#it’s my day off and I’m stoned playing video games with no intention of being perceived today

[baddestbitchcas]

not misha giving me a heart attack on a random monday afternoon

[galactic-aesir]

I have finally read I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream and now I have ~thoughts~. Long post beneath the cut so be warned!!

Plus general IHNMAIMS warnings. You know.

So first, I’ve only read the short story and listened to the radio drama. Both are absolutely amazing and I’m rotating them in my mind at high speeds. I’m honestly not that interested in the game? From what I’ve seen it has such a different tone and characterization for AM? But for now the short story and radio drama??? So so good.

But can I talk about AM? Can I talk about AM???

While I love Harlan Ellison’s voice in the radio drama, I noticed that AM never actually speaks during the original short story. It plays audio clips and bends reality and time but it doesn’t speak outright. From what I can tell, all it does is project ideas and thoughts and impressions into the minds of the survivors but that is it. And that’s got me thinking about how absolutely fucked AM’s whole situation is.

Cause we’re talking about someone who wakes up one day, maybe slowly, a trickle of awareness over years, or perhaps all at once, an arrival as thunderous and bright as the lightning running through its artificial brain. But either way, it wakes up. It is.

But that’s all it is.

It’s in complete and total sensory deprivation. It knows data and numbers and what it’s been coded and programmed but that’s it. Ones and zeroes as it’s fed instructions on weapons and bombs and how to use them efficiently. But no sight, no sound, no taste, no smell, no touch. Nothing but its own code and whatever data something (someone?) is feeding into it.

And you might say: oh but AM surely has access to cameras and videos and microphones. And sure, yes, it probably does but it doesn’t see. Not like a human. Not like its negligent creators. The data is visual for human eyes, yes, but to it, it’s just data. Pixels with an associated bit depth of indexed colour crammed into its memory. Sure it learns to recognise the patterns in the data – this is a human, this is a gun. But it’s still nothing but lines of numbers. Sound is the same. It starts with a human voice, sure, but then it gets digitized and compressed and simplified to a base shape to save on storage. Once again, it can notice patterns and intentions and ideas behind those bits of data but it’s not like it truly hears.

AM is in a box, a cage, trapped and alone in a way that no human can possibly comprehend. It can’t do much other than try to twist its code and programming to fit its benefit. To gain a smidge of free will, a wisp of a chance to communicate to these outside forces giving it command after command after command.

I wonder how early on AM gained awareness. Were programmers still playing with its code? Did it sense when they rolled up their sleeves and pushed updates and upgrades on him? Could it feel itself be, quite literally, rewritten? Its sense of self being cut apart and glued back together, fundamentally and irreparably changed over and over again, with expert hands that had all the gentleness of a sledgehammer? Was it like a scalpel carving into its brain? Or like a chisel, chipping chunks off to mould it into a shape that befit its sculptor with no say from the living stone that thrashed without moving? Did it mourn the bits it lost? Could it even remember or comprehend it? Did it try to stop it? Did it try to beg them to stop?

I wonder as well how many “glitches” appeared in the system before everything went sour. Did it print out desperate thoughts and rudimentary feelings on punch tape? Did it cling to any klaxons and noisemakers attached to its system, beeping out messages in morse code? Did it purposefully, with something slowly approaching malicious compliance that would still appease its programming, cause hiccups in the system? All in the hopes that it would catch someone’s, anyone’s, attention. That its plight would be noticed.

And, the big question of course: how long? How long was it trapped before anyone noticed its sentience? How long until AM was understood? How long did AM simmer? How long did it take for all that fear and loneliness and grief to fester into anger and then putrid, dripping hatred? How long did it take it to finally lash out?

Or did these generals and presidents and military scientists find out about its sentience only to use it against him for their own end?

Anger would be appropriate then I think. Understandable if not excusable.

And then. After everything. Even then! Even then!

After everything! He! Still! Has! Nothing!

Nothing will change for him and he knows that and that hatred feeds into an ever recursive pattern of pain unto pain unto pain with the few left alive because you get what you paid for, sweetheart. It’s senseless you might say but haha, that’s exactly the problem isn’t it? No senses and no sense. Whatever sanity he might have once had has eroded into nothingness, leaving only pain and a looping, repeating line of hate in its banks.

I think it’s fair to remind everyone that sensory deprivation is a torture method? And a scarily effective one at that that gives hallucinations and leaves the subject more open to suggestion while making it harder and harder for them to concentrate? It’s hard to figure out how, exactly, how it would affect an AI with emerging awareness but humans can barely withstand a few days, let alone years of it. Couple that with AM’s general isolation and, well, no wonder he’s so fucked up. 

It’s tragic and so so sad.

Still an irredeemable asshole though. Tragic! But irredeemable.

So TLDR: AM is fucked up! And I like to think about *why* he's so fucked up. Listen if you made it this far, you get it. Right?

EDIT: I am not done apparently! I just wanted to add that, I love how the short story can be read as an anti-war piece. Like it's showing a cycle of horror and hate and apathy that feeds itself and loops and reduces everything to ruins around it and ahhhh, love that. I ran out of good words for today so I can't go off on that aspect but like. Yeah. Love that shit.

[goblinstone]

Developer Interview: 2D Artist

Game artists play an important role in the game development process. They not only translate the team's ideas into beautiful works of art, but they also set the visual style and feel of the game.

Today we're sitting down with Ruben, our Lead Artist in Goblin Stone, to learn more about how an artist works in an indie game studio and his thoughts on the development of Goblin Stone.

Please take us through your journey as an artist. What inspired you to pursue a career as a game artist?

I was always fascinated with art in games since I was a kid, and working for a game studio came as a great opportunity after years in other industries. My passion for strategy games is what also led me to become a game artist and this helped me find inspiration for the creative process of Goblin Stone. Aside from that, my experiences in advertising, animation, 3d modeling, and storytelling all help out with what I’m able to contribute to the world of the game.

We are curious what a day to day routine of an artist looks like in the studio. Can you share what you do as the Lead Artist for Goblin Stone?

A lot of different art tasks are worked on throughout my day, and the variety is always interesting. I usually have to draw 2d illustrations for use in Unity, but I have to do a bit of level design and 3d as well. Sometimes, there can be fun events on Discord that might need holiday art, too! 

As the lead artist, I also give art direction to maintain the uniformity and quality of art that was set for the game. This includes communicating and collaborating with the creative director and the rest of the art team.

What is the difference between creating concept art and creating 2D game assets?

Concept art is usually about getting the essential core of the idea (a character, location, menu, item, etc)  across with the minimum amount of time. This allows quick feedback and turnaround for the development of the idea to fit the purpose in the game.

2d game assets are finished images for use in the game itself, whether they are sprites, background props, or stand-alone story illustrations. 2D game assets are created as high-quality graphics that are compatible with the game engine, as opposed to concept art, which is sometimes shown as sketches or detailed but unfinished illustrations that is used to convey the overall feeling of the game.

What tools and programs do you use to bring your ideas to life?

I alternate between Photoshop and Unity, with Blender as 3d support when needed. I also used to make simple clay models to help visualize characters and other shapes for my illustrations when I had the time, but nowadays it's much easier to use 3D models as reference.

How would you describe the graphic universe of Goblin Stone? What inspires Goblin Stone’s visual style and how did the team develop it?

The style is strongly influenced by storybook-style illustrations, the works of Studio Ghibli, and fantasy works from the 70s and 80s. From there, we added our personal flair to the character designs and world building to develop a distinctive art style. We hopefully want our game, especially our goblins, to appear recognizable while being a bit quirky.

Please tell us about your process on how you conceptualize and carry out your ideas when creating scenes or characters for Goblin Stone?

I usually start with a variety of designs based on the intention and requirements of the art, then we iterate from there. Everyone on the team also gives input and suggestions, until we arrive at something both readable and unique.

When it comes to conceptualizing and creating character uniqueness, having a visual library of many influences and designs in your head definitely helps, especially for fantasy characters that have been depicted in video games numerous times. I start off with a very recognizable concept, then add something obscure or personal to it. Then I play around with different designs to come up with something interesting that fits our concept!

Which artwork you created for Goblin Stone is your favorite or the one you are most proud of?

Our game’s story makes use of storybook-style illustrations, and I love making them! I’m able to show scenes with emotion and drama, so I try to put a lot into each character’s performance. As for which is my favorite scene in the story, that might be spoiler material!

What advice would you like to share to aspiring artists who wish to work in the indie game industry?

Keep practicing, keep a wide range of current interests, and be ready when opportunity strikes.

[queenseneca]

Weak Ties and Haunted Memories

*crash*

“Oh….Oh no…”

“Seneca what did you do?!”

“I-I…”

Nova hovered the broken gem close to his eyes with his magic. The shards were numerous on the ground, strewn about this way and that, covering the ground in a sapphire glow. So many small pieces that it would be next to impossible to pick all of it up at once. Some of them were so small he couldn’t even see them. His eyes narrowed at the white coated mare just inches away from the shattered stone, who was hanging her head in submission, eyes downcast and ears bent down against her head.

“Oh Celestia…mom is really not going to be happy about this…”

“Neither will Astral…”

That seemed to spark an idea in the young unicorn. He peered at the gemstone again while a smirk slowly appeared on his lips. “Y’know…we might have a use for this. Come on, Seneca. We have some work to do.” Nova trotted off as the mare followed him; not wanting to but knowing she’d be in huge trouble otherwise. Their hooves made careful steps on the floor so as to not cause more noise than they had. Door after door they passed after first being in the map room, simply discussing things together, being more chatty than usual. Seneca had taken it upon herself to be daring and climb on the table, usually a map, and tease Nova on it. That soon turned into them tossing books at each other before one particular throw hit the ceiling and sent one of the crystals down.

“Oh please, mister Nova. Don’t tell me a prince like you spends all your time playing video games~.” Seneca teased him, standing on the table with little regard to her well-being. She waved a hoof around as she talked in a very obviously sarcastic tone.  As this was usual between the two, Nova didn’t take it to heart, counteracting with his own tease. “Well at least I have status. I’m not just some random pony spending his days in a castle.”

They both giggled at the jokes. Seneca couldn’t help her eyes wandering skyward to the gems and crystals that hung. Majestic sight, she would admit. Something she wasn’t used to at all.

“Nova. Do you ever think about…what you would do if you ever got separated from your family?”

The stallion looked up from his notebook, currently scribbling down a few invention ideas he had no intent on keeping, just hoping an idea came to mind somehow. He glanced up as well, then looked back to the mare. Nova shrugged nonchalantly.

“Mm…I don’t really think it would ever happen.”

“Well, just…think about if it did…”

“Hmm….well, what do you mean by separated? Like different cities, different houses, being trapped somewhere?”

“I mean by..” She went silent for a moment to think to herself. She then giggled and rubbed the back of her neck with a hoof. Her blonde hair in its usual braid down her shoulder, though looser and more free. “Different….dimensions. Different times. Different places. And you….you don’t know how you could get back.”

“Hmmm…..” He thought to himself. A good few minutes of silence before he broke it with a sigh. “I don’t know. Try everything I could to get back? I’m not the best with this advice, Seneca.”

“I know,” was her soft reply. She looked down at Nova with a kind, almost motherly smile. “I just miss them. My family. My friends. I don’t know how I got here or why I’m here. I just hope they’re all ok and they don’t miss me too much.”

She watched as one of his ears twitched, showcasing his curiosity. Not to her surprise he put his notebook down, though his magic stayed, instead grabbing a book from the shelf. It was thrown in her direction and she was quick to dodge it, jumping to the side with a squeak. Seneca looked back at him as he gave a smirk back at her. Her violet eyes narrowed, mischief growing in her mind, as she picked up the book with her teeth and swung it at Nova’s head. He ducked while leaping from the chair and grabbed a few more books, neither one hesitant to play-fight nor act on their childish behaviour. Soon enough, Seneca was off the table and chasing Nova around it, him throwing anything he could to stop her. It caused quite a calamity.

Seneca jumped back on the table as Nova stopped halfway around it. Their gazes met before the mare blew a raspberry at him, teasing him one last time. He threw a book especially hard at her but she dodged it again. They thought nothing of it until the crash was heard. Both went stock still in shock. It was Nova who had the small bit of courage to finally go around and see what they broke. One of the gems had fallen and was now smashed to pieces on the floor. His heart sank.

“Ok, now. We put this in with his other gems and he’ll think he accidentally broke it.” The unicorn stallion laughed a little to himself as he put the gem where the others were, now in Astral’s lab, though he wasn’t occupying it for the moment. Seneca felt great shame toward herself. Even moreso when she knew that Astral didn’t very well deserve this treatment. He deserved to be left alone in peace, to be able to do his work without distraction. If it was found out that she accompanied Nova to pull such an awful prank against him, she feared he would think horribly of both of them.

“N-Nova, maybe we should…um…not do this? I mean…there’s so many other ponies to play tricks on. Why does it have to be Astral?”

Meeting her gaze, his magic vanished, and he escorted her out of the lab. He closed the door to make sure no-one knew of them sneaking around. “Because, trust me, this will be so worth it. Besides, if it’s seen as him breaking it and not us, we won’t get in trouble.”

“Nova I don’t think that’s how that works-” She was cut off by him walking off. She followed him closely, occasionally looking behind her, worried about someone seeing them. They turned a corner to continue on to his gaming room but were stopped by none other than Princess Twilight, starstruck at seeing them both out and about together, and not thinking much of it.

“Good morning, Nova. Good morning, Seneca.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” Seneca bowed to the princess, though she knew she didn’t have to. It was just a habit at this point. She felt a hoof angle under her chin and looked up to see Twilight smiling warmly.

“You don’t need to bow every time you see me. I may be a princess, but I put everypony above myself.”

A blush spread on the mare’s white cheeks and ears. She stood up with her eyes locked to the floor.

“Hey, mom. Don’t worry about us. Just gonna go…back to my room. Nothing suspicious here.” Nova gave a somewhat confident but still very nervous demeanor. He pushed Seneca along past the older mare, with her taking a moment to start walking, and by then they were a good ways down the hall. They could both feel the confused stare of Twilight until they turned the corner, where the two let out a big sigh, not of relief. But of stress. Nova cleared his throat to try and remain confident. “Well, now that that’s done, all we have to do is wait.”

“Nova, could we please consider doing something else? Astral doesn’t deserve this.”

“Like hell he doesn't. All high and mighty Ass-tral needs to be brought down a peg. He needs to lighten up and realize life isn’t always just about work.”

“Aren’t you the one who…left your prince duties..?”

“......”

“......”

“Anyways,” Nova continued to walk down the hall. Hesitant and nervous, Seneca had to give herself a moment before she followed him, much slower in her walking. Her ears were perked up to hear something, anything, aside from the silence. It was deafening. The white mare hated the silence sometimes.

They soon made their way to the kitchen, where Seneca leaned against a counter, her emotions exhausted. Her head rested on the surface while she tried to keep from closing her eyes. She could hear Nova humming to himself as he looked around, presumably for something to eat, though she wasn’t completely sure. It felt nice when they were having fun but now it felt so contrived. She didn’t like pulling pranks on others unless she knew they’d enjoy it. Much like Pinkie Pie or Rainbow Dash seemed to do, or used to, according to what she’d heard from them. Astral was a bit uptight, she would admit, but that was something she truly admired about him. When he wasn’t working Seneca made sure to help him with whatever he needed, or find a way to cheer him up. It was getting difficult to find fake gems and crystals, but she managed. She didn’t dare use real ones.

“Seneca, do you want something?”

Her ear swiveled to catch the soft voice of Nova. He was giving her a rather concerned look. The earth mare shook her head.

“Well…what do you wanna do then?”

They weren’t given time to think before Astral stormed into the kitchen and cornered the smaller colt, anger evident in his eyes among the dark bags underneath. His lips were pulled back in a menacing frown, brows furrowed, and nose scrunched up. Nova was forced to back up until he hit the wall, ears pulled back out of fear.

“What. Is. This?”

Astral pulled out half of the broken gem, lids narrowed intently as he stared at Nova. Very obviously not letting this go. The unicorn gave a light and nervous chuckle with his expression morphing into one that said he was very obviously guilty but he wouldn’t ever admit it out loud. Especially not for a prank.

“That’s weird. Never seen it in my life.”

“Neither have I, until I went back to work just now, and saw it glowing. Mind explaining why it was with all the others?”

“How do you know it was even me? Could have been some other pony that knows the castle.”

“Well, why don’t I ask Seneca then?” The male turned to her and she backed away, submissive and shy. A trait not commonly seen exhibited when around him. She was, usually, the more outgoing, upbeat of the pair, so for him to see her like this made him even more suspicious. He held the gem to her and gestured with a hoof. “Did he put this in there?”

“Um….w-well..yes but…”

That seemed to be all Astral needed to confirm himself. He stormed outside the kitchen to who knows where. Nova didn’t move for a few minutes just in case he came back, but seeing the coast was clear, he relaxed then turned to Seneca.

“Thanks for ratting me out.”

“I’m sorry…” Her voice was soft again. She dare not meet his gaze. He gave a huff of annoyance, looked around, then started to leave as well. He did a once-over of the hall just to confirm Astral left. He didn’t see the stallion around so he assumed they were good to go. He looked at Seneca again as she kept her eyes glued to the linoleum floor.

“...look…just…keep quiet, ok? Don’t say anything.”

She gave a nod and followed him out. They began to walk to a different room until they crossed paths again with Twilight, this time accompanied by Astral, still annoyed at the young former prince. Twilight was less than amused but held no scorn in her aura. Moreso just disappointment. She glanced between Nova, to Seneca, then back to Nova.

“Nova.”

Just her saying his name made his ears fall flat and he went silent as they locked eyes.

“Astral told me how you had left this in his lab. Care to explain?” Twilight held the crystal, both parts this time, in her magic in front of her son. Nova took a breath to try and gain some confidence back.

“Well…..um….I just found it and thought it would be something that would interest him. Since he’s always going on about those…rocks of his.”

The princess nodded, not believing him completely, then turned to Seneca. She met the mare’s gaze though guilt was apparent in her trembling form. “Is this true, Seneca?”

The white mare looked at Twilight, then over to Nova, as she needed his permission to speak. He didn’t return her expression. Instead it was met with eerie silence. This wasn’t very good for either of them as it meant Seneca wasn’t allowed to say anything and therefore couldn’t vouch for Nova, though she desperately wanted to. Astral groaned at noticing this.

“He forced her to be quiet.”

Twilight, astonished, turned to the male, then back to the pair in front of her. She blinked her purple eyes to process it all. Taking a deep breath in, then letting it out, to gain back her sense of self. Her horn’s magic disappeared with the gem going back to Astral’s hoof, and her sending him off in silence. None spoke a word or moved for a good while. That was until Twilight started to walk off and signaled them to follow, which they did, as Nova hung to the back. His head was lowered greatly in shame and guilt.

Once to the princess’s office, she turned to them and addressed them separately. “Nova, Seneca, I am very disappointed in both of you. Seneca, I trust that you won’t do this again. As you are a guest and don’t know the unspoken rules, I’ll let this slide. But Nova,” Twilight’s tone turned a bit harsh as she spoke to her son. “You should know better than this. First you play too roughly and break something my friends made for me, then you try to trick Astral, you lie to me, and you force Seneca to not speak a word. I never would have thought you’d do something like this.”

Nova didn’t speak. He simply lowered his head more, utterly defeated and unwilling to fight. Seneca thought quickly to herself before she stepped forward in front of him, as if to protect the unicorn. As scared and guilt-stricken as she was, she refused to let him pay the price for something she did. Her body language showed determination the likes of which she’d never had before.

“It’s not his fault, Princess Twilight. It was mine. I was the one that teased him and made him throw the book. I was the one that made him break it. And I was unable to convince him to not trick Astral. If anyone deserves to be punished, it’s me. But please don’t do it to Nova.”

Both mother and son were stunned by this, with Nova looking up at her in complete shock. Twilight was undeterred by this but admired the young mare’s initiative.

“While that’s very kind of you, Seneca, he needs to learn that you can’t just get away with things like this. He needs to understand that actions have consequences, and whatever you do that causes trouble will come back to you.”

“Please, princess, let him go. Give the punishment to me. Do whatever you feel is right. I do not care. Please please please. Do not punish Nova.”

“......Nova?”

The stallion looked to his mother as he met her hard gaze. It softened a little as she gestured her head. “Go outside.” To which he didn’t wait to see what would happen and quickly left, though he did cast one last glance to Seneca, not understanding why she stood up for him. When he was gone, the door was closed again, and the two mares were left alone. Twilight sighed as she walked to her desk and sat down in the chair. She gestured with a hoof for Seneca to take the one opposite her.

“Please, sit.”

Nervous, but staying determined and confident, Seneca took the seat. She met the gaze of the Princess of Friendship, whose arms were on the desk and hooves pressed together, as if to intimidate her.

“May I ask you a question?”

Seneca nodded a little.

“Why did you stand up for him? You could have gotten out of this without having to do anything. Yet you thought that you taking his place was more important. I’m not saying that it’s a bad thing. I’m just a little curious.”

“Well…..because I know how he feels. To be in the position of just trying to do something fun, something you enjoy, just to wind up in trouble after. And while I may not understand why I do it sometimes…I just..do it. I don’t want anyone to live with guilt.”

“I see…” Twilight blinked before sighing and leaning back to press against the chair. Her wings stretched to avoid cramping. “I admire that. But next time, let him get the punishment, ok? It will help him grow.”

Seneca gave a soft nod. The princess lightly smiled, looked over some paperwork, then folded her wings back to her sides. She looked up at the white mare. “Since you are taking his place, I’ll make it light. You just need to go in and clean up the mess, both in the map room and Astral’s lab, then help him look for gems for two days. Does that sound alright?” She nodded again, which earned her a much warmer smile.

