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heavenlycloud · 1 year ago

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the veil~ ღཾཿ༉ ༘჻ღཾཿ჻

four: you think i’m cute ‧₊˚ ⋅ ༘☆*.ﾟ

warnings: swearing, crying

pairing: huh yunjin x aespa 5th member! fem reader

summary: to be in the same place at the same time looking for the same thing is one hell of a coincidence. you both hope to find one another and the mutual ties of friendship may guide your way. so close to finding one another, just hope you don’t fall short and miss the opportunity.

author notes: its been SO long since my last update because i was traveling, in classes, now working, AND my laptop FUCKING BROKE ON ME???? so i managed to throw this chapter together using my phone and a glitchy ass version of google docs. there’s probably spelling errors i didn’t catch so sorry in advance!

this chapter might seem messy and not cohesive with the way it starts and ends but it’s because this chapter did get extremely long so due to that + mobile only letting me post 10 photos at a time—i have to split the chapter into two which will be posted soon as the next update. tag list is still open for those of you all who want to be added in, just comment or drop an ask in my inbox! lastly, feedback, comments, reblogs, questions, literally anything but hateful speech is welcome and very much appreciated!

̟ ̇ ˖ಎ˚˖࿔ masterlist 𓂅୨⊹ ₊˚๑

you jolted awake when you heard the front door to your dorm slam shut followed by muffled sobs and hurried steps to the bathroom. sleep clouded your thoughts and you tried to figure out what was going on elsewhere in the dorm when you went to move your laptop off your bed. you glanced over and noticed you were alone on the video call, and your match was gone. at first you were disappointed and part of you had clung onto the delusion that she’d stay on the call until you woke up. however, that feeling of disappointment was replaced with full blown panic when you saw your camera was turned on when you were 99.99% sure you’d left it off. the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit was despite the camera being on, your image was blurred by default of the app settings. but, that in no way guaranteed that your identity remained unknown. the screen blur worked when people were sitting a considerable distance from their camera, not a few inches away like you had when you fell asleep. even after you hung up, you racked your brain trying to think about what you could do until you heard a quiet knock at your door.

aeri slipped into your room with tearstained cheeks and swollen eyes as she stood in front of you like a lost puppy. her entire body trembled and her breathing became erratic while she looked down with unfocused eyes. you asked in a serious tone, “are you hurt?” aeri shook her head and you pulled back your blankets and made room for her beneath the covers. she slipped in beside you and you brushed back a piece of hair that fell into her face. the scent of her coconut-apricot shampoo and herbal body wash watered down the lingering odor of alcohol that clung onto her words. there was a small silence before aeri sniffled, “why do i feel like such shit? i thought i would be over all of this by now but i feel the fucking same.” you frowned and ran a hand over her hair before replying softly, “gigi, it’s only been four weeks. you were with him for two years, it’s gonna take time.” you debated on adding on more, but you knew she’d have to hear the truth eventually, “and i know you don’t want to hear it but….running off to other boys and getting white girl wasted isn’t helping much either you know?” she sighed into your shoulder and admitted, “yeah yeah i know but i don’t know what else to do.” you pulled away and looked aeri in the eyes, “you have all of us here, and you can reach back out to your therapist. remember that you have people around you that are here and want to help you when you need it okay?” she nodded slowly and rested her head back on your shoulder before humming, “i will, i promise this time. but right now, i just wanna sleep okay?” you smiled weakly and pressed a kiss to your member’s head, “of course.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

in the morning you found minjeong sitting alone in the kitchen poking at a bowl of fruit she’d cut up earlier that morning. she looked up and made eye contact with you before looking back down silently. you knew the reason for her being upset so you didn’t bother asking because it’d really only rub salt into the wound. instead, you tried to lighten the mood with another question, “are you excited for the Gucci Cruise Show tonight?” minjeong cracked a smile and responded, “elizabeth olsen is coming and IU sunbaenim! i’m gonna try to get pictures with them if i can.” you gave her a look and she scoffed, “i’m serious this time, i’m not gonna just stare at them from afar. ningning and aeri unnie are rubbing off their extrovert energy on me, i can feel it already.” you shook your head and laughed, “so i’m not going to get a call from you 10 minutes into the after party begging for me to bullshit up an excuse to our manager so you can leave?” minjeong’s face dropped and she glared at you, “shut up.” you threw your head back with laughter and she changed the subject, “how was your date last night? has she talked to you since then?” she saw how you suddenly stiffened at the mention of your match and awaited your reply nervously, “i think she knows who i am.”

aeri walked into the kitchen and sleepily rubbed her eyes, “who knows who you are?” she moved to sit on your lap but shot up when minjeong answered, “her match.” aeri already had her phone out with ningning on FaceTime so you could explain to them both: “i was watching the movies with her last night and it got super late and i guess i dozed off at some point. when i fell asleep my camera was off but when i woke up it was on. the screen blur was on but i was super close to the camera so like i don’t know if she could tell it was me…and i’m starting to think she knows because she hasn’t texted me at all this morning and usually she’s up now.”

ningning tried to offer a consolation, “well your hair isn’t a vibrant color right now and your lights were off so if she saw anything it probably wasn’t much.” aeri chimed in, “yeah and she might have had an early practice this morning and hasn’t had a chance to text you.” minjeong nodded in agreement and told you, “they’re right. it’s probably nothing to worry about.” you sank back into your chair again and picked at your cuticles as you let your mind wander to a world of negative ‘what ifs’. ningning snapped her fingers in front of your face and placed her hand over yours, “hey! stop that. everything is going to be fine so stop letting yourself worry about this girl. instead think about how you might see her tonight at the party.”

minjeong perked up and asked, “what party?” jimin emerged from the hallway while she answered, “it’s choi jisu’s birthday party. every year she has this massive celebration for her birthday.” aeri clapped her hands in excitement and continued, “there’s always a cool theme to go with it. last year it was Starry Night and she hosted it in a literal planetarium! this year’s theme is Masquerade Ball. it’s admission by invitation only and this year we’ve been invited AND management is actually letting us go!” the younger singer furrowed her brows and asked, “for an event so exclusive why is she inviting us when we’ve only met her in passing?” ningning chimed in, “when y/n and i were trainees jisu was also training here with us.” you pointed to her then added, “yeah jisu and i were close back then. it was only a few months because she left SM and we lost touch after that…but like i said we were close.” minjeong stared at you suspiciously and asked, “how close?” aeri snorted and slapped ningning’s arm as the two doubled over laughing. you whined, “not like THAT WINNIE OH MY GOD?!” the latter shrugged and plainly said, “hey i never know…people get around.” her gaze fell to jimin for a millisecond then to the floor as if she never said anything. ningning coughed awkwardly then blurted out, “okay well i uh…i have a thing.” the rest of you all scattered as well to go about your mornings before you had to start getting ready for the big night.

all you wanted to do this morning and afternoon was focus on the upcoming party, but you had to practice. you dragged your feet against the floor of the company building hallways until you reached your destination. music was already playing in the practice room when you opened the door and a blonde woman called out to you, “you’re late.” you turned to check the time on the wall clock just to see it’d been unplugged. instead you made a move to check your phone but the woman swiped it out of your hand before you got the chance to look at it. she playfully mocked the sassy retort you always gave her, “by two minutes.” when you scoffed in feign offense she reminded you, “which still means you’re late. get warmed up, i have to make a few calls.” the older woman walked out of the studio and you did as you were told, starting with some stretches to warm up your muscles.

