruises and the tears and the frustration and annoyance and knowledge that i wasn't loved.

Because I'm angry my fucking ribs hurt.

Idk that night he put on his act. I wanted him dead. Like i didn't care. I wanted to. I really did. I wanted to care about his life and his safety but I didn't. I hated him. With every cell of my being.

Matt said "i only punched him 2x in the face" i was all go back and hit him 10x in the face!!! Like it wasn't enough and i KNOW Matt did to to what he deserved not tappy tap tap.

I heard that over a week later, on Halloween, his face was still mangled... Like 6 broken noses and 5 black eyes... Like... Obviously he only has one nose and 2 eyes but there was enough damaged tissue for more.

I dont even feel bad... Like i still feel,it isn't enough. Because now i feel pain. And have since Halloween when the people he went to the carnival with left because i left. And haven't seen him since. Because they figured out thwt he was purposely keeping them from me, in line for the Haunted House for nearly 2 hours... I was not gonna stay..,

They could got out of line and sat with me at the fire they gave more logs for and rejoined him when he was near the front... It was cold where they were. They could even had taken turns in line.

It wasn't something i could do... I didn't even know they were there until after I left. All i was told was they would be about an hour... Which made no sense cause i thought they said they were already there... So what for an hour?

For the first time in forever it was just me and my kid for Halloween. We could done anything. My kid actually wanted to do the Haunted House... But didnt want to wait in the 36°F line for over an hour.

Its a good thing they left too, i got beat up in the Halloween Haunted House before, too.... Perfect place... Dark.. Scary... All perfect for "accidents" with no real person to take fault... Just accidents...

So really... I'm like part of me wants to tell him i know what he did...

But more i just want him to not exist.

And then another part of me still likes him and wishes he has grown up and realized he could be better than he allows himself to be. Part of me feels sorry for him.

I know he just wants to be loved and safe Just like we all do...

And I could love him as a friend as I had in the past... Knowing hes not been trustworthy in the past makes it easier to protect myself.

I handled him quite pperfectly 11 years ago... Until my ex husband I was married to then, started encou stupid and dangerous and evil entertainment.

I still don't understand the point to drug someone to have sex with them. Like dude. You're saying you're not good enough to be liked with a person sober and woke and living normal.

So that says a lot about a person... That they have no confidence or true love for themselves.

I been for real single in my house for 10 years...having only long distance relationships. I dont feel the need to drug someone to allow them to like me. They either do or they don't.

Im curious as to why they dont but i dont care. Some people just do not get along with others. Its that simple. I don't like plenty of people and to have to explain myself or be pushed around because of it totally pisses me off. I don't like you, simple as that and I'll hate you before I love you.

I see the most problem with criminals is they dont love themselves but usually demand others to while not believing others do... So they beat them.

Its really really sad. Its horrible. How they can't break that barrier to love just themselves. And then turn themselves into unlovable trash that they shouldn't be.

So at the end of the day, if you don't want to be loved. Then i won't love you.

Its the most difficult lesson a person can learn and its the most saddest and heartbreaking. But also the strongest making, most wisdom learning lesson.

And so I can turn off my feelings, my warmth, my caring for someone whom asks me to. Most especially someone whom has or would try to beat it into me.

Life is: Survival of the Fittest, is it not?

If you cannot love yourself, cherish yourself enough to take risks then you cannot survive.

If you cannot believe you are loveable then your actions will cause you to not be loveable.

But yet people like Jesse James and "Tom" don't have a problem with being greedy and asking for more and more and more. Like vampires with empty souls sucking down unicorn blood in the forest like they want to live on a page of a Harry Potter novel.

And so my question is, do i tell him what i know he did to Me? Or does he just want to relish in the delight of what he got away with so that He can devise ways to lie to make me some sort of pawn in his life, someone to use?

Why waste my time?

Friday in about 15 seconds i lost my child support check... While looking for it lost another check for $2.40...Then at the bank moments later literally $5 disappeared from ny hands.

Then the next day i had taken off my shoes in the Wal-Mart wheel chair shopping cart... While wheeling around... Lost my dam shoe.

I didn't even bother to look for it.

And my cat was kidnapped... Then i sent someone to fetch him... "Tom" let him get kidnapped again... Then he got fetched again.... And i have yet to see him... So im like what the fuck? Its been over a week... I tried Thursday night to go ask the neighbors but all the gates were locked...

Then i got this like flue feeling thing where i want to puke all day and all these body aches and I just want to sleep.

And Every thing is pissing me off...

And know why? Cause this curse if u dont acknowledge the dead on Halloween with a fuckking Hello then i get all this bad luck. Happens every time.like excuse me ass holes i deal with you 300 days a year and i can't have one with my kid?!

Its absolutely ridiculous

So id much rather sleep then to decide to care about someone whom has shown they do not care about me.

But is it wrong?

Should I tell him all those hits and attempts at giving me amnesia were temporary and i know exactly who he is and that he's still lying and that I know he was all trying to marry my friend then still get with me?

His dad says that he knew hitting me made me leave so that's why he hit my friend. And his dad says that she wasn't pregnant and that same as at my house it was more all over him than him on her... Unlike when he was with me

And i know i still have a lot of memories that don't fit right that are messed up.

But I know exactly what happened between Sara and Tom according to Sara's words to me. Because that part of my memories have never been affected. Even if i was drinking... Because i didn't drink a lot because i get migraines if i do. Mostly wine coolers or rum and juice...

Plus there was two adult sized male idiots, a seemingly whore type person and then 3 children 2 under the age of 5. So obviously someone who wasn't stumbling and posing a threat to the kids by falling over on themselves had to be present.

I just got drunk enough... So that i really didnt give a shit about all the stupidity I saw in the adults around me. And could say shit like "you know Sara, sometimes you're really dumb. Hes told you like 40 times to get off him and you're still on him So when tomorrow you're all black and blue and he says you tripped going down the stairs and i saw you walk down them just fine, I'm not really gonna care. I mean its not like he told you or anything. 46 times"

But while sober... I would worry why he was so mean to his girlfriend. Why she would always be rejected by him. And why she would allow herself to be treated so horrible. If my friend told me always to get off them, i would feel sad. Sometimes I have had to tell my kid not to touch or lean on me because i have pain... But i try to adjust so that they can... As i have a lot of numb spots next to highly painful areas.

But between Tom and Sara... I felt it was weird,volatile and and dangerous. And they shouldn't be together.

I even asked him once cause Sara would go inside with my ex a lot... Hmmm.. Idc.

"Why don't you like Sara to touch you?" And his face would be red.

And i would say " okay so then when do you like Sara to touch you?" Cause then i would tell her So she could get her affection...

And it was always difficult to get him to talk about himself.. Until for two nights I didn't talk to him and when we we're alone after he kicked me under the table most of the night, all angry in my face why i wouldn't talk to him...

"Oh why because you called me duct tape for 6 months telling me not to talk to you. And then when I did or have tried to "get close to you" as i would a friend, you just sit there all dopey and smile and don't even answer a question i ask you"

You know then sara comes out and says i said he was on dope.

And she denies it...and I'm tired of her being oblivious to every dam thing on the fucking planet. And i straight out accuse them both of being on meth...

And so while trying to faceplant herself on his Dick shes all "we should leave"

So then i throw them out and they both refuse to move. What. The. Fuck.

He claims hes afraid to leave cause she is all dopey on his Dick.... And hes all shes gonna rape m3 and all tries to,hide behind me,touching my body to use me as a shield and tries to jump over the railing of my porch!!! But acts like hes afraid to and asks my permission like 14 times. Dude you're a grown ass man why the fuck are you asking that's dumb. We were on the lower level anyway. Literally 4 steps, including the top.

It always seemed that stupid and annoying.

So i really didn't care when he went to jail, sentenced for 14 months and got out in 9..

Or when on New Year's Eve, i took her and her kids Christmas presents and she hadnt got any of us anything... And I had bought and took her cigarettes and she didn't want to share when i ran out... Or when I said we needed to leave because my kid wanted to go home and she told me that I was being a bad friend because I'm a good mom... Because I was going to leave... Then we went to the bonfire which my kid liked and so Sara said if i wanted to smoke her Winstons... Then i had to go get them and she threw them .... Because she was jealous all her neighbors were talking and laughing with me because i actually do know how to socialize.

And i quit being friends with her that night.

Left .... And every time she text me after i just told her to shut up and fuck my husband....but she didn't know because shes so sef absorbed that 2 months prior I told him i wanted a divorce.

On Thanksgiving.

In front of my uncle....

And so... Still... Should I tell him I think he's a complete ass hole with something to hide or a chicken shit that is making it look like he does.... And allow him to explain himself or not...

Because I a fucking tired of him trying to get into my brain. Hes all hiding. I'm not.

I heard in 4 months he hit me 15 occasions... I used the calculator and it was once every 8 days. I was 16. He was 23.

That enough makes me want to not talk to him. But i also don't want him to be all well that's your fault Sabrina. And blame me all kinds because I gave him a chance. I gave him a 100% chance.

Then when he blew me off more than once,including in DM.. I was all forget you then.... But then when I said i didn't want to fuck him, he lost his Goddam mind. Like dude... So yeah... When were we ever going to anyways when you can't even drive to someone's house? Or set up a date and actually go to it? It was So irrational the way he reacted. What? I'm a cum bucket? Like what he's gonna random run into me at Wal-Mart an pound me from behind in the family bathroom while i hold onto the toilet seat??

Seriously. Hes not rational

So I'm like to tell him what I've been told by th3 dead and what i remember... Its just a waste of effort, isn't it?

[milkte-aa]

" deal breaker! " (myg x y/n x jjk) 001

📍tags/genre ;; angst, satire, demon!au, prince!au.

📍summary ;; many many years ago, an ancestor of yours made a deal with two demon princes and never paid his debt. the demons, who lay dormant, have awoken and want their prize. and as a blessing and a curse, the prize is you.

📍author's note ;; the story is a bit mature, so chapters that don't have gore, violence, or smut, are still best for 16+ readers. but, of course, read at your own expense.

📍to find other chapters search #db-jjkmyg

"Come on, Jungkook! We don't have all year!!"

That loud voice resonated throughout the large, victorian styled manor. The dark hardwood floors were just a clean and shiny as they had been left, back when the victorian era was on the rise. It was a tragic day, when the manor was left behind, and that day would always be remembered as the day when the demons lost the great war. The two demon princes, who resided within this manor had fought and the front lines, and were forced into dormancy when they lost.

The heavy sound of footsteps could be heard at the home's entrance from deep within the many halls. Approaching every so calmly, Yoongi knew his call had been heard.

He gazed into the round mirror next to the coat rack that lay in the manor's entrance hall, fingertips brushing lightly over his cheek and jaw. The last time he'd seen his own face, was over 130 years ago, and there had been a long and deep cut that split his face in half diagonally. It was strange that they woke up, let alone come back completely unharmed or scarred. It left Yoongi to wonder why he was returned to his original state? Why wasn't his black hair matted with blood? Why was his skin left smooth and clean and not cracked, cut, and burned? Why was Jungkook so unhurt as he? He was greatful that his lover was back in the correct mental state, but why was it so?

"Weird isn't it? That we look brand new?" A chuckled rumbled across the entryway, taking Yoongi's attention away from his silvery reflection. He looked to Jungkook, the tall and handsome boy he'd had as a companion for centuries.

Yoongi nodded, looking back towards the mirror for a moment. He watched himself, quietly staring into his dark eyes. Jungkook cleared his throat in an attempt to get the other's attention, "So, hyung, why did you call my name?"

Jungkook had shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer, with a coy smile on his face. Depsite them having come back so 'new', they were still wearing the same clothes. Black blazer's and slacks, dress shoes, and decorative silk shirts with matching chokers. Silver and gold adorned their fingers and ears, matching the outfit and the era they had left behind.

"Ah yes, we have some unfinished business to conclude." Yoongi turned again to the younger male, "Sadly, that war interrupted us."

Jungkook tilted his head. He was tired and confused, and quite frankly it took a second for him to even recall the very war that took place. But he caught on, remembering the crippled old man that had begged them to cure his only child of an incurable disease. They had done so, with promise that they would be able to collect whatever prize they wished from him when they returned—whether it be riches, land, or a soul. He nodded.

"Is there any prize to collect?"

Yoongi licked his lips. "I believe so. I looked into while you took a nap. The current family isn't rich, so I think we'll be collecting a soul. Unless something else takes our interest."

Jungkook liked the idea of a prize, even though the last thing he could remember was losing a great battle. Souls meant servants. Servants meant things getting back to normal.

Yoongi approached his companion, placing a palm on the younger's cheek. He still saw the condition Jungkook used to be in. The beaten and swollen image lingered in his memories. "I'm so happy you're okay..."

Jungkook smiled, setting his own hand over Yoongi's. "Mhmm, me too. Now, let's go get our well earned prize before it runs away."

"Yes, let's."

Your ancestory had always been a mystery to you. It felt like living in fog, and only ever seeing what was closest to you. You never met your grandparents, as they were all dead before you were born, and so you could never ask silly questions about what wars they lived through or where they grew up. Your parents wouldn't talk about it much, especially after their divorce when you were thirteen.

Though, despite all that you didn't know, there was always one thing that remained clear—your family was cursed.

The story was simple; over 100 years ago, a man in your family made a choice. Would he save his daughter from death or would he let her go and end her suffering? Despite what his little girl had wanted, he chose to save her from the clutches of death, and looked everywhere for the cure. But no books held the answer and no doctor had the time. He had lost hope. That was, until the man was approached by a mysterious creature and offered a deal. He took it without much thought, not caring to ask what the creature was or where it came from. Because of that, his ancestors believed him to have cursed the bloodline— due to making a deal with something that has yet to collect its end of the bargain.

If the family really was cursed, then maybe that would explain why you felt like nothing ever went right. All through highschool, you made mediocre grades and never seemed to impress your parents while simultaneously managing to never make any long lasting friendships. During the year between highschool and college, you had gotten fired at almost every job you took for extremely stupid things. And now, in university, depsite having finally made some good grades you're knee deep in student loan debt. You could hardly pay bills as it was, and soon enough the bank would show up a take you shitty car and even shittier apartment.

But what could you do about that? Nothing, really. Life is just a series of miserable mistakes and regrets, with the only promising goal being growing old and retiring right at the age when freetime is uncomfortable and impossible. Yeah, life is shitty. Life was so shitty sometimes, that it made you wish that the deal your idiot ancestor made would come back and haunt you because then maybe life wouldn't be so painfully drab.

Though, your catch yourself in that thought because demons, or monsters, or fairy tales weren't real.

Ring ring ring!

The distint chime of your cellphone rang at you from your bedroom, gently calling you to answer an important phone call.

"Who is it at this hour? Its almost 10 o'clock..." You pulled yourself up from the old cushions of your hand-me-down couch, eyes briefly passing over the screen of your tv, which flashed with commercials at the moment. With quick steps, you reached your bedroom, which wasn't really that far away at all, and managed to reach your phone before it quit ringing.

"Hello?"

Nothing could be heard from the other end, thought you were certain someone was listening to you.

"Who is this? If you're trying to sell me something just do it already and don't waste my time."

Nothing again, and with that you hung up— people these days were rude over the phone too. You huffed, turning your phone off and chucking it on the bed with a soft thud. Through your annoyed attitude, though, a strange feeling of coldness swept up your spine. It swarmed your brain, filling your mind with a ice so black and dark that it stopped you from thinking for a moment. But it faded, as it some sort of fire or heat had burned it away. Strange, you thought, and then you snapped back into reality.

The tv show you were watching echoed in the distance.

You walked quietly back to the living room, gazing down at your index finger and grumbling at the chipped blue nail polish as you did. You hardly paid attention to your surroundings in this moment, and ran into the couch, slamming your toe against its hard bottom.

"F-fucking hell! Bitchass couch, always in my fucking way!" You yelled out, squeezing your eyes in pain as you reached down to hold your throbbing toe.

A soft sound eerily similar to the clicking of tongue of teeth could be heard, and then...

"Well that wasn't a very ladylike set of words." The low grumble of words jerked you out of your pain, your eyes wide as the shot up to see a man sitting on your kitchen counter, his legs crossed calmly over one another. He was cold. That very coldness you'd felt just before you left you bedroom.

"W-who'er you?!" You scrambled backwards, nearly falling your ass in the process. "How'd you get in my house?!!"

The man chuckled, cleary amused with your prey-like display. His dark gaze raked over you slowly, and his tongue peeked out of his lips for a brief moment. He had black hair, brushed out of his face to show a subtle bit of the pale skin on his forehead. The rest of him was pale, all except his eyes and hair... and the oddly Victorian outfit he wore. "Who am I? How'd I get in? Those are your questions?" He scoffed, "Mortals... You never cease to amuse...."

He trailed off just as you looked to your left, spotting a large black dog towaring over your couch and gazing at you. It looked like a hellhound, but there was something oddly human about it. At closer look, the dog had black horns atop its head and rows of razor sharp teeth and a two-pronged tongue. Its tail swung around carfully, like a snake.

The man on your counter spoke again, "I am a demon, little girl, older than your bloodline and nearly as old as religion itself. This here is my friend, who decided to appear in this form rather than a human one...."

You scoffed, definitely by accident. The reflex in you to pass off stupid claims as symptoms of a low IQ. You regretted this immediately.

The man showed you his teeth, a flashy way to tell you to know your place. "I'm serious, girl. You can stand there all wobbly kneed a pretend that you don't know, deep down inside what we are, but I see right through you." He looked to the dog, that looked back at him and let out an impatient whine. "But... I will be kind and tell you the story, so that maybe then you'll show us some more respect."