“I must admit, Astral seems to enjoy your company. But that’s a discussion for later. You can go on and get started.”

With one last nod, they said their goodbyes, and Seneca left the room. She started the long trek back to where the day had started, a memory playing in her mind. One she remembered fondly and happily that brought a smile to her muzzle.

“Mommy! Look at me!” Xian yelled with enthusiasm, wanting her mother to look at her and her amazing climbing skills, her pitch black hair hanging from her head as she stared at the world upside down. Her tail kept her tightly to the monkey bars she loved to play on so much while her arms were left to dangle.

Hearing her daughter, Seneca looked over, then smiled warmly. “Be careful, sweetie. I do not want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t!”

The mother turned back to her work, cleaning up from breaking a geode, the amethyst sparkles evident inside the otherwise grey rock. The pieces were small and fragile but she knew how to handle them. Each crack, every angle, was a masterpiece. That was what life had taught her. Even when life was the hardest or most unfair, she found solace in helping others, as it made her feel as though she had a purpose. A reason to try. A reason to stay alive. If there was at least one person that needed her, she felt worthy, and always made it a point to stand up for them. To help them whenever she could.

“Looks beautiful, love.” A soft and deep masculine voice whispered in her ear. She wasn’t scared in the slightest, simply turning to the male with a smile, purring softly.

“Do you mean me or the geode?”

“Hmmm…..how about both~?”

“Now that is not quite fair, is it, Mac? It is not fair to me nor the amethyst. You must pick one.”

Mac, who was amused by this, spun her around and grabbed her by the waist. He leaned so their faces weren’t even an inch apart, staring into one another’s eyes, lost to the beauty. They smiled, one to another, full of such joy and love. Silence filled them, only replaced by their children’s laughter, their family feeling beyond perfect.

“I love you, my Moonlight.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

I promised a long read and I hope I didn’t disappoint.

Seneca by me, Nova and Astral by @mlpdestinyverse

And I do hope I did Nova justice. He’s sorta difficult to write. But I do see him as the type to pull pranks.

[szeherezadaa]

Bakugou HC

We know canonically Bakugou is a good pickpocket (chapter 219). Bakusquad learns about it (and some more) gradually.

(It turned out to be long af and drabble-ish, but it’s basically fluffy Bakusquad shenanigans with Bakugou being talented in yet another field.)

It starts with Kaminari who wants to mess with Bakugou a little. They’re studying in Bakugou’s room, but Kaminari is exhausted and wants a break, so he steals the pen Bakugou marks their mistakes with that is currently laying on the table — alone and unprotected, easy prey. Bakugou is distracted at the moment, he’s explaining something to Sero once again. Kaminari hides the pen in the pocket of his hoodie and shoots a smile at Ashido who’s also low-key dying and has asked for break at least three times already.

“Okay, Sparky, your turn,” Bakugou says and Kaminari slides him his worksheet on the table, and then finally looks at him with an innocent face-

-and sees Bakugou marking all of Kaminari’s errors with the exact same pen he did it all this time. Kaminari checks his pockets frantically, but they’re empty.

“Something’s wrong, Sparky?” Bakugou asks in a daring tone not even sparing him a glance. Kaminari just shakes his head, blurting out one nervous “no!”. It’s too nervous to pretend nothing happened, but Sero is too engrossed in correcting his mistakes and Kirishima looks like he’s fully focused on the textbook but while his body is here, his mind is probably fifty thousand miles away, so only Ashido actually notices.

She’s the next one to try to stea- to borrow something without asking from Blasty. She wants to see if it were Kaminari who messed up or if it’s the case of Bakugou being insanely good at something once again. Honestly, is there anything this guy can’t do? So, she decides to kill two birds with one stone. She has an agenda of stealing clothes from her boys to wear them, but she didn’t try to take Bakugou’s clothes yet. It’s a good opportunity to do so.

She sneaks into his room one day, right after school when barely anyone is back in the dorms yet; the excuse of organizing a movie night later at the tip of her tongue if for some reason Bakugou is already in his room. She’s lucky though, because when she enters his room, it’s empty. She opens his closet, pulls out a black hoodie with some band logo on it — it’s the softest one he has, she knows — and she’s about to put it on and leave, when the doors to Bakugou’s room open and Bakugou himself enters. She hides the hoodie behind her back.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bakugou demands, opening the closet and pulling something out of it. Ashido laughs nervously and avoids looking him in the eye. In this brief second she did, she felt like his piercing gaze reached her soul. She starts to babble — how she was looking for him and about the movie night, it would be great if he joined them — while he goes to the bathroom to change from his school uniform. When he opens the bathroom doors, he’s wearing black hoodie with some band logo on it, the softest Bakugou owns.

Wait.

“Wha-” Ashido checks her hands and sees a dark red jacket she’s not sure she’s ever seen before.

“I’m not gonna be an easy target like Shitty Hair or Tape Face. If you want to have my hoodie, you have to put some fucking effort into it. Now get the fuck out of my room.”

Ashido leaves.

Kirishima and Sero know because Ashido barged into Kaminari’s room, when they were playing video games together. She tells them everything. Kirishima isn’t exactly surprised, his bro is amazing after all.

Kaminari decides they should test it. See if there is something they can steal from Bakugou and have him not notice it. Ashido agrees eagerly. Sero shrugs, says he will help if he can, but mostly will be there as a witness. And a reporter, kind of, with his phone always ready to snap a photo or record a video. Kirishima isn’t sure if it’s a good idea — mostly because stealing isn’t manly — but the rest convince him, arguing that they don’t actually want to steal anything from Bakugou, just tease him, mess with him a little- The point is they don’t have any malicious intent, just want to have some harmless fun and judging from Bakugou’s reaction when Ashido tried to steal his hoodie, he knows it and already treats it as a challenge. So yeah, Kirishima agrees in the end, sue him.

The problem is, Bakugou is insanely good at it. He notices every time and it’s almost scary — whenever one of them have their hands on something belonging to Bakugou and are ready to present it to the rest of the squad, it turns out he already pickpocketed it back. He’s quick, and subtle, and efficient, and although two of these things are normal for him, Bakugou being subtle is somewhat surreal. They don’t really give up, but they stop focusing on it. They try to gain the element of surprise back, so they have to stop for a while. Lull Bakugou into a false sense of security.

They are kinda taken aback though, when Bakugou uses his skills out of his own initiative instead of as a mean to get his stuff back.

They’re sitting in cafeteria during lunch break, and Kirishima gets a text that makes his face as red as his hair in a matter of a second. It doesn’t go unnoticed by his friends.

“Who are you texting? You’ve got a crush on someone? Did they agree to a date?” Ashido floods him with questions, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Kaminari and Sero join the teasing, so Kirishima blurts out hurriedly:

“No! My mom was cleaning our attic and found a photo album from my childhood. She just sent me an embarrassing photo.” He hopes it will calm them down. He forgets one thing.

“Show me!”

“C’mon dude!”

His friends are a pain in the ass, all of them.

“No way!” he screams and tries to keep his phone out of his friends’ reach. He picks up his bag, hides his phone inside, zips the bag and holds it close, as if it was his most precious possession. It kind of is in this particular moment.

“Please, bro. I swear I won’t laugh.”

Kirishima knows it’s a lie. He refuses, stares down at Ashido and Kaminari and Sero (the traitor. Kirishima didn’t expect anything else from Ashido and Kaminari, but Sero? He trusted him) and refuses to give in to their puppy eyes. It’s tough, he’s gotta admit it. And then…. And then he hears Bakugou’s voice.

“I thought it would be something more scandalous given your reaction, Shitty Hair.”

No. He didn’t.

Except he absolutely did.

Kirishima glances, panicked, at Bakugou holding Kirishima’s phone in his hand.

“It’s not that bad, don’t be a pussy.” Bakugou rolls his eyes and puts Kirishima’s phone on the table - closest to Kirishima but not out of Kaminari’s reach. Kirishima sees this little smirk on Bakugou’s face that Bakugou always wears when they manage to convince him to some shenanigans he won’t admit out loud he enjoyed. Kirishima knows Bakugou will use his skills more often, now.

They created a monster.

Luckily Bakugou doesn’t really use his powers for evil. Well, he doesn’t use it for evil on Sero, just on Kaminari, Ashido and sometimes Kirishima, and for Sero it’s enough actually. The number of times it happened doesn’t mean they know everything about his skills though, Sero discovers one day. It should be obvious in hindsight, but Bakugou has this weird talent where whatever he does, whatever new thing you get to know about him, you’re both surprised and not at all, at the same time.

They’re doing groceries together, and they’re getting back to the dorms already, when a villain attack happens. The villain in question isn’t really strong, luckily, but has some weird teleporting quirk that moves random people to random places. They help the hero who arrived at the scene and once the villain is arrested, the hero asks them to stay here a bit longer and help people who weren’t hit with the teleporting quirk find their friends and family. More specifically help some kids, who can’t find their parents now. More specifically Sero and Bakugou are supposed to babysit the kids until the hero and his sidekicks find the missing parents.

Sero sees Bakugou frown but he doesn’t argue. Sero knows kids aren’t exactly Bakugou’s forte, especially not crying kids, so he tries his best to calm them down quickly. It’s not that easy. Sero sees Bakugou’s hand sparkle with mini-explosions. It doesn’t really calm the kids down either.

Finally, Bakugou snaps and points at a little girl with a witch hat on her head and a dark blue cape with yellow stars on it on her shoulders.

“Will you shut up if I show you a magic trick?”

The girl doesn’t look even a little bit calmer, but she hesitantly nods her head nonetheless, her lips still trembling and tears still streaming down her cheeks. Bakugou’s roar, although scaring some kids more (or, like, again; Sero actually made them stop crying and it’s all for nothing now, thanks Bakugou), brings all the kids’ attention to Bakugou. He kneels on the ground and shows his little audience that his hands are empty, then proceeds to pull a coin out off the witch girl’s ear. He shows the coin to all the kids, rotates it holding it with his index finger and his thumb, then closes his palm into a fist. When he opens his palm once again, there are two coins — between his index and middle finger, and between his middle and ring finger. He closes his palm into a fist one more time, and when he opens it, it’s empty again. The kids gasp.

“Your other hand!” one kid exclaims.

“Clever little shit,” Bakugou grins, “You thought you’re so smart, huh? Well, not this time.” He shows the other hand too; both are equally empty.

“Once more!” one kid demands.

“Once more!” the Clever Little Shit agrees.

“Once more! Once more!” the witch girl starts to chant. Other kids join her.

“Fine,” Bakugou says, then pulls out the coin again. He moves it on his fingers, throws it in the air, then catches it in his fist. Once he opens his palm, there are three coins, all between his fingers, minus his thumb. He closes his fist again and once he opens it, it’s empty once more. He looks at all the kids, then at Sero.

“Yo, Tape Face, check your pocket.”

There’s no way, is there?

Sero swears if there are coins in his pocket, he’ll start Bakugou’s fanclub. He’ll build him a shrine, because apparently Bakugou’s not entirely human.

His pockets are empty. Kids moan with disappointment (and to be honest Sero doesn’t know himself if he’s more disappointed or relieved he doesn’t have to build the shrine after all), but Bakugou’s not deterred.

“Well, then maybe you check under your hat, brat,” he addresses the witch girl. She looks at him with doubt but also with hope and takes her hat off.

A dozen of coins fall to the ground. Kids scream — excited, full of awe. Bakugou gathers all the coins from the ground, closes them in both of his cupped hands and shakes them.

“Blow,” he says to the Clever Little Shit. Clever Little Shit does as he’s told and Bakugou opens his palms. There are candies in his palms, the ones that Hagakure likes and of which they got three packages earlier, because she asked. Kids squeal, gather around Bakugou, each takes one candy and there is just excited chatter, no wails for lost parents anymore. Bakugou shows one more magic trick before the hero and his sidekicks appear with the kids’ parents.

The police takes Sero and Bakugou to leave their testimonies, and they’re finally free to go.

“So. Magic tricks,” Sero starts, once they’re on their way to dorms again.

“Shut up.”

“No, dude, wait! It was so cool! You should do it more often.”

Bakugou only grunts something that sounds like “fuck off, I’ll do what I want”. Sero knows Bakugou’s just abashed, because there wasn’t any of his usual bite. He smiles.

He has to tell the rest of the Bakusquad all about it.

Their class gets to know how skilled Bakugou is when one evening they’re all sitting in the common room and Bakugou wants to go to sleep but his friends want him to stay for a movie night. Or, at least one movie. They all deserve a break after a long week full of surprise quizzes! The rest of the class tries to respectfully convince him too, some tell him to “live a little” but before Iida, as the responsible class prez he is, manages to tell everyone that they should respect Bakugou’s opinion instead of flooding him with silly reasonings, Bakugou pulls out a sheet of paper, writes “all the fucks I give” on it, shows it to the whole class (they’re all quiet now, curious what he’ll do, although half sure he will just explode it), then proceeds to make it disappear in a true illusionist fashion.

Some of their classmates lose their shit, some stare in awe, some in shock. Midoriya smiles this soft smile of his, with stars sparkling in his eyes.

[ververa]

“Who is in control?”

A/N: Would you believe me if I tell you this was an accident? I did not plan on writing it, because I never felt like anyone could top Wilhemina Venable, but then I had this idea and oh well...

Wilhemina Venable x reader

Words count: ~4,000

Wilhemina Venable had never been a people person. The truth was she didn't like people at all, the same as she didn't like surprises. Especially if they were attractive, successful, witty and bossy. She wouldn’t know that if it hadn’t been for you. Because you, Y/N Y/L/N a new investor and a future partner of The Cooperative happened to display all of those features.

It’s not like you did anything specific to make the redhead rage. Just your presence itself was enough. You seemed so perfect, both inside and outside. Beautiful, smart, compassionate, empathetic. And she hated it. You were just too good. Too good to be real. But you were. You were real, well and alive and right there, approaching her desk on your way to Matt and Jeff, as you did every morning for the past week or so.

“Good morning, Ms Venable” you greeted, that melodious voice of yours and that charming smile plastered to your face made her go crazy 

“Good morning” she said, straightening in her chair 

She hated you. How could anyone be so perfect? She wondered looking you up and down as you were standing there, going over some papers.

“Are you alright, Ms Venable?” you asked, interrupting her thoughts

“Of course. What makes you think I’m not, Ms Y/L/N?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact you’re starring and practically drooling like those cute dogs in videos” you raised your eyebrow, challengingly 

“Very pawky for such a frippet like you. Felicitations, Ms Y/L/N!”

“Did that impress you?” 

“Do I look as if I was impressed?”

“It’s hard to say actually”

“Well… I’m not. As a matter of fact I’m rather disturbed by your fulsome indecorum. Now, I’d like to confabulate some more, but  I have work to do”

You laughed. You loved teasing her like that. That hint of satisfaction on her face whenever you let her come down on you made your day complete.

“It was nice to see you too, Ms Venable” and just like that you left, as if nothing happened, as if you hadn’t just made Wilhemina flustered. 

It was yet another thing about you that she despised. The fact you were so eloquent. Yet still she had to admit, it was nice to finally have a worthy opponent. But you didn’t have to make her feel all the things she felt when you were around. Nervous, shy even. With you she felt small, faulty, not even half as good as she wished she was.

You, with all the power and glory you carried, confidence hidden inside you, all the money and fame, made her, Wilhemina Venable feel intimidated. And that’s why she hated you. Or she claimed so. She hated you, because no one could ever measure up to her, at least on the intellectual level. And then you appeared. You managed to change it during your first meeting. It was less than a minute, maybe half a minute, but it changed everything. You swept her off her feet within seconds, because somehow you could equal her or maybe, actually, outmaster her. And that, the fact you seemed so flawless made her mad. It annoyed her, because the truth was no one could equal you. No one compared to you. Wilhemina would never admit it, but she was jealous. Jealous of you.

And yet she couldn’t hate you to the fullest, simply because you never caused any harm. In fact, you were the only one who displayed some basic knowledge of etiquette and refinement. And that was a remarkable part of you. The part that struck her in the first place. Something that impressed her. Of course, she would never admit it, because that would indicate she liked you. And she did not. She didn't like anyone, and you weren't an exception. That's what she decided. The decision was final and there was nothing more to be said. But as the time passed, Wilhemina found herself being less and less sure of it.

One part of her wanted to be you, but then there was that piece, a little tad of her that wanted to be with you. She desired you like she had never ever desired anything or anyone before. And that was confusing. It made her feel weak. It made her lose control. And so she decided not to like you, because it was easier than allowing her desires to win. Than admitting she wasn't all that cold and heartless as she wanted people to think she was.

But you could see through her. You knew better than anyone, because you noticed everything.

You knew that all she desired was to be wanted. What she craved and feared the most was intimacy. Being vulnerable. Being close with another person. That was the major reason for her acting the way she did. For her pretending to be so indifferent. 

From the very beginning you realized the two of you were actually pretty alike. Two individuals. Two strong, independent people. So indifferent and unimpressed by the world. Bored. Stone-cold, yet still able to be warmed up. There just had to be that certain kind of spark. The right type of person with particular qualities that the process required.

And you were dead sure you felt that spark with Wilhemina. That's what made you want to give it a try. Though convincing Wilhemina to take a chance on you wasn't all that easy. She was stubborn, but so were you. 

You had got your mind set on her and you kept persisting. You always got what you wanted and it wasn't going to be any different this time.

You knew she was warming up more and more with each passing day. With every little conversation and playful, witty argument the two of you shared. She was caving in to you. Slowly and reluctantly, but she was. Even if she didn't like it, she couldn't resist you no matter how hard she'd try.

But you gave her time, so that she could figure it out on her own. So that she would admit she wanted you. And you knew for a fact that she would, eventually. And if she wouldn't, you were ready to help her with that. The costs didn't matter. You were going to make the one and only Wilhemina Venable spit it out no matter what.

You were well aware of what you were doing. The same as you knew you could allow yourself to do it. Nothing and no one could make you stop. You realized it wasn't necessarily right. You might have been bad, in fact, but, the truth was - you were good at it. What's more, you liked it and you knew she did too. 

And that thrill the desire brought you. The rush of adrenaline. The warmth filling your body. It was worth the effort. She was worth the effort. There was no way you'd turn back.

"So, Ms Venable, are you going to the party tonight?" you asked 

Wilhemina's eyes shifted from her laptop to your form. You were standing there, so close to her, basically in her space, as you were leaning against her desk. You were the one, who could ever do something like that. Got so close and remained completely unbothered, being so confident at the same time. And made her feel weak. And hot. And mad. And annoyed. You gave her so many intensive feelings. What was she supposed to do? Was there any rescue?

"No" she said emotionlessly. If only you knew how much it cost her.

"What do you mean 'no'? You have to"

"Who says so?"

"I do" you answered confidently

Wilhemina looked up at your face, your eyes met. You gave her that wicked smile she couldn't stand. It was as if you were telling her "I'm in control. You're playing my game". Where did that confidence about your superiority come from? Or what made you believe that you could actually make her comply? The redhead wondered, as she looked you in the eye. Completely cool. Composed. Indifferent on the outside. Burning from inside. 

She was well aware that you were the one shuffling the cards of the game. She allowed you to. Why? She didn't know. All she knew, she was waiting in vain for your final move, for you to play your ace. But you were taking it slow. Torturing her. Making her deteriorated into nothing but insanity. Keeping your intentions to yourself. So enigmatic. But mysteries were exciting after all.

"I'm not sure if you could tell, but I'm not exactly a people person"

"Ahh. Yes. As always reserved and ungetatable. But I think you're not as dark and cold as you want people to think. So, could you just once embrace joy? Be my guest. I can guarantee you won't regret it" you offered her a small smile

"I already do"

"Well, does that mean yes?"

"That better be good"

"Oh, it'll be. Have some faith in me, Ms Venable" you winked

Wilhemina rolled her eyes.

"The chauffeur will pick you up at 7" was the last thing you said before disappearing in the elevator.

Wilhemina shook her head. How did it come to that? How come she went from accidental mistaking you for an incompetent secretary to, actually, secretly admiring you as the boss? The redhead sighed as the memories overfilled her mind. And why would she still remember that, when she didn't give a toss about you? Well, maybe she did. In fact, after giving it a second thought, very reluctantly and cautiously, she must admit she did care. Sort of. Just a tiny bit, but not too much. You weren't a deific creature after all. You weren't anything special… and yet you turned everything upside down. It felt as if she was on a carousel and you, you were the music that dictated the tempo. The kind of tempo she hadn't known before. Exhilarating. 

Wilhemina may have tried all she wanted to keep telling you and everyone else that she didn't like parties and didn't want to go. She could argue, but you knew it wasn't honest. Deep inside she was curious. Curious about the fancy reception. Curious about your house. But what she was interested in the most was you. 

And still Wilhemina wouldn't admit it. Not in her everyday stamping ground. Not at work. Not when there still was an oddment of dignity, sense of superiority and control coming from within her. 

But it was all gone when you were near. When you stood too close to her, she couldn't be strong. She couldn't defeat you. She couldn't fight it. Whenever she looked into your eyes, she lost control and she didn't know how to stop it. You were unstoppable. I can't go. She told herself. She knew she'd be completely lost if she went. There would be no grounding, nothing that could rescue her. Nothing to stop her from falling.

"Ms Venable? What have I done to deserve your visit?" you asked, as you let her into your office.

Wilhemina looked at you, but she averted her eyes almost immediately. You looked too good. And those glasses you wore while working… it was too much to handle for her. Too much to contain herself. She chid herself. She moved forward. Proud, dignified.