four hours passed and it was just around lunchtime when you finished the main part of practice. you spun in a circle before falling to the floor in a dramatic dip earning a laugh from your mentor. she stared at you from above and shook her head in amusement before holding her hand out to help you up. when you held out a finger for her to give you a moment, she instead joined you on the floor. your chest slowly stopped heaving but the burning ache in your abdominal muscles remained. you rolled onto your stomach and let your face rest on your forearms with your eyes closed. the older woman patted your behind and praised you warmly, “you did really well today. i can see you’ve been working hard.” for a few moments you both sat in silence as she let you catch your breath before moving to stand up. you followed behind her and hesitated before asking, “wait- hyoyeon unnie….can i ask you something?” your mentor turned around and answered, “what’s wrong, babydoll?” the old nickname she gave you years ago slipped off her lips effortlessly bringing you a sense of security that washed away your nerves.

you tugged at the fabric of your pants and a smile grew on hyoyeon’s face, she loved when you got shy and embarrassed over things because it meant she could tease you about it later. slowly you asked, “can you teach me how to dance? you know how they do in the princess movies? like ballroom dance?” the older woman put her bag back down and clarified, “a waltz?” when you nodded eagerly and excitedly followed her back to the center of the room she laughed. she showed you the moves and explained them simply as you started to get the hang of it within a few short minutes. when she added music to it she started asking more questions, “why do you suddenly need to know this?” you followed her lead and answered as you both moved, “there’s a party tonight and the theme is Masquerade Ball…i just wanna know in case.” hyoyeon could see the way you were trying to hide your smile as you clearly pictured she was someone else. your mentor then prompted, “so it’s not in case you happen to dance with a certain someone?” you shook your head in refusal but she could see right through your lies, yet she didn’t question you. you told her about your outfit for the evening and how your members, minus minjeong, we’re going together as well.

when you both finished dancing to the song, she picked up your phone and handed it back to you. hyoyeon pulled you into a hug, “good work today, babydoll. have fun this evening and take pictures, okay.” you nodded and headed down opposite directions of the hallways as she tacked on, “good luck with your dance, im sure you’ll charm your princess.” you whipped around just to see her smiling at you as she shot a wink over her shoulder. she pointed to her phone then walked around the corner leaving you stunned to a silence. you realized what she meant and checked your lock screen which had numerous notifications that read: Lyra 🪐

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✭・彡♡・✫.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

“god- soobin wait! shit fuck- i can’t breathe take it out! somi save me!” yunjin rasped out as her best friend squeezed the last breath out of her lungs while tying up the back of her gown. he let the ribbons go and threw his hands in the air, “somi you’re up. my hands are cramping from the last four times i did it..” somi huffed, “you’re being dramatic. jen come here.” she walked over to her and took a deep breath before yanking the ribbons to the back of the ball gown and tying it tightly. she patted yunjin on the shoulder, “see not so bad right?” yunjin coughed dramatically and winced, “i think you broke one of my ribs…” somi beamed “then i did it right. come on the car is downstairs.” kazuha, chaeyoung, and chloe were already waiting in another room for the other three and the six made their way down to the garage.

chloe gathered more handfuls of her dress’ lilac tulle topped with lavender and silver flowers as she walked and tried not to stumble over her own feet. she asked while looking around for somi’s car, “somi, remind me again how you expect to fit all of us in your car?” the blonde simply pointed to two black Cadillac Escalade trucks, “i got drivers.” the five friends looked at each other with shared glances before remembering this was their best friend they were talking about. chaeyoung helped kazuha into the truck first, picking up her forest green dress so not to ruin it. chloe followed behind her then chaeyoung filled in last, adjusting her navy blue blazer that was lined with silver hearts around the cuffs and trim. from the front seat, keeho turned around, “we waited down here for like an hour.” the girls rolled their eyes and ignored him, insisting that the music be turned up louder instead. meanwhile, soobin was busy helping somi and yunjin into the truck. yunjin went in first and somi followed in suit. her bubblegum pink gown took up a seat and a half, some of the tulle spilling onto beomhan’s lap when he sat behind her. soobin sat in the passengers seat before letting the driver know that everyone was here and they were ready to go.

“who did you invite tonight?” yunjin asked as she watched cars go by in the other street lanes. somi, who was in charge of jisu’s guest list, replied easily, “everyone in jisu’s address book…more or less.” yunjin asked in a more serious tone, “hold on, you didn’t invite jimin did you?” somi looked confused as she slowly answered, “yeah, why?” everyone in the car collectively started speaking over one another causing somi to raise her voice, “STOP YELLING AT ME AND TELL ME WHATS GOING ON!” beomhan lowered his voice as he told her, “she has a thing with ryujin while ryujin also has a thing with jisu. and before you ask yes jisu also has a thing with yeji. i don’t even know what it is honestly. the whole dynamic is a little weird she said. but apparently yeji and jisu are cool and they have their own little…thing. jisu also has a thing with ryujin too though and yeji knows obviously they like live together. but jisu says that she doesn’t really care who else ryujin wants to be with because they aren’t an exclusive thing, right. but then when someone tries to talk to jisu, ryujin gets all territorial, even when it’s yeji sometimes. she said ryujin will act like she’s only hers and her feelings get all hurt when jisu reminds her that they aren’t really a thing. and then in the same breath ryujin turns around with karina and acts like she didn’t even want jisu to begin with. i dunno it’s all just messy.”

yunjin frowned and asked curiously, “i thought karina had a thing with chaewon?” somi added on with a confused look too, “i thought she was messing around with winter?” beomhan pursed his lips as he explained further, “technically you’re both right. karina just has girls she messes with but nothing exclusive. ever since she and ryujin broke up a few months back she’s just been friends with benefits with a couple different people…including ryujin. i’m pretty sure all of them know they’re not the only ones she’s seeing.” soobin offered from the front seat, “well ryujin won’t be there tonight. she has that Gucci event. so even if karina does show up, ryujin wont be around to entertain her.” yunjin added with a shrug, “neither will chaewon.” the rest of the car ride everyone noticed yunjin in her own little world, completely ignoring when taylor swift came on the shuffle.

somi waved her hand in front of yunjin’s face, “jen? hellooooo???” the american singer then snapped out of her trance, “what? my bad what happened?” soobin pointed to the radio and said, “you didn’t sing to the past three taylor songs. are you okay? what are you thinking about?” she tried to play it off but even with the mask over her face it couldn’t hide the smile that pulled at her lips. beomhan glanced at her phone and noticed her Veil app open then he giggled, “she’s talking to her match.” the rest of her friends cooed and teased her before getting her to admit, “jasmine said she’ll be at the party.” somi gasped then questioned, “do you know what she’s wearing?” yunjin shook her head, “nope. she barely even told me she was coming.” soobin asked just as the car pulled into the lot, “do you know if she’s here yet?” yunjin once again refused, “nope.” all of them adjusted their masks over their eyes and secured the ribbons on the backs of their heads before heading into the building to find the massive ballroom. while the ballroom was on everyone else’s mind, all that was on yunjin’s was finding you.

⚠️‼️extra tweets and messages (important) ‼️⚠️

♡‧₊˚˘͈ᵕ˘͈‎ 彡♡ ༘*.ﾟ .·:¨༺ ʚ♡ɞ༻¨*:·.﹢࿐ ☆

authors notes: since i’m posting on mobile (my laptop is still being repaired) i can’t post all the messages and tweets id usually do for a chapter. that being said i can’t post the FULL chapter until i get my laptop back. HOWEVER i think it’ll be ready for pickup tomorrow. but cuz i’m working and i have a hectic week ahead i don’t wanna deprive you all of what i do have ready. and idk if i’ll be able to post again tomorrow even tho i’ll have my laptop back ☹️ so just know something big is coming and it is ready to be posted, i just need to get back on desktop! thank you all for being so patient and understanding i know i’ve been breaking promises with my updating schedule since may 😭 but thank you for sticking with me!