You blinked several times, a feeble attempt as waking up from this nightmare. Demons? Imposible! Such a stupid idea. These are just figmants of your imagination. Maybe your family was cursed; but it would be cursed sooner with insanity that it would with demons.

"Once upon a time, during the Victorian Era, a young girl suffered from a bad case of of some very mysterious disease. Her father wanted her to live so very badly, and sold everything he had to find her a cure. But no doctor could care to help, and no witch had a practical solution. He poor, little girl was dying and each day the pale horse grew closer. But, one day, he found himself in the presence of two strange creatures that he passed off as extremely smart hellhounds. Whatever they were, he made a deal with them, selling his soul for his daughter's life. The 'creatures' were nice, and decided to wait until the man got to live a happy life with his daughter before they came to collect his soul and his life. But, those 'creatures' got caught up in a war and were left dormant for over 100 years. And now, they need to get paid for their kindness..."

You could out two and two together, you were mental, the 'deal' your ancestor made was real and it was with this man here and his... dog?

"So that's not really a dog?" You pointed to large mass of dark fur that starred at your with red eyes.

The man shook his head, "No, that's my partner-in-crime Jungkook. And I'm Yoongi. Glad to see you've found your common sense, little girl."

"So, um, Yoongi, what do I have to do with this deal? You can't possibly be here for my soul, I didn't make that stupid deal..." You tried to calm down, but it was difficult to say the least. You were starring death and its dog, er, friend in the face. Who could stay calm during that?

Yoongi looked to his friend, nodding subtlety before he adjusted his hair with a heavily jeweled hand. "I hate to tell you this, but a soul is hard to get once its dead, not unless we were there to grab it. But as I said, its been 100 years, and your great great great grandaddy is probably deep within the inferno. Jungkook and I hardly have the time to find him."

"So, you're going to kill me?" The wind outside your apartment's front door howled, a sign of an on coming storm before it happened. You could almost taste the rain in the air.

The room was silent for a moment, giving your thoughts time to catch up to the situation. You've been acting like this were a real situation. As if! Demons aren't real. Neither was magic or curses ir any of that other mumbo-jumbo. To even believe it for a second would make your insane. Maybe you were. Maybe you were in some sort of looney-bin hospital strapped to a white table and screaming like all hell was loose.

Then, the more fake than real, Yoongi spoke up. He cleared his throat, hopping gracefully off of the marble countertop. The slender man approached you, peering into your fearful and confused face before looking to his hound-shaped companion. The hound thing nodded.

"Hate to break it to you sweetheart, but we can't kill you just yet." Yoongi seemed pleased, a hidden emotion swimming in the dark pools of his eyes. "Remember that war I mentioned? Yeah, well it drained us of our power, and now we can't do something as simple as collect a soul."

Crazy, stupid, gullible girl! This isn't real! Stop responding to your hallucinations!!

You shook your thoughts away, saying nothing to Yoongi at all. He was definitely talkitive and would more than likey continue speaking on his own.

".... So, girl, that means that you're coming with us and will stay under our watch until we're strong enough to do such."

And so he proved you right.

"You don't believe me do you? You think your just a normal, everyday psycho broad who dropped her marbles somewhere and can't find them." Yoongi chuckled. "Do you want to know something? If you were dreaming or imagining this, then you wouldn't be able to feel pain or taste things. And I do recall you jamming your toe not too long ago."

Defiantly, you looked up at him, meeting him eye-to-eye in a show of boldness. "That doesn't prove anything. I could've started hallucinating between then and now. God, look at me, I'm giving into this whole brain fiasco and talking to you! And you're not even real!" You laughed, making this possibility of madness grow.

"Oh how amusing! I, the wonderfully boring and dull, Y/n, have finally gone absolutely insane. I see demons and hellhounds! What's next, fairies and unicorns? Will I begin to preach that I have seen God's true fac-" Your babblings were halted by the most violently pleasant burning sensation, accompanied by the feeling of lips against yours. The mouth against your's was soft, gentle even, with not a hint of malicious intent. You gave in, melt into the touch the snaked around your body— your demon has kissed you.

The moment didn't last long, though you wished it had, because suddenly your bottom lip seared with pain and the taste of blood filled your mouth. Those soft lips tugged themselves away, leaving you with a bloody lip.

"You bit me!" You accused, touching your fingertips to your lip. Yoongi licked his lips, an remnants of your blood disappearing. He grinned.

"Better yet, you would've liked that pain if I kept on with that kiss."

"Why would you do that?" Your ears and cheeks burned with embarrassment. He had done that on purpose, to prove some point more than likey. But the fact that you felt it—his lips, the pain—it meant that-

"This is real. I am real. So is, my very annoyed friend over there." He gestured calmly to the hound who was scrunching its face up, a low rumble emitting from its throat. Your eyes darted back to Yoongi, who was still smiling. "So, sweetheart, are you going to give in and come with us willingly or is he going to drag you?"

You added it all up in your head. Demons, hellhounds, broken deals, war, soul stealing, and ownership. This was crazy... but real. Maybe. The mind is tricky. You contemplated locking yourself in the bathroom and waiting for them to leave, but Jungkook would definitely tear the door down and rip you into ribbons. You could go with them too. Its not like you would be leaving much behind. Your poor parents would be so torn up about it if you just went missing out of nowhere.

Yoongi still stood relatively close to you, so you backed up a bit before you spoke. "I'll go with you, but... let me pack a bag and write a note in case anyone comes looking. Alright?"

You were insane, this was insane, but you had no real choices.

Yoongi nodded, satisfied with your response. "Alright, but hurry. We don't have all year."

And with that, you scurried to your bedroom with two pairs of knowing eyes burying themselves into your back. What had you gotten yourself into, Y/n?

[fierce-little-miana]

Hello^^ Since I am now totally consumed by Marco Polo thanks to you, I wanted to ask you what you think of the female characters in the series and who is your favourite? Only if you don't mind of course :)

I absolutely do not mind at all. It is always a pleasure to talk about Marco Polo and especially to talk about the female character that I love with a great passion. I find them to be generally interesting and well written. 

So, since I have a real weekend in really long time, I am going to explain what I think of every significant female character in Marco Polo! Buckle Up!

Empress Chabi:

Chabi is my favorite female character in the show. Actually, she is my favorite character in Marco Polo. Frankly Chabi is one of my general favorite characters even outside of Marco Polo. She is the political consort done right. 

Often in TV-shows or period dramas when they say political savvy woman they mean woman who uses her sexuality to manipulate men. It’s true that women did reach powerful position by using their sexuality but not only and writers of period drama don’t seem to have the slightest idea on how to write a political savvy woman if there is no sex involved. 

That’s not the case with Chabi. Yes she has a sex life and the she manages Kublai’s harem but her power doesn’t come for her sexuality. Her political strength relies on the complete trust that exists between her and her husband (which seems to be an historical truth by the way). She is his most trusted advisor. She is also the one in charge of managing and assuring his dynasty. She also takes care of the public depiction of the dynasty and she does it very well. She is deeply ambitious for her family, and an excellent judge of character that makes sure that people who have talent are put in positions where they can express them (for the empire), and generally brillant.

However that doesn’t make Chabi a good person. She is ruthless and doesn’t hesitate to hurt and manipulate the people around her for the sake of her family, her dynasty and the empire. In short she is a mongol queen, an actual political player who is here to win. I love her. Also the actress that portrays her, Joan Chen (love her too), was 53 during the first season and there are no reason to believe that Chabi was supposed to be much younger. Having one of the main female character be a woman in her fifties presented as extremely important, clever, and beautiful isn’t that usual (Lena Headey and Indira Varma that are I think the two oldest actresses that are supposed to interpret beautiful/desirable women in GoT are 45 this year, Katheryn Winnick from Vikings is 41) so double Yeah for Chabi!   

Khutulun:

Khutulun is the kind of historical character that are too big for any artistical representation of them. I mean a wrestling princess that refused to marry any man that can’t defeat her in a wrestling match and stayed undefeated (even if she did marry in the end). The favorite child of her father and one of his generals… Khutulun is an exception even in Mongol History. She straight up escaped from a a legend.

I also really like her character in Marco Polo. She has bravado but it never makes her disagreeable. She is just proud of herself because well she is a great warrior and she should be proud of herself. She is also generally a great character to be around that cares about her loved ones and is distraught by having to do dishonorable things in order to win.

Her moral conflict is really interesting and her relationship with Byamba allows her to show fragility and doubt without undermining her warrior status. I also really like the low key conflict she has with her brother which is not her fault and that she doesn’t want but that she has to live with. Khutulun in Marco Polo isn’t a political player like Chabi is but she has to navigate this political context and she tries to do it while not disappointing her father, not losing her brother and her lover but more importantly not losing herself.  

Kokachin/Nergui:    

Kokachin is a very nicely done tragic character. It is someone divided between the lie she said to save her life and what she wants from her life. She knows she can’t get it and she does her best to survive but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t want it. This fondamental dichotomy is slowly destroying her. Even more when she ends up completely in Chabi’s claws.

Her sanity slowly slips away. But she tries, she tries so hard to do what is expected of her to become someone worthy of who she is pretending to be. She is so brave. She is clever and political too. But she fails. Of course she fails because that is the point of a tragedy but she sure makes an impact on the audience. Everyone wanted Kokachin to succeed, to become the next Chabi. Maybe a better kinder Chabi. Everyone knew she was going to fail. It didn’t mean that we weren’t completely wrecked by her ending.

Mei Lin:

Okay before starting on Mei Lin I wanted to say that her back story makes no logical sens. There are no scenario that explains how a child so poor she ends up in prostitution (and not the ‘classy’ kind of prostitution), learns to fight like an art martial master and read like it is expected of imperial concubines in China, and then becomes one of the high ranking concubines of the Emperor. Don’t get me wrong I see scenarios where three of this points could work together (Ching Shih) but never the four at the same time. Especially in a society as codified and rigid as Song China.

That being said Mei Lin is still a good character. Even if there are plot holes in her backstory it actually still does the job of explaining her character, and her brother’s character, pretty well. She doesn’t care about the big picture, after all the big picture never cared about her, and she is out there for herself. And for her daughter. I can see how someone who has been used and abused would be particularly protective of their child and also could love them unconditionally, since the child isn’t trying to use them. Mei Lin keeps her goal in mind for both seasons of the show and works toward it with the little margin she is granted.

She is angry, maybe a bit too impulsive, unimpressed by power structure and symbolic representation of power (because she knows what they are for) and that makes an extremely compelling character.  

The Dowager Empress of the Song Empire:

It’s probably going to sound weird but I really like her. I think the Dowager Empress of the Song Empire was a really interesting character to have on the show. Once again we follow a woman in her fifties wielding power. She is chancellor Sidao main political opponent. While he wants to go for broke and try to shake the mongol yoke once and for all she is trying for conciliation. 

She does everything in her power to push her political agenda and her main weapon his honor and decency. In a way she is a model of Dowager Empress, a person without moral fault doing her best for the survival of the dynasty and her people. And she tries to do that by upholding moral virtue. No one can look at this woman telling chancellor Sidao «It is a powerful man who injures little children» and not stanning her forever. I wish her end was closer to her historical end but I guess I can’t have everything.

Also she was Chabi’s greatest rival for killer head-dresses/headpieces. I love overly complicated headpieces.

Jing Fei:

Jing Fei is a less important character than the ones above but I also have a soft spot for her. Here we have Mei Lin best friend. I mean how many show would have given a best friend to the bad ass girl who uses her sexuality to advance her goal? It’s even better because Jing Fei and Mei Lin were in the same harem but no cat fight occurred. They sticked together. 

Jing Fei is a clever and ingenious woman who always privileges her relationship with other women. She puts herself in danger for Mei Lin and the Dowager Empress. A woman always choosing to stay by another woman’s side? Starz and Emma Frost are chocked!  

Shabkana:

Probably my favorite character introduce in season 2, Shabkana is Kaidu’s mother and Khutulun’s grandmother. She is our link to the violence that took place during the Toluid revolution. She makes the ideological conflict between Kaidu and Kublai personal and intimate. Her monologue on how she tried to save her sister by swearing fealty to the Tolui line, laying her honor and loyalty down, just for her sister to die in horrible pain while believing Shabkana had betrayed her is incredible.  

She wants the Ogedei line to be back in power. She is angry and out for blood. But she is also a shrouded politician and a ruthless manipulator. She is our only glimpse at the type of power widows could wield in the Mongol Empire and she is such a great antagonist. Really I love her.

Bonus point Lotus:

Lotus is the only female character that didn’t left an impact on me in Marco Polo so I guess she is my least favorite character. I don’t have a lot to say about her I don’t remember her very well (which is always a bad sign). But I remember being delighted to see Michelle Yeoh plays an unstoppable fighter that no-one wanted to face in duel. 

Super Bonus point: You will notice that 4 out the 8 main female characters of Marco Polo are older than 50. Hurray!    

[cowboyguts-moved]

tell me about your new ocs ^^

so any and all artwork i show you is done by @shit-stains (: 

everyone listed is from a made up oregon beach town called Mystic Overhang infamous for its creepy bottomless lakes and a cliff that leans over the pacific called Mystic Overhang. the town is full of mysterious happenings and unexplained missing persons and something downright evil is going on under their noses..but more on that another time ha ha. the story takes place in 1989. and i just realized this is basically just IT but i didn’t exactly mean for that…they definitely are not plagued by a killer clown.

Church Shelton (my oc) is 17/18. His mom had him too young and didn’t want to have to raised him, frankly, so she ended up leaving him on the stairs of a synagogue. His biological family is Jewish even though Church doesn’t grow up with religion and didn’t even know he was Jewish, because Josiah (Jo), tristan’s oc, was about 2 years old when he and his mom came by and saw a baby crying on the steps and the boy wanted to keep him and name him Church because he thought it was a regular christian church and… it’s cute. And through a ton of convincing and considerations, his mom agrees to care for Church and adopt him. Its a simplistic way of putting it, but there’s a lot that goes into it. He and Jo grow up as brothers and Jo takes such good care of him (: sometimes he has to be a parent to Church even though he’s only two years older, especially when their mom gets UHHH murdered during a robbery in their own house… ……….and they come home and find her at about 12 and 10 years old and Jo makes the decision that they’re not going to tell anyone and risk him living with his father and Church being placed in foster care. so they run away and become street kids for 4 years. When they’re older, 14 and 16, they get caught for stealing when they weren’t careful enough and the social workers put them in foster care, seeing as Jo’s dad is very unfit. They stay there until Jo aged out at 18 and got guardianship of Church after getting them a place to live, that’s a long complex process as well… and was obligated to care for him and provide income and stuff and they live together, just them two in a trailer, for awhile.

Church’s whole thing is that he loves to read and write. He reads so many books and he’s not great at first and is in remedial classes, but then he advances a shit ton with how hard he tries and how much he wants his love for English to succeed. Uh he has narcolepsy!!! Meaning he has a lot of daytime sleepiness, falls asleep frequently in the day and has bad insomnia at night and this hinders him a lot. In some cases his narcolepsy comes with cataplexy, this is when he has muscle weakness/paralysis caused by strong emotion like excitement and laugher. His brother Jo helps him a lot through that. I theorize that it happened because of a natural immune issue he has, which was most prevalent when they were living on the streets. 

Church is really funny and sweet and sarcastic. He’s such a cute boy and everyone in their town LOVES him just cause he’s so charming. he gets really cynical and depressed sometimes and can be mean when he wants to be, however and it’s his biggest downfall. He’s a bit of pyro he loves to set shit on fire. Oh, and he has a southern accent (: he loves to eat too, he’s always down for snacks. He’s bisexual but he doesn’t really call it that, he doesn’t take much note of his own sexuality, he does what he does. He works at an amusement park most of the time and has to put up with Jo constantly coming to his work when he gets lonely and riding the roller coaster he’s operating. Then when he graduates he goes to University of Oregon and has a bit of a big depressive self destructive path he follows and ends up overdosing on drugs on what of his partying nights, he self harms by being uncaring and his many intrusive thoughts about his mother dying and his huge fear of not seeing the world and being too dumb and poor to get an opportunity to really live. He’s put in the hospital and goes to rehab and Jo is there with him every step of the way. He’s so sweet and caring and worries about him but Church is a little belligerent sometimes. He wants to get better and be better for everyone and himself, and he does through a long emotional school break. He doesn’t end up going to his previous college again but he transfers and gets in the Columbia in new york for his English degree (: he lives in an apartment with his boyfriend Mason. 

Church is white, 5′7 and he’s stout and chubby. He’s got green eyes, freckles, a piggy nose, big sunburnt cheeks, and auburn hair, mostly shaved into a curly mohawk. and he got a fat ass and killer thighs. 