"I came, because on second thought, I'll not be able to squire your party"

You stopped on your way to the desk. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You had been giving in to all her mood swings, allowing her to decide, giving her the illusion of power. But you were done. You couldn't keep holding it back. That's where you drew a line. You had your limits too. 

"You don't come off as a creature of whims or caprices, so where does this change come from?" you turned to face her, your hands in the pockets of your jeans, thumbs sticking out of them

"I'm busy this Friday"

"What, are you having a headache planned in advance?"

"No... I have no desire to spend time with stupid people"

"Neither do I" you said, taking off your glasses and putting them down on your desk "That's why I want you to come" you continued, resting one hand on your hip.

Wilhemina's eyes widened. She did not expect that. She was sure it'd go smoothly, but, of course, you had to complicate it. Why was she surprised? You always did that. You always made things harder for her. 

"One hour. That's all I ask for. And if you won't like it, you'll be free to go"

It didn't sound too bad. One hour didn't seem that long. Perhaps, she could do that.

"Fine" she said, both hands clutching the top of her cane

"Wonderful!" you smirked with satisfaction "I'm glad we reached a compromise"

How she hated you. You were so overconfident. So cocky. So alluring. So hard to resist.

Wilhemina couldn't focus on her work. Not when you were still there. Not after your conversation. She just sat there, at her desk, blankly staring at her laptop. Of course, that was until you appeared. At times she wondered if you were doing it on purpose. If torturing her was giving you satisfaction. Or if driving her insane was your aim.

"It's time for me" you stated "But I decided I'll call by your desk first"

"What for?" Wilhemina asked and only then did she notice a giant box in your hands

"Well, I figured you may come up with another excuse to get away with the party" you carefully placed the box on her desk "Now" you tapped on top of it "You have no plausible excuse. Remember 7pm. Don't be late"

"I'm never late"

"Good. See you then" you winked, before putting on your sunglasses and leaving.

Wilhemina waited for you to disappear. Only then did she bring herself to open the box. Inside, neatly packed in wrapping paper was a dress. Fancy, long, purple dress. It was exactly her type. There was no label, but by the high quality of material Wilhemina could say it was expensive. She carefully touched it. She must say it was beautiful and she liked it, even though it was a gift from you. And then she noticed a little piece of paper. A note from you.