#kpop fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #kpop imagines #girl group fluff #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #girl group reactions #the veil au

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crystalelemental · 1 month ago

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Full tier list is here, breaking down the E-tier. I'll be honest, a lot of this tier is where I have general frustrations that aren't enough to make the significant dislike of F, but I have. Problems.

In case anyone was wondering, I am not going into the same depth as the last one.

Zinnia: neat concept, horrid execution. Delta episode sucks and she exudes nothing to me.

Hau: inoffensive but incredibly boring. Don't like the USUM decision to force him into serious battling.

Marnie: should be interesting as your rival, but all the neat stuff went to Piers, so she's super bland.

Malva/Siebold: Kalos E4 members I do not respect.

Gaeric/Calaba/Liam: Pearl Clan members I don't really care about.

Hugh: "You're about to feel my rage." Shut up, dweeb.

Kofu: bland.

Mina: uninterested, also your trial sucks ass.

Sophocles: I will never forgive Festival Plaza.

Molayne: couldn't care less.

Marlon: Centrist.

Burgh: Not flamboyant enough.

Magnolia: should be great! Unfortunately Galar decided to kick the only old lady professor we ever had to the curb for her hot granddaughter. Thanks for that.

Trevor: Dweeb, sucks at his only interest.

Maylene/Norman/Ramos/Wattson/Blaine: uninteresting Leaders.

Lana: Specifically bad in games, anime iteration is much improved. Games all she seems to do is go on about swimmers, which weirds me out.

Wulfric/Ilima: meh.

Giovanni: Loser lord supreme. Never accomplished a single goal his entire life. Literally had an entire criminal empire that kept Kanto in thrall that he probably inherited from his father, and lost it overnight to a ten year old boy and his rat. They keep trying to imbue him with some grand evil importance but he continuously shows us even in Masters that he is an impotent garbage man. I hear the manga makes him neat.

Juan: pointless, they should've done something more interesting to replace Wallace's gym.

Cress/Cilan/Chili: there's a reason you three weren't taking on Plasma.

Clemont: I actually do not like him, and the anime didn't help.

Bea: where are your organs?

Oleana: Actually really frustrating, because people seem to only like her for being blandly conventionally attractive, but she exudes nothing of a personality despite wild over-dependence on a man, and abuses Bede for personal gain. Hate her.

Misty: Never liked her, sorry.

Surge: Bootlicker.

Jacq: Man, I think it's just the "app designer" thing, but he rubs me the wrong way so bad.

Salvatore: actually inoffensive, but they give him nothing at all to work with.

Nita: I kinda like the Maison sisters, but Nita feels bland.

Buck: literally forgot his name.

Lucy: very little knowledge. I did like the anime iteration though.

Argenta: little to go on.

Benga: Kinda hate him after Masters had him talk to Lance. "You haven't been through enough to fight me, middle aged Champion man!" You are like twelve. Cool your jets.

Ortega: needs his ass beat. Not in like a bullying way, but in an "Eri needs to have a very blunt conversation about how manners work."

Mela: I am not compelled. Outfit is atrocious.

Victor: the unfair one. It's Reddit's fault.

Sina/Dexio: I never liked them to begin with, but then someone posited that Diantha could've used her acting skills to do their faux superhero thing in XY to keep infiltrating Team Flare and now I'll never forgive them.

Noland: eh.

Selene: cute outfit, nothing to work with.

Trace?: I hate the Let's Go rival. He's so bland and non-confrontational in every way. He exudes nothing to me.

Chase: Pikachu sucks, deal with it.

Elio: He gives me monkey child vibes. I do not like monkeys.

Juliana/violet boy: Really uninspiring protagonist designs.

Bellis: all you do is talk in different languages at random without reason and I hate that gimmick.

Wicke: exudes nothing but bad vibes. My wife caught it too and we agree, she should've just been evil.

Charon: at least a little funny in how boring he is.

Faba: bland and too expendable, easily dupes people into getting over Lusamine in USUM.

Archer/Ariana/Proton: Team Rocket just sucks, man. Nothing going on at all.

#pokemon tier list #pokemon characters tier list

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foxholes · 7 months ago

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15 questions for 15 (or so!) friends!

tagged by @euphcme!! ty cleo!!

are you named after anyone? nah, my parents just flipped through a baby book until they found a name they agreed on. i was close to being named taylor, but ultimately they decided against it because then my initials would be the same as my siblings and they wanted us to be easily distinguishable by just initials. for my middle name, which i won't say what it is cuz it's not a typical "middle name", my mom said she just chose one that was more traditional to kind of offset the more trendy first name. that way, if i grew up and didn't like how popular haley was, i could go by my middle name instead

when was the last time you cried? i have a goldfish memory so i have no idea, but it was surely this week and probably over something really dumb like i stubbed my toe or read a sad fanfic honestly.... it luckily Has Not Been That Serious for me lately (knock on wood), so no big reasons to cry and just silly ones and for this i am very grateful!!

do you have kids? i am not mentally stable or financially secure enough for a child rn, but i do think i might want them later on (esp if i find a loving partner who agrees). i personally think that, at 25, i am too young to have kids (i know people my age are parents, but it completely baffles and scares me), so it's not something i'm gonna put too much thought into until i'm in my 30s. 30 is also, coincidentally, the age i'll be when my iud expires (unless the fda approves it for longer), so i am fully Not Worrying About It Yet 😌 thats for future haley to hem and haw about. current haley is vibing with 0 responsibilities over other living breathing human beings

what sport do you play / have played? i have never actually played a sport... my parents made me try so many when i was a kid, but i would literally throw fits and scream until they let me quit. i did play recreational tennis for a little bit and i always want to go back to it cuz i still have the racquet, but i don't currently have anyone to play with!

do you use sarcasm? absolutely. it became a problem at work (reported to HR cuz someone thought i was serious), so i have to really try and contain myself in professional settings 🙃

what's the first thing you notice about people? hair! then style/fashion, demeanor, and general age range. if they're in my age range and i'm otherwise attracted to them, the very next thing i always check is their hands bc i lovveeeeeee hands (rings, tattoos, nail polish 🤍)

what's your eye color? like a denim blue/gray with green/gold/hazel central heterochromia (prev also has CH which is very cool, hey twin!)

scary movies or happy endings? 90% of all media i consume has a happy ending and i rarely watch scary movies except at halloween, so happy endings!! give me that HEA or give me death!!!!

any talents? oversharing and never shutting the fuck up or being able to read a room 🤍 no but fr, i can play the flute if i choose to (which i rarely do bc i live in an apartment and do not want my neighbors to Crucify Me). i also embroider/cross stitch, but that may be more of a hobby? i do write very well, and i love it so so so much, but finding motivation and time is nearly impossible for me lately. i have absolutely been having a quarter life crisis about the fact that i am neglecting almost every creative outlet in my life due to burnout - would love to get back to it and learn how to sew since i need to learn how to alter my clothing as off-the-rack does not fit nor flatter my body... tall chubby girl problems frfr

where were you born? take a map of the usa, put a pin in a place you would never want to go, and you're probably semi-close!