His beautiful big dumb brother Jo Shelton (tristan’s oc) has a story that is obviously parallel to church’s, but i think it’s important to mention that he’s kinda slow, slow thinkin’ and a bit hyper…and an asshole to everyone but the ones he really loves like church, he’s as sweet as he can be with him. he loves working on cars and he has a beautiful truck that he put a lot of work into..that is until he crashed it horribly while drunk driving after he got into a fight with church when church was in the hospital recovering from his overdose. and he got mild temporary brain damage… so…and then had to spend 6 months in jail for a DUI. that really fuck him up for a good while! and that’s a huge dent in their lives.

but anyway lol… he also loves to meet chicks and do speed dating.. and he hooks up with a wide variety of girls, he’s not picky at all and doesn’t believe in types, he just loves dominant women. he does have one important stable girlfriend for awhile named Rosa that he met at his grocery store job! he spilled spaghetti sauce on her white shoes (: and they were truly in love and dated for 3 years until it became dangerous for her to be with him because one of her weird ass fuckinnnn dangerous ex boyfriends got out of prison and she didnt think he would be safe if they remained together and it’s devastating for him and hinder him for a good while. he kinda fills that void by becoming a big brother figure to church’s biological sister Jude, who is 12 and in need of good old fashion josiah guidance. jo has that natural dumb dad vibe to him. (by the way..church’s mother reenters church’s life very briefly and that’s why jude and church meet and jude eventually lives locally to the boys because she moves in with Her real dad.) Later jo works at a mechanic shop and his ultimate goal is to open his own! uh also haha important detail..jo struggles with his sexuality and on the low meets up with dudes in alleys and lets them smash cause he’s a big bottom so. and he has sorta of thing for someone he met in the mess of foster care, just one of the kids he hung out with in passing, and his names Riley and they meet up later on when they’re older and fuck around a bit.

jo is 6′3 and he has golden honey hair and blue eyes and he’s freckly and has some beauty marks on his face. he’s pretty darn hairy..and he kinda smells. he’s a real country bo. he’s super skinny and hes got huuuge hands!

here’s jo and church (:

Mason Uley (mine), Church’s boyfriend, doesn’t meet church until he’s 22 and Mason is 13, and is a rich boy who’s siblings all died in one way or another…JDBSJD he’s the only child left and he is very neglected by his parents because of their coldness and grief and little regard for caring for their last kid. They’re never home and they ignore him completely which leaves him in search for attention in all sorts of wrong ways and he acts out. He does motocross at the local track. He loves rap music and is very embarrassing about it considering he’s very white..he loves flexin’ with that name brand clothing and shoes and wears skate shirts even though he doesnt skate which is a big smelly whatever but in general he’s a big poser. but its fine because we love him and its apart of his charm. He has a slight limp because at 13 he shattered his ankle and it never healed right. He loves Church very much and they’re SUPERR gross and lovey, their dynamic is so adorable, as you can imagine his goofy ass and church’s more dry sarcasm. He wants to be an architect and goes to college for that at Columbia later. He’s smart and has a very dry kind of humor and he hates Jo until he’s forced not to because of their mutual love for Church. He’s 1000% gay. He has blond hair and he looks like a 90s heart throb and Jo affectionately calls him “faggot” more than his name.

i dont have a Current drawing of mason all i got are old ones that tristan doesnt really like l o l

Okay……….. and then there’s Lewis. he’s 18. His full name is Aloysius St. Lawrence (AL oh wish iss) (mine), and he grew up in a deeply religious cult in northern California where many Horrible things happened to him that I’ll spare the details on but he’s a very traumatized boy and i thinkg about the complexity of him trying to come to grips with it and learning how to live with the immense pain he was dealt with! so. it’s really fun.

he was born with a sorta Purpose, his dads family started this commune, and the dad wasnt at fault, he’s not malicious he’s really sweet and a bit slow and is often mistreated, he’s forced to have relations with lewis’ mom, who was sort of a nomadic runaway girl perfect for procreation after she got caught in the entanglement of this commune business in california. theyre both really young when they have lewis and his twin sister, lewis being prime because he’s the Male. lewis grew up believing all kids in the commune were his siblings and so he never realized the one girl he’d see all the time was his biological sister. so bascially they take lewis from the mom, say he’s not only her child but the communities child, just how it is with all kids, and she betrays the commune in a way i havent figured out and goes beserk because obviously everyone there is insane and shes exiled and lewis, all the while has no idea shes his mother. so great childhood… full of hard labor and sleeping in a room with rows of beds and dreaming about a woman and not knowing why, not knowing its because shes your mom (: haha

In 6th grade he’s finally allowed to go to a school with other boys because before this he was homeschooled and his world was reduced to the confinements of his commune. He goes to a spooky and prestigious boarding school in southern Oregon and wears a uniform. The place is really huge and brick and creepy but it feels like paradise with this freedom he finally gets to some extent and he’s learning how to function as a regular boy, although he finds it kind of impossible. 

CHRIS!!!!! Is his roommate at this boarding school in 6th grade. Chris is a very goofy lovesick boy who believes heavily in the energies of the earth and charging his crystals his hippie mother gave him and he paints his nails black and pushes the rules of the dress code every single day and tends to break it completely. He’s a punk who loves to piss adults off. He was forced to go there by his very strict abusive father and there he meets sweet sweet Lewis (:

Lewis has never had a friend like Chris and he doesn’t know how to successfully keep one and it’s a really stressful emotional cycle of enduring the weekends at the commune and coming back to school and to Chris amongst all the happy boys that lead mostly normal lives. Chris sort of realizes that he has feelings for boys in this time and has strange urges to hold Lewis’ hand and kiss him and stuff, but he refuses to truly acknowledge his feelings about who he is.  but he does, in fact, hold his hand and Lewis lets him and they’ll just hang out for hours in their room holding hands and talking about silly stuff. They come to be really close and mean a lot to each other, chris invite him over to his house on the weekends and lewis sneaks off with him, risking being punished because he didn’t go back with one of the Father’s or Brother’s of his commune. Chris and lewis are very adorable and they play with makeup together in chris’s room and eat snacks and explore mystic overhang and chris teaches him about the ways of modern life. in 7th grade they grow apart when they don’t share a room or anymore and Chris gets involved with different people, starts smoking weed and eventually gets with a guy in 8th grade hhhh… and Lewis focuses really hard in class and it’s sorta the end of that. 

When chris gets expelled in 8th grade they don’t see each other anymore, the only departing thing being chris’s journal that he gave to lewis before he was escorted off the premises, and in it is filled with entries about him. this journal was taken and destroyed at his commune by one of the Fathers when it was found, though :/ so yes, Lewis goes back to the commune because they plan on keeping him homeschooled for high school but there’s a group of 5 kids and 3 men from the commune that are heading to Nebraska around the time he’s 16, and they force lewis to be the 6th child that accompanies them in their trip. once there, he’s kept in a creepy abandoned house, hardly set up for living in and he’s living with these other children, like an odd family that has to function around one another, him being the oldest of “siblings”. he finds out eventually that they’re there for a weird ritual/sacrifice thing.. probably the most horror-ish horror element i developed for him thus far, its frankly insane and disturbing and theres a lot of layers and rituals they must do and humiliating tasks they must do all for a Grander godly purpose. the sole purpose of it is to reach ultimate redemption in heaven after a sinful life ahahahaa.. so basically the whole time they’re there, they’re trying to accumulate sin by being unloving, disciplinary, neglectful, …uhh…and lewis kept in a dark room, only candles and daylight light the house and they’re severely mistreated and malnourished. Lewis runs away at 18…but, through constant mistreatments of his body he ends up having gangrene in his left leg and has to have it amputated above the knee by a doctor he meets whom he has to give a Favor to as payment because he doesnt have money. and he gets a real shitty wooden prosthetic that isn’t comfortable at all and its not healing right, it’s a bit botched actually.. and he has crutches and that’s how he gets around. He goes back to Oregon to the town Mystic Overhang that Chris is from because remembers the town name vaguely, not even who said it or when he heard it, but he goes there because he doesn’t know many towns, so he decides to settle there and he makes a living prostituting for awhile at an area called Mouth’s Edge. he sees Chris again when Chris pays him for a bj l o l. and Chris recognizes him even though chris is coked out of his mind because he had a really rough night and got his shit kicked in by his dad… and Lewis almost shits himself because someone from his past is back and he’s really paranoid and weird about it cause he just blew one of his only friends he used to have. and he wants Chris to fuck off, but eventually Chris keeps coming back just to talk to him and see what he’s been up to and stuff, cause he still feels this familiar need to protect Lewis that he had back in middle school. He’s very consistent about seeing him and does every single night even when Lewis is working. lewis’ love for him comes gradually, even through chris is in love with him pretty much instantly. It takes a long time for Lewis to want to be touched and held but he lets people do it anyway, including chris, it’s an unhealthy thing he obviously needs therapy ha ha. they don’t officially date until an entire year later

lewis is very sweet boy he’s shy and he has trouble making eye contact. He’s really smart and loves to paint! That’s what he wants to do with life. He’s not gay per se, he doesn’t really feel much romantically unless someone, anyone is kind to him and patient and reeeeeeeally really consistent or else he would probably never fall in love, but any gender has the potential with him. He loves 40s-80s music so much and dances to it really dorky when he thinks no one is looking and Chris has sooooo many records. he loves to rollerskate! and he’s really good at it. he’s pretty damn masculine, more so than chris. and he’s strong (: and he wears ugly clothes that he finds in dumpsters. eventually he gets enrolled in college for art and sees a therapist he grows to love like a dad to be honest.. lewis he dyes his hair a lot (: it’s naturally golden but at first when he’s prostituting its short and purple and then grows out very long and then he cuts it a lil and dyes it pink..orange..etc etc. he’s a hard worker and he gets a job at the Junkyard where he meets his best friend Cody (: 

This is Lewis :) he’s white, 5′4 and he’s soft but strong and handsome and he’s got golden eyes and hair and he’s sweet n freckly.

Chris Russell (tristan’s) is 19… chris is greek and pakistani from his dad and white italian from his mom. he grew up an only child with them in an upper middle class environment because his dad … i don’t even know the legit title but he buys and sells properties for a fancy shmancy company. his mom is just a kindergarten teacher and that’s not a killer wage but. he’s very close to his mom he loves her to pieces, she’s a big stoner hippie (:. his dad on the other hand has always been really disciplinary and cold towards Chris, his dad is straight up abusive though, so there’s no excuses being made for him, but at first he didn’t do it just because he felt like it. he was just raised learning that it was the only effective way to discipline your kid and that it was the dynamic that Worked the best. Chris is a little problem child though, and not so much when he was a kid! he was so sweet and all he wanted to do was wear his mom’s makeup and clothes. he wore clips in his curly hair and pretty skirts and he loved music and being a mama’s boy and he loved her cooking. he loved reading and writing. but he was still abused by his dad, especially for his natural femininity. and as Chris got older he was such a rebel. he’s a mouthy, snarky, blunt little shit that never behaved or was cowered into doing things as his dad wanted. it wasn’t like he wasn’t afraid to get hit or anything but he didn’t show it and constantly provoked it. that’s in his teen years though especially

chris goes in and out of depression and mania constantly after middle school. he’s doing drugs, just weed at first but he’s always always high and he’s a big loner until he meets his Boys in 10th grade (: mikael ben and kylo. his parents divorce when he’s 15. he tries to convince himself he’s not gay and he gets with a girl but the ordeal is humiliating and she spreads the rumor that he was so bad at fingering her and touching her boobies that he must be Gay and so he retaliates by making photo copies of her nude pictures and spreading them. chris has questionable morality. you GOTTA know that about him.. he has problems and he can straight up not be a good person sometimes but overall he really is one and we be loving him or whatever. and he evens out in his 20′s and 30′s so it’s fine. HFSFSS but yeah! after awhile it’s sorta easy just to come out, and then he gets cocky and his gayness bleeds through everything he does. he starts dressing more effeminate again and he fucks around with a lotta guys and is really stupid about his recklessness. he gets into cocaine and gets so fucked up he doesn’t know who he’s banging half the time he just parties and is a big smelly butthead. and around the AIDS crisis no less… dumb ass. by some miracle he doesn’t catch anything or get anything so… this all happens, the worst of it anyway, when he’s 18 and stuff after he has this weird hook up relationship with Mikael his friend and our other OC hsdhbsd. and then he kinda just Takes himself off it after he bumps into Lewis again and goes through his withdrawals and smokes a ton of weed, i mean he’ll never quit that, its fine.

he loves to skateboard! he loves reading and writing. he aces his english classes and was in AP his whole life in that subject. he’s a big debater and critical thinker in those classes and the teachers love him and hate him for that. he writes in his journals constantly and he wants to be a writer someday.. he loves drag. he has a whole persona. her name is Crystal Balls. he’s really fuckin good at it too, he’s good at makeup and tucking and dressing up and caring for his wigs. he’s a big major faggot. he’s a top! even though everyone in the world does not think he is (: he’s a big top. and he can be masculine when he wants. he has masculine body language and a manly voice and he’s a big stoner skater but he can turn on that faggotry whenever he wants and its especially apparent in his Crystal persona. he plays piano and is very good at it (: he’s bipolar clinically but does not take meds (:  he self harms as a result of his polarizing emotions and his home life. he’s the horniest emo anyone will ever meet and legit is addicted to feel-good stuff and has a really addictive personality in general. so weed, food, sex, Lewis, etc. he’s really insecure and he thinks he is BUTT ugly but high key he’s the hottest OC either of us have like he’s just gorgeous that’s all there is to it. and he’ll go back and forth from Damn im fuckin hot to holy fuck i look like my dad i want to wear a ski mask everywhere. its mostly the latter though (: he hates his dad and hates that he looks so much like him. the only thing he likes about himself is his big dick and his legs that are straight up chick legs

here’s chris heh

Cody Glorymoon (mine), Lewis’  best friend, is 20 and she’s very pretty and she has delicate features but she’s big tomboy and works for her dad at the junkyard. she’s a ginger and she’s very tall and slim and she’s a little rough and cynical but she’s super soft and loving and smart.  and she cares for lewis so much that she’s a little in love with him at one point and it hurts her to be that way because she’s having her own sexuality and identity crisis and shes knows they can’t be together. she hates chris…because the girl chris used to date and spread her nudes was her sister and she’s extremely protective of her sister because they grew up very close and had traumatic experiences being put through frequent pageant shows and training as little girls? their mom was a piece of shit and eventually dumped them on their dad who previously was kept away from them. she also, in general, just doesn’t like chris and his personality. he’s a huge douche to her. until she softens for him in later years when she sees him a lot because he’s her best friend’s boyfriend. chris actually needs her help pretending to be his girlfriend in order to please his dad and keep him off his back so he can see lewis on the low… and she does it because she’s the only girl he knows that tolerates him enough and would do it for him and she comes over for dinner and other events hsdfjsdf its really funny watching chris pretend to like her. they grow closer this way and become real friends even though they always have this love/hate dynamic.

heres cody and cody giving lewis a smoochie 

here’s some gay and lesbian solidarity between chris and cody

Mikael Taylor (tristan’s) is 19 and one of the boys in Chris and Lewis’s friend group. He’s a foster kid who has really long hair and smokes too much weed because if he doesn’t his adhd gets the best of him. He and church have an on and off thing for quite a while until they break up and church moves away and gets with mason, although mikael is sort of crazy in love with church whether he likes to admit it or not, he’s always sorta waiting for him and mason to be Done even though it takes a long ass time, he really misses his opportunity with him the beginning. He likes to fuck and be with all kinds of different people, though, and commitment is definitely a fear of his (hence the on and off thing with church). He’s really sweet though and he loves lewis to death. Hes funny and outgoing and cool and Everyone likes him. Everyone. He’s got a cool septum piercing and one of those gum piercings right under the lip as well. He’s also huge gauged ears and he wears a beanie and hawaiian shirts with dad shorts and socks and sandals (which are like the only shoes he owns). He’s half native american and half caucasian, he sleeps a lot and he has a huge thing for milfs. (chris and ben’s moms especially)

mikael is 6′4, and pretty lean and has got some muscles. he’s got sharper features and he has green eyes and gross facial hair wispies

Benjamin Jacobs (tristan’s) is 19 and is another one of the boys from the friend group. He’s a big, heavy jock who really enjoys theatre and foootball. He’s from up north, so he has an accent thats quite strong and pretty cliche. He’s got pretty short blonde hair and freckles spread across his soft cheeks. He’s quite angry most of the time and he can be very loud, especially with chris whenever chris is being himself and annoying the shit out of him. He does have a temper but he tries his best to control it around lewis. Oh yeah and he also loves lewis a lot (: he lives in a really nice suburban neighborhood and his home is loudly occupied with his mother, dawn, who is your classic 80’s rhode island mom complete with the big poofy curls and the hoop earrings, and his two brothers and one sister. He has a man cave which is the entire home basement that he and the boys all hang out in 24/7, filled with beanbags a television, a pool table and a blow up doll named Patrisha that chris drew a penis on. Again, he hates chris. ALSO he’s in love with kylo’s sister named Leslies and he pines for her 24/7

ben is big chubby and blond, he’s 6′1 and hes so hot i think he’s so hot bro. he’s juicy he’s a thick quarterback with blue eyes

Kylo Cavillo (tristan’s) is the last member of the boys group. Kylo is a sweet Hispanic boy with vitiligo who has a hard time expressing himself. He’s very excitable and he falls in love with people very easily… he has this weird crush/obsession with chris that’s not talked about within the group much but it can be more than obvious at times even though he denies that he’s gay. He and lewis get along very well and he loves him a lot, they both were deprived of a lot of the modern things like certain tv shows and games and phrases and ways of doing things so they’re able to bond on that fact. Kylo lives at home with his mother and father, who is a big part of the Mystic Overhang Tiburón’s (a gang) and he owns their family restaurant called El Baño HHHDSF which kylo comes to take over himself when he’s older. He has three sisters and he is the youngest of all siblings, so he grew up with girls his entire life and definitely has some femininity to him. He’s very sweet and innocent, though, and means well with all his endeavors. He likes to grease his jet black hair back and wear gold chains with his baseball jerseys and blue jeans. OH he also has epileptic seizures and it’s very scary but mikael knows well how to deal and handle them when they happen because he has experience both with his foster siblings and kylo himself because mikael knew him the longest!

and here’s mister kylo, he is very small about 5′1 and skinny, he has big pretty expressive brown eyes and lil cute mustache and unibrow (:

[master-sass-blast]

Wade. No. Stop.