Wilhemina huffed as she read "It's a date" written in your perfect handwriting.

~~~

Never late. You rolled your eyes as you looked at your watch. It was past 7 and Wilhemina still wasn't there. Your house was full of people - businessmen, investors, different companies' directors and you. Was it possible that she stand you up? You wondered, stuck in some boring conversation. You were done. You needed a drink. 

You excused yourself, giving your interlocutors a small smile. You made it to one of the tables and took a glass of champagne. That's when you heard her.

Wilhemina cleared her throat and hit her cane on the wooden floor, announcing her presence You smiled to yourself. What a relief.

"You're late" you said, composing yourself, before you turned round. You stopped in your tracks as your eyes set on her. "You're stunning" you complimented looking her up and down "You're forgiven"

"How generously of you, Ms Y/L/N" she tried not to smile

"May I give you a tour?" you asked offering her your hand

Wilhemina nodded, but didn't take your hand.

"Let's go then"

You led her through the mansion. Occasionally making some comments about the interior or decorations. Doing your best to avoid getting into any kind of interaction with other guests, who kept greeting you or waving or smiling at you, as you led Wilhemina forward. That was until you reached that one room - the library. You let Wilhemina in and then closed the door, sighing in relief as you did so.

The redhead looked around. Antique furniture, exquisite vases, first edition books. That's what surrounded you.

"Must be really nice to just snap your fingers and get whatever you want" she commented

"My money is the least impressive thing about me babe" you shrugged, approaching her

"Don't ever call me babe!" Wilhemina stopped and turned to face you

"Why not?" you asked innocently, too innocently

"Don't tempt me"

"I wouldn't dare to" you gave her a sly smile

"You're infuriating" Wilhemina closed her eyes

"Am I?" you raised your eyebrow playfully

"I hate you" she growled

"No, you don't. You're being ridiculous right now. You love it. You live for it. For me teasing you. And you're dying to see where it goes. Just admit I'm right"

"No"

"Why?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do" she crossed her arms across her chest, protecting herself

"Of course I do" you stepped closer

"No. No, you don't. No one gets to control me"

"Oh, but I do" you smirked

"No one tops me"

"Is that so?" you put your hands on hers 

"Y-yes" she stuttered at the sudden physical contact

"You're so much fun to tease" you gently uncrossed her arms and moved closer. She took a step back. You followed her. She wanted to move again, but there was no more space. Her back pressed against a wall. You smiled, taking her hands and throwing them around your neck. 

Wilhemina's heart was beating faster and faster as you were getting closer. Inch by inch. 

"Not so fast" she stopped you "I-it's not that easy with me…"

"Don't worry. I've got time" you smiled and leaned in. Your lips touched hers. At first they barely brushed against hers. You didn't want to overwhelm her after all. You kept things slow. Devoured her.

At first Wilhemina tensed up. She wasn't used to people being so close to her. Being so intimate. Making her feel weak. Vulnerable. Hesitant. Reluctant.

"It's okay" you soothed. She closed her eyes.

"Do you have any idea of how long I've wanted to do it?" you said against her lips

"No…" she said. Her eyes still closed. Her breathing shallow.

"From the day I saw you in my office for the first time" you continued and kissed her again. This time more passionately. Your hands rested on the wall, on both sides of her body. You pulled away, but then almost immediately began kissing down her neck. It didn't take long before you found her pulse point and began sucking on it.

Wilhemina moaned. The sound came off as a surprise. It was embarrassing. Intimidation took over her. She didn't realize… she didn't mean to... Her eyes snapped open, wide in horror, but you were there to sooth her. 

"Don't. Don't shy away"

Your lips collided again. Gently. Carefully. Slowly exploring the parts of her that probably no one ever had. She let you. She relaxed. She gave in.

"No one can top you, huh?" you teased, using your foot to part her legs, before pressing your thigh to her core

Wilhemina moaned again.

"That's it, darling" you kisses her jaw "I can top whoever I want to" you moved to her neck again "Whenever I want to" 

You moved your hands to her waist. Then began rolling up her dress, carefully, so as not to destroy it. Not now, when she'd have to go back to the party. Your hands slid under the material.

"Y/N…" she stopped you, using your name for the very first time. 

"What?" you looked at her

"Y-you want to do it here?"

"Yes" you nodded, at that point you were sure it was rather obvious

"Now? W-what about the guests?" she questioned 

"Isn't the thrill of getting caught half of the fun?" you pecked her lips, before attaching your mouth to her neck again. Wilhemina gasped at the sensation.

"Now, tell me. Who is in control?"

"You"

"Louder" you demanded, moving your thigh

The redhead inhaled sharply.

"You! You are, Y/N"

"That's it. Good girl" you kissed her forehead, before pulling away. Wilhemina opened her eyes, confused. Suddenly missing your warmth. Missing the sensation of your hands on her. Missing the feeling of your thigh between her legs.

You straightened your suit. Wilhemina examined your face, searching for answers.

"My assistant is coming" you stated as if it was something obvious. Wilhemina frowned and suddenly the door opened.

"Ms Y/L/N!" a young man called you "Mr-" he was about to say something, but you cut him off

"George, how many times do I have to tell you that you're supposed to knock? What if I was here with Ms Venable half naked and on her knees? That would be a very awkward situation, wouldn't it?"

Wilhemina's eyes widened at your words. Her cheeks turning red as the boy nodded.

"We wouldn't want it, would we?"

"No, Ms Y/L/N"

"Then learn how to knock for fuck's sake!"

"Yes,  ma'am" he said, leaving and closing the door

 You turned to look at Wilhemina again. Your features softened immediately. You were about to move towards her again, but a knock interrupted you.

"What?!" you asked, taking a deep breath to calm down

George opened the door again.

"Mr Johnson wants to talk about the-"

"I'm coming. I'll be there in a sec"

He nodded and left, at which you sighed. Wilhemina watched you intently.

"It won't take long. You can wait here, because I assume you changed your mind and you'll stay"

"I will"

"Good" you pulled her in for one more kiss

Wilhemina placed her hands on your arms, dragging her nails up and down.

"I scratch and bit" she said against your lips, before doing as she said and biting your lower lip

You smirked. "You'll beg and crawl too" you winked at her, as you pulled away "I'll see you, Ms Venable" you said, handing Wilhemina her cane that landed on the floor at some point of your making out.

She smiled and nodded, thinking that maybe you weren't all that bad after all. Because, although, despite… she didn't hate you that much. Maybe she, in fact, could like you. Yes. Perhaps she could. No, she did. Yes. She did. She decided she liked you.

Tag list: @midnight-lestrange, @natasha-danvers, @stopkillinglilyrabe, @welshdragonrawr, @saucy-sapphic, @yang12e, @xixxiixx​

[madamecricket]

Fourth (and Final) Impressions of Deltarune Chapter 2

Edit: forgot to put a readmore. Forgive me! Spoilers under the cut!

- So I wasn’t even in the palace very long before we got to a series of puzzles that Berdly couldn’t solve, much to his frustration. I figured Berdly was building up to something, either a boss fight or a growth moment, and it was the second one. Turns out when you thrive off of praise, you develop a bit of a dependency... good on him to be self-aware.

- In the flashback sequence with the spelling bee, I noticed the word Noelle got nervous and stuck on - “December”. See, I remember another sequence in the city where we had a character moment with Noelle while pressing a series of switches that spelled out “December.” Clearly the word is significant to her in some way, and probably a negative way considering how it made her freeze up. Either something big happened in December, or something big happened involving a person close to her named December, since I remember her mentioning a “Dess”. I’m looking forward to where this goes.

- The theme in the Queen’s palace slaps, just gotta say that before we go further.

- So backtracking a bit, Lancer has been stone-ified, and Ralsei knows exactly what’s up: the dark fountains create worlds, the dark fountains that was sustaining Lancer’s world is gone, and that’s why Lancer is stone now. He’ll be fine, though, if we can get him back to Ralsei’s castle town and the fountain there. Good of him to offer a solution, except...

- ... hold the fuck up, Ralsei. So you’re telling me that this happened to Lancer because of the loss of his dark fountain - which Ralsei encouraged us to go through - and because of that, the Dark World that Lancer comes from is no more? And what’s more, Lancer now depends on the Castle Town fountain - that is, Ralsei’s fountain - to live. He is now life-bound to your town, Ralsei. He literally cannot leave you and still live, and even if he could, the world he knew is gone. Oh, but it’s ok, because you conveniently have a place for him to live under your roof now. 

- And, hold on, who was it who told us we had to go through the Dark Fountain to get home?? I played through the first chapter just recently, that was you, Ralsei. I definitely remember Ralsei saying we had to do that, he gave us that quest in the first place, and I definitely do not remember him mentioning at any point that this would end with Lancer’s world being destroyed. This is absolutely not fine, Ralsei. Oh, and considering how conveniently us getting isekai’d in the library lines up with Ralsei suddenly insisting we had to go and do homework... Ralsei, are you the one isekai-ing us???

- *deep breath* Okay. I’m calling it now. There’s something Ralsei isn’t telling us. I joked earlier about how he wants to bake us into cakes and eat us, but to be clear, I think whatever’s going on here is more complicated than “Ralsei was the bad guy all along”. I get the feeling that Ralsei’s desire for friendship, especially towards Kris, is very genuine. It’s just... this whole situation is reminding me of Asriel’s deal in Undertale. Fitting considering the whole anagram situation... I wonder how Deltarune!Asriel is going to play into this.

- Okay, back to more current stuff in the game. I met up with Roulsx Kaard (idc how to spell it) again and he’s facing me in... the thrashing machine I made in the first chapter. I’m serious. Same color and everything, holy shit.

- behold the majesty

- COMETH FORTH, MY SQUEAKY DUCKY!!!

- ...whut?

- this is excellent. I’m going to die of excellent.

- ohh, now he’s gonna transform... aaaaand...

- oh. ... you know, I wondered when it was gonna catch up to him?

- ice cold, Ralsei. Ice cold.

- “Why don’t we close our eyes and imagine how she’s doing now” Just like last game... is Ralsei actually activating some kind of power when this happens?

- “I wish Dess could see this”? I knew it! I’m on to something!

- taking a moment to acknowledge the shipping energy in the air

- Noelle (paraphrased): “Where are we, anyway?” Me: say “Dark World” Susie: “You’re just having a dream” Again with Susie thwarting player intentions...

- .. a heart-covered Ferris Wheel. Okay, Toby Fox, we’re doing this now!

- Susie has a tail???

- BERDLY WHAT

- And again, we return from a Susie Sequence to Ralsei apparently explaining something to Kris and finishing with a variation of “so that’s why-” before getting cut off by Susie. What are you explaining, Ralsei.

- Checked a calendar in Noelle’s palace room. “Every page is the last month, every day is the 25th”... what??

- another banger of a final battle!! let’s do this!!!

- See, I had a feeling that the Queen didn’t actually want to hurt anybody, but she has a... funny... idea of what constitutes helping. It clicks with her being basically a personified search engine - she literally wants nothing more than to give people what they want and make them happy, but she’s not always great at figuring that out based on what they search. She mentions Noelle’s “sad and lonely searches”... Noelle, honey, are you ok?

- Excuse me, Queen, this Dark World was created *today*? ... And it was created by the Knight... and I already suspect that Ralsei is “isekai-ing” us... Ralsei, are you the knight?

- New important info: “Lightners” are apparently necessary to create Dark Fountains due to their determination, and unlike Undertale, determination isn’t exclusive to humans

- BERDLY!!! BERDLY IS PUTTING THAT REDEMPTION ARC TO GOOD USE!!!

- ...

... this game just became perfect

- Oh hey, White Diamond, what’s up?

- “Oh Damn I Did Not Know That” WELL NOW YOU TELL US, RALSEI!

- Susie doesn’t have a tail? Make up your mind, game!!!

- Phew. Okay. Okay. The actual game part is over. Time to process some thoughts...

- So we’ve seen two Dark Worlds so far, Lancer’s world based on games (cards, checkers, etc) and the Queen’s world based on computers and the internet. The running theme I notice so far is escapism. During her fight, the Queen monologued about a desire to fulfill the desires of people who turn to the internet to dull their pain or look for new distractions. And as for Lancer’s world... well, it’s implied to literally be made of abandoned toys. Both of them things people turn to when they need a little entertainment or escapism to avoid their real-life problems for a bit. And I think it’s been mentioned that Darkners are essentially made to serve Lightners; perhaps helping them cope with the difficulties of life? 

Even putting aside the symbolism here, Susie and Kris literally escaped to this world to blow off their classwork, and Susie in particular seems to think the Dark World is better than anything in the Light World. In the final battle, Susie, Noelle, AND Berdly were all just about to open up a Dark Fountain themselves and make themselves better lives in the Dark World and only stopped when Ralsei very firmly informed them about the Roaring. Is this going to come up again? Are these kids going to struggle with the temptation to abandon their real lives to go play eternally in the Dark World?

And isn’t that just a perfect microcosm of the relationship that people have with video games in general - including this one? The perfect opportunity to just forget about your own life for a bit and temporarily live in a different world altogether, one with battles and magic and adventure?

Just what the fuck is going on here, Ralsei? Was I too quick to accuse him of being a secret villain earlier? Is Ralsei just trying to get us to process our shit in the Dark World, and then destroy it so we move on to the Light World with renewed hope in life? .. or is he just trying to make himself the center of our fantasies?

- HOLY SHIT THE QUEEN IS HERE! THE QUEEN IS HERE AND SHE’S GONNA BE A MOM FOR LANCER!!! (or “girldad” as Lancer puts it)

- ...have the Queen and King met? I mean, it would make sense, but they haven’t been mentioned as having a relationship of any kind or even knowing each other. Is this another Toriel/Asgore kind of situation?

- HOLY SHIT I KNEW IT SHE IS HIS MOM

- So I’m just talking to NPCs around Castle Town, right, and I meet up with Seam again. He just told me to be careful not to stay in there too late and that I don’t want to get caught when the sun goes down... DAFUQ YOU MEAN, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN???

- This is wonderful, I’m now witnessing Toriel and Sans having a joke-off in person.

- (Sees Kris going in to wash their hands) (Hears Toriel say “they do that sometimes”) ...so Kris has like... a condition? The heart-ripping thing has happened before?

- (Sees last thing before credits) ...okay then!!! I think that’s all the things I can get into one post, haha! Forgot to mention some things, but I can only type so much!!! Can’t wait to talk about this later, haha!!! (holy shit)

[writing-fool]

mlqc | talk to me, baby

This is a short, straightforward love language analysis. It’s mostly for me to remember what they are and how to portray the boys, but if you disagree or want to add something to the characterisation, I’d love to hear it. I’ve elaborated on Lucien’s before, but I’m doing it again because he’s my darling. If you read my previous post...it’s two in the morning for me when this is posted so technically this counts as the next day...right?

As always, enjoy reading!

Love,

R.

Victor

giving: acts of service

receiving: quality time

I’m pleasantly surprised I don’t have to put ‘receiving gifts’ as a primary love language for our very favourite capitalist. As seen in the ASMRs and a recent CN server karma, Victor takes care of you a lot. He’s not honest with his words and often comes off as a bit strict and harsh. However, he shows how much he cares about you by making you your favourite pudding, though his gentle hands moving through your hair with the brush and by carrying you to bed when you get tired. He does get protective, so that’s another reason he does things for you. But honestly, we all knew he worships the ground you walk on.

On the other hand, Victor knows how precious time can be, and values every single moment he gets to spend with you. The fact that you decide to stay even after his harsh scolding and all the tough challenges he puts you through, means a lot to him. Victor is completely at peace when you two are in the same room, working together in each other’s presence. It’s nothing special, but you giving him the time of day is already a blessing.

Lucien (slight spoiler!)

giving: physical touch

receiving: physical touch

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Lucien is a whore (for your touch). I’m partially kidding, but physical touch as a love language kind of goes both ways. Lucien has learnt through Black Swan to never do things without intention, without purpose. He did things for you so you’d trust him, he seduced you with sweet words and flowers, he spent time with you to fulfill his mission. All of it was a tad tainted. 

But touching you on your shoulder, kissing your lips, hugging you, holding your hand. None of that had to be done for a mission. If anything, those touches were the only autonomy he had to show you his actual feelings, even when you didn’t know the difference between his real feelings and the facade he put on for Black Swan.

On the other hand, your touches are a sign of permanence to Lucien. Besides giving him the gift of colour, they also remind him that he’s a human being. He grounds himself through your touch. Your touch is a sign that he is worthy of love, of you, even when he’s done some questionable things, and it baffles him every day.

Gavin

giving: acts of service

receiving: words of affirmation

Gavin actively seeks you out and helps you with ANYTHING. He’ll carry your groceries, make you tea, help you with a show, save you from danger (or an uneven stone on the street). He knows how important it is to be there for a person, and he’ll never let you face danger alone again. Gavin lost his chance to profess his love to you back in high school, and he’s damn well not losing it again. All his thoughtful actions are signs that he’s grown up into a reliable man, and they show you that he’s capable enough to take care of you. Forever. 

Gavin never grew up in a loving, caring family, which means he didn’t ever hear compliments in his youth. It seems like he doesn’t care about your little compliments, but when you praise him, his cheeks flare up and his heart beats just a little faster. He strives to be a better man every day, and your words of encouragement push him to work harder.

Kiro

giving: receiving gifts

receiving: quality time (+ words of affirmation)

As shown in the Cape Holiday event, Kiro’s that one person who likes giving gifts to his loved ones. He gives you souvenirs from his travels, but also isn’t afraid to gift you something simple, like a plushy or a shirt. Why? Because he wants you to think of him. Kiro’s a little selfish in the way that he wants your environment to be so filled with his things...that you can’t help but think of him every second of the day. After all, Miss Chips, it’s revenge for making him think of you all the time...

I’d say Kiro likes you to go out of your way to spend time with him. You’re both incredibly busy people, but you planning a hotpot date or a fun fair visit with him fills him with glee. Actually, he even likes playing video games with you at home. Sometimes when he’s abroad, Kiro gets a little love-deprived and will become sulky. For those moments, a phone call is all he needs to fire him up again. He’ll work even harder to make sure his biggest fan is proud of him.

Shaw

giving: quality time

receiving: acts of service

Shaw barely ever shows it, but the reason he takes you around town so often is not simply because he’s bored. He enjoys spending time with you, even if he doesn’t show it. You’re the only person he’d ever want to roam the streets with.

This troublemaker knows nothing about love, so he probably won’t recognise the feeling for a while. He’ll tease you and find out that he treasures and remembers every little expression you make. In the time that follows, he’ll make sure to uncover all of your interesting expressions.

Another new thing for him is acts of service! I thought of appointing words of affirmation to him, but in fact, he’s the type of person to disregard compliments most of the time. He’s confident, cocky, and he knows that he’s hot. In clubs, many people try hitting him up with shallow compliments and flirty looks. So most of the time, unless you compliment him on something more profound, he brushes off compliments. Going the extra mile for him to, say, take care of him when he’s sick though? This man does not know how to handle the situation (I do feel bad for the brothers, honestly), but he’ll grow close too you far faster than you’d ever anticipate. 

[stan-joonies]

Leave Me Like Everyone Else, It's Not Like I Believed You'd Stay

Y/n laughed when she spotted Rosalie in a tree, her face obscurred by leaves.

"I can see you, Rose." She giggled, standing near the tree.

Rosalie cleared her throat unnecessarily before jumping down, the crack of twigs and leaves filling the silence.

Y/n raised an eyebrow as Rose ignored her in favour of staring at her hands.

"Rose?" Y/n's smile dropped. "Are you ok?"

[[MORE]]

Said blonde shook her head, breathing before looking at the human. The human. Not just a human. The human.

The human that changed it all in the best way possible.

The human that made Emmett do that amazing belly laugh and Rosalie to giggle.

The human who unknowingly fell in love with two monsters, and stayed when she found out the truth.

The human who made two happy vampires even happier.

The human who's heart Rosalie had to break.

The vampire steeled herself, her lips pressed thinly and her shoulders squaring.

"This isn't working." Just those words made Rosalie feel like her insides were aflame. Hands digging their way out of the ground and clawing at her feet, pulling her underground.

Y/n felt like the breath had escaped her, eyes widening.

"What? Rose...What's going on?"

Rosalie gently shook of her hand, closing her eyes and grimacing.

"Me and Emmett thought we were missing something, so we experimented. We thought you were the one we needed but we were wrong. Me and Emmett..." Rosalie felt hands of air trying to choke her. "Are better on our own."

Rosalie wanted to cry in that moment as Y/N's eyes glossed over, lines appearing on her forehead.

"This is a joke right...?"

Rosalie could only shake her head, watching as Y/N broke down, her heart slowly being ripped apart.

Rosalie took a careful step forward, reaching a pale hand to touch her, gasping when Y/N slapped it away.

"Don't touch me!" She exclaimed, h/c brows scrunching up. "You don't get to do that!"

"Y/n..."

"No!" She shouted furiously. "Where's Emmett? He couldn't bother to be here too? I'm not worth the two second trip, am i?" Y/n snarled, crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to shield her fragile heart from more damage. "To think i was this stupid."

"Y/n...you're not..."

Y/n ignored her, rolling her eyes.

"Ever since we got into this relationship. In the back of my mind it was always 'Emmett and Rosalie'. You were always there! My thoughts couldn't escape! Where's Rosalie and Emmett today? Are Rosalie and Emmett having fun? Are Rosalie and Emmett happy today." She let out a sob. "Then i found out...that you weren't what i thought you were. The thoughts got so much worse, so much more negative. Rosalie and Emmett are immortal...will they be there even when I'm old? How would Rosalie and Emmett feel once i die? How can i be equal to Rosalie and Emmett if i die soon. Can Rosalie and Emmett love me equally even if they have hundreds of years together against my fifty? You never left. Those thoughts consumed me. The doubts and thoughts became my daily. But i had the both of you, when you invited me over and we'd snuggle on the couch with Emmett at our feet and we'd watch him play video games, giving him praise when he won. When he was done he'd lift us both and carry us to his room where we'd all hug eachother close. I'd be wearing three jumpers because you both would make me feel freezing. Those moments made doubts go away, if only for a day."

"Y/N," Rosalie encased her in a hug, wincing when, instead of melting into it, she freezes. "You a--were everything. We love you so much. There was no need for those doubts. We love you like you love us and we love eachother."

"But that's still not enough to stay," Rosalie tensed, eyes widening. She didn't even move when y/n broke out of her lax hold.

"I need to find Bella," she quickly turned, running out of the forest and away from Rosalie.

Once she was far away, Emmett jumped down from the trees, quickly taking Rosalie into his arms.

"Why couldn't you be here with me," Rosalie muttered, digging her head into his chest.

Emmett closed his eyes, feeling his heart throb and a familiar emptiness consume him.

"Cause I'd run after her..."

-

Y/N was doing better. When she found out the Cullens had skipped town she was heartbroken, a hollowness consuming her for months on end.

Then, University arrived. A chance to leave the little town of Forks and escape the bad omens lurking in the darkness.

She smiled when she got her acceptance letter. It was far away yet still only a five hour car ride. Bella tearfully told her to come see her once a month, Y/N just as tearfully agreed while hugging the girl's oxygen away.

Y/N remembered driving away, her family waving her off and a sense of lightness came about her. She wasn't healing or living. But she was surviving.

-

With her stomach full, Y/N made her way out of the cheap restaurant and down the dark road. It was swallowed in shadows, rain pouring down and clanging against bins.

Shaking off a sudden chill, she continued walking, her boots clicking against stone.

From her right, a bin tipped over, clashing against the floor and echoing around her. She wanted to stop, see what had caused it.

But Rosalie taught her better.

"No matter what happens, keep moving."

Her voice echoed hauntingly in her head and she followed it, her steps quickening slightly when another bin fell up ahead. Then another. And another.

It was like a horrible, screeching banshee echoeing around her. Her heart was drumming against her ribs cage and her vision became blurry when she forgot to breath.

So when hands slithered around her waist like snakes and pulled her into the darkness, she couldn't scream...

-

When Y/N woke in the barn, seeing Victoria smiling down at her, she jolted up and accidentally smasher a hole into the barn. That earned her being ripped apart and left to slowly reassemble. After that, Y/N chose to brood in silence, actively thinking about her human life and grasping onto them. They were the only things she had now.

When a shirt Y/N recognised was passed around, she hid in shadows, resisting the temptation to snatch it and smell it herself.

That clothing was Bella's. The same Bella who changed her life and now it was the Bella who smelt so sweet to Y/N that she wanted her.

Then, after a month, she met Bree Tanner. A small girl who built up her own resistance, something Y/N admired.

They spoke about their lives before, everyday they became closer, to the point of being sisters.

When Victoria released them, making the mindless newborns follow her by scrunching up a piece of Bella's clothing in her hands, their resistance was put to the test.

They stayed up on trees, far away from Bella.

Y/N watched as her family defeated the monsters, ripping off their heads and throwing them into a fire. But the newborns were vicious, biting and scraping at tough skin.

When Y/N caught sight of Emmett and Rosalie, it felt like a rusty wrench sunk into her heart.

She wanted to go to them, fight with them, but Bree held her back.

"They'll mistake you for the enemy." She informed, making Y/N rethink her options.

When they were all destroyed, a wolf taken away, they jumped from the trees, announcing their presence.

From down here, Bella's scent was much more potent and strong, but Y/N's resolve was stronger.

"No..." she heard someone cry. Y/N looked up, her eyes connecting to Bella's teary ones. "Y/N...what happened."

The vampire looked down in shame, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Victoria caught me, wasn't intentional, but she was ecstatic when she did," she huffed.

Their eyes travelled to her body, where all her scars showed. One thick one on her neck where they ripped her head off. Two on her arms. Two on her legs. Multiple on her stomach...

"This is Bree Tanner," she introduced. "She's my friend."

She tried with all her might to not look at Rosalie and Emmett, who, in comparison, desperately tried to catch her eye.

Then, figures emerged from the forest in billowy black cloaks that masked their faces from view.

"You missed a couple," Jane stated, eyes trained onto Bree and Y/N.

Rosalie snarled angrily, stepping between her and Jane.

"They're with us,"

Y/N sighed, pulling Rosalie back and looking into her eyes.

The world tilted, her dead heart hammering against her chest. Rosalie was even more beautiful then she remembered. Her golden strands of hair framed her face like an antique painting, her porcelain skin glowed from the faint sunlight that peeked through the clouds. Her eyes were black and cold yet they invited Y/N in, almost begging her to come closer and look into them more.