what are your hobbies? reading and listening to music are the biggies. if i have any downtime at all, i will usually be reading. i cancelled all my streaming services bc i literally was not using them since i'm always reading instead... libby app and my kindle are my beloveds 🤍 and for music, i literally netted like... 190,000+ minutes on my spotify wrapped last yr bc the only times im NOT listening to music are when im sleeping or if im doing something that prevents me from listening to music (like a meeting at work where i have to actively participate). i also like to build lego sets! but i don't have room for any more of them tbh my apartment is FULL up on stuff since it's soooo tiny and i took in a lot of my grandma's stuff after she died since i couldn't bear parting with it, so i have 0 room now. next time i want to build one, i'll just have to take apart and then redo one instead of get a new one

do you have any pets? unfortunately no, but i would love a cat! a little afraid to get one for two reasons tho. 1) i have never Had a pet before and am afraid of doing wrong by the little baby, and 2) i Was attacked by a cat a few years ago and am still a little afraid of them. i have a friend whose cat is VERY aggressive (lots of biting, scratching, jumping on and attacking them) and i would not do well with a cat like that and would want a more mellow cat (they can playfight with me occasionally of course, but i could not deal with the near-constant attacking my friend endures. it would absolutely freak me out). but, since you can't really know a cats personality until you get them home and acclimated to the new environment and owner, there's no guarantee i wouldn't get a cat i'd be afraid of, so i've held off on adopting for now. i keep hoping i will get blessed by the cat distribution system and they will give me a cat they know will mesh with me, since i know cats like that exist. my siblings cat is literally the sweetest baby and has never hurt, scratched, bit, or attacked them before and just snuggles or ignores them and that is the kind of cat i would need. @ the universe..... please....

how tall are you? 5'8.5/174cm almost exactly. if i'm talking to a man, i round down and tell him i'm 5'8 but if i'm talking to a woman i round up and say i'm 5'9 (gotta impress the ladies with my height, gotta humble the 5'10 man who said he's 6'0 and is now upset he's so close in height to me when i'm 5'8)

favorite subject in school? english, science, and history! but i was a total nerd and loved every class tbh

dream job? novel writer! but writing is so difficult for me lately since my job is so draining of all my time and mental energy that even when i have free time, i can't bring myself to do anything other than rot or read and listen to music. but, i can't quit my job to write bc i cant afford to live w/o my job, so for the time being, my bestselling debut novel that will get a movie deal and change my life for the better, making me vastly wealthy and enabling me to continue writing at my leisure, is still stuck inside my head

I truly cannot think of 15 people to tag in this cuz it is very, very late and i am very, very tired but i will tag.... 3 people rn and edit it if i think of more later!! no hard feelings if you don't want to do this, but i'd love to read your responses if you do 🤍

@lastparty @ratatouiile @lvagirl

#🤍#i love talking about myself and oversharing on the internet tbh its a problem #give me a tag game that asks for my ssn next and i may just give it to you #tag games

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pageseo2022 · 3 months ago

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Far Cry 5: Embrace the Classic Chaos and Unexpected Surprises

In Far Cry 5, the ‘fish-out-of-water’ vibe is totally clutch, especially when it comes to nailing the whole "getting it right" thing. You’re a US Marshal trying to shut down a cult that's deep-rooted in the fictional Hope County, Montana. Playing as a law enforcer makes the setup pretty wild. If you’re looking to enhance your gaming experience, you might also want to check out where to buy Xbox games to find more thrilling adventures like this. You’d think being on the right side of the law would make it easy to save the day, but nah, it’s not that simple. Instead of a smooth rescue, things go sideways fast—literally, with bodies hitting helicopter blades, and your whole escape plan goes off the rails. It’s actually pretty epic. After you pull off your escape, you might wonder why you can’t just call in the National Guard or Army for backup. Ubisoft’s got you covered with no phone signal in Hope County, so your phone’s pretty much a brick (rip apps). Your Marshal squad hasn’t been killed but captured, and innocents are also getting pulled into the cult’s mess, so duty calls. After a bit, when you’re told by the Ryes that it’s chill if you lose a plane, because they have “a hangar full of them,” you’ll remember the classic Far Cry vibe. So yeah, what you’re getting is classic Far Cry. It’s a wild ride for sure, especially with how real-life drama is syncing up with the game’s release. Expect cars to blow up unexpectedly, skunks to spray you while you’re sneaking around, and bears to pop out of nowhere. But that’s the Far Cry charm we’re all here for!

Far Cry 5: A Wild, Over-the-Top Snapshot of America

The changes here aren’t too wild either. Towers are out. You’re not a voiced character anymore. You can be any gender. Support AI is back, but now with a way bigger roster. Plus, you can roll with your own dog or bear. It’s pretty stripped down, but the way the game lets you play it is the real highlight. If you’re thinking of trying something new, you might want to buy PS5 games that offer this level of customization and freedom. I mentioned before that this game is a chaos simulator, and that’s spot-on. Even when you’re just trying to move on to the next quest or side mission, the game’s chaos will find you. But that chaos actually pushes you to focus on the more structured parts of the game. Far Cry 5 is no walk in the park. You’ll need to use that loot, spend that cash you keep finding, upgrade your weapons to fit your style, and leverage those liberated towns and allies. Honestly, this is the best way Ubisoft Montreal could have done the liberated gameplay. The tone of this Far Cry is dark, gritty, and sometimes a bit on-the-nose—think first-person GTA, but even more over-the-top. It’s like all the wild villains and crazy elements from past Far Cry games rolled into one. Far Cry 5 is silly, fun, brutal, and scary, all at once. It’s like a wild mix of lost and found, and in a lot of ways, it’s also a snapshot of America.

Far Cry 5: Balancing Cultist Depth with Classic Open-World Fun

Structurally, Far Cry 5 mixes things up from previous games by not holding your hand or pushing a set developer-driven path. This is where the GTA vibes come in—though it’s not a dig at Rockstar’s games. Those have a serious tone that works well for them. Far Cry 5, though, leans into the wild and wacky. The HBO-level intro sets a unique tone that shows just how bonkers the situation is. Whether it’s ham radios, landlines, the Internet, or even a postcard, you might think there’s a way out of this mess and a chance to boot Joseph Seed and his crew. But honestly, none of that matters because there’s a bear named Cheeseburger that you need to rescue. The game dives deep into cultist research and real-world parallels, but once you’re a few hours in, it’s all about being a classic liberated Far Cry game, and that’s a good thing. The gunplay is top-notch, the world is rich and diverse, and the less rigid gameplay structure is a breath of fresh air. Distractions come fast and furious, with the game happily pulling you away from critical story missions to race a quad bike, go fishing, or fly a plane through smoke rings. That’s what makes Far Cry 5 so awesome.

Far Cry 5: Outrageous Fun Meets Chilling Intensity

Far Cry 5 comes packed with co-op, multiplayer, and a full-on player-creator mode, and trust me, they’re all used to their max. The game is stunning, with a soundtrack that deserves its own shout-out. It totally channels vibes from shows like Deadwood, Justified, and Westworld, which really helps immerse you in its world. But it also throws in some epic 80s and 90s action movie soundbites and cues, making it clear the studio had a blast making this game. In the end, you get a Far Cry that’s both structured and open, giving you tons of player choice and unexpected moments. It’s a world designed for you to love, get close to, and be totally freaked out by. It’s classic video game fun at its core. Sure, the Seeds are "bad seeds," but that’s part of the joke. It’s one thing to face real-life horrors, but this game lets you have a blast while doing it. Ubisoft’s hit the perfect balance between outrageous fun and chilling intensity.