Sometimes, I write fluff. Sometimes, I write angst.

Sometimes, I write crack

Welcome to the drug trip.

Summary: Wade finds out that Piotr grew up on a farm and teases the two of you relentlessly about enjoying cow play. He crosses an unforgivable line, and you decide to get revenge.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: M for utter sexual inappropriateness, vague descriptions of vomiting, and strong language.

Many thanks to the CACAT discord for helping me come up with some of Wade’s various pranks.

Being best friends with Wade Wilson comes with a number of advantages.

First, if you ever need someone to help you hide a body at 3:48 in the morning during a tornado watch, he’s your guy. He’ll even take you out for pancakes afterward.

Second, his extensive knowledge of the Internet and all things Golden Girls makes him a surprisingly valuable ally on trivia night.

Third, he always has a vast supply of junk food on hand, hidden in little stores around his room --in airtight containers to keep bugs out, thank you Nathan. Snack nights with Wade are the best.

Fourth, he’s genuinely everything you’d ever want in a big brother. Severely inappropriate sense of humor with a gun collection he’s happy to let you borrow from and the best taste in spike heels? Uh, yes please!

You know, not to mention the fact that he loves on you at any given opportunity like the touch-starved octopus he is, will happily waste a day watching YouTube or movies with you if you’re feeling down, and always checks before each shark week to make sure you’re stocked on everything you might need --even though he knows that you and Piotr manage that just fine, he says you deserve to have someone checking in on you.

Which is wonderful. He’s wonderful. In his own weird, mildly stabby sort of way.

However, there are times where being friends with Wade comes with... challenges. Let’s call them challenges.

First challenge: Wade is a purely destructive force of nature when he gets bored.

And not in the ‘I-tried-to-do-wood-shop-things-and-broke-a-few-power-tools’ kind of way.

He’s most liable to go to Blind Al’s and get high on cocaine. Which was unnerving the first couple times he did it, admittedly. Wade gets extremely wound up when he’s on coke, and while his dust bunny catching skills are impressive, the French maid’s outfit he prances around is not.

That particular incident had been a distinct feature in your nightmares for several weeks. You’re still not sure you’re over it.

Fortunately, though, now that he and Nathan are together, most of Wade’s coke episodes are handled by the time-traveling cyborg. He simply scoops Wade up with some telekinesis, takes him to their shared room, and stays in there with him until Wade comes down from his high.

Unfortunately, however, Wade’s boredom fits don’t always involve coke --and, when they don’t, Nathan’s ability to circumvent Wade’s destructive tendencies runs out pretty quickly.

When Wade isn’t coking himself out, he’s shooting things. Or blowing things up. Or lighting them on fire. Or... doing unspeakable things to them.

And, since none of the telepaths in the mansion can read Wade to figure out what he’s doing ahead of time, there’s no stopping him beforehand. It’s always follow the sounds of destruction and clean it up afterward.

Which is what the ‘flaming pool incident,’ the ‘juggling chainsaws incident,’ and the ‘whipped cream in the fire suppression sprinkler system’ are all categorized as. As are the ‘carpet of actual kittens, Wade how did you even get this many kittens, oh god Remy’s allergic to cat hair someone get his Epi-Pen,’ the ‘mac and cheese overflowing from all the toilets,’ the ‘how did Poptarts get glued to the ceiling?’, the ‘wait, you aren’t actually barbecuing a person, oh shit you are, WADE NO, I don’t care if it was for a job and you only need a picture and you weren’t actually going to eat it,’ and the ‘en masse tp-ing’ incidents. Not to mention--

Perhaps the list ought to be left for another time. You know Scott has a file cabinet or two devoted to Wade’s exploits, and there’s no way you’re going to make it through all of them right now.

(Though, in Wade’s defense, if he had known Remy had allergies to cat hair, he wouldn’t have brought cats into the mansion.)

Second challenge: Wade will argue with anything.

True story. It doesn’t even have to be breathing. You’ve watched him carry on a two hour argument with a plastic ficus at Sister Margaret’s. And he lost.

Admittedly, this comes in handy when the game of the night at the X-Mansion is ‘debater’s table.’ You and Wade have an unbroken winning streak.

Unfortunately, that winning streak is only a total of one because everyone decided --aside from you and Wade--that ‘debater’s table’ would be banned henceforth. Possibly maybe definitely because you tried to supplex Scott through the table when he called one of your points ‘uninspired.’

In your defense, Wade tried to help.

In both of your defenses, they really should’ve known better than to put two of the most combative people in the house on the same team --let alone play such a competitive game with them.

Extra unfortunately, Wade’s argumentative streak is the literal biggest pain in anyone’s ass at any other given time.

Especially when rules are involved.

“Wade!”

“Hang on! Hang on!” you shout as you hear your boyfriend tromp through the mansion in defense mode. You grab your bag of insta-popcorn from the microwave and run in the direction of Piotr’s angry stomping, swearing as you toss the searing bag from hand to hand. You sprint towards the clinic room Wade is being patched back together in and dive into your chair, perched between Ellie and Neena.

Neena opens the bag without burning herself, somehow. “Thanks. These are a pain in the ass to sit through without a snack.”

Ellie reaches across you and grabs a handful for her and Yukio to share. “Try to get the Parmesan cheese kind next time. The generic flavor is boring.”

“I tried, but I think we’re out. We’ll have to restock.” When you realize Piotr is watching you four with a mildly exasperated expression, you wave your hand at him. “You can start now. We’re ready.”

He shakes his head, then refocuses on Wade --who’s still regrowing a leg and several bullet holes. “Wade. How many times do I have to say--”

“You can say my name as much as you want, you big silver stud,” Wade interjects before your boyfriend even had a chance to work up a head of steam. “I never get tired of hearing it.”

“Down, boy,” Nathan mutters in his seat next to Wade’s hospital bed.

“What is first rule?” Piotr asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Label everything in the refrigerator.”

You wince internally as you watch Piotr restrain himself from yanking Wade out of the bed and slamming him against the nearest wall. “Why does he keep opening with that?” you whisper to Ellie. “It never works.”

“Because he’s hoping it will someday,” Ellie whispers back. “Pass the popcorn.”

“You know that is not first rule,” Piotr growls --and damn if that doesn’t do something for you--accent thickening with his anger. “As much as you play idiot, you are not one.”

“Oh, honeypie, I’m touched! But not in the way I’d like to be, if you know what I me--”

You cough pointedly, and Wade relents with an apologetic gesture of his hands.

“Point stands, Tin Man on steroids, I genuinely don’t know what I’ve done wrong or what I’ve done to deserve this raging Russian display of restrained passion --not that I’m complaining, mind you--”

“Rule One: No killing. Ever.” Piotr’s jaw flexes, and there’s a slight metal scraping noise as he grits his teeth. “How is that so hard to understand?”

“Uh, because some people deserve to die. Specifically, the actual child traffickers we were fighting today. Because they’re actual. Child. Traffickers.”

“You do not have right to take lives!”

“Uh, like hell I do! Did you miss the part where they were child traffickers?”

“Who’s winning?” Yukio asks quietly as she scoops more popcorn into her mouth.

“Unfortunately, I think Wade is,” Ellie murmurs.

“You can’t honestly look at me and say the world is worse off for me having killed those guys. Honestly.”

Piotr’s hands clench into fists. He’s on the losing side of the argument, and he knows it. “Your actions reflect on all of mutant kind.”

“Not a mutant, my comrade. I’m a reject science experiment. Come on, the first movie literally covered this in extreme, nude detail!”

“Your actions still reflect on X-Men. We can’t afford to have easily misconstrued actions on our hands.”

Wade shrugs. “Hey, you asked me to come with. You know how I handle people like that, and you asked me anyway. Frankly, I’m not sure I like that you’re willing to let fuckers like that live for the sake of your image.”

Piotr’s jaw tenses.

“Holy shit,” Neena breathes. “He’s winning. He’s literally regrowing a limb. How is this even possible?”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you mutter. “Wade fucking Wilson.”

“Need I remind you that staying at X-Mansion is privilege,” Piotr says, tone icy. “Those who cannot follow rules cannot stay.”

“Fine. I know where the door is. Say the word and I’m gone. I’m still gonna deal with the irredeemable assholes of the world the way I always do whether I’m here or not: scrub them out, one at a time, until there aren’t any left and I can finally retire for the rest of eternity.”

You’re starting to see just exactly why Nathan fell for Wade.

Piotr glares at the mouthy merc for a moment before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Wade flops back against his bed with a wince and sighs. “I take it that one goes to me?”

“Amazingly, yes,” Ellie says as she stands, hand already wrapped around Yukio’s. “Stop killing people, dipshit.”

“No can do, Negasonic Beetlejuice. Bye, Yukio!”

“Bye, Wade!”

You toss the empty popcorn bag into the trash and brush your hands off on your pants. “I’m gonna go find Piotr before he implodes on himself.”

You could technically add in Wade’s less than lucid days and grumpy pain-slash-feeling suicidal days in as challenges, but you don’t think there’s anyone in the mansion that would have the heart to assign that to the him as a consequence of his own behavior and choices.

Which, by default, only leaves one other challenge: Wade’s perverted sense of humor.

Wade’s sense of humor is like a fire hydrant: all or nothing. Unstoppable once it’s started. Overwhelming in every sense of the word.

Unlike a fire hydrant, it’s also largely sexual.

Which happens into some less than stellar moments where Wade hits on anything in sight --including your boyfriend--not so much because he wants to fuck whatever he’s laid eyes on, but because he loves the reactions his increasingly horrifying innuendos get.

And, admittedly, he’s funny ninety-nine percent of the time. He has a mouth that won’t quit and he’s not afraid to use it.

However, he does happen into that one percent of the time where it’s just. Too. Much.

Cue the cow-play incident and your revenge on Wade for all his related wrong doings.

You’re all sitting around the kitchen table when the fateful bit of information comes out.

“Wait, hold the fucking phone for a minute.” Wade stares at Piotr, shocked. “You grew up on a farm?”

Piotr nods. “Da. In Siberia.”

“What did you farm? Ice?”

That gets an eye roll. “Nyet, Wade. Cattle, mostly. It was easiest to maintain.”

“Well I’ll be darned,” Wade says in an offensively hickish Southern accent. “Ol’ Petey-pie’s jus’ a regular cowboy, ain’t he?”

“Stop it,” Ellie says flatly as she scrolls through Tumblr. “You sound stupid.”

“That was the point, Negasonic laser canon, thank you very much.” He refocuses on Piotr with a familiar glint in his eye. “So, is it stereotypical of me to ask if you two do the cowgirl position a lot?”

You flick a Cheeto at him while Piotr sighs heavily. “Stop it. Stop being gross.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I don’t want to know about all your cow-play activities anyway.”

And that’s... not a term you’re familiar with. You dig your phone out of your pocket and type in the term into your search engine.

Across the table, Ellie sucks in a breath. “Y/N, no!”

It’s too late.

It’s all too late.

Your precious brain will never be the same.

You stare down at the Urban Dictionary definition, unable to tear your gaze away as your brain tries to comprehend the horrors of Wade’s implications.

Next to you, Piotr drops his head into his hands. “Wade, no--”

“So you do know what it is! You kinky fuck! Here I thought you wouldn’t want to be milked--”

That mental image makes you scream. You drop to the floor and cover your face with your hands. “Oh God, why? Why! Wade, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Hey, no kinkshaming! As long as you two are both consenting--”

“Shut! Up!” You roll to your feet and glare at him. “I didn’t need to know about any of that! I was fine just the way I was without learning about that corner of the world!”

“Oh, but you so weren’t!” Wade cackles. “Man, your reaction was priceless--”

You charge after him, hellbent on beating the ever living shit out of him.

You do, but it’s too late.

Wade’s hooked on the joke.

It starts with texts. Usually late at night, when Wade’s still up and normal people are trying to sleep.

The first one comes in the same night at two in the morning. 

It takes a moment for your eyes to focus on the small lettering, but when they do you wish they hadn’t.

Bro: So, how did the milking session go tonight?

Piotr groans when you toss your phone across the room. “What?”

You flop down next to him with a huff. “Don’t even ask.”

From there, it just gets worse. Not only do the texts become at least a daily feature in your life, but Wade starts tormenting you and Piotr in other ways.

Bro: Question. Does Colossus ‘moo’ when he climaxes?

You: Fuck. Off.

You hadn’t thought anything of it other than Wade was hellbent on being an annoying prick, and had shoved your phone into your pocket.

Until later that night, when Wade loudly, dramatically shouts “I can’t find my phone!”

And Piotr, being the kind and gentle soul that he is, says “I can call it.”

You spy Wade’s phone on the kitchen table, in very obvious and plain view, which isn’t anything suspicious because Wade could lose anything, anywhere.

What is suspicious, however, is the devious grin Wade’s wearing.

You almost tell Piotr to hang up, but the call connects before you can say anything.

Wade’s phone vibrates across the table, playing the distinctive sounds of cows mooing in chorus.

You smack your palm against your forehead, while Piotr merely sighs and hangs up. “Just stop it already!”

After that, it’s just unstoppable.

You find cow everything everywhere. Black and white pictures taped inside the covers of books or tucked in your shoes. A bundle of cow fridge magnets addressed to your boyfriend in red crayon --not subtle, Wade, by the way. An email with a couple’s Halloween costume set of a farmer and --you guessed it--a dairy cow.

The subject line of the email reads “Because milking should be an equal opportunity pastime,” which really should’ve been all the hint you needed.

And the texts. Holy fucking tits, the texts.

They’re horrible. Obscene. They use entirely too many emojis in ways that the app creators never intended!

Bro:  philly cheesesteak all in that order, chili cheese fries as a starter got the steroids keeping me stronger bitch im a cow, bitch im a cow, i am not a cat, i dont say meow bitch im a cow, bitch im a cow

Bro:  ca$h rules everything around me ice cream ice cream you a calf bitch, you ma daughter i ain't bothered get slaughtered got the methane, i'm a farter with my farmer mcdonald and they feed me real good, it's a honor

Bro: I took the liberty of doing a little redecorating before leaving town for my job. Hope you like it!

Okay, that last text isn’t necessarily obscene, but it is... concerning.

You meet Piotr right by the main staircase. He looks just as panicked as you do, which means he got the text, too. “How bad do you think it’s gonna be?”

He looks up the flight of stairs, expression fearful. “Probably worse than what I could imagine.”

The two of you climb the stairs in silence, proceeding like prisoners to their slaughter --execution.

Dammit Wade.

There’s a trail of straw in the hallway that leads to your shared bedroom.

“Oh God no,” you whisper. “Please. No.”

Piotr groans. “This will be impossible to clean up.”

“I think there are other priorities to think about here.”

“I can’t. If I do, I might go insane.”

You walk together to the bedroom door, which has a note attached to it.

You’re welcome for fulfilling all your kinky dreams! --Wade

Piotr tears the note off and crumples it. He put his hand on the door knob, then looks at you. “Like bandaid, da?”

You take a deep breath, steel yourself, then nod. “My body is ready.”

He pushes the door open, and--

It’s worse than you could’ve imagined.

The floor is covered with straw, from corner to corner. On the desk is a machine that looks extremely suspect--

Piotr groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “...blyad.”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Da.”

“Dammit, Wade.” You spy a Hello Kitty sticky note attached to the side and peel it off.

Fun fact! You can buy Dairy Cow milking machines at Walmart! Who knew? --Wade

Perhaps most suspect, however, is the massive cardboard box sitting on your bed.

With a sigh, you walk over and tear it open. “May as well get it over with. How bad could it be?”

So much worse, is the answer. Apparently.

Sitting right on top are a cattle prod and a branding iron.

You close your eyes and try to breathe through the aneurysm you’re suffering from right now. “Life Lesson Number One: It can always get worse, especially when Wade’s involved.”

There’s also a pack of gloves that go all the way up to the shoulder, a coupon for a free septum piercing, and a book.

On.

Artifical. Fucking. Insemination.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, and it takes all your will power not to chuck it out the window. You inhale deeply and look down at the screen.

Bro: You like it?

You: FUCK. YOU.

The final straw, believe it or not, actually comes a few weeks later. Because you draw the line at being made to vomit.

You’re in the kitchen, innocently pouring yourself a glass of milk to go with a few cookies you’d swiped from one of Wade’s snack stashes when the merc himself walks in.

He stops, waits for you to eat one of the cookies and drink half the glass of milk, then cocks his head to the side and says, “You know, I may have not expected you to milk Pete, but I sure as fuck didn’t think you would store it in the fridge and drink it.”

And that sentence --along with the mental image it conjures up-is enough to make you gag. Your eyes water and your stomach churns, and you have to set down your glass of milk to keep from spilling it all over yourself.

Wade’s waiting, grinning deviously, clearly expecting you to give him hell for what he just said.

Except you don’t. You can’t. You can’t get the mental image of... that out of your head, and it’s making you nauseous.

You sprint past Wade and to the nearest bathroom. You throw open the door, flip the toilet lid and seat up with a resounding smack, and brace yourself for the oncoming storm.

Halfway through puking everything in your stomach, Piotr darts in and pulls your hair away from your face. “Myshka, is everything alright? Are you sick? What happened?”

“She can’t talk,” Ellie says somewhere in the background. “She’s puking. And Douchepool’s looking pretty guilty.”