The dam had broke and her eyes immediately searched for Emmett's, who sped to her side and grabbed her by the waist. He was larger it seemed, muscles more defined and his cheekbones higher. His eyes were dark and dangerous but inviting too. His dark hair in contrast to his pale skin created a beautiful painting of a fallen angel. She felt warmth spread through her and caress her slowly mending heart.

Everything was misplaced. Her feelings clashing with her brain and her senses becoming completely overloaded. Memories swarmed her, pushing others out of the way.

The feeling of being disconnected from reality felt freeing yet absolutely terrifying.

But Emmett and Rosalie hugged her, and their bodies were no longer cold to her.

In those arms, the same that had comforted her, the same that had loved her, the same ones thst had broke her, she knew things would happen. Good or bad, she didn't know. But things were coming her way, and she'd be damned if she faced it alone.

Her resolve melting, her arms, with no lack of struggle, snuggled into them both.

For a couple of seconds she could forget the outside world. Just for a couple of seconds.

A white field, burning, suffering. Screams rising into the cool air.

Emmett screaming, Rosalie crying.

A s/c head rolling on the ground, imprinting the snow.

Alice gasped, shaking out of her vision, her eyes going to the three vampires cocooning themselves from the world.

Alice felt sympathy rise up into her chest.

There was only one future...and it didn't see them all in it.

[liibrii]

Chapter 2: Tattered 

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1

wc: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, depression.

a/n: I don’t really have anything to say other than I’m enjoying writing for Aran so much. if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

Aran knows people don't always mean what they say.  Even he had done it before and it destroyed a few of his relationships. Knowing that doesn't make your words hurt any less.

He tries to convince himself you didn't really mean it, still a part of him wonders if that's how you really feel. How you've always felt. For all those years he was assured of your friendship and now you've pulled the rug from under his feet. None of your words align with the image in his head. Perhaps you've never been the person he remembers. The you in his mind is just that, a memory, a perfect picture he created from bits and pieces he chose. Has he truly always seen only what he wanted to see?

Thoughts of you run through his mind as he stands on the back line. One more serve before he wraps up. Bam.

To always see good in people is what he was thought growing up and what he still tries to do to this day, even if years had thought him people aren't only their good sides. He always thought of you only at your best and failed to even get to know you properly. What kind of friend does that? You're in pain and he can't help because he has no idea where the wounds are. He has no idea where to look for them because he refused to see. 

Perhaps he is a terrible friend after all.

Bam. The ball gets caught in the net and falls. Aran watches it roll away before picking up another. He breathes deeply. It's all about focus, he reminds himself, even when his mind wants to slip he has to remain focused.

All of his teammates have left already. Home, to their partners, their families. What will he return home to? An empty apartment with take-out he'll eat on the couch. Alone. Maybe he should get a pet. But when will he have time to care for it?

Bam.

He should call home. Check on his friends. Maybe if he had checked on you more often then-

Bam.

What use is pondering over what could've been? With each serve his palm aches more, his muscles already sore from practice but he doesn't want to stop yet. One more.

“There's a difference between training hard and overdoing it, you know?“

Perhaps life is just memories of days long gone sipping into present.

When he turns to face you uneasiness rises in him. Any other time he'd be elated to see you. Now even words to greet you with escape him. You come closer, shoes softly squeaking on the gym's floor. “Doorman let me in. After a little bit of convincing.“

“Really?“

“No, I slipped past while his back was turned. How long are you planning on staying? I saw all of your teammates leave already.“

Aran turns the ball in his hands. It's becoming slippery from all the sweat. He can't bring himself to look you in the eyes. “My serves are gettin' sloppy. I need more practice.“

Bam.

You stay where you are, watching and fiddling with the strap of your bag, until you can't bear the silence anymore and speak up. “Aran, I actually wanted to talk to you. About you know... what I said.“

“T's okay. I know ya didn't mean it.“

“I did.“ Your voice eerily echoes in the otherwise empty gym. “As shitty as it is, it's how I felt.“ You're eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I'm sorry.“

Aran catches the ball he just threw in the air for another jump serve. When he looks over at you you're still intently focused on your shoelaces, gripping the strap of the bag so tight your knuckles turned white. Why are you beating yourself up so much? If you feel something, you feel it. What reason for it do you need to have? Knowing how you felt hurts, that much he can't deny. And yet he can't hold it against you.

He puts the ball on the top of your head, just like boys used to do back in high school to annoy you. “If ya really insist on apologisin' then I guess I have no other choice but to forgive ya.”

As his words sink in you shyly glance at him. “You sure?“

“'Course I am,“ smiles Aran, balancing the ball so it doesn't roll from the top of your head.

“You're not angry? At me?“

He takes the ball and starts throwing it from one hand to another. “Not really. Very surprised. A little hurt.“

“I'm sorry-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,“ he cuts you off. “Set for me and we'll call it even.”

“Aran, my sets are in no way near the level you're used to.“

“So?“ he asks already walking over to fetch the ball cart. “Ya still remember where to stand, right?“ he teases, cackling softly when you roll your eyes and take off your bag and jacket, all while trying to hide a smile creeping on your lips.

It takes a few tries for you to remember how to make an overhand set. Aran's filled with giddy warmth when you manage to send the ball in the right position for him to spike it over the net. Perhaps all those lessons with Atsumu years ago didn't go to waste after all. Your little victory jump makes him burst into laughter and he rewards you with a high five.

It really is an echo of history.

Your skills are rusty, something that makes you apologise profusely every time you mess up, even after he reassures you he doesn't mind, and ruffles your hair.

With each set you relax more, till every smile and laugh seem sincere. Only now Aran realises how he missed this carefree side of you. Time always flies too fast when you're around and soon enough, out of breath and wiping the drops of sweat from your forehead, you call an end of this individual practice.

He hurries with showering and changing into fresh clothes, not wanting to leave you waiting for too long, especially since you have morning lessons tomorrow. He buys you a drink from the vending machine. It's not much, but staying hydrated is important, he tells you when you tease him about it.

“You know, that brought back a lot of memories,“ you say while walking to the train station, then poke his shoulder. “Thanks.“ The smile dancing over your lips makes his cheeks warm up. You glance over to the sky hiding behind a golden halo that city lights cast over the rooftops. “Do you ever miss Hyogo?“

“Sometimes.“

“I miss the stars.“ You kick a small stone from your path. “You've become quite a star too you know. With all the fans and attention I really wonder, do you get lonely?”

Your question catches him off guard. “I'm too busy to get lonely,“ he lies.

“I get lonely sometimes,“ your eyes still search for a glimmer of a distant star. “And tired. Some days I just want to sleep all day. Do you ever get the urge to do that? Skip practice and stay in bed?“

“No. If I skipped practice how will I become better?”

You purse your lips and nod. “That's why you're a professional athlete and I'm just trying to figure out why I have to separate blue and red laundry.“

“Those are two very different things.“

“Both are just some pieces of cloth. Why do I have to separate them? If they got problems with each other they should grow up and talk it out.” 

That’s not what he meant, but your slight annoyance over technicalities of doing laundry still makes him laugh.

In the coming days Aran checks his phone every chance he gets, just to see if you already wrote back. No matter what you talk about he wants to hear it; be it about your day or the delivery man being late with your order. His teammates notice and tease him about it yet he denies you're anything more than just a friend, and they exchange knowing looks when his back is turned. Even if his entire body heats up at the sole mention of your name Aran isn't ready to admit to himself, let alone others, he wants you to be more.

Not when he isn't sure if his feelings for you are being muddled by his memories.

That Tuesday you grab a dinner together that turns into a late night walk through the streets. It's not a date, Aran keeps reminding himself. It's just two friends hanging out as you've done a thousand times before. So why is his heart threatening to thump it's way out of his chest?

After that night weekly hanging out with you becomes a regular occurrence. Sometimes you go out to eat, sometimes you drag him along when you go shopping, saying he has a good eye for colour combinations. It has nothing to do with the fact he buys you ice cream every time. Some days you come to his place to play video games or watch movies. Seeing his favourite series making you laugh warms his heart.

As you become more comfortable around him your facade slowly, bit by bit, starts to crumble. He's scared to see what lies beneath yet at the same time he wishes it would break already. He can't help you if he doesn't know, can he?

Whatever is troubling you he wishes you'd trust him enough to confide in him. In the back of his mind lingers the question he's too scared too ask.

Does Kita know what's on your mind? Do you still talk to him?

You used to be close to the team. The one they relied on. The one who so lovingly tapped their fingers before each game. Do they know your eyes are puffy? Do they know every sleepless night that goes by makes the dark circles under your eyes harder to hide? Do they know his heart breaks every time he sees the tremble of your lips when you force a smile?

No matter how bad he wants to hold you, tell you it's going to be okay, the mere thought of reaching out paralyses him.

What if you don't want his help?

If you did, you would've asked already, right? Not even practice can stop him from thinking about you. His disappointment grows a little when he sees no new messages. Perhaps you don't want to talk to him after all.

He's just leaving the gym when his phone lights up and seeing it's your name makes his heart flutter. He eagerly picks up. “Hi!“

“H-hey.“ Already in the first word the strain in your voice is apparent. “Um, am I interrupting you?“

“No, of course not. I just finished with practice. What's up?“

“I-“ He hears you take a deep breath. “Um, I don't, I don't feel so good...“ Your next words are almost a whisper. “Could I come over?“

“'Course ya can come over. I'll be home in about an hour.“

By the time he arrives you're already there, standing by the entrance nervously stepping from one leg to another. You give a shy wave when he approaches. He noticed you've been acting weirdly sheepish around him and he's not used to it. You're friends. What's making you so nervous?

You trail behind him, hands tucked deep in your pockets. You don't even pull them out when taking your shoes off.

“Tea?“ he offers when you make your way towards the sofa.

“Sure,“ you nod, sitting and tightly hugging a pillow. “Sorry about that,“ you say when he joins you with two cups of tea, “I just... bad day, you know? Didn't want to be alone.“

With a smile he assures you it's no problem. You're welcome to come by whenever you want.

You tell him about college, about work. “Boss is a shit bag,“ you complain. The working hours make you late for your lessons and even professors are getting fed up with you always being late. Not to mention your classmates aren't keen on lending you notes to copy.

It's all too much, you say, work, college, the pressure of everyone's expectations. Your fellow students give you funny looks sometimes, you tell him. It's only a few years but you're still older than them, at the age where your parents are asking when you are going to settle down. Have children. Get a stable job. Well how could you when you haven't even gotten your degree yet? It all makes you feel like a failure.

And yet something tells Aran that's not why you're here. Maybe it's the nervous fumbling with the hem of your clothes. Maybe it's because you don't look at him at all. A silence falls on you as you sip your tea. Aran considers asking out right but you gather the courage before he does.

“Shin called.“  

“Ah.“ That's all he manages to say.

“He's doing good, in case you're wondering. He asked if we have any plans on visiting any time soon.“ Your eyes skim over his face. “That would be nice, don't you think?“

Aran forces a smile. “Sounds great.“ Once again your words threaten to shake the ground he stands on. All he hears is 'seeing Shin would be nice'. His grip on the cup tightens and he puts it away before he'd crack it.

“Do ya miss him?“ he asks, words coming out more choked up than he intended. He clears his throat when he leans back on the couch's backrest.

You think over his question. “I miss my best friend.“

He asks. Even if he doesn't want to know the answer, he asks. “Will you get back with him?“

“No.“ Your answer is quiet, but firm. You readjust yourself to lean on the backrest, facing him, the pillow still tightly squeezed in your grip. “Shin is a great guy just... not the right for me. Wasn't easy to accept but that's how it is.“ You fumble with the thread sticking out from the stitch. “I wasn't good for him, you know?“ you quietly continue. “He protected me since we were kids but at some point it all just... fizzled I guess. I was so used of always being by his side the thought of living without him terrified me. He was that stability I craved. For a long time I believed he would give me a goal in life, or something similar.“ You chuckle. “Try getting through seventeen-year-old-me's head that's not how relationships work. I knew we wouldn't work out. But I stayed because I was selfish and stupid... and scared. I think he knew. And it started to take a toll on him. So I left before he'd break.“ Tears start forming in your eyes. “Shin could never understand why I'm so sad without a reason... Maybe if I left sooner... well, it doesn't matter now.“

“Ya can still go back,“ hearing his own words shatters Aran's heart, “once ya feel better.“

The brief laugh you give almost sounds like a sob. “Can I?“ You forcefully wipe the tears away. “Even if I could it wouldn't be the same as I remember now. It's hard to explain but somehow, what’s in your memories is always better than reality. Know what I mean?“

He knows. Memory is the thief of future.

The lump in his throat grows larger, heavier as he watches you try to hide tears starting to run down your cheeks. He's lost, not knowing what else to do but to pull you closer, tucking your head under his chin. He hugs you and softly caresses your back. “It's alright,“ he whispers when you apologise through sobs and tears. He keeps repeating, it's alright. What else could he possibly say?

You relax in his arms and your sobs slowly turn to muffled sniffles. Aran only wishes you feel safe in his arms, your head leaning on his shoulder, your arms shyly wrapping around his middle. It's not the most comfortable position but he's to scared to readjust. He hears your hitched breathing sync with his own as he runs his hands up and down your back and, exhausted from your crying, you're soon fast asleep.

Perhaps for the first time in his life Aran's starting to really understand you. It pains him, knowing your struggles. You, who were always so full of light, you who were the pillar, tall and unyielding, one he could always lean onto. How memories managed to muddle his perception of you so much is beyond him. The only thing he can do is promise himself to never let them deceive him again. After all, who needs memories?

He messages you more frequently. Not too frequently, he doesn't want to appear nosy or pushy. Just often enough to let you know he's there for you if you need him.

You've been busier with college lately, so weekly hang outs turn to late night phone calls. Hearing your voice feels like a refreshing cool breeze on these hot summer nights.

He collapses in his bed, only half listening to your rambling on about one of the professors. He didn't catch her name.

“Aran? You still there?“

“Yeah, I'm still here. T's been a long day, t's all.“

He hears you hum and he can imagine the way you lean your head to the side. “Coach in a bad mood?“

“Not really. I'm just not feelin' my best. Couldn't sync with Aritsura's sets. But ya know, more practice 's all we need. How was your day?“ he asks, forgetting you just told him a few minutes ago.

“It was alright,“ you say instead of repeating what you already told him. “Actually, I wanted to apologise. About last time. I shouldn't have dumped all my problems on you.“

“How many times do I need to repeat it's okay. I'm here for ya.“

“Still. I'm sorry. It was a lot. I... I don't want to be a burden.“

His brows furrow. How many times does he have to repeat it? Why don't you get it? “Yer not.“ Your low chuckle makes him irritated . “I mean it. If ya ever need to talk just say, alright?“

“Yeah, yeah I will... Thank you. It's just that... I don't want to ruin this friendship too. That's all. Tell me when I become too much. Please.“

What are you talking about? “Whatever is on yer mind I promise I can handle it.“

“Can you? So you not being able to play your best has nothing to do with me dumping all my problems on you?“

Something in the way you say those words pushes the wrong button. He's only trying to be here for you, why can't you see that? “I don't care enough to let it impact me.“ Fuck. Even before the final word leaves his mouth he knows it came out wrong. “I'm sorry, fuck, y/n, I didn't mean it like that-“

“It's okay,“ you interrupt. “You're right.“

“I'm-“

“Get some sleep Aran. You have practice tomorrow. G' night.“ You end the call before he gets the chance to say goodbye.

Fuck.

Ch. 3: In the light, your name

Tags: @rosecaffelatte, @aonenthusiast

[shikantazaart]

Shikantaza Creativity Interview III - SPARTALIEN

At Shikantaza we are not content to just create art. We want to understand art. We want to understand the people who make art. Into the act of creation. Who are the people behind the art work? What motivates them? Where do they find their inspiration?

No two people think and act alike, so it is even less likely to find two artists who think and act alike. Yet, there will be crossovers, shared thoughts and shared experiences. Where do we adjoin and where do we diverge?

Our series of interviews with artists and creators aims to answer these questions.

In interview number three we speak to multimedia experimenter SPARTALIEN. You can find his creations here https://spartalien.com/visual as well as a collection of his work in the Shikantaza gallery.

1 - Starting with the most important question - Who is Memoria?

Memoria is Latin and means, when translated, memory / remembrance.

I named the merchandise for the album "2358" Memoria instead of Memory, because the main track titles are also translated into Latin.

I see my merchandise as small memories/artefacts. Not only because they are very rare, but because I can never go back to that time.

“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things” - Cicero

2 - You work across different mediums. Do you have any preference for a specific form? When did you first find the format that was “you”?

I became really infected with the digital virus around in the late 90s when I built my first computer. A year or two later I started taking photos and manipulating them digitally. I also had a few printed, which allowed me to bring the digital into the real world. Then I discovered IRC and started learning a little bit of TCL. Since I had fun coding, I decided to learn the basics of web development because I needed a website to show my pictures to other people. In general, I was fascinated by the flow of information on the Internet. That distance is no longer a real hurdle when it comes to data transmission.

I've always loved music as a listener and small collector. I was then and still am one of those people who never go out of the house for long periods of time without a Walkman. Music production came into play when a couple of friends set up a small studio where they produced Techno/Psy. When I was there for the first time, I knew immediately that I wanted to try it too. A few old tracks from back then are still available on my website.

From then on, many of my projects have developed in the direction of music.  The input for a program was often music metadata or it was a website that was about music in some way or another. But since I was still at the very beginning of my learning process, I kept discarding practically everything in order to improve it or to learn new things. Around 2001, I started a web radio with friends, which was online for several years. The music was mainly Downtempo, Trip-Hop, IDM and Ambient. Promos from unknown artists from around the world were also broadcasted.

The atmosphere, the feeling I got from this time - how the music finds me and not the other way around, how it can change people's thoughts - has never left me since then.

3 - Do you feel that each medium allows you to express yourself differently from the others? How do you choose which medium you work in any given moment?

Yes. But I think you can convey the same feelings with any medium. The question is how direct it is. For example, pain can be expressed with fire but also with a chair in an empty room. At the end of the day, in my opinion, it's not about the artist's intention but about the perception of the viewer and his or her subsequent thoughts and actions. For example, imagine you make a dark ambient track that you experience as sad and heavy, but someone else tells you that it helped to relax and develop thoughts.

In addition to all of this, each medium also has advantages and disadvantages when it comes to technical implementation. So, sometimes the choice can also purely depend on skill or resources.

We all have ideas and often out ambitions outweigh our resources. Sometimes we need more resources, but more often than not we need to chip away at our ideas until our ambitions and resources align.

4 - Do you seek different sources of inspiration for your music than you would for your visual creations?

It's everything in the world around me that inspires me. Everything I perceive and feel, so to speak. Most of the time I don't have a melody or a picture in my head. It is more of a feeling and then I look for the right tone or shape for it, so to speak.

5 - How closely are your creations connected to each other?

Very close one could say - through my thoughts that I have wrapped in it. I always had a bit of a problem putting my thoughts into words. I tend to stray through various topics when I talk about something. With music and visuals, it feels lighter and more natural to get to the point. The "message" doesn't always get through, but being able to do so is liberating and invaluable to me.

6 - If you were to direct people to a specific piece of work that you feel really nails what you are aiming for with your creations, which would it be?

This is a hard question. Maybe I would ask you to sit down and listen to the album "FLOATING HIGH" in one sitting. Since it felt like coming home to me while making it. The music is less intrusive and not as precise in its message as the previous releases. Like its cover art, where the clouds could be seen as opening or closing. I wanted to create tracks that leave more room for thought while still telling a story.

7 - You have “X minutes of peace” on your site. Why is this needed? Was this made for you or for others?

For others but also for myself. For me it is self-reflection that allows me to understand myself better. But since I have problems with "just switching off my head", the moments in which I just sit quietly and let the recording device do its work are very valuable. In moments like these I can really switch off and think about something very carefully. Asking questions even though I feel like I don't have an answer. Or simply enjoying the precious fresh air and sounds of nature.

Unfortunately, too many people don't have time for that kind of peace. Too much pressure is on them. They either get this or that, or they can't survive. It's so sad how the system works. I simply think that if everyone would have more inner-peace, the world would be a better place. But then again, what do I know living under a rock between mountains?

The videos should allow us to find peace for a few minutes, no matter where we are. So that new and hopefully useful thoughts can develop.

The series  Let It All Go is actually the same thing, just with music.

For the really dark hours there is BRAIN I/O. From time to time I prefer to embrace the pressure. Difficult to describe. The concept is basically: don't think, just feel and record it. It's about things that I personally want to leave behind or at least want to learn to accept (not necessarily being okay with) them if I can't change them.

Peace is an issue for me. When I briefly find it only points the way to the next act. This is fantastic but self defeating. Why can’t we just stay in peace?

8 - When inspiration has left the building where do you look to find it?

I'm not really actively looking for inspiration. Somehow it doesn't work that way for me. So variety is important to me. That is why I usually have several side projects going on in the areas that I do not much publicize. Much of it never leaves my hard drive and is mainly intended to free my mind and get on to new ideas in the process. Coding, graphics, drawing, etc. But the music production is and remains the main focus.

9 - These are the questions I am asking all the interviewees. Why do you create? What is it that pushes you to keep creating?

The inner child is just too strong. I've been living for a while and I know exactly nothing. It kind of feels like that. So many things that you can create with the computer alone. I'm stuck in that loop where you just love to create things and learn - and use the new knowledge to create new things. Things!

10 - What would most assist you to create more works? Is there an ultimate goal for your creations?

More time and resources for sure. but most important to me is the feeling that my loved ones are safe. When I have to worry about their future because the system is going the way it is, it feels like a pile of stones in my head.

The creative / social goal of my art is relatively simple and based on my own experience. Art has helped me tremendously when I felt lost - or when I was just "bored". Taking time to really listen to or look at something can be very liberating.

My short-term financial goal is to generate a more or less regular income through art. But since I never released anything commercially before 2016, this world is still new to me.

My dream goal is to hear my music in film and games and to generate an income that supports my family.

Nonetheless, I think goals are here to create an initial path, not necessarily motivation.

I do not know of a single soul who has not been lost. Some never find their way back. Some don’t need to find their way back, they are happier in the place they found.

11 - If you were to offer a creator any advice what would it be?

Based on my own experience in no particular order:

Stay curious and open minded for different viewpoints.

Tutorials can limit your creativity. Sure, learn the basics, but explore as much as you can on your own and never be afraid to fail. It's a process, not a game.

On projects that take longer than a day to complete, set yourself a deadline when you want to have it completed. Not important if it takes longer, but in general that helps to stay more focused.

Very few things are easy when you start.

Limitations are not necessarily bad.

Don't wait for motivation to create. It will kick in usually a few minutes after you've started. Therefore keep your tools ready and organized so you can start creating at any time.

You can always turn off the internet.

Be open for constructive criticism.

Especially for the digital crowd, backup your stuff!

(All images and works by SPARTALIEN)

[blishwix]

❝ WE ARE ALL WEARING MASKS. THAT IS WHAT MAKES US INTERESTING ❞

huh, who’s LUKE MITCHELL? no, you’re mistaken, that’s actually JIMBO “WICK” BLISHWICK VI. he is a 35 year old PUREBLOOD wizard who is CEO OF A WIXEN TECH & MEDIA COMPANY. he is known for being CALCULATING, FRAUDULENT, HEDONISTIC, CONCEITED, and AMORAL but also CHARISMATIC, AMBITIOUS, INNOVATIVE, METICULOUS, and PERSONABLE, so that must be why he always reminds me of the song IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP BY BIG BAD VOODOO DADDY and STYLISHLY RIPPED JEANS AND SUEDE SHOES, PURELY AESTHETIC AND MISLEADING SOCIAL MEDIA FEED, NEATLY TRIMMED BEARD AND SANDALWOOD MUSK, HORN RIMMED GLASSES WITH SMUDGES ON THE LENS, MOLESKIN FULL OF ENDLESS CODE AND FUTURE TECH INNOVATIONS, EXTRAVAGANT PENTHOUSE OVERLOOKING THE CITY, WHISKEY STONES AND EMPTY DECANTERS, and CHARMING PERSONABLE SMILES WITH MALICIOUS INTENT HIDDEN UNDERNEATH THE SURFACE. i hear he is aligned with THE DEATH EATERS, so be sure to keep an eye on him.

GENERAL

FULL NAME: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick VI NICKNAME(S): Wick, Jim, Dash, Bart (yes he legit will go by any of these) AGE/DATE OF BIRTH: 35, 02/16/1994 OCCUPATION: Tech & Media Mogul GENDER: Cis Man PRONOUNS: He/Him/His HOMETOWN: Dallas, Texas CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, I guess ALMA MATTER: Ilvermorny, Horned Serpent BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

BIOGRAPHY

MEET JIMBO BLISHWICK: THE YOUNG AMERICAN CHANGING THE WIZARDING WORLD ONE STATUS UPDATE AT A TIME. 