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buddyapologist · 11 months ago

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just ranting about ableism and such <3

i have this thing where i Have to see the sides of every issue even when one side is absolutely reprehensible, not in terms of justification but in terms of working backwards to see how someone could come to this reprehensible conclusion, because it's grotesquely fascinating to me how people can start from a relatively milquetoast point A and end up at some disgustingly bigoted horrible point Z. anyway it isn't bigotry but the way "both sides" (if there even are only 2) treat the argument of "mental illness as an excuse" is so fucking frustrating because i can see exactly where people come from and exactly which conclusions make sense and which ones are absolutely bonkers.

mental illness can cause serious disruptions in someone's life in ways that might hurt them and/or other people, but neurotypical people will also accidentally hurt themselves and/or other people. it changes how we perceive the world and our relationships with others and that can make us act based on a perspective that isn't always based on reality. it can make us behave erratically, lash out over what seems like nothing, be terrified of things that don't seem like they should be terrifying, completely shut down and withdraw from stressful situations. neurotypical people will also sometimes do this. to paraphrase another tumblr user, neurodivergence/mental illness is not "traits that only we have and nobody else", it's when certain traits are exaggerated to the point that it interferes with your life.

it really really really fucking frustrates me when random people will allegedly pin their really shitty behavior on addiction and mental illness. because yes, those things can make us do awful stuff! i have done horrible shit while i was addicted and when i was in bad spaces mentally. but every time someone is like "sorry for being racist i have anxiety" it adds to reasons our debilitating disorders don't get taken seriously. you can just be sorry. i'm so fucking sick of people who get called out for being predators or bigots or scammers or just huge assholes and they throw us under the bus in some attempt to excuse their bullshit when it literally never does, it just makes us look worse. a certain celebrity who i won't name apparently has bipolar disorder and is also a raging antisemite. those two things are not related! there are tons of people with bipolar disorder who are NOT raging antisemites!

and these fucking bullshit notes app apologies are SO different from like, apologizing to your friend. if you're a dick to your friend bc of some aspect of your illness and they call you on it it totally makes sense to go "i'm sorry i behaved that way, sometimes having x disorder makes me act a certain way and i'm sorry i took that out on you, i'll do better next time". bc that's NEVER how shitty scammer racist influencers phrase it. they think that they can pass off their bullshit by claiming that they're mentally ill and that makes it okay. neurotypicals will go off with their usual chant of "mental illness is an explanation but not an excuse" and "mental illness is your responsibility" and those aren't even incorrect but i'm so fucking sick of it because WE KNOW. NEURODIVERGENT PEOPLE KNOW THIS. the only people who act like that are people who use our very real very serious conditions that have MORTALITY RATES to try to pass off their behavior. nobody is breaking any new fucking ground when they say this shit. it's the same thing over and over and over again and it's so fucking exhausting as a neurodivergent person whose mental problems have severely fucked with their life and their relationships.

and then neurodivergent people who give them the benefit of the doubt may be like "you're gatekeeping mental illness by saying that these people don't have it" but the thing is, yeah maybe they do actually have it, but i don't care. i do not fucking care. i don't care if racist youtuber #2846 has every diagnosis under the sun, it has no business being in some half assed apology their manager made them post because being racist or any other shitty thing is separate. and i do genuinely understand why people will get mad about people like me saying this stuff, bc a lot of neurodivergent people deal with medical gatekeeping and aren't given proper help or diagnoses bc of poverty or gender or race or just the environment they're in, and that does suck. but i'm not talking about those people. i'm talking about dipshits who try to use it as an excuse while definitely knowing nobody will let them off the hook if they blame depression or whatever. literally all it does is make us look worse.

this is an extremely long rant that nobody will read, i just had to get it out of me before i explode <3

#avery.txt #cw ableism 3495867

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sextions · 1 year ago

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gonna fucking kill someone today. had to look around for security cameras in this room before writing this cuz im in a fucking prison for young people and every day our rights get stripped further and further and they expect us to function normally after being spat out after graduation. i'm not going to college. my mom is gonna yell at me for that but i'm fucking not i don't care what she thinks. the stupid fucking vending machine next to me has a goddamn 'calories count check then choose' label on it. what fucking performative stupid goddamn bullshit that dumbass label is the thing that tipped me over the edge into making this stupid post. maybe don't sell death sugary slop to people and they won't have this goddamn issue of everyone being too fat and mentally ill to make it into the meat grinder that is the military. i know food choice has little to do with how your body fat works shut up about it already i was gonna go to college for nutrition i know how that shit works. but if i went they'd likely still be in the "being obese is YOUR fault" phase of food and health knowledge and i just i cannot bear paying thousands and thousands of dollars to get some info that is objectively false according to recent studies. god. i'm so sick of this shit once i graduate i'm literally never going into another institiution again literally they cannot make me this is such bullshit. has anyone else read john taylor gatto? changed my life. this stupid asshole next to me can't handle the word 'moist' and makes a huge show of how much she hates it every time it's uttered and it's like god i wish i was that sheltered. i wish the biggest problem in my head was how much i hated the word moist. what a stupid thing to attract attention to yourself for. shut up. everyone just shut up. the music in my headphones shut up. dumb fucking assholes shut up. all the freshman who are lower than the sea life stuck to the bottom of a cruise ship shut the FUCK up. you're not funny for saying nkgger you don't even hate black people that much you're just ignorant and want attention. your material is derivative and unoriginal and you cannot find genuine vulnerability and appreciation for beauty because you're too busy being poisoned by your peers into thinking everything is stupid and one day one of you is gonna kill themselves and everyone else will joke about it because what else do you know to do. it's sad really the way we are raising these men. panera lemonade killed a girl. caffeine users will really find meth and adderall users disgusting failures because they "use drugs" unlike the fucking. caffeine users who also use drugs but oooo its so normalized you know what else is normalized? driving 80 miles a goddamn hour down the interstate. that's so scary what the fuck. why does nobody care how fast we are going. why is everyone going so fast going 90 95 down the interstate the world needs to fucking slow down and i'm so serious. we need to wake up slower and get to school slower and my classes went from an hour or so to 40 minutes and the teachers barely even skim over anything anymore and tiktok is still this fucking cancer on society that makes people think mass surveillance for "weird" "clickable" behavior is normal and im tearing my hair out every day because people are AMAZED i don't have the no attention span give me all your data and buy products off of our app app. god. tik tok made me buy it is the most pre-packaged artificial stupid fucking slogan ever it always ruins my mood seeing that stupid fucking section at walmart. like are you kidding me. companies are so bad at trying to seem human anymore. you have to astroturf everything because if the people do it themselves they might THINK or ACHIEVE SOMETHING for once. i don't even think i used astroturfing right. it's got the same vibe of taking something from the people (self-advertisement to a different site or product) and hijacking it and making your own fucking store so people can give the money to you instead. its so crazy and nobody talks about how tiktok has a STORE. like it's normal.

everything makes me want to scream. i will never truly fully get a break from this. everyone is getting angrier and angrier but i dunno if we're at a breaking point yet. i might not live to see the revolution which bums me out but i try to keep optimistic about that. i saw that republican debate today and got such strong second hand embarrassment. that shit is no better than jersey shore at this point. and these are the people we're supposed to aim to be like? people who are qualified to be presidents? people who are so reactionary and childish that they throw insults at one another in a politics debate like a bunch of middle schoolers parroting what their parents say at each other? are you fucking kidding? john gatto was right the rich are so fucking good at extending adolescence into adulthood. look at these people over thirty engaging in high school behavior to appease the other high school masses who'll tweet and click and talk about it (like high schoolers) and then the debate cuts to an ad break because money money money money money money. they probably already have the president decided and this is all one big billboard or something. i dunno. drugs are seen as a moral failure but like what else is there to do in this goddamn fucking world we've made. i didn't ask for this.

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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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HERE WE GOOOO:

He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

Shut up that's so him to use his teeth.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

I'm gonna lose my mind.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless." “I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

Why did this innocent exchange already inform me that I'm going to be sad about this entry.

“It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

GOD.

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can. “Yeah, okay.”

Don't even LOOK AT ME RIGHT NOW.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee? After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply. You: Wrong number

This is me coded.

His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

God I love my hot sexy brooding hulking husband, also.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

The pain I was feeling before? Currently healed. I am team Steve for now.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

I am wavering.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

Nope, still team Steve.

He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978.

Every man in my family.