You can almost hear the glare Piotr gives Wade. “Wade. What did you do?”

“I wasn’t trying to make her puke!”

You dry heave once, twice, and then when you’re sure nothing else is coming up anytime soon you glare over your shoulder at the merc and point an accusing finger at him. “This means war. I’m going to fucking murder you.”

Wade, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, I probably deserve it.”

You’re in the middle of plotting what exactly you’re going to do to Wade --high road be damned, Piotr, some things just required a strong response--when you happen upon a calendar and realize what’s coming up in three days.

It’s perfect. Fated by the universe. There was never a better time for revenge than now.

You fish twenty dollars out of your wallet and go in search of Nathan.

The older man’s in his room, sitting at his desk while he glares down various monitors with findings about various corrupt politicians, black markets, and skeezy billionaires.

You knock on the door frame. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” He swivels in his chair and takes off his reading glasses. “What can I help you with, kid?”

You hold out the twenty dollars to him. “I made a deal with you about six months ago. You helped me escape Wade’s rant on Halloween in exchange for me promising to help you prank Wade. And twenty bucks.”

He accepts the cash with a sly smirk. “You did.”

“I take it I don’t have to bring you up to speed about Wade’s latest bullshit?”

“You don’t.”

“So, here’s what I’m thinking: I help you prank Wade, and I also get my revenge. Sound good?”

He grins. “Mutually beneficial. Good way of thinking.”

“Great. Do you have a driver’s license?”

“I have a fake one.”

“Close enough. We need to get some supplies.”

There are, of course, a few ground rules.

“One, no destroying anything. Two, nothing about Vanessa; I don’t want to give him a mental break down. Three, nothing I can get in trouble with the Professor for.”

Nathan nods. “Sounds reasonable.”

The first stop is Whole Foods, where the two of you get the blandest, healthiest, boring-est stuff you can find. 

Quinoa. So much quinoa. You never want to see this much quinoa again in your life.

The next stop is Home Depot. You clean them out of leaf blowers.

The stop after that is Lowes. You clean them out of leaf blowers, too.

The average person might find it suspect that your plan requires so many leaf blowers. You really don’t care about what average people think.

After the hardware stores, you stop at a craft store and buy as many plain t shirts as you can and enough fabric markers and puff paint to stock a summer camp.

When you drag everything into yours and Piotr’s room --sans leaf blowers, you leave those in the trunk of Nathan’s car for the time being--you boyfriend gives you a puzzled look. “Myshka? What is all this for?”

You grin up at him. “Revenge. Duh.”

He sighs. “Moya lyubov’, I thought we talked about taking high road.”

“I promised Cable I would help him prank Wade for April Fool’s! You wouldn’t want me to go back on my word, would you?”

It’s a bullshit argument, granted, but it’s not one he can technically out talk you on without giving himself a headache. He sighs and gives you his patented “dad look.” “Y/N.”

“Piotr. We’re not destroying anything, we got our own stuff to make sure we weren’t damaging X-Men property, and we’re not doing anything that relates to Vanessa. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He relents with a sigh. “Very well. Since you are being responsible about it, I will not complain.”

You lean up on your toes and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, honey. Can I ask one little favor, though?”

“...Da.”

“Can we use your forty-eight hour or less delivery thing with Amazon? There’s some stuff we couldn’t find at the craft store that we still need to get.”

The night before April Fool’s, you and Nathan put everything into motion while Wade’s out of the house on a job.

You switch out all his snack stashes with the healthy, delicious, bland shit you got from Whole Foods; you commandeer the food, hiding it in yours and Piotr’s room.

“It’s just for a day or two, and then I’ll give most of it back!”

“All of it.”

“Ugh, fine!”

Next, you hide all his shirts and replace with them blank ones you’d gotten from the craft store --after writing “I hate Bea Arthur” on all of them with fabric markers and puff paint.

The cherry on top, though, is the death gauntlet you and Nathan construct in the backyard. You tarp off the sides and the tops, put a spraying rig at the very front filled with aerated spirit gum, and attach the leaf blowers at regular intervals down the length of the gauntlet.

And then you fill the barrels of said blowers with glitter.

“Where’d you even get this idea?” Nathan asks as he eyes the fruits of your mutual labor.

“Wade,” you say as you pull the final piece of the puzzle out of your backpack --Wade’s unicorn, Mr. Fluffykins. “He wanted to do this to Scott.”

Nathan chuckles, sharp and gravely. “Nice.”

You carefully carry Mr. Fluffykins down the gauntlet, careful not to disturb any of the glitter canons on your way. You set him on a pedestal out of range of the canons, give him a pat, then creep back down the gauntlet again. Once you’re free, you exhale and grin at Nathan. “I think we’ve got April Fool’s day pretty well in hand, don’t you?”

He grins back. “I’m inclined to agree.”

The day starts, delightfully enough, with Wade wailing at the top of his lungs.

You snicker as you sit down at the kitchen table while Piotr rummages around in the fridge --having anticipated the absolute hell today would bring, he’s already in defense mode. “Do you think it’s the shirts, the unicorn, or the snacks?”

He shakes his head, but you can just barely see the corner of the amused smile he’s wearing. “No comment.”

Wade storms into the kitchen, looking pissed off. “What the fuck did you do with Mr. Fluffykins? Where is he?”

You smirk. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Perfectly fucking fine, until I realized that my one and only unicorn love was missing. Where. Is. He.”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Wade flips you off and storms upstairs. Less than five minutes later, you hear him shriek again. “Quinoa? I hate quinoa!”

You revel in self satisfaction as Nathan’s cackling and Wade’s bitching float down the stairs. Strap in, bro. It’s gonna be a rough fucking day for you.

Wade throws an absolute shit fit when he finds the shirts --“How dare you! How fucking dare you!”--but largely spends the whole day searching the mansion for Mr. Fluffykins.

After a quick confer, you and Nathan decided to not tell Wade about the outdoor gauntlet until he notices it or gives up.

It isn’t until three in the afternoon that Wade finally notices the giant tarped structure outside, which is a record even for his track record of obliviousness.

You and Nathan stand a safe distance away as Wade scampers around the construction, looking for a quick way in and out. “You remembered to hide his knives too, right?”

Nathan gives you a look that says ‘yes, what kind of idiot do you think I am?’

“And you can handle the glue sprayer and the leaf blowers with your telekinesis, right?”

“Relax. It’ll be fine.”

“For us. Not for Wade.”

By the time Wade figures out just what he’s looking at, a small crowd including the X-Force, Logan, Remy, Scott, Jean, and Hank has gathered by the back door.

Wade jabs an accusing finger at you. “You! You did this! You traitor!”

“This is what happens when you take your jokes too far!” You retort. “This is what happens when you joke about things that aren’t meant to be joked about! You dig your grave, and you lie in it!”

Nathan simply holds out a pair of lab goggles and a dust mask. “You might want these.”

Wade gapes at him. “Et tu, Brutus?”

“Take them now or spit up glitter for the next decade. Your choice.”

Wade snatches the goggles and mask before Nathan can take them away. “Just for this, buster,” he grumbles as he puts on the goggles. “You’re sleeping on the couch for the next two weeks.”

Nathan chuckles. “Sure thing, princess. Whatever you say.”

Wade flips him off as he adjusts the mask over his mouth, then walks over to the front of the gauntlet. He inhales deeply, stretches, then mutters “maximum effort” before sprinting down the gauntlet.

There’s a series of screams as Wade flails around inside. They pause when he reaches the safe zone and procures Mr. Fluffykins, then start anew --with added vigor now that his unicorn is being exposed to the glitter death run--when he bolts for the only exit.

A chorus of laughter erupts behind you as Wade emerges, covered head to toe in every conceivable shade of glitter and a sheen of glue.

You smirk triumphantly at him as he tries --and fails--to brush the glitter off him and Mr. Fluffykins, then spin on your heel and strut inside.

Victory to you.

Later that night, when your sitting in a pile of Wade’s snacks, watching YouTube videos and shoving Keebler Fudge Stripes in your mouth, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in!” You smile deviously when Wade shuffles in. “Ah! Have we learned our lesson?”

“I had to take a three hour shower before I stopped rinsing glitter out of my ass! How is this fair?”

“You bought us a milker, a book on artificial insemination, and covered our floor in straw. We’re still finding pieces of straw everywhere.”

Wade grimaces. “Okay, fair enough.”

“Also. You made me vomit!”

“I said fair enough!”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Wade, I’m serious. I love you like a brother, but there are times where you go too fucking far--”

Wade holds up his hands in a calming gesture. “I know. I figured that out when I made you puke. I’m sorry.”

“I just... I really don’t appreciate you joking about my sex life to that extent. I know it makes Piotr uncomfortable on any level, but it really crossed the line after the cow magnets.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted it to be funny, not traumatizing.”

“I know.” You smile fondly --albeit somewhat exasperatedly--at him. “And I forgive you. I really do. But Piotr needs to hear you say that, too.”

“What do I need to hear?” Piotr asks as he walks into the room.

“I’m sorry for taking the cow play stuff too far,” Wade says without prompting. “I took it too far.”

Piotr blinks, clearly shocked by the freely given apology, and then he smiles and pats Wade’s shoulder. “All is forgiven. Just... don’t do it again. Please.”

Wade nods. “Trust me, I won’t. I know when I’ve had my ass handed to me.”

You smirk triumphantly. “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

Wade opens his mouth, closes it, then groans. “I can’t comment, can I?”

“Nope. Suffer, bitch.” 

Wade looks like he’s about to physically explode, but manages to contain himself. “Can I at least have my snacks back?”

“Da,” Piotr interjects before you can say anything. “Please. Take them.”

You sputter, outraged. “What? No! Not fair! My tastebuds are in heaven.”

“Myshka, you promised you would give everything back.”

You continue sputtering as Wade starts scooping his goodies back into his boxes, then start squawking when Piotr starts helping. It devolves into a tug of war over a box of Cheez-Its that end with Piotr holding you out of reach of the snacks and with the three of you laughing.

Yeah, being friends with Wade comes with challenges.

But, for as many downs as there are, there are at least as many --if not more--ups.

It’s a friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world.

[spuriusbrocoli]

I'm not straight at all and I don't get most of your posts about being LGBT vs. being straight?

So I presume you’re talking about this post that I made as well as… another one. Which I’ll talk about later.

Basically, this post is about how I have an irrational association between my experiences as a queer person (nonbinary mlm is a pretty accurate label, I think) and my experience raising my pets. And I know that this association between my queerness and my pets is entirely imagined; I draw attention to the fact that it wasn’t logical in the post.

(bolding edited in here)

I can’t imagine how heterosexuals do pet-rearing.

Like, I got my first cat at the same time as I did my first live-in boyfriend, and then we got my first dog where we were the primary caregivers to the dog as opposed to our parents.

As a result, the emotions of my overwhelming queerness and the emotions associated with raising my sons (i.e., the cat and dog) are probably more intertwined than is logical. And when I see cishets with pets I’m just like “¿¿¿¿¿¿¿???????? the straights aren’t allowed to do that”.

The point of this post is “Hey, I have this weird association that doesn’t make any sense! Isn’t that funny?” I know straight people can have pets; I was in fact raised by two straight people with pets. That’s part of the joke (that straight people can have pets, not that my parents in specific did). The punchline is supposed to be me and the inherent absurdity of my reaction to seeing straight people with pets, because, again, straight people can and do raise pets and everyone knows this including myself which is the entire joke.

Like, I did actively call attention to that fact in the post. I’m kind of at a loss as to how to make my posts more unambiguously facetious. Maybe I could tag it as “#jowak” to let audiences know that I’m kidding, but I tagged The One Post as “#rant”, and it didn’t do shit, so idk.

But anyway, let’s talk about The One Post, shall we?

On the third-and-twentieth of April, two-thousands-and-eighteen anno domini, according to Tumblr, I made a post that got… some attention.

Rather a lot of attention, actually.

My do these folks know how to make a girl blush.

Just so many lovely characters here…

And that’s without the reblogs (mostly more of the same, but editing out the usernames and profiles is a pain, so I’m not gonna bother).

Sot tldr: it got attention. Almost 5k notes’ worth of attention in fact. Yay me.

Now I will openly admit that the original is an incoherent rant. It’s all over the place, and if people missed the point, I’d understand. I considered addressing some of the legitimate points, but until now they had been too buried in the crap for me to really bother (though I will address some of the less-shitty vitriol here).

But enough talking about The One Post, let’s just read the whole unedited thing, shall we?

a straight girl will date anything vaguely male-shaped so long as its as cis and het as she is. istfg you could line up the handsomest butches who could eat her pussy for days or the most genteel bi boys who could top her from wall to wall of her tacky apartment, and she’ll still choose her broke, ugly trogolodyte boyfriend who thinks staring at her tits is foreplay and humping vaguely in her direction will get her to cum bc gay men are meant only to compliment her tasteless dress over brunch and lesbians are gross.

(whole thing can be found here as well)

So this post was actually inspired by two very specific neighbors. They had two dogs–Pluto and Coppernicus, whom my puppy was not allowed to socialize with. The two of them were actually kind of infamously unfriendly with everyone in the building, tbth. That’s neither here nor there, but it’s some context.

Anyway, I see this miserable woman while we’re both going in and out of the laundry room. She’s, like, decent-looking, but my type for women tends to err between butch and futch. And her husband/fiance/boyfriend/partner/whatever is real ugly. Like, a potential project for Queer Eye type: utter lack for clothing or basic skincare. Except he’s also an ass.

So I made a post that was mostly about how straight boys are ugly. And straight boys are kind of ugly. Bc we as a society code that sort of basic self-care as queer/feminine, which is the fault of no individual straight boy–and certainly not the fault of this one dude.

But as I was making the post, it kind of occurred to me that many straight women are not only complicit in this system, but they actively encourage it. Straight women do avoid men attracted to women–even straight men–if they seem “too effeminate”. So I went back and edited the post to be inclusive of queer men attracted to women.

Then it kind of occurred to me that attraction isn’t really perfectly binary to begin with and that we as humans are primarily attracted to features like how our potential partners conduct themselves and not really to abstract labels like “man” or “woman”. This isn’t to say that people aren’t attracted to people with any given label (there’s a big difference between men attracted to feminine women and men attracted to feminine men, for instance), but they aren’t coherent classes. And straight women are getting wise to this; look at this comic routine about a straight woman’s first time at a gay bar (yeah, it’s hardly scientific evidence, but this isn’t my fucking thesis). Hence why I went back again and edited in the butch comment.

So yeah, the result was an incoherent mess. And I can sort of understand how someone could read this post and think I was equating butches with straight men, which I do not want to do. Women, no matter how masculine, have a fundamentally less privileged position than men, and gnc women experience the intersectional oppressions of patriarchy and gender conformity. And if this all-over-the-place rant seems to be equivocating between cis and trans people’s experiences or men and butches’ to you, I get that. My wording was bad, and I should’ve done a reread. I’m sorry for that.

What I wasn’t expecting and am definitely not apologizing for is the influx of hatemail from straight people calling me a lesbian incel. And I know that it’s coming from straight people bc wlw would never call another wlw an incel bc the incel subculture is distinctly one rooted in the experiences of male entitlement to women’s bodies. And bc wlw are objectified like all women, they understand that the experiences of an entitled straight man are not equivalent to wlw who can’t find a partner bc of systemic issues that affect all women and especially sapphic women. (Or I hope that wlw have that level of understanding at least.) Or like, just listen to the original, mournful “Slow Dance” compared to the quietly negging “White Blank Page” or “Treat You Better”. (No shade against Mumford and Sons, but both of these examples show how jealous straight men tend to turn their lack of unrequited love at either the other man or at the object of his affection; Babeo Baggins is just sad.)

So given that I am (i) assigned male and male-aligned, (ii) attracted primarily to men, and (iii) in a happy relationship with a nonbinary person with a penis; the hatemail is rather ridiculous.

And that’s exactly what it is: hatemail. Reread through that shit, and it’s just utterly vitriolic. And I’m not gonna say my post wasn’t vitriolic in turn; it definitely was. But my faggot exasperation with straight dudes is not equivalent to the degree to which people on this site harass lesbians. And even if I were a lesbian who couldn’t get with a girl bc she had some ugly-ass boyfriend, that’s still no excuse to turn her personal, rambly post into a nearly 5,000 note meme.

So tldr: Leave lesbians tf alone.

Now to loop back to your original statement, dear Nonnie (I know it has a question-mark, but I read that as upspeak in this context and not a true question):

I’m not straight at all and I don’t get most of your posts about being LGBT vs. being straight?

Well, I’m a queer talking about my queer-ass experiences and my queer-ass thoughts. If your not-straight self relates to that, well great. If you don’t, that’s kind of not my problem. My blog isn’t a resource of any sort, and I wouldn’t claim otherwise; even my linguistics tag is mostly my opinions (though my opinions on linguistics are gonna be way-the-hell better-informed than a non-linguist’s, just sayin’).

So frankly, unfollow. Or don’t. I kind of don’t care. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[nicknederson]

For the Sake of Content: Sara Reads the Hardy Boys Adventures Series Because She Has a Lot of Credit on Google Play and Not a Lot Going On, Admittedly

Hardy Boys Adventure #2: The Mystery of the Phantom Heist

(or) Some Girl Just Has the Worst Party Ever and It's Not Like the Hardy Brothers Help

The SWS! (Summary without Spoilers)

Brothers Frank and Joe are trying out for the role of Roman gladiators with their friend Chet and, no, it's not for any sort of production of Caesar. Instead, the boys are applying for a position as waiters at the Sweet Sixteen of local rich girl Lindsay Peyton. When Chet is rejected, Frank and Joe quickly give up that venture (and subsequently forget about the whole thing) only to stumble across a group of violent pranksters called the Scaredevils plaguing the city of Bayport. Is this just the latest viral video campaign or something far more sinister? Frank and Joe will find out... eventually.