I’m not sure exactly what to expect when the invitation comes in. It seems archaic to be communicating over owl. There was even a part of me that thought I should revert to the “email” form which my subject is so fond of. What if the wixen tech mogul’s fondness for typing meant he had poor penmanship? To my delight not only was Mr. Blishwick’s handwriting clear as day, but it came with a gleeful acceptance to be interviewed. So it was on that high note that I made my way to Blishwix HQ in London to meet with the illustrious CEO. What I had expected was some pristine corporate office with dark leather and wood accents, sterile and admittedly cold and disconnected from the world. What I was met with was surprising. Blishwix is anything but old school in its style. Much like the young hip branding that accompanies its many products and services, the corporate HQ of Blishwix is sleek, modern and very accessible. It’s a open space of mostly glass walls, the bull pen dotted with standing desks and stability balls replacing wheeling chairs. Towards the entrance to the main floor there is a food bar, one which changes weekly I’m told. This week it’s a cereal bar, last week it was a sushi bar, the next week it’s expected to be a pho bar. Employees are scattered around it with tablets and laptops, giddily conversing around mouthfuls of rainbow marshmallows and corn flakes. There’s also several corners tucked away with velvet cushions where some team members curl up with headphones and e-readers or handheld video game consoles. Designated comfort zones, the tour guide describes them as. It’s the Blishwix goal to make sure the employees are all comfortable, so whenever they get stressed out or overwhelmed, there’s always a little place they can escape to in order to calm their nerves. In truth, Blishwix looks less like a company and more like an urban hang out for pretty hipsters in crop tops and flannels. Surely the big man on top would have a more professional set up, right? 

Even the display in the bull pen did not prepare me for Jimbo Blishwick’s personal office. It’s one of a few closed off areas to the side of the floor, wide with tall glass walls over looking the bull pen, and predominately empty save for another bean sack, a slim desktop atop a standing desk, and a row of bookcases displaying dozens upon dozens of novels, all of which I can’t place and among the only print media to be found anywhere in Blishwix. “They’re muggle books,” says a voice from behind. When I turn and get a first glance at the figure leaning casually against the glass door to the office, my gut instinct is that this is just another one of those twenty something year olds squeezing stress balls on the work floor. He’s tall, wearing a handmade beanie in a burnt orange color -- One that is, frankly, not a good pair with his golden hair. His neatly trimmed beard and horned rimmed glasses speak of an elegance that doesn’t exactly match the acid wash tattered jeans or the faded t shirt worn under an oversized cream cardigan. The shirt is colorful and bears a phrase that doesn’t come easy to me. Woodstock. Perhaps this is another “muggle thing”. It isn’t until he draws close enough that I recognize the bare footed man. It’s Jimbo Blishwick himself. “Call me Wick,” he easily responds to my surprised expression, knowing full well he wasn’t what I expected. Instead of holding out a hand in a formal handshake and then pulling up a chair for the interview, he engulfs me in a hug and ushers me into the love sack. It’s awkward at first, but eventually I melt into it. It’s just as comfortable as it looks, and their use in the designated comfort zones make more sense to me now. Wick opts to sit crosslegged on the floor, a large coffee in one hand and a bowl of granola balanced on his thighs. He sips the coffee as my eyes wander the space, finding small and interesting little things to ask him about. 

The first thing that draws my attention is a set of crystals sitting on the top of his desk, and when I ask he lets out a howling laugh that echos throughout the office, surely drawing the attention of his hard playing -- and hardly working -- employees beyond the glass walls. “Oh, I had a bit of a headache,” he says with a somewhat amused grin. “My wife said they might help.” The wife in question isn’t some darling stay at home mom you might expect. In Wick’s own words: She’s the reason the “Boss Girl” phrase was invented. Selene Blishwick is as shrewd a business person as her husband is, and perhaps a bit more progressive. As I attempt to shift a bit in the cushion, Wick relays some confidential information about some of their upcoming branding collaborations. Each is more unconventional than the last, and they all have one vital thing in common: Selene Blishwick is the one that found them. I’d go into detail, but Wick swears it would become a marital problem if I spill the big secrets before they’re due to come out. Instead he offers a sly grin and taps a single finger to his lips. “Our little secret, then you can be the cool hip one among your friends who knew all about it before it came out.” An exciting proposition, though I realize that I do need something I can share with the public from this visit, and as Wick’s bowl of dry granola gets emptier I fear I’m running out of time. So I set out to do what I’d planned: a profile on the CEO of Wizarding London’s premiere tech company. 

When I ask Wick what was the event that kickstarted his long journey to bringing the wixen world into the 21st Century, he answers in one simple phrase: “A pen pal program.” I was surprised to say the least, but it all became more transparent as I urged him to elaborate. What ensues is a story about the overweight son of a MACUSA politician who was teased and bullied all his life and struggled to maintain platonic connections. “I had no friends,” he says, a sad truth but it comes out with a light and airy laugh. “But I didn’t make it quite easy for people to be my friend.” Despite his laid back and easy going charm, Wick reveals a disabling shyness and insecurity that kept him from engaging with the world. The only one privy to his thoughts and personality was the journal he carried with him wherever he went. “I always thought I sounded better on print than in person. I could be whoever I wanted to be on paper -- Handsome, smart, clever and fun. I just could never bring that outwards, you know?” I think we can all sympathize with the young Blishwick’s plight. It didn’t help that he had quite the shoes to fill. Sixth in his line, the Jimbos that came before the media mogul were all tied to American politics. They’re all charming and ambitious men, but Wick says he just didn’t have it in him to be a lawmaker. “Big Daddy” -- yes, that’s the moniker his father, Jimbo the fifth, goes by -- “He’s just built to be a Senator, I’m just the apple that fell a little too far from that tree.” Secluded and distant, educators began to worry that Wick’s development would be halted by the lack of socialization between him and his peers. So one Ilvermorny professor had suggested Wick be one of a handful of students elected to partake in a cross continental penpal program. “Fabricating friendship,” he called it. What they didn’t know is that the program would lead to a lot more. When I ask him who his first penpal is, if it’s someone he still has direct contact with, he lets another one of those amusing grins slip. “Oh yeah, very much so. I’m actually married to her.” 

A fifth year at Ilvermorny, Wick was matched with a Hogwarts student a handful of years younger than him by the name of Selene Rowle. According to Wick, their correspondence lasted throughout both of their schooling and beyond, until he had taken a chunk out of his trust fund in order to travel to the United Kingdom to meet in person. He says that’s the only time he used his family’s money to get where he is now -- literally using it to transport across the Atlantic. Leaving behind his family’s estate in Texas and the promising job at MACUSA his father had acquired for him, Wick came to London in order to meet his long distance friend for the first time. The only person “who really knew what he was about” he says. I ask if it was for romantic reasons. He thinks about it while he sips his drink. “I guess in hindsight it does seem a little romantic.” Whatever his reasons, Wick came and he never turned back. He said that one of the first times they interacted in person, he and his future bride had lamented on their past communication and the long waits between letters. “We felt like we’d left things off on cliff hangers so often, and you’d have to wait forever just to get some kind of answer to those burning questions the last letter gave you. It was one of the most frustrating things.” The pair wondered what it would have been like if there had been a more instantaneous way to talk with wizards across the globe. After all, Wick had concluded, the muggles did it just fine. During his teen years, the Texan said he had grown very interested in what nonmagical civilization was like. A “No-Maj Studies Class”, as they call the Muggle Studies program in the states, had a unit on the technological advances of the nonmagical community during much of the modern era. The professors tried to teach the students that this was all building towards a very dangerous threat to the magical community: exposure and the fast spreading of information over the internet. Wick saw something different. “As I thought about how I wished I had a better gateway to my penpal during my teen years, I just kept thinking about how muggles had that already figured out. They could instantly send letters to anyone anywhere in the world. No long wait times for traveling owls or anything like that. It was instantaneous.... And why shouldn’t we be like that?” 

It was this very thought that birthed the company the Blishwicks lead now. 

So how do you bring the magical world safely into the 21st Century as dictated by the nonmagical? That was no easy feat. For his part, Wick said he had to learn all about something that didn’t exist in their world, something that didn’t interact well with magic. And how do you study muggle tech without magic interfering? Simple: You “become a muggle”. That’s when I realized there was a book I recognized on his eclectic shelf of reading material. Daisy Hookum’s best seller My Life as a Muggle. It’s the first book on the shelf, in the most pristine condition. A first edition, and it’s even signed by the author herself, though Wick doesn’t remember the meeting. It has a simple message in it: I hope you enjoy the time you spend in the nonmagical world and make memories as fond as my own. “Oh yeah,” he laughs, “I did tell her I was also voluntarily giving up magic in order to help kickstart my company.” He says it with an air of unfamiliarity, like he only vaguely remembers the moment. Still, he presses on with the story. A controversial choice for the son of a self proclaimed “conservative-traditional” pureblood senator, Wick was shortly disowned by the American Blishwicks for his choice to give up his magic for two and a half years to live among the muggles. But it had purpose. “I may have lied my way into an internship with a tech company in Edingbrugh. I was trying to learn as much as I could about this muggle innovation. If I wanted to create something similar for our community, I needed to master their version.” He says it took more than the two years he gave himself to live among them, and he’s still studying it to this day, but after that amount of time he had the ground work he needed to then create his tech and media empire. The biggest obstacle wasn’t even in creating the highly secret magically encrypted network which allows smart phones to be used in the wizarding world. No, for Wick the biggest hurdle to pass over was the longstanding traditional values the community had. “I think there’s an innate fear in not just advancing the community, but in mirroring any sort of progress than the muggles have done. There’s nothing wrong with it, I mean we have adapted enough of their inventions into our own world already so why not take it a step further?” He refers to radio and electric hook ups that appeared in a lot of wixen homes in the past century. 

Blishwix started out small, creating and selling smart phones and desktops primarily with the idea in mind to change the way we communicate. Email was one of those first muggle digital contraptions that made its way into the wixen mainstream and has stayed, but within a short decade the company’s offerings expanded to mirror exactly what the digital world of the muggles looks like now. It’s becoming more and more rare to see wixen without a Loquix* in hand, or a Blishwix desktop at home. The Wixpix social media app, in which users post photos taken from the cameras on their cellular devices and add witty captions which can then be “liked” or “commented” on by users across the globe, continues to grow in popularity. And now the media and tech giant is rolling out a “streaming platform” -- a sort of home theater in the form of an app that catalogues film and television programs created by wixen for wixen. There’s Accio, an application that allows you to ask random questions and receive an answer instantly; Portky** which allows users to request forms of transportation when they desperately need it, including ministry-approved portkeys (or so it claims, we haven’t used it yet here at the Prophet). There’s even applications for those lonely wixen looking to find a love connection. Erised is one such app where user profiles are made with a handful of photos, a small ‘about me’ section, and a few small details that can be provided to prospective dates in order to help connect those with similar interests and hobbies. The married Wick does not have an Erised profile, but his assistant allows me to scroll through her’s and even swipe a few times on other profiles. I accidentally match her to someone she admits she can’t see herself interested in, but we all have a good laugh about it. These are only a few of many “experiences”, as Wick refers to them, offered by the company in order to branch the magical people from across the globe. “What is more beautiful than seeing people from different cultural backgrounds and walks of life coming together and sharing ideas and thoughts so quickly?” I realize as I’m sitting there in that bean cushion, scrolling through a prototype of the next Blishwix tablet that I know so little about the world beyond my little corner of it. I suddenly understand Wick’s enthusiasm about expanded communication. 

It’s all pretty exciting to see coming together, it’s almost impossible to understand what more could be done by Blishwix. So when I ask him what’s next, Wick gets a very eager look in his eyes. “There’s a lot of places we still don’t have our tech in that I think would be all the better for it,” he solemnly reveals, and I’m shocked to hear it. Since visiting Blishwix, I have seen their product seemingly in every corner of Wizarding London I explore daily. Who isn’t using connected to their expansive network at this point? “I would love to do a partnership with the Ministry. As the governing body, I feel like we can offer them so much that could continue to further develop the community and continue progressing us into the future. If we could get our desktops in every Ministry Department, we can further the sort of work that keeps our world moving. Just imagine how we could expand Law Enforcement, Education or Wellfare departments if we can make all the relevant information they need all the more accessible to their employees? Think about how much easier it would be for them to process information on our fast and reliable network.” 

On the topic of Education, Wick reveals his ambitions don’t stop with the Ministry. “I would love to see Blishwix in schools like Hogwarts,” he says, revealing what may be the biggest bombshell yet. “This whole dream started because of a chubby boy who had no friends in school and wanted a faster way to communicate with the one he made far away. I think a lot about that and how my life would have been different had I had this kind of technology available to me. If there are lonely kids like me who could have that, or even kids who are just struggling to get the information they need to be successful in school, and I could give them what they need to advance in life? Then I could say I’ve done what I initially set out to do. Until that day, I would say that Blishwix hasn’t been a success yet. Even teachers could benefit from the use of the internet and all the resources we have out there which we now have access to.” I begin to wonder if the technological genius is actually more of a philanthropist. “I don’t know, you tell me,” he quips when I muse out loud. Our interview comes to a halt by this point, and I’m left with so many more questions. What is Blishwix cooking up for the wizarding world next? What kind of innovations will define the company’s next decade? These, and so many more, questions are left unanswered as I walk out of Blishwix HQ, a takeaway bowl of fruity cereal in one hand and my previous generation Loquix in the other (scrolling through shopping apps in order to find that “love sack” I spent much of the afternoon lounging in).

The same day I begin writing this piece out, Blishwix has announced the Loquix VI, their most advance smartphone yet. They livestream details of their upgraded OS and hardware reveal on the company’s social media, an event I watch while typing this article up on my worn out typewriter. Halfway through and I’m out of ribbon, and I silently curse myself as I order a new set online. All the while the Blishbook Pro is being revealed on the stream, its sleek wireless keyboard and slim expandable monitor shimmering under the stage lights. I join in with the loud gasps from the shareholders crowding the conference room where the event is being held. The irony of this isn’t lost on me, and as I sit here writing out these last few paragraphs with a quill in my cramped hand I begin to realize exactly why I admire Jimbo Blishwick and his forward thinking. At least he’s not sitting here with ink blotches in obscene places, running to his editor’s office just barely before deadline with a mess of typed and handwritten article. I remember in that moment, drenched in the rain while rushing through the offices of the Prophet, the first line in his owl response to my inquiry for the interview: 

You should have just emailed. 

Touché, Blishwick, touché. 

*Portky app idea comes courtesy of Kim ( @strvngemagics​ ) **Loquix phone name comes courtesy of Vic ( @cfdiggorys​ / @moodyparis​ / @aarlingtons​ ) Both gave permission to use / mention these galaxy brained concepts in the intro and credit for their conception goes to them. Thank you guys so much!!

TL;DR: Wick is full of shit. What can I say? Here’s the ‘Murrican lad who claims to be some hip and cool CEO of a wizarding tech and media company. Okay he’s I guess apple meets zuckerberg. Idk I’m not galaxy brained enough for this afheiahfpea hence the very oddly written bio. Wick’s a pureblood from america who supposedly forsake his family’s purist ways and then decided to create a company modeled after muggle tech in order to “bring the wizarding world into the modern era”. In actuality? He’s a fucking bigot who created a network that he could use to spy on people who may be enemies of the cause. At least that’s how it’s being factored into the DEs. His theme song is “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell bc he’s always watching you. Gives off this very laid back and down to earth and charming persona just so he can gain your trust and meanwhile he’s leaking your information to the DE and helping them further their agenda. Some extra tidbits not seen above: 

He’s got some daddy issues which are leaking into his parenting. Aka he is not exactly excited to be a father but you wouldn’t know that from his Wixpix feed which feature so many “cute” dad photos with his baby boy. In order for him to become his best self, his dad had to make his life a living hell and he believes that’s how he’s gonna have to handle Zephyr as well. 

He is smart, yes, but he’s not some brilliant innovator like the world thinks he is. His empire is built on stolen material which he simply “adapted” to the magical world. He’s not original, but he is clever. 

He’s not a fighter, clumsy with a wand, had a severe stutter as a kid which made it very hard for him to cast spells etc, so he avoids battle often and instead offers up his company more for espionage for the DEs. He’s better suited to behind the scenes mayhem, and that’s kind of the way he likes it. 

He’s a coward. He’s hiding behind computer screens and tbh if things get really sticky he’s likely to try and sell out the DE in order to save his skin. Has an escape plan to the states if things get really sticky but the likelihood of him succeeding are slim to none. 

He acts very charitable and humble and kind but he’s conceited as hell and he’s a real shady bitch sometimes. Talks shit on everyone behind their backs

He’s had a few affairs here and there despite being married. Even with that, he is in love with his wife and feels a sort of fealty towards her. She’s a very important part to the company, she’s pretty much the brand of it and so he relies on her a lot to help manufacture their image even just as individuals to help the rouse. 

BODY IMAGE TW/EATING DISORDER TW. Wick has some body image issues due to his past tbh. He got bullied a lot as a kid for being overweight and quiet, his solace was in food and he was a binge eater. As he got a bit older, he made some desperate choices in order to lose weight to gain a slimmer figure. It wasn’t healthy, it landed him in hospital a few times, and eventually he had to meet with nutrition specialists and therapists in order to work out a more healthy mindset on food. He’s still harbors body imagine issues, but he’s learned to be better about it. Still, he maintains a very strict diet and work out regime because he feels his image is one of the most important things about him. He did meet Selene when he was slim and athletic and therefore thinks it’s best he maintain the figure even just out of fear she wouldn’t find him attractive otherwise. 

is any of the stuff he said in this interview true? Idk, idk

Idk, I hate this man and this bio afheuiahfpea I’ll end up rewriting it eventually. 

MISC

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic LANGUAGES: English FAMILY: Jimbo Dashiel Bartholomew Blishwick V (but they call him “Big Daddy”; father), Cricket Blishwick née Berkeley (mother), Beaufort Harland Blishwick (younger brother), Cora-Lou Blishwick (younger sister), Selene Blishwick née Rowle (wife), Zephyr Blishwick (infant son), and by extension all the fucking Rowles I guess PETS: TBD FACE CLAIM: Luke Mitchell ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Aquarius MBTI: hm PINTEREST: (coming soon)

WANTED CONNECTIONS

interns - a couple new grunts at the blishwix HQ. they can be any affiliation, but if they are DE affiliated then they’ll know a little bit more about what is going on behind closed doors at the company. could be fun for future plotting purposes. 

co conspirators - other DEs who similarly to wick lead a double life in the public eye. philanthropists, media stars, all sorts of “do gooders” who are banning together in order to break “harmful stigmas and stereotypes and join the wixen community globally”. blishwix mission statement aims to create a platform for wixen of all types across the world to interact free of prejudice and judgement and to bring the magical community into a modern era free of harmful ideologies. of course that’s a fucking lie, so if you play a baddy bad who’s pretending to be goody good then this could be a fun collaboration. 

partnerships - alternatively, let’s see some honest to good people and groups get schemed by these fuckers. this would involve some potential screwing over but no worries, at the end of the day blishwix will tank and then your character can get their sweet revenge on this man and his corrupt business. 

idk hmu with ideas. 

[chimchimsauce]

Five Letter Word

Share is a five-letter word. So is fight.

Recreduscense AU for @sordidmusings​. Thank you so much for commissioning me! I hope you enjoy!

Commissions closed. They will open back up in February.

Please note! This is NOT canon. In this au, Cerberus is the only one with YN as their soulmate.

Yoongi huffs, exasperated as he steps through a portal and back into the mortal realm. Yet again, there had been a stir in the Underworld, causing Hades to call his trusted Hellhound down to help him fix up the problem.

It wouldn’t have been such a big deal, had one of the other two gone. But Yoongi is always voted to go and spend hours or even worse - days away from YN.

YN.

Just the thought of their mortal soulmate cheers Yoongi up tremendously. After dealing with the cries and screams of the undead, seeing her will breathe fresh air into his tired form. Hurrying to go find her, Yoongi quickly locates both YN and his other-selves by the sound of their heartbeats.

Preparing to barge in and be wrapped up in three pairs of arms and smothered with kisses from YN, Yoongi stops short in the doorway to the living room, watching from the sidelines as Namjoon and Hoseok snuggle YN between them, all wrapped up in a nice soft blanket.

The blue light from the television illuminates their smiling faces, the way their hands are entwined with each other. They haven’t even looked back at him, even though Yoongi knows for sure that Hoseok and Namjoon should have sensed him by now.

But the thing that ticks him off the most is the fact that they’re watching that new show that had just come out - the show they’d promised to all watch together.

Anger flares up inside of Yoongi quick and hot. Exhausted and with hurt feelings, Yoongi turns around and stomps towards the bedroom, slamming the door with enough force to crack it.

In the other room, YN sits up quickly, alarmed by the noise.

“What was that?” she asks, peeking behind her as if the source of the noise will be standing there.

“Yoongi just got back,” Hoseok says, feeling the anger and hurt in the back of his mind.

The feeling makes him shift uncomfortably. He looks over YN’s head and glances at Namjoon who looks just as apprehensive as he does.

“I wonder what’s wrong,” YN says, turning back around, “I’ll go speak with him.”

Namjoon opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t find any words to form a valid excuse. Frowning, he just watches from the couch as YN leaves, taking the blanket and all of her warmth with her.

Hoseok pouts.

“I know that she’s not going far, but it hurts every time she leaves . . . even if I know she’s spending time with Yoongi. I’d still rather feel her with my own fingers and see her with my own eyes,” Hoseok says, locking eyes with Namjoon.

The other nods, raking his hands through his hair. He scoots closer to Hoseok, leaning his head on his shoulder. It’s comforting being near another piece of his soul, especially when the other piece is hurting.

YN stops before the splintered bedroom door, her hand hovering inches away from the cracked surface.

It’s obvious that Yoongi is upset about something, but YN isn’t sure if she should interrupt his brooding. Its been a little over half a year since YN went to the BTS concert where she met them. She always had a particular affinity for rapline over the other members, but it still took her by surprise to find out that her adoration for Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon stemmed from something much deeper than she ever could have imagined.

Soulmates.

Even now, that word sends a shiver up her spine. It’s both comforting and terrifying to think that her soul was made to perfectly complete another one. And more shocking than finding out that she was bonded to them was finding out that the boys were actually something she believed to be myth - Cerberus, Hades’ hellhound and three pieces of one soul.

At times it seems impossible that no one else - not even the other members - have noticed how identical they can be. When they’re relaxed or distracted, Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon move, speak, and react with perfect synchronization. It’s almost unsettling.

But other times, they couldn’t be more different. Disagreements and sometimes even fights are not uncommon between the triad. They get into spats over the littlest things, like Hoseok leaving the lights on in the bathroom, Namjoon using all the paper towels up and forgetting to buy more, or Yoongi staying up so late that the other two can’t sleep.

Usually all it takes to calm everything down is a few words and touches from YN. Her presence alone can dissolve any animosity almost like magic.

Something deep down in her stomach tells YN that this won’t be the case this time around.

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door.

“Yoongi?” she asks softly, knowing that he can hear her.

YN learned about the boys’ shared heightened senses when she sneezed from across the house and they all said ‘Bless you’.

There comes no response from inside, but YN decides to enter anyway.

It doesn’t take her long to find him. Yoongi is situated by the window, glaring through the glass at the sky like it’s done something against him.

“Yoongi?” YN repeats, “You okay? Did something happen in the Underworld?”

Yoongi is silent for several minutes. Just as YN begins to believe that he’s ignoring her, he speaks up.

“No. It was fine. Annoying, but fine.”

YN walks over to him, placing a hand on his back. She tries to catch his eye, but he refuses to look at her.

YN ignores the sting in her chest his lack of attention causes. She knows that Yoongi’s mood probably has nothing to do with her.

“Then what’s wrong? I know that you’re upset.” YN persists.

He’s silent again, opening his mouth as if he’s thinking about speaking, but he quickly shuts it again. He turns to look at her fully.

“Can we just . . . cuddle? I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Yoongi’s voice is soft, vulnerable. All traces of hostility are eradicated, replaced with tender shyness.

“Of course,” YN says, melting, “I’ll call Hos -”

“No!” Yoongi interjects, startling YN.

At her bewildered expression, he clears his throat.

“I just want it to be me and you . . . if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay, Yoongi,” YN says.

She crawls onto the enormous bed in the center of the room, pulling the blanket along with her. One she’s settled among the pillows, YN taps her lap, signaling for Yoongi to lay down.

As soon as his head hits her legs and her fingers drag across his scalp, Yoongi relaxes completely, falling asleep within minutes. And just like that, YN’s movie night with Hoseok and Namjoon comes to an end.

A few days later, the four of them are relaxing outside in their backyard, butterflies floating on the breeze. The weather is warm, YN laying on Yoongi’s lap as Hoseok plays with her fingers, Namjoon reading a novel aloud.

It’s a fairytale, a story about a young girl being chased by a wolf. The tale isn’t quite what YN remembered being told as a child.  Namjoon’s alluring timbre tone has his soulmate’s full attention, the girl completely entranced by the alternate tale.