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

UGH. I audibly groaned.

“Give it to Miles.” “I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

I see you there, hehehe.

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

OMG! LITTLE SNEAK!

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label. For when you miss me. “Did you ever listen?” Everyday.

There are tears in my eyes right now. I literally have goosebumps.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music. “No, I’m not.” “It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

LMAO Argyle is really my MVP here. I love him.

“Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

He would be SO down bad for Santi.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.” “How did you get so wise?” You ask. “I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

JELLLYYYY YOUR MIND. I'm literally losing it. He's so funny, perfect characterization for his character in a more modern setting. I'm obsessed.

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?"

Big boss Steve is so fine I am chewing on glass.

.“But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Don't yell at me, but also like...keep yelling at me.

He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

I know I'm not going to survive this. I already miss my music afficionado boyfriend. I already need him. I already love him. You can literally feel the slight pull reader has whenever she talks to him or is near him -- it's so buzzy. And even though she loves Steve there's such a SLIGHT -- SLIGHT disconnect that doesn't flow as well with him as it does with Eddie.

I am literally SO excited for the next chapter, I want to eat this story like a three course dinner.

Torn | Song 2 | Masterlist

Twelve years after Eddie Munson broke your heart for a life on the road with nothing but a mixtape as a goodbye, you finally feel like you have two feet on the ground. Engaged to Steve Harrington with the career of your dreams it feels like you’re going to have your happily ever after, but what happens when the boy that broke your heart comes back as a man with a revelation that changes everything?

TW: Femreader, Love🔺️, Smut, Mentions of DV, 18+ No minors WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

For updates follow @tornupdates & turn on the notifications

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

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callmearcturus · 2 years ago

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the best handheld gaming options today

ohyesididnotjustdothat: Idk if u were serious or if this is even a good time, but that rec list for handhelds sounds like it'd be baller ngl

yeah sure, i like to do the research so others don't have to. it's turning into my gimmick

Let's do this by

Best Starter Device

Best Midtier Device

"But What About Sony" Device

Best Thing If You Don't Want To Invest In A Steam Deck

Best Starter Device/Low Budget: Miyoo Mini

as soon as this fucking thing came out, everyone was talking about it and I can see why. This thing is adorable, it's sturdy, it is the most pocketable device in the space, and it reliably plays anything up to the PSX generation. It has shoulder buttons on the back, comes with a very decent user interface out of the box, and that screen is both gorgeous and it has extra lamination so it's well protected.

And it sells for less than 70$. There's a very loving fanbase around the Miyoo Mini with people pushing the hardware to its limits and supporting it, so it's a good pick.

Best Midtier Device: Retroid Pocket 2+

the + is important, this is a refresh and update to the original RP2 with a lot of improvements.

Full disclosure, I wanted to get myself a Powkiddy RGB10 Max 2 (a mouthful) because it has super good ergonomics and a huge screen. But its not about the screen, it's what you do with it, and RP2+ is just head and shoulders above the competition and tends to be priced at 99$, which is cheaper than the competition as well. That this thing exists while the Ambernick RG552 has the audacity to ask for 225$ is staggering.

This fucking thing will play SNES, GBA, PSX, sure. But thanks to its chipset, it'll also play N64, Nintendo DS, Dreamcast. There is a community-maintained GDoc with testing of the device with advice on how to wring the best results out of the RP2+. Also its one of the only devices where the manufacturer lets you buy spare parts if something breaks, which is something more folks should do. Also this thing is getting active updates both officially and from the community. Like.... it's a good fucking purchase.

This is what I'm getting and I'm planning to explore the NDS and Dreamcast libraries for the first time.

"But I want to play PSP as well as older generations!": CFW PS Vita

This was my first foray into the space and I fucking love it. The amount of shit you can do with a custom firmware (CFW) Vita is mind boggling. I just downloaded a free port of Fallout 2 from the Homebrew Browser that's runs on the Vita itself. Last night, I opened Adrenaline, which is Sony's own PSP emulation software and booted up Chrono Cross. There is a very sneaky little app I won't name that literally just lets you directly, cleanly download any PS Vita game onto the device.

The screen is fucking beautiful, the device feels luxury, it's got bluetooth, it can run older libraries all the way up to N64 (though it chugs on some GBA games for some reason).

And while a lot of other custom handhelds are trying to get PSP games to run, this is the device that was BUILT to run them, and it cannot be beat. No fucking with settings, no swapping cores in hopes another will run better. It just works for that amazing fucking library. And setting up the CFW is very fun and has a great step by step guide online.

Honorable Mention: CFW 3DS/3DS XL

One of the things these handhelds struggle with is emulation of the dual screen Nintendo devices. It's super easy to emulate the top screen, and for many games the bottom screen isn't actually necessary to play. But for the ones where it is, there are few viable handhelds you can really use.

But much like the Vita, the 3DS has a vibrant and thriving mod community. Once you have it set up, it's the most reliable avenue for the Nintendo catalog, and with Nintendo shutting down support for it, that's two generations of extremely large catalogs at risk of disappearing.

Also, once you've got it set up, you can go to hshop, pick the game you want to play, scan a QR code with your 3DS, and just install it. The pirate game is so fucking advanced. The only reason I don't play mine more is the battery life bugs me. If I put my vita to sleep, in a month it'll still have power. If I put my 3DS to sleep, it's dead in 2 days.

The "I Don't Mind Spending For the Best Option That Is Fully Futureproofed" Option: The AYN Odin

Starting price 230$ before shipping and you'll be waiting at minimum 3 months for it to arrive.

This will play everything. This is right now the only device to reliably run the PS2/PSP generation. It will also flawlessly stream Game Pass, PS Now (or whatever they're calling it these days), Stadia, Moonlight, Parsec, and Nvidia's service I forget the name of. If you're daring, you can sideload windows and play a respectable amount of full PC games. It has very good controls, super nice shoulder buttons, a turbo mode with a cooling fan, and that enormous fucking screen.

This is the device every motherfucker wants but you will be paying and you will be waiting to get your hands on it. It's the best device you can get without investing in a Steam Deck. (Also you can very easily get away with the Odin Lite over the Odin Base or Pro unless you are planning to sideload Windows, just FYI.)

Final Thoughts: There's a lot of good options out there and a lot of people covering them, but I personally like Retro Game Corps the most. He has in depth reviews of goddamn everything as well as video guides to setting up specific devices, learning Retroarch, exploring firmware options as they release, and WRITTEN GUIDES to everything on his site. Dude is a marvel. I would watch his stuff to see what sounds good, then watch other reviews for the same device. (This is what talked me out of the Powkiddy and into the RP2+.)