The Review! (spoilers below the cut)

I think I should start out by saying that yes, I am not the biggest fan of the Hardy Boys. For a while now, I've seen their adventures as the try-hard, pseudo-masculine version of Nancy Drew (which is not an incorrect statement) and I just really can't wrap my head around why their aunt lives with them among other things. I hated how the first book in the new series went and I sort of hated this second installation, too. Why? Well, to put it simply- these brothers are dumb.

Is it their fault? Probably not, they're just fictional characters. Is it the author's fault? Definitely- what the hell were they thinking? For starters, you have the boys going to interview for the job of waiters at Lindsay Peyton's party. They make these really gross, derogatory comments about Lindsay while looking at her portrait and then, later, when they actually meet her, they continue making gross comments about her. It's part of this trend I've seen in the two books where the boys view girls in three ways: the hot undesirable (because of personality or some sort of flaw in her very one-dimensional character), the hot desirable (usually a nerdy girl with brown hair like Janine Kornbluth or, in this book, Sierra), and the sister. The sister is just that- the sister of one of their male classmates or friends. In the last book, we had Sharelle and in this book we had Iola. These girls tend to be more fleshed out, but only in the sense that they do traditionally 'tougher' things like saving the boys (Sharelle) or fending off attacks against them (like Iola does in this book). Now these are just the girls the boys interact with that are their own age- the others are all older women like their mother or Aunt Trudy who don't really do anything except fill in some necessary exposition or feed them. Which is another weird thing- Aunt Trudy is their housekeeper? Does their aunt live with them because their mom just doesn't like doing household things that their stay-at-home dad never seems to do? I didn't read enough of the older books to understand this.

But other than the very one-dimensional female characters the boys interact with, there are also plenty of male characters that don't get enough personality- including the boys themselves. The chapters switch between Frank and Joe's perspective and it's a quirk that almost does nothing for the book because- quite frankly- I cannot tell them apart either way. Joe is supposed to be the kooky, funny brother, but Frank always seems to make the same wry jokes. Frank is supposed to be sensible, but he's not exactly making any decisions Joe isn't making. It's really just a useless ploy the Adventures books use and a pain in the ass for readers who have to occasionally flip back to the beginning to check to see what boy they're supposed to be reading from the perspective of. All that said, these are just problems with the general format of the series and not even the problems with this book- Mystery of the Phantom Heist- in particular. Because this book has some problems. A lot of them.

As I said earlier, the boys seem impossibly dumb. And I'm not just saying this as a general statement, but in the very first few chapters, we have them leaving the Peytons' house only to discover that Lindsay's car has been keyed with the rude phrase 'Rich Witch'. Now, for some reason, the boys relate this to a prank video they had been watching some minutes earlier where a boy chucks a slushie at an unsuspecting drive-through attendant. Why? I have no idea why, but they do turn out to be related so I guess that was the book's way of telling us that right from the get-go. Keep in mind, these same types of jumped-to conclusions disappear in the latter half of the book when they would rightfully make sense. But more on that later- for now, we're still talking about the keyed car.

After leaving the Peytons' house, the boys see this keyed car in their driveway and don't do anything about it. No, in fact, Joe touches the vandalized car- several times- and the boys make comments about how it's too bad for Lindsay while implying that it's what she gets for being a bitch. They do not- in any way- put together two and two and realize that they'd just walked out on the Peytons' house after being 'rejected' from the position as waiters and that this vandalism could easily be seen as something they did to get back at the family. They don't seem to realize that at all. So they go with their friend to some generic burger place to get some generic burgers- all while commenting on how gross Lindsay is and how cute Frank found Sierra- only to get into a disagreement with some boys from Bay Academy.

Now, this is another thing that I have a problem with when it comes to the Adventures series and their attempt at world-building. It is very one-dimensional and it doesn't try to be inventive in the way it takes this small town and tries to make it something new. Instead of creative, new takes on things, we have the age old rivalry of public school vs. private school in Bayport High School and Bay Academy. The Bay Academy boys are brutish, entitled, and drive around in Mercedes Benz with vanity plates that say 'Awesome Dude' while harassing bus boys at the local burger place. Frank and Joe- mimicking this psuedo-masculine sensibility that comes from older books- decide to stand up to them for this great unjustice, but keep in mind, these are the same boys who saw someone's car vandalized and decided to just walk away without even informing the owner because they just plain didn't like them. This entire scene goes down in such a robotic, bizarre way up until the police arrive. As another testament to how dumb the brothers seem to be this entire book, they assume the police are there to arrest the trouble-making Bay Academy boys.

Which... ?????

No, actually, the police are here to arrest them because they were the idiots who had a disagreement with the Peytons' and then did nothing when they saw their car vandalized in the driveway and just carried on their merry way. "Oh, but we didn't do it!" Yeah, but it clearly looks like you did, genius. This could have been easily avoided if you'd paid attention for five whole seconds and realized you couldn't just leave after seeing Lindsay's car vandalized. But whatever! This is just a children's book, right? So whatever.

The boys get dragged into the police station and you'd think it would be no big deal because they're chummy with the police, but oh no- big plot twist, the one officer on the entire force who doesn't like them is chief now. Hm, wow, hate it when that happens. This will become a recurring problem throughout the book when Chief Olaf- who is just so poorly characterized you cannot tell if he's evil or just stupid or maybe both- constantly acts as a roadblock for the boys' progress on the case. If you could call it a case. Which I wouldn't. Because they don't seem to really know what's going on until about chapter... thirteen.

After making it clear that the boys are suspected of being the vandals, the book switches gears to just sort of divulging into a mess of Joe frequently checking YouTube videos posted by the vandals and the boys always being a second too late to stopping them. I would admit that was a cynical view of what happens, but it's actually not too far from the truth. It's only about half-way through the book that the boys do any sort of detective work and even then, it's incredibly simple. Frank recognizes someone in one of the Scaredevil videos, but can't figure out who it is. But, oh, Tony Riley from school is here and wow, he's got a really obvious scratch on his face and he's carrying around a jacket with a bandanna hanging out of his pocket JUST LIKE IN THE VIDEO.

Is it really detective work if you just spot something hanging out of someone's pocket? I don't think so- no.

Especially when the person makes it very obvious that they now have money when they shouldn't and leave their phone on the table while going to check on their car supposedly being keyed only for Joe to just go through their texts and find the ringleader. Who is it? Surprise, the only person who it could possibly be since he's been a violent and very obnoxious character from his introduction. This would be Bay Academy's Colin Sylvester. Colin Sylvester is apparently not Bayport's sweetheart but naturally, the boys can't go to the police with their suspicions because the police outright say that they won't investigate him since his parents donate to the police station. While this very apparent corruption of the legal system in Bayport feels like a problem they should look into, the boys ignore it in favor of doing some other inane things around town trying to figure out how to pin Colin with the crime.

When their garage gets burned down, the boys get video evidence of the arson with Colin's voice on the recording saying 'this will keep the police busy', but since seeing the chief is apparently inconvenient, they just skip over that bit for a few chapters until it becomes relevant again. Now, this is also one of those books where it very obviously plots the clues out in verbal cues throughout the boys' activities- we have exhibit A, exhibit B, and exhibit C all happening in succession, but of course Frank and Joe don't pay it any mind since it doesn't mean much of anything to them until much later when they finally string everything together. I understand that's a tactic used in these kinds of mysteries, but it's also so painful for the reader to have to sit through clue after clue falling into the boys' laps while they just idle around waiting for the big reveal to happen. We have everything written out for us- the least the author could do is let our protagonists agonize over it a little bit longer. The Hardy Brothers don't seem to want to spare the time to do that when they could be, say, going on dates with pretty girls.

This brings up the issue of Sierra- the party planner of Lindsay's Sweet Sixteen and Frank's crush. Sierra- from chapter one- is clearly pegged as a potential culprit, but the boys don't seem to realize this until they physically see her with Colin later in the book. It takes them an impossibly long time to realize Sierra is up to no good even when her erratic actions- like asking them out on a boat that subsequently breaks, lying about what she was doing for the five whole minutes they were on the boat, and becoming defensive when they catch her in the lie- are a clear indicator that she's up to something. Even when Joe is the first one to realize she might not be up to par, Frank is so adamant in his misplaced trust of her that he refuses to listen to his brother. So we have a clear culprit who is only ignored because Frank thinks she's pretty. I'm dead serious. These boys also don't seem to realize that going onto a boat that isn't rightfully theirs without Sierra is a clear set-up to get them into further trouble with the Peytons. And when the throttle breaks, it takes them a second to realize another way to stop the boat is to turn it off.

Frank's obliviousness concerning Sierra is also another reason the boys decide not to trail her and Colin when they see them leave the movie theater after they spent an entire night trying to stake out Colin to see what he was up to. Frank is just too sad after seeing them making-out to continue their detective work and can't believe she would do this to him. Is it really that hard to believe, Frank? No, because it's very obvious.

Other parts of the book feel as equally pointless or misplaced- the strangely high-tech device one of their dad's former co-workers give them that echos with the ridiculous tech they used in the over-wrought Undercover Brothers series, how easily the boys give up when questioning involved persons or how slow they are to piece things together, the fact that the boys still refer to girlfriends as someone's 'girl' despite it being the early 2000s, and even the very ending of the book. The mystery itself is very clever and somewhat interesting, but the execution is lazy at best- made especially apparent in the last chapter. The Scaredevils- the gang acting as the mysterious culprit- is a group of people that, as the boys learn, are being paid off by Colin Sylvester to commit various acts of vandalism and destruction around Bayport. They start fights, they graffiti things, and they leave their mark on plenty of objects all while uploading videos of their barely concealed faces to YouTube to document their reign of terror. There's also a little bit where Frank and Joe seem surprised that girls could be involved in this scheme that just made me roll my eyes. But the scheme itself is hinted at being part of a larger plot to keep the police around Bayport busy so that none can act as guards at Lindsay Peyton's Sweet Sixteen- the biggest event in Bayport this year. Sounds interesting, right?

Well, it is- until you learn that this entire scheme is just Colin getting revenge against Lindsay for never going on a date with him and not letting him be friends with her. As to why Sierra is a part of this, there's no given reason besides that she happens to be dating Colin at the time. Seriously, no reason given. And while there could have easily been a way to spin Colin's discontent at being rejected, the very ending trips over itself on its way to the point when it seems to remember it's called 'The Mystery of the Phantom Heist'. Huge spoiler alert, guys: there is no Phantom Heist.

Colin and his friends easily infiltrate the party at the end and- after using a very obvious scheme to get the guards outside- proceed to pull guns on the guests and demand their valuables. Seems pretty scary, right? Well, it probably would have been if there had been any thought to it. The guns are fake, the guards get back in easily because no one bothered to bar the doors, and the police show up in seconds after the boys go through the erroneous steps of disarming Colin and his buddies because they didn't even take the guests' phones away so it was incredibly easy to call 911. Colin, Sierra, and his friends are all arrested and Lindsay declares the party back on and the relationship between Bay Academy and Bayport High School is superficially mended. Another joke is added to this when the boys express disbelief that they fought armed Roman gladiators at the party of the year and Chet chimes in with a joke about having recorded the whole thing. End book.

Now, this isn't just lazy writing, but a problem that I have with the entire Hardy Boys franchise. In that, it feels the need to step itself up to the point where it reaches unobtainable standards that it can never deliver on. For years, the boys have tried to reflect the 'masculine' side of detective work that their counterpart Nancy Drew apparently can't cover herself. There are gun fights, dramatic heists, and danger galore while the boys fight assassins and deadly ninjas and other some such exaggerated threats. This was all well and good back in the 1920s to 60s when the most dangerous thing Nancy dealt with in her stories was a fall from one foot too high, but in the modern era, we're seeing this attempted divide between the Drew Crew and the Hardy Boys being exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness. The predecessor to the Adventures series- the Undercover Brothers- borderlined on absolutely unrealistic with the way it had the boys hangliding over Ireland to escape armed gunmen while using a pizza box as a high-tech communication device. It was like James Bond for babies, but the lacksadaisal tone it set made it so high-fantasy it was impossible to relate to on so many levels. Seeing as these are books primarily aimed at a younger audience, it's disappointing to see that this standard of 'snails and puppy dog tails' vs 'sugar, spice, everything nice' is still being stuck to in these newer books. The Hardy Brothers shouldn't be this dumb, they shouldn't be this off-puttingly trusting, they shouldn't need fancy technology that doesn't even exist to make up for where their lack of intelligence and wit causes them problems, and I- as a reader- shouldn't have to see none all of these traits in Nancy, but all of them in her 'boy version'. One of the things that bothered me the most about Frank's complete trust in Sierra is that I knew that Nancy would never do that. She would see Sierra as a suspect from the beginning- male or female- and she wouldn't make the same erroneous mistakes that the boys do. It's almost like Nancy- as someone raised as a girl- knows not to trust people easily, treats undeserving people kindly, and always has to evaluate a situation for danger before she enters it. Weird, right?

Either the publisher needs to stop treating Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys as too wildly opposite sides of the spectrum or they need to get better ghostwriters on the HBAs. Because while I'm going to read the next book- The Vanishing Game- because I have the Google Play credit, I am not... going to enjoy it.

[cannibalisticskittles]

an act of kindness, ch. 8

pairing: unknown/reader notes: [7/?] part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven ao3 link not as long as the last chapter, but not exactly short. next chapters are gonna get buckwild.

God, you can't believe he's going in through the window.

He'd explained it calmly enough, said this was the best way to get him into the apartment without alerting her or putting him in view of the camera -- which you're here to monitor. His laptop, balanced in your lap, displays a feed of the hallway camera, just in case someone comes up the elevator or she tries to run.

You hunch your shoulders in discomfort at that thought, adjusting the headset and slouching further against the half-wall.

All clear so far. Not even a neighbor popping out for groceries as of yet, and a quick glance at the screen confirms that this hasn't changed in the seconds since you last looked.

The laptop is locked, of course. Useable, but only for the use he wants. No way to access anything but the camera feed it's currently displaying, and you imagine that even if you managed to get it away from the feed, you'd find most other functions unavailable to you. It's gotta be connected to the internet, or…some security-camera-specific equivalent for you to see inside the building in real-time without being physically hooked into its system, but from what you've seen of the laptop as he was setting it up, there's nothing you can do with that. No way to contact anyone, try to get help. A special interface made just for you in mind. To limit distractions, he'd said.

He did seem to think it was a little bit funny when you'd sighed and asked him how you were meant to go on if he kept restricting your access to games, enough to promise that there would be time for that after the necessary work has been done, so he doesn't appear to be overly concerned with the possibility that you'd try to use it to get help. In fact, you get the sense that this mindset is less out of his confidence in the way he's worked over the laptop, although he's surely got that, and more to do with thinking that you wouldn't try to escape even if you were given the chance.

This is, instead -- his version of help. Keeping you on track so you can get everything done efficiently and celebrate later. Considerate, in a weird, misguided way.

And now… well, your role is mostly just precautionary, anyway. Encouragement. ...someone to make sure the rope stays secure.

You slide the laptop off your lap and twist to peer over the edge of the building, and you're met with the sight of him slowly descending down the rope, maybe about halfway there.  

“How's it hanging, boss?” you ask through your mic.

“Ha ha,” comes the sardonic response from your headset. “Everything clear?”

“You’re golden, boss.”

Even from here, you can see him smirk, and you shake your head at how confident he is about doing this.

Only moments ago, he was securing the rope and giving it experimental tugs and all you could think about was how easy it would be for something to go wrong, for the rope to come untied, and then splat, there he goes, a Boss-pancake on the sidewalk.

You'd questioned him on this, but he laughed off your doubts, unshaken by the points you'd brought up, reminding him how dangerous something like this was. Before he'd begun to descend, he'd smoothed down your hair.

“Don't worry,” he'd murmured, “I'll be standing on solid ground before you know it.” And down he went.

...had you really been so worried that he could see it on your face?

That's -- well -- absurd, frankly, given that he's the source of a great many of your current problems, and really, since you still haven't seen any sign of anyone else at Mint Eye doing the things he does, if he did fall -- if he was out of the way -- you're not sure anyone left could track you down again like he could, so that would nip this whole kidnapping thing in the bud real quick.

But even with that in mind, there's a knot of fear in your stomach as you watch him.

So you ease away from the ledge and settle back comfortably again, pulling the laptop closer and returning your attention to the camera feed.

Still nothing.

He'd warned you that the redheaded hacker might show up, whether or not he manages to figure out that Saeran is here now -- he and that girl seem to have grown close in the past few days. Friends, certainly, and the way their flirtations are going, there's likely feelings of a deeper nature on at least one side -- so you're just… the early warning system. Fun. But, at the moment, there's nothing, no movement at all.

It's actually kind of nice up here, if you ignore the reason why you're on the roof in the first place, as well as the slightly uncomfortable position you've settled into, pressed against the brick half-wall. Breezy. Moderate. Nice picnic weather. Maybe you'll start having picnics after this is all over. You deserve nice things like that.

Suddenly, the earpiece crackles. “I’m here,” he murmurs, and before you have the chance to respond, you're flinching as you hear the sound of breaking glass -- both below you and through your headset.