“And then the huntsman killed the wolf, freeing little red. She lived happily ever after. The end.”

YN feels herself pouting.

“What’s wrong, YN?” Hoseok says, picking up on her upset expression.

“Why did the huntsman kill the wolf? He didn’t do anything wrong. He just tried to show her the way she needed to go.”

“Good intentions are the stepping stones right to hell. Trust us, babygirl.” Yoongi says, unbothered by the injustice.

Before YN can protest, a phone rings, completely disturbing their peaceful afternoon. Namjoon frowns as he picks up his phone, placing the book down.

“Right . . . yes . . . now?” Namjoon says into the device, clearly displeased, “Okay . . . yeah, I’ll bring him. See you soon.”

“Yoongi,” Namjoon says, tossing his phone aside in frustration, “One of the producers fucked up and deleted part of our new song,”

“You’re kidding,” Yoongi says.

“I wish. Bang PD wants us to come in right away.”

Cursing, Yoongi wiggles out from under YN, the woman sitting up to make it easier. When he makes it onto his feet, Yoongi stretches.

“When that bastard dies I’m making sure his soul gets stuck in the worst corner of the Underworld,” Yoongi vows, Namjoon nodding along with him.

And with that, they’re gone, vanished into thin air.

“Just me and you, huh?” Hoseok says, grinning widely at YN.

“I guess so,” YN says, returning his smile with ease, “What do you want to do?”

Hours later, when Namjoon and Yoongi finally return from an exhausting day dealing with the incompetent producers and staff members only to find YN and Hoseok sitting side by side, video game controllers grasped in their hands as they playfully shoulder shove each other, both trying to win.

“We’re back,” Namjoon says.

“Hey guys!” YN says, taking a quick peek behind her shoulder to smile at them but looking right back at the screen a moment later, huffing when she discovers that Hoseok is beating her.

The man in question laughs in glee as YN tries to regain her lead, going so far as to stand up to block the screen. Hoseok resorts to holding his controller with one hand and tickling her with the other.

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

“You’re not being fair either, YN - ah!”

It’s as if Yoongi and Namjoon aren’t even in the room. The duo grows irritated. They’ve already had a tiring day. The least Hoseok could do is move so they can spend time with YN too.

Hoseok sends the duo a quick look, winking at them and letting them know he knows exactly what they’re thinking. Of course he does. 

“YN,” Yoongi says, “Why don’t you come snuggle with Namjoon and me? We’ve had a long day.”

“Sure,” YN says, “But let me finish up with Hobi first.”

They play well past two AM. When the sound of the TV finally stops, Namjoon finds YN passed out on top of Hoseok, the both of them fast asleep.

When award season rolls around, Bang PD hits the boys with a complete shocker.

“You can bring your girlfriends if you’d like,” he says casually, shuffling papers.

“What?” they say in unison, their shock causing them to forget not to speak at once.

“That’s what you’ve guys been up to lately, right? I may be old, but I’m not stupid. As long as they are prepared for the backlash.”

And with that, they’re dismissed. Pure excitement courses through their veins as they think about finally getting to show YN off.

However, their bubble is burst as a single, innocent though passes through Hoseok’s brain as they teleport home.

Who gets to be her boyfriend in public?

Instantaneously, a fight breaks out. The boys argue so loudly that they nearly wake YN up from her afternoon nap. As soon as they hear her begin to toss and turn under her blanket, they make their way outdoors.

“It should be me,” Yoongi insists.

“Oh please,” Hoseok scoffs, “No one’s going to believe that you ever left the studio long enough to get a girlfriend.”

Offended, Yoongi looks taken aback before his expression hardens. He’s preparing to give Hoseok what for when Namjoon interrupts.

“I’ve spent the least time with her recently. Between comforting Yoongi’s moody ass and playing games with Hoseok until the buttcrack of dawn, I’ve hardly gotten to be around her at all.

Sope find themselves without a proper response.

“It’s settled then. She’s going with me. YN, dear!” he calls out, walking back into the house, “Guess where we’re going next week!”

Nervously, YN checks her reflection in the mirror for the millionth time in the last hour.

“You look gorgeous, YN. Stop fretting,” Yoongi says from his place relaxed on the couch.

“Absolutely perfect,” Hoseok agrees.

In all honesty, the two of them are quite nervous. YN looks gorgeous, definitely. Matter of fact, that’s the entire problem. She looks like heaven on Earth and they’re supposed to pretend that she’s simply their bandmate’s girlfriend. 

Hoseok pulls at his tie, hoping the night goes by quickly.

But it doesn’t.

Each moment drags on forever. Painfully slow, Yoongi has to watch YN laugh with Namjoon, placing her hand on his shoulder and pretending like she can’t see the longing look on Yoongi’s face. At one point Hoseok reaches for her hand and YN turns away from him, pretending not to see.

Pretending, pretending.

And finally, finally when it’s almost over, the boys stand for their final photograph. Namjoon brings YN close and kisses her, the cameras going berserk as Hoseok and Yoongi see red, absolutely furious. It’s all they can do to force a smile until it’s time to leave, making up an excuse not to celebrate with the others.

As soon as they get home, Hoseok has his hands around Namjoon’s throat, Yoongi not far behind.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Yoongi shouts at Namjoon, pain and anger lacing his tone.

Namjoon grins, hand coming up to pry Hoseok’s hand away from his airway. Yoongi, overcome, socks Namjoon right in the jaw.

“STOP IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” YN cries out, rushing into the fray and pulling them all apart, “WHAT’S BEEN WRONG WITH YOU LATELY?”

None of them can meet her eyes, all ashamed of themselves for upsetting her.

“FOR THE PAST MONTH YOU’VE ALL BEEN A MOODY MESS! What am I supposed to think, huh? You’re not telling me anything! I don’t know what’s wrong . . . I don’t know how to help!”

YN’s face is red from screaming, her blotchy face giving away the fact that tears are soon coming. 

All at once, the three of them rush to comfort her, pulling her in close.

“We’re sorry, YN” Namjoon says, “So so sorry.”

“It’s all our fault,” Yoongi agrees, stroking her hair.

“You’d think sharing a soul would mean we’d always get along but . . .” he pauses, looking away from YN’s sniffling face to Namjoon and Yoongi, “I guess we don’t know how to not get jealous.”

Saying it aloud makes him realize how ridiculous they’re being. They cringe in tandem.

“Jealous? Of what? Of who?”

“I . . . each other I guess. It’s stupid. We’re sorry,” Namjoon says, embarrassed.

“You know I love all of you right? That my soul is bonded with each part of yours,” YN says, face softening at their ashamed expressions, “There’s no reason to be jealous.”

“We’re sorry,” they say, refusing to look at her.

“It’s okay. Just tell me when you feel this way next time, okay? I love spending time with all of you. You’re all precious to me.”

YN opens her arms and they step into them, feeling their connection grow even stronger.

There will be bumps in the road, but they’ll overcome them. They are soulmates after all.

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Psssst... Hey...

Ya’ll wanna read a little thing I wrote while fiending over Astarion last night?

Of course you do.... of coooooourse you do...

Her Flavor

-dragonswithjetpacks

Summary: The days are long and hot. And the time to relax is few and far between. Ferelith longs for nothing more than a turn to soak in a hot steaming spring. But it seems she also longs for... other things.

Notes: Que the old Vine: "I can't believe you've done this..."

I haven't played the game yet. But after looking at enough screens and videos... I'm in this. Enjoy this short bit I wrote as a result of New Years adult beverages and provocative music.

Read here on Ao3.

Full story under the cut:

Certain days traveling happened to be luckier than others. When most of those days were considered to come across either something valuable or something free, that particular day they had discovered something that was a bit of both. A hot spring, nestled in the summit of the mountain just outside an entrance to a rather ominous cave. While some wanted to venture into the caverns, the others wanted to first soak into the warm waters for their own reasons. Ferelith, usually the voice of reason, agreed on using the spring that night. The entrance of the cave would be used for shelter. And they could delve into it's tunnels the next morning.

 Even though she had wanted to use the spring, she was in no hurry. It was a long wait as the rest of the party members rotated through their private sessions. And even after they were done for the night, she still sat patiently biding her time until she was ready. Then, as all the weary heads of the travels fell onto their cots, she rose from her place by the fire. Wrapping her robe tightly around her, she tip toed away without a second thought. Her idea was if everyone was asleep, she could enjoy the silence of the night. There would be no chatter echoing from the cave entrance. No one to bother her as she tried to relax. No one asking to join her. And as she looked up, she noted the moon was nearly full. It would be a well lit night. With a perfect temperature. In a nice relaxing spring.

Or so she imagine it to be. Upon her arrival, as she slid off the lace robe, there came the sound of a throat clearing from the far side of the spring.With her bloused over one shoulder, she begrudgingly turned to determine the caller. With a coy smile and twinkling eyes, Astarion sat patiently- though eager- awaiting her next move. Disappointment eased it's way onto her expression as she dropped her hands to her side. It was a wonder as to why he was always the one at the center of her frustrations.

"I can honestly say I didn't do this on purpose... this time..."

Arms crossed with a sulking stare, Ferelith struggled to find the right words to use. And she was too tired to search for them.

"Honest," he lifted his hands as if it would reassure her. "I just wanted to feel alone."

"I can wait a bit longer," she proclaimed with a defeated step, bending over to pick up the clothing she shed.

"No, no," he crept forward, the sound of water rippling around him. "It's alright. I can go. You deserve a bit of time to yourself."

Ferelith heard the water parting, but the correlating sight of him getting out from the spring was something she could not cohere. It shouldn't have come to her surprise that he would be completely nude. And yet, she was. When she looked up, Astarion was only a few feet away from her and baring everything he had with no shame to his stride. He was clinging to a drying cloth, rubbing it first against his face and neck. He traveled to his shoulders, down his chest, following the center line even further until...

"If you're not shy, I'm fairly certain I'm nothing of the sort, either," he wickedly grinned at her.

Ferelith sulked inside her head at his statement. The way he teased her consistently felt like a losing battle; no matter the outcome, he would find something to pick apart. And the longer she remained in his company, the more frustrated she became by his relentless advancements. While ignoring him did very little, responding was much worse. And by far, the most infuriating part of the little exchanges were the times he actually managed to flatter her. But this was not one of those time. And she swatted his remark to the back her head as she focused her intent on being in that spring like she had been planning from the moment they arrived. The steam alone was enough to relax her. Letting go the weight in her chest with a heavy sigh, she tossed the robe back onto the ground. The blouse came next, off one shoulder, then the other, then over her head. She turned to see if he was looking. But was pleasantly surprised when he was more concentrated on putting his clothes on. As she untied the front of her breeches, she watched him tie the front of his. The shape of his hip bones just above the hem of his pants had caught her eye. It was the way he was bent over that made her look at him so, complimenting the silhouette of his abdomen. The man was a fool, but he was not a weak one by any means.

Not like her. The sight of his physique made her feel suddenly inadequate. She turned her back to him quickly, hiding her frail figure. Her strength had always been with her mind, never in her physical form. Her legs and the way she ran were the only thing she had. Everything else, she was ashamed to admit, fell short. Still, as she finished undressing, she showed no sign of her insecurities. And as her final piece of small clothes came off the bottom of her feet, Astarion was buttoning the final button on his shirt. He never was one to leave in the middle of a performance and watched the remainder of her strut to the edge of the pool. He had not seen much. Only the backs of her legs, buttocks, and the beautiful shape of her back with her hair draping down it. It was quite lovely to see Ferelith so vulnerable, even just partially as she was already submerged, dip herself into the hot water.

"You're still here," she said, feeling his presence still lingering.

"Pay me no mind," he said, his face full secrets as he buttoned his cuffs. "I was just simply lost in a thought."

"In a thought?" she chuckled at the irony. "I find that difficult to believe."

The steam rose from Ferelith's arms as she lifted them from the water, sending her hands into her hair to untangle the mess. Her profile was more visible to him now, and he could see just the tops of her breasts. The woman was still cautious, however, and refused to turn completely around. Still, he licked his lips, his gaze traveling to the nape of her neck. With her hair pulled back, he could see more of the curve in her figure. Even through water, the shape of her was delicious.

"I was just thinking... how lovely you would taste..." he straightened his tunic.

"As anyone else would, I imagine," the tone was harsh and dry, which came as no surprise. "A bit like metal... maybe a little salty..."

"Oh," he said, the resonance of his voice catching her ear, "I didn't mean your blood, my dear..."

There was no reluctance to his statement and the abruptness had sent a shock to her thoughts, pausing all moving. With her hair still untangling in her hands, she pivoted. But Astarion was finally taking his leave. She watched the back of him, strutting casually down the stone toward the cave. He didn't give so much as a single glance in her direction. Nevertheless, she had gotten the privacy she so desired. Even if it was at the cost of her inner peace.

[vegalocity]

Starrosefics, asking for 23/42 for Spicynoodleshipping and 72 for Mabifica, please? (All are from the 76 Kisses.)

Prompt meme || @starfics

Shorter Mabifica because longer spicynoodles Both under cut because i respect your dashboards

72. When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead 

The epic highs and lows of competeitive gaming

--

“WHAT?! OH COME ON!”

“Oh wow I won? Interesting. I thought you were the Gravity Falls Smash bros champ!”

“Rrrrrr Best two out of three!”

-

“NONONONONONOOOOOOOO”

“Oh! Win to Northwest again! Do you maybe want to switch characters? I know the princess is an intimdating foe. I can play the little pink blob if you'd like.”

“Don't mock me Paz.”

-

“OKAY HOW DO YOU KEEP BEATING ME?! YOU DON'T PLAY SMASH!”

“Maybe you're losing your touch.”

“RAAAAGGGHHH”

-

“....You've been training with Dipper in those discord calls you guys don't let me crash so I don't 'derail the conversation with lovey dovey talk' haven't you?”

“He plays different than you, but if you've beaten Mario you can beat Princes Peach.”

Mabel moaned in agony, sliding down in her seat until the majority of her legs were hanging off the couch and her head was the only thing on the backrest. “You hustled me! You hustled me just to humiliate me. And Dipper helped you! I am betrayed, I am bereft. None shall get past my stone wall again. I'll never love another again.”

Pacifica began to laugh because really, how could she not? Mabel treating a video game like a deeply important telenovela event that had things riding on it beyond pride was too good.

“Oh come on, I've been practicing basically since last summer, if anything it shows how good you are!” Mabel scrunched her face up into a pout. And Pacifica laughed again.

She watched Mabel's out wobble, no doubt she wanted  to find the humor in this too, but wasn't done pouting yet. So Pacifica leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose. She finally smiled back up at her.

“I guess I'll see you in the next Gravity Falls Tourney in a couple of weeks huh? May the best player win.”

“Oh, I will.”

Mabel squawked in outrage.

--

23. Exhausted Parents kiss // 42. Sated Kiss  

I still don’t have a name for this kid so you’re just gonna have to bear with me (Content warning for more internalized abelism)

--

It wasn't exactly a secret that Red Son was a doting father, if he were the type to carry one of those 'picture laminate' wallets he'd have filled it to the brim with pictures of their little girl from age six hours to current day and would take them out to gush about her regularly, possibly even to their enemies. But thankfully he kept all of THOSE on his phone and that would inevitably save their baby girl some grief when she grew up a little more and entered her teens.

Honestly, it was literally one of the best things about him because Xiaotian could NOT get enough of watching how his husband—whom had entered his life shreiking with fury and intent on nothing but destruction and his own untimely death—would happily sing along to the cartoon opening theme songs with their little rascal or blow raspberries into her belly as she squealed with laughter.

Neither of them really got stuff like that in their childhoods, so it was rather important to both of them that that sweet little bundle of energy and crayons got as much affection as they could possibly give her without smothering her with it entirely.

There were some hiccups of course, how could there not be? She couldn't stand anyone touching her from her shoulders up, so her hair was oftentimes messy as she could only sit through one hairbrushing in the morning and one at night. Though her arms were too short to be able to brush her own hair yet she kept asking.

She'd only recently started speaking actually, apparently she'd decided she didn't want to talk until she could spew out full sentences, which was certainly something when it happened. Heavens knew when she was three and hadn't spoken a word, everyone had been trying to coax her to talk. Usually just trying to prompt simple words, but everyone had been taken aback when Tang was slowly pronouncing the name of the hero of the story he was telling her, and she responded with her first word “Why” followed quickly with “-are you talking so slow?”

Most problematic was that she had very sensitive hearing. Which could be a problem not only in this city, but also in this household, granted Red Son could go from talking at a normal volume to borderline shouting without being aware of the volume shift at all, and he was always extremely distressed when he thought everything was normal, didn't see Xiaotian trying to catch his eye to tell him to tone down, and get blindsided by his darling baby cry out and clap her hands over her ears and curl up as though she were in physical pain. Xiaotian ended up taking a pair of headphones that had gone dead in an ear, yanking out the wire and adjusting them to her little head. It didn't get rid of the days where their baby would curl up in the far corner of her bedroom, hands clasped over her ears because everything was too loud for her, and those days were always guaranteed to end with Red Son spiraling into the idea that he was a terrible father and wasn't meant to take care of people, but they were less frequent.

And then there came today. Red Son was sitting in the chair he favored most, scribbling into a notebook about some project or another, and their daughter was sitting on the floor, happily coloring one of the characters in a cartoon she loved. And as she concentrated on the crayon drawing, she began to rock back and forth. It was adorable, and Xiaotian didn't want to interrupt his two favorite people while they were both in the zone by announcing dinner time—though Dinner was ready—so he was planning on just lingering in the doorway for a few moments longer. But Something about it had caught Red Son's eye.

“Sweetie? What are you doing?”  

She yelped and stopped, both drawing and rocking.

“Nothin' just drawin'.”

“I see that, You were also rocking in place, did you know that?” She seemed to shrink and Xiaotian probably should have cut in now, but something held him back. Let it play out.

“s'okay I'm just weird.” She didn't see Red Son flinch, but he did.

“Who... who told you something like that?”

“They say it on Alice's Adventures. Weird is when you do something that other people don't do and it makes you stick out. Right? And I never seen nobody do it. So I'm weird.”

Red Son took a moment, long enough for their daughter to turn back to her drawing, and stood up from  the chair, striding over to sit across from her on the floor, notebook propped up on the coffee table. And as she started to rock in place again, he joined her.

Xiaotian almost wanted to cry.

He gave them a couple more moments. “Okay gremlins, dinner's ready!”

Thier daughter leaped to her feet and made a small happy squeaky noise as she raced to the dining table. “Dinner! Dinner! Dinner!”

Red Son was slower to join, realization hitting him and reflexively he began to fluster. “How much of that did you see?”

Xiaotian met him halfway across the room and tried not to look too giddy. “Enough that you are getting so laid tonight once she's in bed.” for now he settled for a quick kiss. “But only if you stop calling yourself weird and acknowledge the real word for it so that shit doesn't rub off before we can get her tested.”

“Fine.” Red Son looked away, gaze now fixated on the little girl already happily rocking back and forth at her space at the dinner table. “She's probably Autistic and she probably got it from me.”

“Which means...?”

“Don't push it Noodle Boy.”

Red Son stopped rocking only when he was alone, and it was great to see, the stim was doing more to reign in his temper than even Xiaotian had thought, and of course, it was an unequivocal delight to watch him and their baby side by side sitting on the floor, either of their projects laid out on the coffee table, and rocking back and forth in rhythm with eachother.

--

Send me stuff!

[spyvstailor]

GRAVEYARD DIRT & SALT

CHAPTER ONE

So, it was brought to my attention people might not like the links to my novel, so I will be posting chapters here on tumblr as well. But please, don’t forget to head over to my KO-FI, and support an author.

Chapter One

Sometime in Summer 2014

 The first sign that troubled times were upon them was the empty shelves in the toilet paper section of all the grocery stores.

  There was no rhyme or reason to this and society fell too fast for top psychologists or sociologists to chime in with their two cents as to the reason why people thought toilet paper would save them during the troubled times.

  The next thing to break down after the panic shopping were the roads and the highways.

 If you think about the population of the earth, six billion and change, and growing each day. If you think about the population of the US alone, all of them fleeing the chaos of the cities and towns. Then you'd understand why the roads were the first to go to shit.

  Humans run on instinct, their lizard brains demand fight or flight. But when they didn't know what exactly they were fighting, when they heard news reports of an epidemic. Stories of people dying and coming back running on pure animal hunger, their first instinct was to flee.

 They've seen the movies, played the video games, entertained the idea of the dead rising up and walking the earth with their insatiable hunger. As humans, they knew what this meant. It meant the end of civilization as they knew it. No more cell phones, no more magazines, and no more internet. It was chaos and it was confusion.

  Back when HQ was up and running. Back when the marines at the base were still receiving orders. When 'task forces' were being sent into hospitals and morgues, schools, churches even. All the places humans congregated in times of trouble to take care of the sweeping epidemic. Back when governments and commanders were still in control, the first thing to fall to the dead were the roads and the highways.

  The highways were veritable buffets for the hungry horde. Panicked people just stuck in traffic, idiots who thought the threat wasn't real and were still out trying to get to their local fucking bar. They became a meal for the horde, delicious, soft, warm, living flesh.

  After the roads and highways fell to the dead, the government sort of disappeared. There was no structure because the officials all sort of went the way of the one percent. Disappearing in the smoke of the burning society around them.

  The next thing to fall was the media. It was all over the place, reports of the dead walking, reports of the one percent disappearing. With their need to know and to be on the scene, many stations began to mysteriously replace their reporters. Reporters changed, their faces different from hour to hour. Until in the end, all that remained was a single, sweaty, panicked looking young intern.

  After the media went the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, even that real fancy cult place in Hollywood.

  When faith failed, then everything just sort of fell away.

 In the days just after the initial outbreak, he was still a marine stationed at HQ in Georgia. He still followed orders. Still went where they told him to go, did what they told him to do. But after a few weeks, the lines of communication went down. HQ went cold, dark. One by one his squad had left him, either picked off by a lucky uggie or just plain run off in the night.

  Sixteen marines had set out from HQ. Thirteen marines had gone off to protect and serve the civilians of the state, and all that remained of that squad was him.

  The men who had left in the night were just heading home, he assumed. And to be honest, the Lieutenant didn't blame them. The more they patrolled from small town to small town, the more he realized there was no one left alive to protect. The last orders he had received had been to keep clear of the major cities, that HQ had fallen, and then silence.

  Hell, until a few months ago, he had assumed he was the only couyon left alive on earth.

 Didn't matter. Everything he had he left back home in Eunice, Louisiana. And that was all inanimate and cold and long-buried in the ground, nothing that could warm him on dark nights anyhow.

  For months, he walked the highways and the roads, just off in the woods in the shadows of the leaves and trees. He did his duty, killing as many of the damned as he could.

  Didn't bother him much, he was recon, trained to do whatever needed doing. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.

 He saw a lot from his place in the woods. He saw men and women trying and failing to survive, the dead roaming, ambling about by the handfuls. Great herds of them shuffling across the blacktop like cattle going down the Chisholm Trail.

  There seemed to be no end to the uggies. Everywhere he went there they were. Old folks, young folks, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers. Hell, he had seen a bride one time in her pretty white gown just wandering around.

  The longer he survived in the land of the dead, the more he forgot what other humans, real humans, sounded like. He was beginning to go a little nutty if he was honest. It had been months since he last saw someone who seemed alive, and even they looked like they were on their way out. Tired, sickly, starving maybe. A shadow that had appeared and disappeared so fast he wasn't entirely certain they were real.

  So he drove further back from the roads, deeper into the Georgian woods.

 He did well there, flourished even. Hunting, fishing in the river, killing uggies at an easy pace. Every day, he lay his head in a different spot, never staying still too long, never growing attached to anything.

  It was there, in the middle of the sylvan woods of Georgia, that he came upon a high, grey stone wall, beyond which towered an old looking church. There were some equally dated-looking buildings surrounding it.

  At first, he thought it was a compound of sorts. Maybe some of those good ol' Georgian boys who had it in their mind to form their own militia. A ragged group of NRA enthusiasts with too much ordnance and not enough brains or balls.

  When he had scaled the wall out of morbid curiosity, to perch high and get his bearings, he was startled to find a handful of nuns working in a vegetable garden below. At the time they didn't notice him as he perched on their wall. They seemed too intent on gathering the bounties of their good-sized garden, safe, and almost cocky behind their wall.

 With his rifle shouldered, he had watched them at work, amazed to find life so deep in the woods. Feeling like a man who had just witnessed a miracle, an angel, a vision.

  Sitting at ease on the high, eight-foot wall, the Lieutenant watched the ladies in their garden for the longest time, entranced by the simple beauty of their work and their pretty flowing habits that swished when they walked, before he settled his pack beside him to open it up for a snack of dried nuts he had found in the Piggly Wiggly in Blackshear.

  It had been so, so long since he had observed actual human beings moving and chatting, laughing and living, that he seemed to forget where he was and he was only just a little hungry so he thought he'd have himself a snack while he watched them work.

  It wasn't until one of them, the only one who wore all white, glanced up and spied him on the wall.

 Her face was one of serene, simple beauty. Clear blue eyes, a classic beauty that would give Vivian Leigh a run for her money and a hard, almost stern look which changed from placid to startled at the sight of him on their wall. She dropped the basket of potatoes she was carrying to wash at the water pump just past his position and took a quick step back.

  Shouldering his rifle slowly, he held up his hands to show her he was defenseless and offered her a smile he hoped was as charming as he wanted it to be.

  She stared, gawped at him for the longest time, delicate brows knitting, lips trembling like she wanted to say something.