#gaming #arc plays games #i did the research so you don't have to

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ventihonklightice · 4 years ago

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Clingy || Wilbur Soot

word count: 3.5k

~~~

Y/N had been lounging around the flat all day as her boyfriend filmed videos with his fellow Minecraft friends. Wilbur had currently been recording with Tommy and Quackity, another one of their wild Minecraft mod videos. She knew her love was busy and had his responsibilities with his own videos alongside the ones made with his friends, but she had been scrolling through Twitter and saw that he had just gotten verified. There was no way he knew about the news as he had been busy all day doing his job.

A smile grew on her face as she rushed to his bedroom door to share the great news, however she paused as she heard the nature of his current discussion with his friends.

“- but she’s been good. We’ve been really good,” Y/N smiled at his words, seemingly knowing it was about her. That smile quickly disappeared at the words her boyfriend was about to spew. “Just, she’s been kind of needy and clingy or something,” Wilbur shook his head not fully understanding his own words, looking at the wall behind his monitor too lost in his thoughts. He couldn’t quite understand his own thoughts half of the time, especially today as all he has done was played Minecraft. Slowly, the hate he has been receiving has been catching up to him, forcing him into this pit he’d never thought he’d be in which added to the stress that fueled his words. “Like she thinks she always has to be with me. Right now even, she’s at the flat.” Wilbur ran his fingers through his messy brown hair as he proceeded to explain his relationship. “I love her, I do, but I can’t even be with her right now so I don’t understand why she has to be here,” he confessed, mind clouded with tiredness masked by the wine he downed in an attempt to calm his nerves.

Y/N furrowed her brows leaning forward to listen further. “Well, she loves you, so what do you expect her to do? Not want to be with you?” She heard an American accent, likely belonging to Quackity.

“I-I don’t know. It’s just- I’m not used to this. It’s been a while since I’ve seriously been with a girl like this before. I just need space, but she wants to be around me constantly. It’s annoying.” The anger, the annoyance, and the frustration were all evident in his voice, making Y/N second guess a lot of her choices the past few days. She looked down at her hands, the mustard sleeves reaching past her palms belonging to the man behind the door she leaned on.

She closed her eyes in an attempt to push back her tears before she walked away, not being able to listen to him any further. Her eyes began to water more and more as bothering him was the very last thing she had ever wished to do. She sat on the couch before pulling the jumper off of her body, folding it neatly in her hands before pulling on her shoes.

Fanning her face quickly to reduce any possible puffiness or redness, Y/N timidly knocked on the door to Wilbur’s room. “Hold on guys,” he spoke to his friends, muting himself on discord. “Yeah?” She heard his deep voice call from the other side, taking it as her cue to push the door open. His hair fluffed about as he turned to face her. “Hey what’s up?” He asked with a soft smile.

“I uh think I’m gonna head home, got an early shift tomorrow and all,” she spoke softly while avoiding his gaze. Y/N wasn’t one to lie so she felt guilty for doing so but she didn’t know what else to do.

He furrowed his brows, confused at her words. She almost always stays the night, especially when she works early because he lives closer to her job.

“You sure? You’re more than welcome to stay the night. Y-You always do,” he muttered with slight concern in his words as he took his headset off.

She shook her head lightly, “nah it’s alright. Gotta water the plants,“ Y/N fiddled with the door handle as her other hand traced the sweater, knowing full well she doesn’t have any plants.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out,” he stood up, adjusting the chair in order to do so. Y/N reached out to him, his jumper resting in her hand, “where’d you like me to put this?”

He stood up, increasingly getting confused at her actions because he knew that she loved wearing his clothes and stealing them any chance she got. “I-I’ll um, just toss it on the bed,” he pointed to the made bed, slipping on his shoes to walk her out.

She felt his form loom over her as he walked with her out of the flat and to her car. They walked in silence, uncharacteristically. Wilburs’s hands were stuffed in the pockets of his pants lost in his thoughts as he heard her car alarm He walked to the driver’s side, lost in his thoughts while he opened the door for her.

She approached the door, getting ready to sit in the driver’s seat before turning to Wilbur to bid goodbye. He leaned down to kiss her, standard for all of their farewells, but she turned her head at the last second, his lips crashing onto her cheek. His heart dropped at the odd situation he was placed in, wondering why this was happening.

“I-I’ll see you later,” she smiled softly before sitting down and preparing to drive.

He could let her go like this. He had to know if things were good, okay even. Before he shut the door, he leaned down a bit to get closer to her. “Is everything okay? You seem a bit off, darling.”

“Y-yeah I’m just really tired,” she chuckled humorlessly, placing a hand on her forehead. “Sorry, it’s just been a weird day.”

“If you’re that tired you could stay here,” his voice practically pleaded, assuring her once more that she always had a place there.

“I-I’ll be fine, I promise.” Her words were soft along with her eyes, but she just wanted to give him what he desired; space.

“You sure?” He asked once more, extremely concerned, but what answer was he really expecting? Y/N nodded her head, “positive.”

“Alright, text me when you get home,” he leaned back, preparing to shut the door for her. She nodded her head, pushing her keys into the ignition. “I love you,” he spoke sincerely, bending down so that she’d be able to see him better once more. There was an emotion in YN’s eyes that he couldn’t recognize, but the smile on her face was sad. “I-you too, I’ll see you later,” she fiddled with her keys before meeting his gaze.

His heart shattered at the words. You too? What the hell is that suppose to mean?

He gave a tight smile before shutting the door for her. You too, the words echoed in his mind as he began walking back to the front door, pausing his steps on the pavement to watch her pull out of the driveway. He sighed before turning back to his path home. Upon returning, the place felt dimmer without her presence and he quickly took note of that.

Letting out a huge sigh, he plopped down at his desk, unmuting himself on Discord. “Sorry bout that, I’m back. J-Just walking Y/N out,” he spoke, taking the only opportunity his friends quieted down to speak.

“Wilbur!” Tommy yelled as the rest of the VC, which now had Niki, Jack and Fundy, errupted in chaos. “W-What? What the fuck happened?”

“Dude you got verified on Twitter,” Quackity shouted. His eyes went wide, opening the light blue app to see if it was true. Sure enough, a small check mark emphasized his name. He beamed at the sight of it, rushing to make a tweet about how grateful he was.

He went back to his feed, noticing that Y/N had made a tweet about ten or so minutes prior.

y/n✨| @yourusername

so proud of my favorite boy getting verified <3 love you @WilburSoot !!

His heart clenched at the tweet, being drawn back to the events that occurred moments beforehand. He liked and retweeted it, watching his fans swoon at the couple’s interaction without knowing what was happening behind closed doors, before getting back to his friends being completely distracted by thoughts on the girl he loves.

~~~

Y/N never texted him to tell him that she was home. She woke up late that morning seeing a few texts from him about twitter, how his stream went and so on.

As she looked at the time on her phone, realizing the lie she told him about working early and chose not to answer quite yet.

She spent the rest of her day around the house, cleaning, cooking or watching TV. She wasn’t in any mood to go on social media, not wanting to interact with Wilbur quite yet. Y/N sighed thinking about yesterday, thinking that it would be a better idea to just give him some space.

And so she did, for several days before Wilbur’s worry consumed him.

He sat on Discord with his friends, days after his last interaction with his girlfriend. “It’s just weird because she’s never like this. She always calls or texts me whenever she gets the chance regardless of whether or not I ask,” he expressed to his friends as they were fucking around on their own Minecraft world. He wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing in the game, just aimlessly pressing buttons and moving his mouse as he thought of Y/N.

Tommy chuckled shortly, “now look whos being needy.”

“Shut up Tommy,” Wilbur explained, running a hand across his chin, fingertips gracing his incredibly overgrown stubble. “Look I’m just saying,” the blond furthered, “there’s no need for you to say she’s clingy or whatever when your freaking out over a text! Like you saw her less than what, two, three ago?”

Wilbur shook his head, fuming now, “Oh my god, shut the fuck up Tommy! How would you, a literal child, know anything about what’s going on? You’ve barely hit puberty!” His outburst caused his friends to quiet down, them not being used to anger being directed in such a way.

“Wilbur,” Tommy started once again, becoming more serious, “I know you. You worrying over a few short days almost disproves everything you said the other day. I think you don’t know how to handle affection well, not that she’s clingy or whatever.” Hearing Tommy acting serious and not childish for this one second made something snap within Wilbur, knowing that the child was right.

He sighed, “I-I’m sorry for snapping at you. Everything is happening at once in my life right now and Y/N not talking to me has me worried. This isn’t what’s normal between us. It’s strange.”

“But isn’t this what you wanted? She isn’t being as ‘needy’ now. You got your wish, didn’t you?” George chimed in, hoping to help even though his own experiences with relationships hasn’t always been the best.