“Ah, that was noisier than I'd intended. I'd meant to be quiet, to not make a sound, but… oops.” And he chuckles.

Damn it boss, he really didn't think that would be noisy? As he continues, you realize that no, this is just his way of being polite. You're too on-edge to process that at first.

“Hey, miss, just stay there. You’ll hurt your feet if you step on glass. I'm climbing over the window.” God, that sweet voice. Laying out what he's doing so calmly, as if it'll stop her from panicking.

“Hello,” he greets at last. “You know who I am?”

She must say something then -- confirmation of some sort -- because you don't catch her voice, but you hear him say, “Smart lady. You might be able to understand me then.” You scoff. Condescending ass. You can hear the faint crunching of glass -- it must be everywhere for the mic to pick it up -- and then, “Wow, it feels so strange to see it like this. Do you know that? I'm the one who first talked to you about that missing phone. I left that strange message a couple days ago… And I'm the one who sent that email.” Oh, so he admits his message was strange now? He’d seemed to find it fine before, but if he knew it was sketchy, why the hell did he send it in the first place? Asshole.

His tone turns curious. “How was the email I sent? It’s an invitation. Our paradise, where everyone is happy. Magenta of hopes and dreams.” His voice actually does go kind of dreamy there. Is she -- not speaking out of shock, or can you just not hear her? “I've come to take you there… Don't worry.” Ah. Maybe she is panicking now, and you're still only hearing his words. “The RFA is only filled with false hope. Especially those men named V and Luciel -- they're liars.” You almost roll your eyes at this. It took you a week to wrangle that information out of him and he's just dumping it on her the moment they meet? Rude. “I will explain everything once we get to Magenta.” He pauses. Is that your cue? But no, now he's talking again.

“It’s not like this place that's nothing but lies. Once you get there, you will have true peace of mind. You may not understand this now…” And his voice, already soft, soothing, becomes gentler still. “But this is all for us to live in heaven. You will be happy in the end too.” You hear her voice faintly. There's the slight sound of glass crunching underfoot, and then he chuckles softly. “Of course. You must be like me, seeing your eyes shaking like that. I know… I know how hard it's been. All your pain will go away if you come with me. ”

And shit, that is your cue, isn't it? A sign that you'll be needed soon, anyway. You tense up, ready to move -- to snatch up everything and book it to the elevator, or to grab the rope if need be.

As you do, you hear him murmur a promise: “I'll make a special exception for you and tell the Savior how good you are.”

He has got to be kidding. Lousy little --

And then movement on the screen catches your eye. Oh, god. the elevator doors are opening. It's him.

“Boss,” you cry, watching as the hacker bounds across the hallway, balancing a laptop in his arms and typing furiously with one hand as he moves. “It's him--”

Faintly, you hear a new voice, sounding automated, announcing, “The special security system has been act- act- act- act- act…” and Saeran asks, “What is this...?”

“Seven -- he's here!” you cry, finally forcing the words out past your disbelief.

Your warning is ineffective. By the time the last word leaves your lips, you hear, “the special security system has been deactivated,” and Seven is at the door.

“No way,” Saeran whispers, but it's less disbelief you hear and more of something that sounds like despair.

And then -- things seem to happen very quickly, and yet achingly, painfully slow. You watch Seven jolt as the door opens, pausing just on the threshold, and what seemed to be a cheerful expression quickly drops from his face. React, respond, get out of there, you want to cry, why isn't he trying to escape? And then Seven hurries in.

The door is left open. You can't see inside. Your pulse is racing at the words you're hearing with no visual to put to them.

And then there's a sharp intake of breathe, a word breathed out in soft horror. “Shit.”

“Boss--”

But in the moment you cry out, he's gotten over his shock, spitting out, “Why? Why are you here?! I thought I could finally hurt you like you deserve…!”

You hear the girl gasp, much clearer than any of her words have been, and realize that she must be close to Saeran now. You can't rule out the reason for that being voluntary, but you'd bet your money on Saeran being the reason for that.

And you hear the hacker for the first time. It's only little bits and pieces since he's not close enough to the headset for you to pick up the entirety of what he's saying, but you can hear Seven chattering away, sounding cheerful as ever, hear his remarks about how rude Saeran is but smart for covering his face, hear his disbelief that Saeran broke the window as Seven then chastises him for it. You think you hear him say Saeran should ‘let her go,’ so Saeran must be using the girl as a hostage right now.

You are not prepared for Saeran’s next words.

“Even now… all you do is just ruin my life…” And the agony in his words makes your eyes widen. He doesn't even seem to be speaking to Seven, just… reacting. And his reaction is pain, raw and ragged.

Seven says something else, tone confused and Saeran’s voice takes on even more of an edge -- bitter, the rawness crackling out into jagged spikes of vitriol. God, he sounds like he's about to go off the edge. “You probably don't know. I'm sure you've long forgotten about me.”

Your heart skips a beat. They know each other? You knew Saeran resented Seven, that he saw the other hacker as a traitor, but this is the first confirmation you've gotten that this is, at least in Saeran’s mind, more than a one-sided relationship. Seven says something, and then Saeran scoffs. “You still don't know? Fine.” There's a rustling sound, and you don't understand until his voice comes through a touch clearer. He must have removed his mask. His next words are almost languid. “I guess now you do.”

“Seven, do you know him?” And that's the girl, words coming through clear as can be through the headset for the first time.

Seven’s voice is faltering when he replies, and Saeran lets out a breathy, unhappy laugh.

“I prayed so that I wouldn't meet you,you know that?” He laughs again, a sound entirely devoid of any mirth. “Because I knew that seeing you would remind me of my pathetic life…!”

Something in you twists at the pain in his voice, and at anything you can conjure up that he might mean.

You hear glass again, and then Seven’s voice, slightly louder. “What… what happened?” He is aghast, and then he is desperate. “Why are you…! Why are you here?! You're Saeran, right…?”

Your heart seems to stop at hearing that name said aloud again, and by him.

“Don't call me that.” Saeran’s voice is a harsh whisper. “You don't deserve to say that name.”

“You're the one who copied my algorithm…? God…” There’s a ragged sigh, and then Seven’s voice takes on some of the edge that Saeran has. “When did you learn to hack?! Who taught you?”

His earlier softness is gone. “Shut up!” Saeran screams the command, loud enough that you wince and briefly pull the headset away, just an inch or so, in case he's going to continue at this volume, but your intense need to know what's going on down there makes you return it after mere seconds.

Seven, too, seems dismayed. “Why are you doing this!? Rika told me that you…”

Saeran drags in a harsh, quick breath. “You… don't you dare say that name.”

“What?” Seven sounds taken aback.

“Don't talk like you know anything, you traitor,” Saeran hisses. “All the names you spit out will be contaminated, so shut up.”

“Saeran… why are you doing this now? Tell me!” Seven’s words rasp. “Something bad happened, right? That's why you're here?”

And you clasp your hands over the earphones, pressing them as close as possible to your ears as you can, hoping for an answer, hoping you can hear it.

“But Rika would never have lied to me…!” You almost miss this remark as Seven grows softer, disbelieving.

A slight exhale, a huff of disgust. “You're the one lying. I can tell, don't pretend you don't know.”

“I'm not lying!” Seven cries.

“You're not?” Saeran's tone is sardonic. “That promise about protecting me, about being together, all lies… Even your last promise when you told me that we will be happy after stating that hellish place was a lie. I remember all of them. I know that you changed your name to Luciel to get rid of me. Don't tell me you don't remember.”

“That… I had no choice! It's all too much to explain now…” And, for some reason, you feel -- irritated. What explanation could take so long that no explanation is better? Saeran is obviously wounded over this, and you'd expected -- well -- exaggeration of Seven’s sins, you supposed. Something less personal than all this sounds. Something that didn't make you believe it.

“Shut up!” Saeran bites the words out with a derisive snort. “What do you mean you have no choice…? Haha… Eat those pathetic lies of yours.” His laugh is scornful. “You're uncontrollable. Covering lies with more lies…” There's a pause, and when he speaks again, he sounds more sure of himself. “I knew you were lowly. My savior was right.”

“Saeran, I don't know what people told you… But I thought you were doing well. I asked Rika to see a photo of you laughing.” He is pleading. “I knew I couldn't meet you, but I always prayed for you to be happy…”

“Shut up! I don't want to hear it. Stop lying!” Saeran’s voice shakes.

“First… let her go, and then let's talk. Please? Let's take care of this together… You hate me right now, right? She has nothing to do with this.” You have to wonder what Seven thinks ‘this’ is.

“You're getting this wrong. I brought her here, so she's mine.” You don't like the tone he's taking, much less the words themselves. Your fingers go white-knuckled on the headset imagining the expression he must have right now -- sneering but no longer wild, cold as he zeroes in on his hate, like he gets when he'd have fits of fury back in Mint Eye.

“Boss,” you whisper, hoping his next words will sound more grounded.

“There's no reason to involve her in this! Don't do something to her because of me… Please…!” And this is a new type of desperation.

“Hmm,” Saeran hums, somehow managing to pack the sound with concentrated smugness, “do you have feelings for this girl or something?”

He's definitely toying with Seven. “Boss,” you whisper more fiercely, but there's no response. It’s been -- not discussed, exactly, not in detail, but you’ve both acknowledged that there’s something there. For Saeran to be bringing this up now... well, he’s certainly making it clear that this is personal for him, if it wasn’t blatantly obvious already.

“...even if I do, it's useless.” It is a voice of despair, and Saeran catches this as easily as you do.

“So you do have feelings for her.” Saeran laughs. “I can read everything on your mind, you know. So, I can just do whatever I want to this girl to make you suffer, right?”

“Let me go!” the girl cries, but Saeran only murmurs, “don't fight. You don't want him to see anything inappropriate, do you?”

“God,” you mutter just as Seven cries, “stay still!” Softer, desperately, he continues, pleading, “don't move. It's dangerous.”

“How will I play with you?” He muses. “If you want to be officially inducted, you'll have to go through training… oh, there are so many possibilities…”

Your stomach turns. “Jesus christ, boss…!” Shamefully, you know that a large part of your revulsion is the thought of training, and wondering if this still lies ahead for you.

“Saeran… just take me instead!” Seven cries.

“Boss,” you whisper, trying to think of what you want to say, trying to tread carefully. “I don't think this is going to work out how we wanted.” Just -- let her go and give this up, he doesn't want Seven but there's no way he can get out of there with her now, why won't he just go?

And then there's a beep. “A stranger has been located.”

Saeran’s voice is harsh. “What is that saying?” But he knows already, you think.

“The special security system,” Seven breathes. “I restarted it and it's only starting to work now…”

“Sensed location of stranger,” the security system chirps. “Adjusting target…”

“It's sensing you as a stranger, Saeran.” The implication hangs heavy in Seven’s words. Saeran’s explanation of just what this security system will do when it senses strangers -- all the things he said with the assumption that he could tamper with it and defang it, at least when it came to his own safety, now ring in your mind with the knowledge that it’s rearing its head, ready to attack.

“The whole place will explode if we stay like this. Get out of here!” This, too, is another plea. He wants Saeran to stay safe, or he just wants to live? You'd ponder this more, except you're struck with the intense feeling of the same. You want --

“Backing up all information… After the backup is complete, the bomb will be activated. 20 seconds left…”

You want him to live.

“We’ll all die if we don't get out,” Seven says, surprisingly steadily, given the situation.

“Shit…!” But though Saeran doesn't sound overjoyed at this news, he also doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, lingering where he is. Caught up in his plans? But he can't be, not right now.

“Boss--” You clutch your headset with desperate hands. “Get out of there!”

“Right now!” Seven shouts.

And Saeran cries out as if in pain.

You hear the crunching of glass again, and then Seven’s relieved voice, “Good…! Come here.”

“10 seconds… 9 seconds…”

The security system continues its cheery countdown, and through this, Seven’s voice is a barely audible murmur. “Saeran… why did we have to meet like this…?”

“Shit…” Saeran mutters, sounding lost.  

“Boss, please,” you plead, hearing it count down to 6 seconds, then 5, “you'll die, get out, please, boss--” you continue your litany as Saeran shouts, “get out! You'll die like this!”

“Shit… shit…!” And then, to your relief, he says, “I won't forgive you next time… I'll get payback for everything including today!”

And your knees go weak with relief as you hear footsteps and the security system fading quieter and quieter, “sensing stranger’s movement… readjusting target… readjusting… readjusting…” And then you can no longer hear it, just his heavy footfalls.

You collapse onto your knees as the thought sinks in. He's alive. He's out. He's alive.

“S--” And then you cut yourself off. You've almost said his name on impulse, so caught up in hearing it repeated. “Boss,” you say again, hoping he won't notice, “where are you?” You hear muttering, agitating and continuous, as well as his footsteps. You grow worried. “Boss, let me come to you, alright?”

There's the metallic creak of a door opening from your headset, and your worries grow. You close the laptop and stand, cradling it carefully in your arms. “...boss?”

“Stairs,” he says, nearly cutting off the simple epithet.

“--be right there!”

You rush to the door to the stairs, laptop still carefully secured in your arms. He begins to mutter again with the hint of an echo from the stairwell, now.

You -- don't know why you're rushing to him as if afraid he'll leave you here, and at this thought, you pause at the top of the stairwell, fingers resting lightly on the bar of the door.

This wasn't even the original plan.

Well, of course failing wasn't part of the plan, but -- he was going to have you help him hoist her up to the roof, of all things, and then him after -- or simultaneously, depending on how well or unwell his persuasions went -- so that neither of them would be seen on the camera.

You could have dropped him if he'd come up the rope, you realize. He didn't seem to try to get her to follow him when he left, so he wouldn't have tried it when going up the rope either, and you could have untethered the rope and let him fall and put a stop to all these kidnapping plans right here.

And then you hear his muttering take on a more ragged edge and your fingers close over the bar.

You wouldn't have done it. You realize that now, too. If he'd have tried to come up, you would have pulled with all your might and your worry would not have eased until he was safe on solid ground once more.

You want him to be alive. To be safe. And that's a hell of a thing to realize.

You push against the bar of the door at last, slowly opening it, just as you hear the footsteps from your headset coinciding with what you hear without them. You only make it to the first stairwell before he is standing in front of you. You stop, stilled by his expression as he stares wild-eyed at you. Finally, he steps closer and grasps your wrist in an iron grip.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pulling you with him as you descend the stairs.

Your footsteps falter a bit, skipping slightly with the effort of keeping pace with him. “The cameras in the lobby,” you start, and even at this angle, you can see his mouth twist sharply down, and his grip on you tightens painfully.

“I can keep him from stopping us,” he growls.  

“Of -- course,” you say. You can't think of anything else to add, anything that would reassure him that you hadn't meant to suggest otherwise, you were just -- worried.

Worried that he'll be caught. Which is what you've wanted this whole time, all these long weeks of working with him. But you think of him confronting Seven again and you just… ache.

When you reach the door to the first floor, he holds out a hand. “Give it here.”

You hand over the laptop, and he lets go of you so that he can open it up and bring up a program -- ah, so that complicated series of buttons is what finally dismisses the camera feed -- and begin typing. It's rapid at first, then more like chicken pecking, waiting for a response before continuing.

You are grateful for the reprieve, taking the chance to lean against the wall until your breathing steadies. That winded you more than you'd like to admit.

Finally, he closes the laptop. “He’ll just see looped footage for the next ten minutes.” The look he gives you makes you think he's daring you to challenge him.

All you manage to say -- too much, still, but nervousness makes it hard to stay completely silent -- is, “that's… good.” His eyes still narrow unhappily.

He shifts the laptop so he's cradling it in one arm and places his other hand on your back as he opens the door, urging you forward. You suppose this does look less suspicious than if he'd taken hold of your wrist again.

You can feel his and tremble against you as you move forward, out the lobby.

You can't help but glance up at where you think the camera might be, based on the angle of the feed you'd seen back at Mint Eye. You flinch a little when you see it. Even if it's playing a looped feed right now… well, you’ve watched this area too many times to not feel paranoid now that you’re on the other side of the camera.

But no one in the lobby even spares you a passing glance, as least as far as you can see, and you quickly find yourselves outside once more.

The trembling gets worse, and he starts to pick and pinch at the fabric of your shirt. Not unceasingly, but every few seconds, there’s another little tug. One look at him, and you surmise that it's not really a conscious choice. A nervous habit, maybe? Regardless, you keep quiet.

The car is nearby, thankfully, just down the street in a parking lot meant for patrons of a run-down fabric store that wasn't even a third of the way full when you left.

His shoulders hunch little by little, and he seems to retreat into himself, though he doesn't let his hand drop from your back until you turn a corner and the apartment building is finally out of sight.

“He won't follow us, will he?” you ask as you stop at the edge of the crosswalk with him. You can see the car from here, actually. In your nervousness, the words spill out. It's so much worse when you're just standing here, waiting, and you will the light to turn green so you can go and at least try to distract yourself by moving. “I mean, we've got a head start, so he'd have to zero in on us fast to do that, and I don't think he's going to leave her there alone, so probably not, right?”

He is unresponsive, though when the cars around you slow to a stop and the crosswalk light turns on, he begins to move immediately. You have to quicken your pace to keep up, and it's still a little difficult.

“Hey, boss, slow down a second, huh?” No response, just his usual fast pace. “Aw, c’mon, Saeran--”

The change is immediate.

“Don’t--” He whips around right there in the middle of street, still as a statue except for the way his hands tremble at his sides. “Don’t call me that name!” He shrieks, and you reel at the ferocity of the reaction.

Damn it, oh, goddamn it, you did not meant to say that.