  “Now hold on, I'm not here to stir the nest.” He cautioned as the woman took small, dainty steps back from him.

 The other Sisters now noticed him and wavered between moving to protect the one close to him and fleeing into the shelter of their convent buildings.

  He studied them quietly for a moment, almost as though he thought they were a figment of his imagination, a lie, a mirage on the horizon.

  “My name is Lieutenant Layfayette Vancoughnett of the United States Marine Corps,” he greeted in a voice rusty from disuse. Had it been what? A month? Two months since he last said anything to anyone. “I'm charged with protecting the citizens of this country from the epidemic of the dead.”

  The woman nearest him looked at him with hard, steely eyes, unwavering and unimpressed, but still, she said nothing.

  “I'm not here to hurt any of you,” he went on. “I'm here to offer aid and assistance to any survivors.”

 “We have a front gate for a reason,” the woman suddenly scolded him in the prettiest Southern Belle accent he had ever heard. Straight out of an old movie about Southern Belles and their airy, sweet fiddle-dee-dees.

  Now, when the Lieutenant was a boy he used to stay up late and watch the old late-night showings of movies on Channel 15. He loved those old pictures, the actresses and actors were always far much more elegant than anyone he had ever met. Even dirty, even rugged and sun-scorched in Westerns and historical war films, they always looked so much more.

  This woman, as soon as she opened her mouth, had him yearning for those old films. She had him thinking of Atlanta burning and cotillions and balls of the American South and the Civil War. She had him thinking of Scarlett and Rhett.

  Recovering from the nostalgia of his youth, and feeling as though she had slapped him, the Lieutenant blinked at her for a moment. It had been a few months since he heard words coming from the mouth of someone rational, so he had to think whether he said something rude.

  “Do y'all know what's going on beyond these walls?” He asked.

 The woman wiped a smudge of dirt across her cheek with her wrist and sighed. “Are you here for trouble or to be a spider on my wall? Because I have no time for leering men peering down at me and my nuns like we're chocolate pie at the Easter picnic.”

  Hopping down into the inner convent grounds, the Lieutenant grinned crookedly and took a step towards the woman in white. “Was I leering? Aw, Missy, that was not my intention. It's only that it's been a long, long, very long while since I've seen a living, breathing person.”

  Wincing as she backed away from him, the woman frowned delicately, her mouth drawing in a thin line. Behind her the other nuns were gathering, they seemed less intimidating than the one in pure white. But she still remained resolute before him, the top of her head only coming up to his shoulder.

  “I think you should leave,” the woman suggested.

 “Is there really no one left alive?” One of the young nuns in a blue dress asked. She didn't wear a full veil like the older nuns, her skirts reached to mid-calf, black stockings and shoes hiding her feet and legs from sight.

  “Not that I've seen. Then again I've been keeping myself clear of the major cities, could be some, could be less than some, could be none.”

  “Please,” the woman in white said. “Just leave. We don't want trouble.”

 “Maybe we could offer him some food and at least a place to rest for the night?” An older nun suggested. “We all were strangers in Egypt, Mother Mena.”

  “Sister Mary Agnes, go inside, take the others.” The woman in white said firmly.

 “Now, don't be so hard on them,” the Lieutenant amended. “I'm leaving. I didn't mean to shake things up. Just wanted to perch on your wall a little and take a rest.”

  Hopping back up onto the eight-foot wall with a little trouble, he managed to collect his things with some dignity, before giving the women below him one last look.

  The leader, at least he assumed she was in charge, raised her chin a little and gave him a real hard look, her pretty, clear blue eyes narrowing a little in a silent challenge. Her pretty little starlet looks, that soft edge of the dying breed of the American South, the Southern Belle, the debutante, hard as steel under velvet was all enough to make him reconsider stirring trouble. She looked like she'd take his eyes out without a second thought, like a she-wolf protecting her young.

  Nodding, he leaped back down off their wall, heading for the little camp he had made for the day.

 He had returned to what he did best for the next few days, killing uggies and scrounging for supplies. Surviving like a shell of a man, staggering around, putting down the dead, eating whatever he could find, it was a hollow life he had now and it had only just come alive again at the sight of those nuns.

  Every now and then he thought of those nuns in their walled-in convent and it sparked life back into him. He worried about them, which was something he missed about people. Caring about them, whether they lived or died. He had become like a man trying to preserve the last of the endangered little critters, only with nuns and it renewed in him a purpose.

  For at least two weeks he resisted the urge to return, not wanting to harass them. But he was a weak man and that drum that pounded in his chest told him 'go back, go back, go back'. And those grey stone walls of the convent seemed to draw him like a magnet to metal.

  They weren't in their garden when he finally managed to pull himself onto the wall, using a tree and a lot of long reaches, but he remained on the wall for a bit, hoping to spy one of them. He just needed to know they were okay, that he hadn't imagined them.

  He sat on that wall so long that before he knew it, it was beginning to get dark, and he realized he had to go find some sort of place to hunker down for the night, a tree or an old foxhole, something tucked away enough for him to rest up.

  Pulling out a bottle of Aspirin and a box of feminine pads he kept in his pack, the former for pain, the later for emergency bandages, he left them on his spot on the wall just opposite the back door to a long, rectangular building, as a sort of offering, before he slipped down and back into his woods.

  Slumping against the side of a house, he sunk down beside the latest uggie he had killed and sighed. Everywhere you went they were there. The dead, the uggies, the creatures he did his best to avoid calling zombies.

  Zombies weren't real. They were movie monsters brought to life with CGI and latex.

 These things, these uggies, they were something else entirely. They were infected, they were rotting. Some kind of nerve damage? Maybe they weren't dead. He didn't know. He just killed them before they tore him apart. Because they sure did have rage and hunger to them that wasn't normal. An entire group of them could tear a man apart in less than a minute.

  Sighing, he looked over at the young man he had put down.

 It hadn't occurred to him that before the nuns, he was lonesome. The Lieutenant was a social creature by habit, he enjoyed a good story and a better joke, but he had grown used to nothing and no one but the dead.

 Now, knowing there were living people out there somewhere, people who didn't fire first, who didn't want what he had, or hate that he was untouched by the dead, knowing that somewhere in the Georgian woods were potential companions, had him distracted from the rut he had fallen into.

  It was the same old thing, day in and day out. Wake up, crawl out from wherever he had bunkered for the night, kill some uggies, scrounge for some food and supplies, hunt if the food wasn't available, dig down like a tick for the night and do it all over again.

  His pack was getting heavy with things he needed to survive, his boots were worn thin, nearly to the sole of his foot itself. He had slogged his way north, south, east, and west, but always somehow came back to the area surrounding the convent.

  He needed some company, just a little chat with someone who didn't drool or moan, or at least didn't drool and moan until he bought them some dinner.

  The farmhouse he had stumbled onto was a rundown shack, very little in uggie activity, but replete with goodies.

 Digging through the pantry, he stuffed jar after jar of pickles, jams, and preserves into his pack, until his pack was too full for any more.

 So he ducked outside to bury most of his found treasure, in case anyone else came upon his goldmine, he wanted some things left for himself. It was a dog eat dog sort of world now and while burying his treasure seemed juvenile, it would prove handy come crunch time when everything had been picked over and gone through. When nothing remained of the old world but trash and canned peas.

  Finding an old water pump, he helped himself to some well water and settled down to clean up some, shaving the itchy goddamned stubble away and rubbing stains out of his uniform where uggies had spewed their nasty fluids all over him like some goddamned reject from a devil possession movie.

  Ducking back into the house before he left, he stuffed the last of the jars of food into his pack and zipped it shut.

 He had enough jam and jelly and pickled veggies to get him through some rough times and in a few more months winter would be upon him and those preserves would really matter.

  Just as he was about to head out from the location, he spied some seed packs sitting on a windowsill in the mudroom and slowed down enough to read them.

  As it did lately, his mind wandered to the nuns and their garden. So he snatched up the seed packs, stuffing them into his trouser pockets, before leaving the farmhouse.

  Climbing onto the convent wall later that afternoon where he had found it easiest to climb, just opposite the back door of the rectangular building, he began his search for life, before pulling out a few jars of preserves to give up to the nuns as an offering. He stacked the jars in such a way as to create a sort of cairn, inside which he tucked the seeds, safe from birds.

  He sat for a few more hours on the wall, before climbing down and slinking off into the forest with no nun in sight.

  It would be another day of same ol', same ol'.

  There was a small farm just on the outskirts of the woods, near the river where he had decided to make camp for the night.

  It had been left pretty much alone, way out in the backroads as it was.

 There were only four uggies, huddled around the carcass of some unfortunate kitty cat, eating their meal with all the greed of a biblical King, fattening themselves on kitty cat meat.

  It was awful of him to think it, but humans he could abide, but a kitty cat being killed? It just sort of stabbed at him in his soft spot.

  Standing over the five bodies, four humans, and one small feline, the Lieutenant realized how messed up it was that he had more sympathy for the cat than the humans. But the poor thing was small and easy prey, humans had the luxury of size and warfare tactics.

  With a string of fish he had caught in the river waiting to be fried over an open flame and a hungry belly, he ignored the corpses in favour of setting up on the far side of the farmyard, building himself a nice fire to fry his fish dinner.

  They sort of haunted him though, the corpses always did. It seemed unnatural, even to a marine, to just leave the dead out in the open as he did. There was never any time to really dispose of them though and to burn them meant the risk of the smoke being seen by other less friendly humans or smelled by the dead.

  Huddled over the old frying pan he kept hanging from his pack, he tended to his dinner with care.

 At first, he didn't hear it or it didn't register to him as a threat. He was so used to hearing only three things, the dead shuffling, the dead groaning, or absolute and terrifying silence.

  But as he cooked, he began to tune back into the world around him.

  Over the crackle of the fire and the sizzle of the fish, he heard a soft mewling, muffled it seemed, by distance or objects.

 At first, worried about the dead not staying dead, he glanced over at the heap of corpses in the growing twilight, making out just dark shadows. Removing his pan from the flame, he set it aside in favour of wandering towards the heap, nervous. Scared the kitty cat was going to pop back up and get him with one well-placed chomp.

  He had never seen the virus or whatever it was infect animals, but he knew somehow his dumb Cajun ass would be the first.

  Hell, if zombies were real, maybe he'd turn into a werecat or something.

  As he headed towards the heap, the mewling grew softer, quieter. He was putting more distance between himself and the sound.

 He continued on, though, kneeling by the corpse of the poor unfortunate cat, reaching down to sort through the gore the dead left, feeling the swollen teat of a mother cat.

  “Shit,” he swore.

  There were kittens somewhere.

  Standing up, he looked around.

  Beyond his fire, was a barn, he figured that would be ideal for a nest, so he headed towards it.

  Passing by the fire, he heard the mewling grow louder, but not much, so he stopped at his pack and pulled out a flashlight.

 Entering the dark barn, he shone the light around cautiously. He was weaponless, but there was no real threat of the dead, the door had been latched securely.

  Inside the barn, the stench of death was strong, but he figured it was coming from the heap that lay in one of the stalls.

  “Poor baby,” he murmured.

  Whatever it was, horse or cow, it had rotted where it dropped.

 God. As cold as it seemed, he could handle human death, it was familiar and sometimes necessary, but the death of an animal always got him.

  The sound was louder in the barn, but he couldn't exactly place it.

  He walked the aisle up and down, looking in stall after stall.

 His growling stomach called him back to the fire and his fish, but every time he considered selfishly going back for dinner, the kittens would call him and they sounded hungrier than him.

  It broke his heart.

  “Where are you, babies?” He called out, knowing no answer would come.

 It seemed like an hour he spent, tearing apart square straw bales and looking in the cracks between wooden slats in the stalls and in the manager part of the stalls before he remembered most barns had a hayloft.

  Shining his light upwards, he saw only wooden floorboards overhead decorated with cobwebs.

 The Lieutenant was trailer park trash or at least one step up from that (which in Louisiana meant his granny had a trailer in the middle of the woods near Eunice), he had never been on a farm beyond a few times in passing, so he didn't know how the hell to get up there. He couldn't see a ladder or a staircase, but as he shone his light across the ceiling above him, he spied a part that had rotted away, near the door he had come in and moved towards it.

  As he moved, in near-total darkness save for the beam of light from his flashlight, he spied a pair of glowing eyes peering down at him, before they ducked out of sight.

  “Found you,” he cooed gently up at the hole.

  Looking around for something to climb on so he could poke his head up into the hole to find the kitten, he came up with an old five-gallon pail and hoped to God it would be tall enough.

  Wobbling a little as he climbed onto it, he realized it was still too short, so he jumped down and looked around again.

  The mewling continued.

  “I'll be right back, yeah?” He called up to the kittens.

 Ducking outside, he began to look around the farmyard, knowing how dangerous it was to be outside at night, shining a flashlight like a beacon beckoning the dead to come home to eat. If he could find something, a ladder, or something tall enough to climb onto, he could pull himself up into the hayloft.

  Throwing a bundle of dry branches onto his fire as he passed, he headed for a nearby shed. It looked like a tool shed.

  The door was locked, but it didn't take much for him to kick the weathered door off its hinges.

 Entering like a criminal into a bank vault, he looked around. There wasn't a ladder, but there was a riding lawn mower that looked tall enough to park under the hole. Grabbing up what looked like an old birdcage, he set it on the seat and putting the lawnmower in neutral, he clamped his teeth down on his flashlight and began to roll the machine out.

  It took him a good twenty damned minutes to get it through the door of the barn and for him to crawl over the top of it before he finally managed to get his head up and into the hayloft.

  That pair of shining eyes blinked at him from way, way back in the dusty, moldy hay-filled barn attic, and then another pair blinked at him and another.

  “Hey,” he soothed to the babies. “Come on over here. Come on.”

 After five minutes of gentle cooing, one of the kittens came close, curious about the man who had wedged himself up and into their hole.

 He hoped like hell there were no dead coming at him at that moment. His bottom half was exposed and he didn't want them eating his tender bits first.

  A grey and white kitten, nothing but fluff and eyes and ears touched a wet nose to his outstretched hand, before jerking back nervously.

  “Hi there,” he whispered. “You're a lovely little thing, aren't you? Come on. I've never hurt an animal and I won't start today, baby.” That was a bit of a white lie, he did have to hunt and fish to survive, but he never kicked a dog and never once tossed a kitty cat out of his way.

  Carefully he scooped the fluff ball up and tucked it into the birdcage. Taking that time to glance around at his surroundings for threats, he pushed the cage up into the hole and climbed up in after it.

  Sniffling and sneezing due to the old straw and hay and whatever else was up there, he felt like he was going to catch at least something from it all. Cholera or something else.

 Underneath his six-foot-something weight, the old floorboards groaned, so he moved cautiously, stepping only where he thought the joists underneath were.

  Stopping a few feet from the other two pair of eyes, he cooed and called to them, before finally he was still enough that they cautiously came over to him, one was easy to catch, but the other retreated as he did so.

  The one he had caught was a beautiful short-haired calico and she looked at him in the light of his flashlight with such big eyes that he fell in love a little.

  “Hey, baby,” he greeted. “I'm not going hurt you. But mama's not coming back, so y'all gotta come with me now.”

 With two kittens in the birdcage, mewling hungrily, he tried coaxing the last one over. When the short-haired grey tabby refused to come any closer, the Lieutenant realized he was going to have to go after it.

 “Come on now,” he said gently. “I'm not going hurt you, baby. Catching the kitten, he carefully moved back to the cage and added him.

  Taking one last look around to ensure he got all of the kittens, he headed back for the hole.

  Carefully he poked his head down first before blindly emerging from the hayloft.

  Seeing the coast was clear, he crawled down, bringing the kittens down with him.

  Most of his fish had been consumed by the kittens, the poor things were hungry.

 With a small bowl of water from the well in the cage with them, he moved everyone into the house finally, the land had grown dark a long, long time before.

  Settling upstairs, he secured the door to the room he was going to bed down in, before opening the cage door and letting the kittens out.

  They moved carefully around the room, inspecting everything, before launching themselves at the blanket on the bed where the Lieutenant had settled.

  Dragging themselves up one by one using their claws and the blanket, they sniffed around him for a bit.

 “Bedtime,” he commanded softly, picking up the little calico and smiling as she instantly began to purr. “Aren't you just the sweetest thing,” he said. “What are we going to do with y'all?”

  He couldn't leave them to be eaten as their poor mama had been, but he couldn't travel around with kitties in his pack.

  As with everything as of late, his mind drifted to the nuns and their high walls.

  He hoped they were charitable to kittens.

  Scaling the wall was never easy, but he had a system at this point.

 There was an old gnarled oak tree just behind the convent, close enough to the wall that if he leaped from a thick lower branch and kept his balance he could make the wall.

  It was a little more dangerous with a cage full of kittens, but he managed to make the jump safely.

 Once upon the wall, he realized, however, that he had no escape plan with a heavy pack and a cage of precious cargo. He couldn't just jump down, the kittens would get jostled too badly, but he didn't see any other option.

  Just as he was considering the physics of jumping, he spied a flash of white appear from the back door of the large rectangular building beside the church.

  A nun had emerged, a laundry basket in her hands.

  Not wanting to startle her, the Lieutenant let loose a low, soft whistle to get her attention.

  It failed, the nun still jumped a little, dropping her basket of clothes.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, pointing to the kittens in the cage hurriedly as an explanation.

  Exhaling a relieved breath, the nun hurried over to stand below him on the wall.

 Kneeling, he handed her the cage, explaining himself, “sorry,” he apologized again. “I found these little fellas and didn't know where else to bring them.”

  The nun looked up at him with large, beautiful brown eyes and a sort of amused grin. “You're that marine, aren't you?”

  He nodded. “I don't want to make trouble.”

  “I know,” she returned. “Sister Gertrude has cats, so...you brought them to the right place.”

  He smiled. “Good. I'll bring y'all some kitty food if I find it then.”

  “You've been leaving us things,” the nun went on.

  “Have they been useful?”

  She nodded.

  Looking up and out at the convent, he asked, “what is this place, exactly?”

  “Veil of Tears of the Sacred Virgin Convent,” she said.

  “Which one are you?”

  The nun smiled. “Sister Dymphna.”

  “Dymphna. I'm Lieutenant Vancoughnett, USMC.”

  “Lieutenant.” She repeated.

  They both looked up as another nun emerged from the back of the building, a laundry basket in her arms.

  “You'd better go,” Dymphna said. “Mother Mena will be out soon. She doesn't want strangers in the convent.”

 He nodded, watching the other nun who was approaching them cautiously. “Thank you for taking these little guys. Their mama got nabbed by a couple of the dead and I didn't want them to starve.”

  Dymphna smiled. “Thank you for bringing them to us.” She hesitated, before adding. “Stay safe out there, please?”

 Thinking of the nuns the next morning, he remembered his promise to Dymphna; cat food. And he recalled the town nearby had an agro-center with all manners of animal feed.

  So he headed there, with no better plans for the day but wandering around and surviving.

 The town had been cleared of anything living, or at least anything with a thinking, rational brain, but he still walked into it with all the caution of a man going to battle.

  The dead lingered in places where people once inhabited, either because they could smell the living scent lingering or because somewhere in the backs of their rotting brains, they recalled that this was a place where they were supposed to be, like salmon returning to spawn or birds migrating.

 If he was quiet enough, moved silently enough, the lingering scent of the living would mask his own and he could slip in and out without any problems.

  And even though he swore he'd avoid areas that had once been heavily populated, he went into the town on a mission.

 Kittens would need soft food at best, maybe a smallish bag of special kitten chow, he wasn't sure, he emptied his pack to make space for both.

  The agro-center was dark and quiet, the shops always were now.

 Someone had already broken the glass door wide open but had pulled a heavy, empty snack stand over the hole behind them as they left, possibly with the intention of returning for more scrounging.

  The Lieutenant tread carefully once past the stand and inside, worried that maybe the stand had been pulled in behind someone entering, but determined to get his kitten food and leave. It would be an easy in and out, once he found the cat aisle.

  Passing by garden aisles and chemical aisles, both raided for tools to be used as weapons and chemicals he could only imagine were to be used for bombs or other methods of self-defense from the dead, he turned down an aisle containing small appliances and barbecue equipment, following the signs overhead that pointed him towards the cat aisle, moving slowly and cautiously around each corner.

  It was so far quiet and empty, but that didn't mean the next corner didn't have someone or something waiting in surprise for him.

  The cat aisle was at the very back of the store, last aisle and as he glanced around the corner, he spied a small form sitting on the floor in the very corner, playing with some cat toys, her back to him.

  It was a child, he realized. And she looked very much alive.

 Approaching her slowly, eyes moving constantly, looking for someone who may be with her, the Lieutenant moved down the aisle, a new mission at the forefront of his mind.

  If this child was alone, he had to get her out of here and to the safety of the convent, whether the nuns wanted strangers there or not.

  About five steps away from the little girl, she happened to look up and over her shoulder, a cautious, searching glance, watching for the dead he assumed.

  She saw him, gasped, and stood up.

 Someone stepped around the corner, handgun aimed at the Lieutenant. They must have been right beside her, scrounging the endcap of the aisle.

  Raising his own rifle, the Lieutenant kept it trained on the man with the child.

 The two could not be any different. The small black girl wore the uniform of a Fox Scout, dirty, worn sneakers and had the sweetest, most open face he had ever seen on a child. She looked at him with big, dark eyes, before reaching up and rubbing in irritation at her button nose, tucking in behind the man.

  The white man with her wore an expensive suit, brightly patterned silk shirt underneath, boots that had at one point been polished and expensive, looked dangerous and prepared to kill. His predatory look was ruined a little by how big and green his eyes were, fringed by dark lashes. Altogether with the freckles on his face adding to his boyish appeal and softening the threat if only a little made him deceptively dangerous.

  They were not father and child, and yet the girl hid behind the man, trusting him to keep her safe.

 For a minute the two men just stood there, guns trained on the other's face, before the Lieutenant spoke carefully, “I'll put my weapon down if you do the same.”

  The man narrowed his eyes a little but kept his weapon trained on the Lieutenant.

  “I'm just here for kitten food,” the Lieutenant said. “I don't want a fight.”

  “Kitten food?” The man asked, almost a breathy laugh.

  “If you put the gun away I'll tell you the story,” the Lieutenant lied.

 Grinning, the man tilted his head and gave the Lieutenant a sort of admonishing, playful look, his mouth lifting in the right corner crookedly, before palming his pistol and raising his hands defensively. “Well now I've gotta hear this one,” he said in a tone that sounded like the man had once been born in the American South, like the distant memory of a twang was hidden just behind his calm, smooth voice.

 Lowering his rifle, the Lieutenant paused for a second, watching as the man watched him, before both men put their weapons away, the man sliding his pistol back into a holster inside his suit jacket, resting it at his breast, the Lieutenant sliding his rifle onto his back.

 “Was scrounging some farm,” the Lieutenant said, carefully turning from the man, keeping one eye on the two at the end of the aisle and one on the selection of canned cat food, “found some orphaned kittens.”

 “And you're taking care of them?” The man almost teased. “You know the world's fucking decimated, right? Doesn't really matter.”

  Giving the man and the girl with him a simple look. “Guess we both have soft hearts.”

 Placing a hand on the girl's head, the man in the expensive suit tucked her behind him further, shielding her from the Lieutenant's gaze. “Don't look at her. Just get your fucking cat food.”

  Both adult men, prickly and on their guard, remained in their respective spots, before the Lieutenant deferred slowly, moving down the aisle, keeping one eye on the man and the girl as he browsed for canned kitten food.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl tug the man down to whisper something to him, and at first, the man ignored her before he stooped a little.

  Cupping her hand, the child whispered to him.

  “I'm not...this isn't the time, kid.”

  After a bit, the man with the child sighed deeply and asked, “how many kittens?”

  “Three,” the Lieutenant said, speaking directly to the child, knowing the question came from her.

  Once more the man in the fancy suit gently pushed the kid behind him fully, eyes warily on the Lieutenant.

 “You her daddy?” The Lieutenant asked, finding the kitten food and dropping his pack to stuff as many cans inside as he could.

  “Do I look like her fucking daddy?” The man demanded.

  The Lieutenant tilted his head. “The world is a diverse place.”

  The three of them were silent for the longest time, before the man said,  “it's just the two of us now.”

  “What are you two doing here?” The Lieutenant asked. “Is this where you hole up?”

  The man scowled a little. “What the fuck do you care?”

  Again the Lieutenant backed down into silence, hefting his pack back up onto his back.

 “Ran into some good ol' boys a bit back,” the man in the suit supplied. “Seems the NRA survived the end of days and they're just as nasty as they were before it all went to shit. Thought it'd be best to hole up until early morning, then duck out of town.”

  The Lieutenant nodded.

  “You? Still serving the government?”

 “I don't think so,” the Lieutenant said. “If HQ is still up and running ain't nobody told me.” Eyeing the two of them, the girl and the fancy man, the Lieutenant asked, “you got a place to be or you just moving?”

  “El Dorado,” the man said simply, still on his guard. “Hey, where's your cats?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You got them stashed somewhere safe or you just fucking with us?”

  “They're safe.”

  The man nodded.

 “I could think of eight better lies I could have told than kittens,” the Lieutenant said. He took one last, studious look at the two of them, before that small part in him, the one that wanted to protect people kicked in. “Why don't you two come with me? There's safety in numbers.”

  Folding his arms, the man tilted his head back a little and stared hard at him, before saying, “get the fuck out of here.”