“Yeah, and I fucking hate it, I don’t know why I even said that. I don’t mean it. I love when she’s around, I hate when she isn’t,” Wilbur went on, his thoughts focusing on the good memories he has with his girlfriend.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Dream spoke ominously, feeling as if now was the most appropriate time to speak.

“I-I’m gonna call her,” the distressed twenty year old expressed, whipping out his phone to go to her number. As the phone rang, he became more and more nervous.

“What if she got in an accident? Or someone kidnapped her or something?”He rushed before him and his friends heard “please leave a message for 3-“

“Wilbur, she’s probably fine. She probably had a long day at work or something,” Niki spoke, hoping to add a small but of optimism to the situation.

“Yeah but she would’ve told me that. She would’ve called me to rant about her day, and tell me how much she wanted to see me, but she didn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, getting more and more stressed out over this.

“I-I think I’m gonna head to her flat.”

~~~

The drive was long as his anxiety slowly but surely began to increase with every green light. He pulled into her complex, parking and building up the courage to confront her.

“It’ll be fine. Things are fine,” he muttered to himself as he walked up the steps to the familiar doormat.

He knocked on the door, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. After a minute, there was no response so he knocked again with more ergency.

“Just a minute,” he heard her soft voice yell out, flooding him with relief. The voice wasn’t as warm as it typically was, only increasing his nervousness.

Before he knew it, Y/N opened the door, eyes meeting his chest before trickling to his eyes. “Wilbur? What are you doing here?”

He froze, shocked at the situation that he forced upon himself without realizing it. “I-You weren’t answering any calls or texts. I was worried,” he mumbled, immediately taking note of her puffy eyes.

“Have you been crying?” He stepped closer to her with concern lacing his voice. He reached out to hold her waist, caress her cheek, anything, but she stepped away slighted. Y/N blinked, “y-yeah, it’s just allergies.”

“You don’t have allergies like that Y/N. May I please come in?” Wilbur knew her better than that, probably even better than she knew herself. She nodded shortly opening the door wider for him to enter, looking down at her sock clad feet.

He entered the tiny flat, taking not that the once welcoming space has become littered with turmoil. The tissues by the sofa didn’t go unnoticed and neither did the pile of dishes in the sink. “What’s been going on? These past few days you’ve been acting strange,” he asked sincerely.

Y/N looked around, finding something and pretending to be busy with it. “I’ve just been busy,” she mumbled looking over the pile of mail she refused to actually look through. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, would you like some tea?” She asked, realizing her manners.

“Y/N,” he spoke defeated, “come on talk to me, please.” He practically begged as he followed her steps into the kitchen to start the kettle, even though he didn’t give her an answer.

“Everything’s fine, Wilbur,” she replied absentmindedly as she searched for her various teas. “We got chai tea, black tea, Engli-“

“Y/N, I dont fucking want tea right now I want you to talk to me,” he shouted, approaching her in the kitchen and forcing her to face him by pulling her waist gently. She gasped at the loudness of his words, not used to him yelling at her.

“Wilbur,” Y/N whispered, her hands on his chest as he looked down into her eyes. Desperation was clear in his before being mimicked in his words, “this is the longest you’ve gone without calling me Wil. Come on Y/N, please.” His voice cracked towards the end, the shakiness not leaving.

She closed her eyes tightly before she pulled herself out of his arms, turning to grab two mugs out of the cupboard, “you’re getting chai tea.”

“Love, I just want us to be okay,” he spoke passionately, pleading for things to be right.

“We are okay Wilbu- Wil,” she corrected, more so forcing the nickname to combat his complaint. As she prepared each cup, putting Wilbur’s desired amount of sugar into his cup and respectively her own.

He shook his head, not believing her words as his own eyes began to turn red, “there’s something wrong and I can tell. Please just-please Y/N.” His voice was completely broken and she knew she had to express her concerns. She paused her motions, staring at the jar of sugar she just placed onto the counter.

“I-I didn’t want to bother you,” she muttered softly, examining the mugs before her.

The man sniffed, confusion growing within him. “W-What do you mean? You could never bother me Y/N,” his voice soft, approaching her once again.

She shook her head, moving to put sugar in each cup, forgetting that she already did so, “but that’s not true. We both know that.” The water remained on the stove while copious amount of sugar occupied each cup. Wilbur gently grabbed the hand holding the spoon that shoveled the sugar into the mugs, making her stop her own actions.

“Yes it is, love.” Wilbur whispered softly as she put the spoon into the jar, coming back to reality. Y/N let out a shaky breath, facing the counter while Wilbur occupied her side, facing her.

“So why’d you tell all of your friends that I’ve been clingy and needy and overbearing and everything under the sun?” She whispered as her voice wobbled, indicating that tears would soon come falling down.

Wilbur furrowed his brows, confused at the words she expressed. He scavenged his mind, not understanding what she was stating. “What are yo-“ he cut himself off, taking his hand from hers as he remembered that conversation.

Guilt washed over his soul as he realized the greater impact of his words. She thought she had to change....for those idiotic meaningless words expressed in a fit of stress and exhaustion. He shook his head lightly, refusing to look at her, refusing to look at the damage he’s caused.

“I didn’t mean it Y/N. I just-there was a lot on my plate and I just had to complain about something. A-And you were there to complain about.” He spoke honestly, knowing that it doesn’t excuse his behavior. The sound of the kettle went off, the whistle tones attacking his ears while Y/N ignored it to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I just didn’t want to be a burden,” she muttered with a wobbling bounce that made the tall idiotic man pull her into his arms.

“No,no,no don’t ever ever think that again. You are not a burden. You never were Y/N. This is on me, I shouldn’t have said what I had said,” he muttered into her hair, repeating apologies like a mantra while kissing her hairline.

She let go, allowing her pent up feelings from the past few day flow out through tears while in the comfort of his arms, “my biggest fear is bothering people. I-I didn’t want to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” he pulled away to hold her tear stained cheeks in his hands, regret prominent in his gaze, “you have been nothing but patient with me these past few months and that is something I don’t even have the words to express, love.”

“You, Y/N L/N, are not a burden, not now, not ever,” he whispered lovingly. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m sorry I even said it. I didn’t mean it, but fuck I shouldn’t have. Look at what I’ve done to you,” his voice wavered as he pulled away to assess the damage. “Fuck,” he shook his head as a sob escaped his lips before he could pull her into his arms again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, holding her tight while the whistle pierced his ears. She leaned back slightly, pressing her forehead against his while closing her eyes, “I know, I know. It’s okay. I know you. I know you wouldn’t mean it.”

“I love you,” he whispered, holding her head in one of his hands. “I love you too, Wil,” she whispered back, pulling his lips onto hers, sealing their words with this actions.

As much as he loved the feeling of her soft lips on his once again, he pulled away. “Okay, okay, as much as I don’t want this to stop, that damn kettle is driving me mad,” he expressed, making Y/N chuckle before kissing him on the cheek and going to turn off the stove.

He watched fondly as she was about to pour the water into the mugs, stoping to see the plethora of sugar in each. “Oh shit,” she paused, laughing at the mess she had made. Wilbur snapped out of his gaze, examining the scene that caused her words.

He shook his head lightly, grabbing the kettle from her hands before placing it back onto the stovetop. “You,” he turned to face her, poking her cheek, “go to bed, get all comfy and put on a film. I will finish the tea and bring it to you.” His eyes got soft towards the end of his statement as he went to assess the mug situation.

“Then,” he spoke gently, grabbing her waist once again, littering her face with kisses that trailed down her neck, “I’ll spend the whole day making it up to you.”

Y/N laughed, running her fingers through his soft hair, “can’t wait.” His lips stayed pressed onto her neck, before they made their way back to her own.

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