You reach for him as a gesture of comfort, as you've done for him in the past, but he jerks away and wrenches back violently. The laptop falls from his fingers and hits the ground with a distinctive crack. He doesn't seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn't care.

“Don't touch me!” he cries, eyes wild again. He takes a faltering step back, eyes locked on you, full of fury.

You are standing in the middle of the street. People are staring.

“I don't need your concern,” he spits harshly. His fingers clench and unclench at his sides. “I don't need--” He cuts off, either unwilling to continue or unsure how. “Don't,” he hisses finally, and turns on his heel.

He stalks ahead and you scoop up the laptop before hurrying after him, though you'd be surprised if it's in any sort of working condition.

He reaches the car before you, of course, but he's still looking for the keys, and every moment he cannot find them makes his motions less precise, so he is furiously shoving his hand in his pocket by the time you catch up.

You almost reach for him again, but stop yourself. “Back pocket, left side,” you say softly, and he stills, then reaches for the correct pocket. The keys jangle in his hand as he shakes.

You watch him try and fail to unlock the car multiple times, growing more agitated each time, practically stabbing the key towards the lock, and something unknown and aching growing in your chest, weighing heavy on you.

As he is right now, he seems liable to turn into oncoming traffic or crash into a building.

But you think if you told him that, he… wouldn't take it well. And hey, he finally gets the key to fit, so maybe he’s not doing quite as bad as you thought?

You try to ignore the sense of dread that begins to rise as you watch him slide into his seat, and make your way to the other side of the car and settle in.

He doesn't reach for the blindfold even after you're both situated, but you decide against reminding him -- not even out of curiosity, mostly, but just… to keep him in this calmer state. Now that things have gone so awry, it might not take much to set him off again. Staying focused on the next step to take seems to be working for him thus far, so distracting him from that is… not particularly tempting.

Maybe like this he'll be able to get you both back to Mint Eye in one piece after all.

He rolls his shoulders as you set the ruined laptop in the backseat and pulls haltingly out of the lot.

It's after the third near rear-ending that you re-evaluate your earlier optimism. He is definitely in no state to be behind the wheel.

“Boss,” you say after one such encounter, gripping the sides of your seat so tightly you think you might embed your nails in the cushion, “pull -- pull over. Please.”

“...why.” He doesn't look at you. His hands remain fixed on the steering wheel, clenching tightly.

“I think I'm gonna puke.” Or have a heart attack. One or the other.

He casts you a sidelong glance that only lasts a second or two, cutting away when you try to return his gaze, but, oddly, does not question you, only pulls over into another parking lot -- across two lanes of traffic without a turn signal, which only strengthens your resolve.

He idles in the parking lot for a few minutes, waiting for you to regain the color in your face and speak.

At last, you do. “Boss,” you say carefully, “why don't you let me drive?”

And now he stares at you, making eye-contact at last. He looks -- he looks --

Awful.

Blank and brittle, worn out and frenzied, somehow all of this at once. He's radiating frantic energy, but you fear that if that were to drain out of him, he would collapse, spent and lifeless.

“You've already done a lot today,” you say softly, and he flinches. You want to scramble to reassure him that this was not meant as a dig at him, but you keep your voice as even and steady as you can instead. Platitudes may make it worse. “Now let me do this for you. Please.” You give him a quick once-over, taking note of the myriad of little cuts around his hands and arms, likely a result of pushing through the glass window. “Give yourself a chance to rest.” Although, while the scrapes are worrying, you're more concerned with his mental well-being right now.

He stares at you for a long moment, and then he twists his hand, turning off the car. For a moment he just stays in that position, and then his hand goes limp.

“...fine.”

And you nearly breathe a sigh of relief.

The transition is a little awkward, as you both go around the same way and you end up shuffling around each other. You try to give him a wide berth, unsure if he's still so strongly touch-averse, and you feel much better once you're in the driver’s seat. Already, the odds of sudden vehicle-related death seem to be growing slimmer.

“Okay,” you say, “just… point me in the right direction. Turn right, then go straight for now?” That'd put you in the same direction you were going before he pulled over.

He nods slowly.

“Great!” you say, overly-cheerful. “You just… rest and give directions as needed, alright?”

His directions are simple -- right, left, straight ahead, change lanes now. Simple, no elaboration. He isn't feeling the need to be particularly chatty right now, it seems.

You find soon that you're already fairly close to city limits -- you must have missed how much distance you'd covered while fearing for your life. It's… a shame. If you'd realized the opportunity before you, you would have tried to focus more on the route he was taking. It'd certainly make it easier to get back here, if you escape.

When.

He doesn't have many directions to give before you're leaving the city and heading down more rustic roads.

He fares… not so great. His expression remains morose, and he draws his knees up to his chest, drumming his fingers on his legs, on the window, on his seatbelt, on anything he can reach in stuttery, fast-paced motions.

It's when the city has faded out of view that he finally speaks up and says something other than the concise directions he's been feeding you.

“...you heard him use that name.”

“Yes.” No point in lying about it now that he's already heard you say the name, though your pulse still speeds up at the thought of what his response may be. You glance over at him as covertly as you can.

“Hn.” He rests his chin on his knees now.

No fury. That's good, at least. “I… didn't expect him to know it,” you try carefully.

You can see his face twist from your peripheral. “He thinks he knows a lot of things.” That's not an answer, but you'll be damned if you poke this particular bear. He hunches further in his seat, looking agitated. “That traitor shouldn't dare to use that name. Everything he says is tainted with his lies.”

You keep quiet, though you're desperate to know how Seven knows the name, to know why.

“He’s a liar of the worst caliber.” His mouth cuts a jagged line as he speaks. “He destroys everything good around him, digs his claws into anything worthy and won't let it go until he's killed it, and he says--” He draws in a ragged breath, and his hands clutch his knees, nails digging in. “Seven-zero-seven, defender of justice!” He adopts a faux-cheerful tone for this delivery, but the tremor in his voice has grown so that it all comes out like a sob.

“He says he's a hero, says he comes to help, says he cares, but he doesn't, he doesn't, he leaves people to rot and he never looks back, never, never, never, never!” He shrieks the last word and slams his fist against the dashboard.

You jolt, barely managing to keep the wheel steady, but he keeps going, pounding against it as he repeats his litany, “never, never, never, never!”

You wince each time, and moreso when you watch his knuckles grow bloody, more and more with each agonized strike.

“He won't--! Disappear! Why?! Why did I have to see him?! I--” He gasps in a breath, and cradles his wounded hand against his chest. “--prayed that I wouldn't see him, but there he was and he remembers it all and that goddamn traitor! Thinks he can lie to my face and I'll let him ruin everything again and I won't, I never will, but--”

And now, you realize with a wave of pain, there are tears.

“Why can't I be free of him yet? Why...? What am I doing wrong, why isn't it enough? Am I…?”

His shoulders hunch and he folds in on himself and he just seems so goddamn lost that you start looking for a clear spot to pull over and you don't even realize what you're doing until you've put the car in park and let it idle.

You're not sure if he notices. He doesn't uncurl from his position, just… winds his fingers in his hair and pulls, breath coming out in little stutters that worry you.  

You draw in a deep breath and hope for the best. “...boss.” You murmur.

His hands still.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and twist to face him. “Boss,” you say again.

It takes a moment, but then he shifts just slightly and peeks at you through the crook of his elbow, one weary eye all you can see of his face in this hunched-over state.

You hold out your hands, palms up, an offering. “...can I see?”

He turns his face into his shoulder first, frowning as he tries to dry his eyes by rubbing roughly against the fabric, like he's mad the tears ever existed. It takes a long, long moment, but he uncurls a little. Still slightly huddled and still with his knees pulled up, he holds his hands out to you.

His motions are hesitant, nervous, and you keep as still as you can until his fingers finally come to rest at the heel of your palm.

You keep your own movements slow, trying not to spook him. Carefully, you examine his hands.

There's little scrapes from the window, but only one hand is really banged up from his… impassioned reaction. Those knuckles sure are bloody though. The other is red around the side and around the knuckle of his smallest finger, though he didn't hit it hard enough to split the skin there, but there's also -- oh, damn. “Are these bite marks?” You give a low whistle. His lips curl down unhappily, but he doesn't answer.

You pass his hands into one of yours so you can lower the other and better stretch back and root around for the first aid kit in the backseat.

It's a dinky little case, but it should have something to help.

“Ah! Here it is.” It had slid halfway under the front seat at some point, so it takes a little wiggling to dislodge it, but you manage, and pull it into your lap.

You open the little plastic fastener with a click and pick through the contents until you find what you're looking for.

It's tricky to open the package that the alcohol wipe comes in but you don't really want to let his hands go, too worried that he wouldn't let you touch him again if you broke contact.

“Okay,” you say, unfolding the alcohol wipe, “...this is going to sting.”

He just stares at you with his intense, pale eyes. You hesitate, but a lack of protest might be as good an indication of permission as you're going to get. Still, you prepare to move away quickly, in the event that you've misconstrued this.

And you swipe the alcohol wipe over his bloody knuckles.

He hisses in a sharp breath and jerks away -- but doesn’t pull away entirely, just enough that his fingertips rest against yours, and he slowly slides his hands back so you're holding them more fully.

“You alright, boss?” He nods shallowly. You try not to dwell overmuch on how glossy his eyes look, or the lingering remnant of tears caught in his eyelashes. “Alright,” you murmur, steadying your hand and preparing to continue tending to him, “alright.”

He hisses again as you begin to clean the blood from his hands, but soon relaxes, softens under your touch.

You find yourself murmuring words of comfort to him as you work. “There we go, that's it… you're alright… you're okay… almost done… that's not so bad now, is it?”

The kit doesn't have the largest selection of bandages, but what it has will do well enough, you think. You wrap the most flexible-seeming ones around his knuckles then pull away and let him see his hand. “There, see?”

He examines it, flexing his fingers, then places his hand in yours again. He looks to his other hand, then to you.

“What?” He doesn't respond, just pushes against your palm with the hand you haven't yet tended to. Ah. You bite back a comment about how expectant he is, not sure if he can handle your teasing just yet. Instead, you just reach for another alcohol wipe and start cleaning up the glass cuts -- and the bite mark.

You're… not really sure what bandage to use on this. You stroke your thumb idly over the back of his hand as you pick through the box, intending to provide some comfort as you look, small as it may be.

Mmm… not the ones you used for his knuckles, the shape wouldn't cover that well -- though you don't necessarily need something that’ll cover each mark since the marks don't puncture the skin all the way around, just on a few of them. It's worse for the front ones, where the pressure must have been exerted more. The farther from that you look, the shallower the scrapes get. You could use one of the wide bandages, large enough to cover your palm one way, but then when he moves his hand it's liable to come off. Maybe just roll some gauze over it, let him move freely and still provide some coverage for the punctures to heal? Yes, that should do nicely.

You pick at the end of the roll until it loosens and you can unwind a few inches of it, then glance back up at him -- and freeze, pinned by the weight of the way he's looking at you.

Focused. Intense. Trusting.

You tear your gaze away and focus on wrapping the gauze around his hand. You go slower than necessary just so you can have more time to try to shake the feeling that his expression gave you.

“...there,” you say at last. “You're all good now.” You let his hands slip from your grasp before looking up at him.

He pulls his hands back halfway, leaving them hanging in the air. His gaze looks faraway. “Am I good?” he whispers.

“With the -- bandages? I thought so. Why, are they coming off?” He doesn't pull back when you reach for his hands again to check, but they haven't shifted at all, and… somehow, that doesn't feel like what he’s asking.

He looks into your eyes. There is something searching in his expression, and you are helpless to look away.

“I've always been faithful,” he whispers, “always. I follow the savior. I lead others to paradise. I help them find her so they can let go of their doubts and be free from their pain at last -- I found you, I brought you here so you could join paradise and be happy! But no matter what I do, he never stops, he just -- lies and lies and leads others astray and I can't stop him, and--” His voice shakes. He begins to tear up.

“Am I good?” His whisper is quiet. His fingers interlace with yours and he clutches tight. “I'm… good, aren't I?” The tears fall now, slipping slowly down his cheeks. “But if I was… wouldn't I be free of my pain…? Am I just not… good enough…?”

Oh.

And you hesitate.

No. It lies there at the tip of your tongue.

Kidnapping, stalking, controlling lives -- running a cult, helping to expand a cult, none of that is good, none of that makes him good.

But he doesn't see it that way. He really… believes in this. All of this. He thinks what he's doing is good.

He doesn't recognize the harm he's doing, that all of Mint Eye does, that it's based upon causing pain.

And that doesn't justify any of this.

And still, still, an answer falls from your lips.

“Yes,” you whisper. “You're doing your best.” It feels like the basest of lies and the simplest of truths. He is doing his best. He's just… doing his best at something that happens to be immensely terrible.

You hesitate, still keeping his gaze, still gazing into the open wound behind his eyes. “...I thought you did well.”

And his face -- crumples, but it's like a weight lifts at the same time. His grip tightens even more on your hands and he tugs and it would be so easy not to follow the pull, but you do.

You sort of -- fall against him at first. He pulls his hands back and leans into you, curling up against your chest.  

There's some shuffling to be done. It feels a little funny to be pulled into an embrace when you end up holding him and not the other way around, but you're not exactly about to point that out to him.

You lean in and brush your hands over his face, wiping under his eyes with your thumbs, but still, he stares expectantly at you. You nearly huff. What does he want, a kiss?

...oh, shit, actually --

Ever since that moment in the alleyway a few days ago, it’s possible. He does get handsy when he’s upset. As well as when he’s not.

But that’s -- not helpful. You’re not gonna just smooch him to take him mind off things. You do want him to feel better, but it’s really not situationally-appropriate, and it’s disingenuous, anyway. Misleading. And solves nothing in the end, a bandaid over what seems to be a gaping emotional wound.

...you don’t have any evidence that that’s what he’s after, anyway, just a sense that he wants something more than this to be comforted, and in small measures, and if you’re very careful, that can be comforting…

So, with no small amount of trepidation, you toss a measure of caution to the wind and press a small, quick kiss to his forehead.

His eyes light up and his face smooths over with contentment -- and then he frowns slightly and gives you an impatient look. “Again.” He seems to sulk at the fact that you haven't already continued.  

“...Seriously?”

“Again,” he insists.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Needy. But there's still an unsteadiness to him, a weakness he hasn't yet shoved back into the shadows. So you repeat the motions, brushing your hands across his face and ending in another small kiss to his forehead.

He is starry-eyed, though he still sniffles wetly as he buries his face in your chest. You wrap your arms around him, hoping this will be steadying, somehow.

You trail one hand up and down his spine and, since you can no longer really reach his face, instead brush your fingers through his hair, though you still press your lips to the top of his head between these motions. He practically purrs in contentment, nuzzling into you.

“It's okay, boss,” you murmur, “you're okay…”

He mumbles something into your shirt.

“...sorry, what was that, boss?”

He hesitates, and then, so quietly you can barely hear him: “Say that name.”

“That name? ...Saeran?”

“Mmm.” He sighs, shifting a little, though he remains pressed against you. “...sounds better in your mouth than in his,” he sighs.

“Yeah?” You stroke his hair again. “...thought you might've been mad about it, earlier.”

“Mmn. Don't like when he says it.” You can feel him frown against you. “Or anything. He shouldn't speak. He taints things just by speaking of them. But you… don't.”

“That's… good.”

He pulls away and looks you in the eye. “Call me that from now on.”

“--wait, really?”

“Mmhmm. ...you shouldn't have learned it from him. But I like hearing you say it. I want to hear it more.”

“Well, boss -- ...Saeran.” You shake your head. “Saeran,” you repeat. “If that's what you want, that's what I'll do.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle with the satisfied smile he gives you -- which makes your chest ache seeing as his eyes are still red-rimmed and a little swollen.

And then something seems to occur to him and he makes an unhappy little noise, returning his cheek to your chest. “We’ll have to tell the savior. That I... failed her.”

“I'm sure she'll understand. You did all you could.” You hesitate, then add, “it was his fault for ruining our plans.”

“...that's right.” He nods, and twists to lean his head on your shoulder, though he loops an arm around your back to keep you close, then sighs happily. “We'll destroy that hypocrite once and for all, together, and then everything will be okay. Then we can be happy.”

You pet his hair once more. “Of course. ...Saeran.”

He is reluctant to pull away, and in all honesty, you're not feeling particularly rushed to let him go, either. You're not sure how long you stay there, but by the time you return to the driver's seat, the sun has dipped noticeably lower in the sky than when you pulled over.

His eyes still look a bit red, but his tears have long since dried.

Still, he stays like this -- clingy, in a way -- keeping a hand over one of yours whenever possible for the entire drive back -- during which, the blindfold doesn't come into play at all.

You are at war with yourself. A part of you is attentive to him, to Saeran, still recovering and vulnerable beside you, but another part is memorizing everything, taking note of every turn, of how long it takes between them, of anything that could be used as a landmark.

When you return to Mint Eye, you see the garage when you park the car for the first time, with fingers intertwined with his to steady him, and wide eyes taking note of everything you possibly can.

The options this opens up, the escape plans it changes--! You may actually have a way out now, a method and a route.

-- and you also think of him, arm looped around your waist as you make your way back to his workroom, and realize what your actions today might mean. With the way you reacted, you think of the possibilities you may have closed off, and more that you may shut yourself out of if you let yourself fall into this -- into him.

But it may already be too late for that.

Because, with as vulnerable as he seems -- escape feels like it would send a knife to wedge in his heart.

And though you need to, you're not sure if you have it in you.