#kinda wrote themselves into a bit of a hole

[allbark-no-bite]

marriage and honor.

jake seresin x reader (wc: 6.5k)

summary: the Navy has already taken two people from your life, and you don’t intend to let there be a third. that is until Jake Seresin walks into your life

warnings: severe plot holes, mentions of character death, swearing

authors note: based off of the movie Purple Hearts. it’s a great movie and i highly suggest watching it! please bear with me in the beginning of this, the plot holes fix themselves, i promise lol. i literally threw this together because i wrote one scene for shits and giggles and had to commit to it

(read parts two and three here: december and devotion, cats and christmas)

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No one ever expects to have to bury their brother at fifteen. Kinda just like no one expects to have to bury their other brother at eighteen. But you do it the first time and then you do it again three years later. It's a bit like deja vu the second time, like you're reliving the actual nightmare all over again. Except this time there's no one to hold your hand and tell you it's all going to be alright because he's dead and buried too.

They both die honorable deaths in service to their country. At least that's what they say at the memorials. You're not so sure there's anything comforting about dying honorably. They're both still dead, honored or not.

Raised by your grandparents, you'd grown up the youngest of three on a military base smack dab in the middle of San Diego, better yet known as Fightertown USA. True military brats, your old brothers enlisted straight out of high school, one after the other. As their young and impressionable kid sister, you worshiped the ground they walked on and had your heart set on following in their footsteps. That was of course, until they both went and died.

'Sometime these things just happen', is what you were told. And you know, freak accidents do happen. Engines fail, training exercises go awry, safety precautions are ignored. But that doesn't make up for the fact that lightning has, against all odds, stuck the same place twice.

So after the Navy takes away not one but two people from your life, you swear off all things to do with military life. The moment you graduate high school you pay out of pocket just to move off of the base into a shitty the-bedroom-and-bathroom-are-in-the-same-place apartment. You go to college and get the kind of degree that looks good on paper but you can't really get a job with. But it's fine because it helped you to put the past behind you and move on. So much that when your grandmother passes away unexpectedly, leaving your grandfather widowed, you're able to stomach moving back closer to home to take care of him.

At least, you'd thought that you had moved on.

Now, standing in the middle of the courthouse wearing what had been your college graduation dress (the only white dress you could find on such short notice) and watching the man before you slip a ring on your finger, you're not so sure. As a matter of a fact, you actually feel sick, queasy like you might have to bend over the nearest trashcan to get the blood rushing to your head again. That might would be a good idea because what the hell were you thinking.

Jake must take notice of the expression on your face because he offers you a weak smile, his pink lips pressed together. The same thought must be running through his mind too because he also looks like he might be sick at any moment.

What the hell were either of you thinking?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Thankfully the minister is too bored looking with his own job to notice that both of you are looking worse for wear. He also completely forgets to say 'you may now kiss the bride', which is another thing to be thankful for. That might have been the straw that broke the camel's back and sent both you and Jake running for the hills. Instead he mumbles a unenthusiastic congratulations and departs from the room, leaving you and Jake standing numbly side by side.

In the following seconds after the minister leaves the room, silence settles between the two of you, partially due to shock and partially because you don't even know what to say. It's a sight, Jake in his pristine navy dress whites and you in your too short college graduation dress.

Finally, Jake clears his throat, swallowing. "Well, there's no turning back now."

*queue rewind noise* 

You may be wondering how we got here.

*six days ago*

"C'mon baby, you didn't think that was funny? Girls usually love that line."

He'd been after you all night, smiling, cracking jokes, buying you beers. You had to admit, he was nothing if not persistant.

"Unfortunately for you, I don't date funny guys." Despite your tone, you're actually genuinely amused by the situation. He's trying so hard, and it's getting him absolutely nowhere.

He's handsome, without a doubt the most attractive man at the bar, but he could be the most attractive man in the world and you still wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Not with that smile and defiantly not with that uniform on.

"And why is that?" he laughs, undeterred by your blatant disinterest. His friends are watching, have been watching the two of you do this dance all night, and he's not about to back down now.

You watch the smile lines that appear on his tanned face, the way his eyes crinkle in amusement as he awaits on your answer. He's probably a few years your senior, early thirties if that's anything to go by.

"Funny guys are dangerous. They make you laugh and laugh and then boom you're naked."

His smile twitches and yeah, you can be funny too, wise guy.

"Is that where you think this is going?" he asks.

"Where else would it be going?"

And that's how it all started. The beginning of the end.

"You know navy spouses get a monthly stipend and are allowed to live on base?"

You remain facing the bar, peeling at the label on your bottle, not bothering to glance to your side. "You know, I really fucking wish Natasha would keep her mouth shut."

"(Y/n)—"

"It's no one else's fucking business what—"

He grabs the seat of your stool, nearly jerking it out from under you as he pulls it closer to his own. "Listen to me," he growls, a stark change from his usual demeanor.

Stubbornly leaning away so that you're not so close, you regard him with suspicious and narrowed eyes. You raise an eyebrow as if to say he's got your attention, however unwillingly.

"Right now, we're both in a tight spot, okay?"

You knew about his dad. Heard the whole spiel from Natasha— who you're learning that while, your best friend, cannot be trusted to keep her mouth shut— about how they weren't on good terms, hadn't talked since Jake got into the academy, and suddenly he calls out of the blue to tell Jake that he'd had enough of his son's playing around and that it was time for him to start thinking about getting married. That if he didn't within the next few months, he'd arrange the whole thing himself.

"You need a place to live—" You shush him, eyes darting to the people around you. You don't need anyone knowing that you can't exactly afford to pay your rent. Jake rolls his eyes because he doubts anyone could hear him even if he was yelling with how loud it is in the bar, but he lowers his voice regardless. "You need a place to live, and I need to get my old man off of my back..." He trails off, as if you should know where he's going with this.

You don't. You're just staring at him with an increasingly annoyed expression on your face, wondering how soon you can get out of this conversation.

He takes a deep breath and sighs. 

"Hear me out, okay? What if we get married?"

You had actually laughed in his face at first, and Jake was so dead serious about it that he didn't even dwell on the fact that it was the first time you had laughed at something that he'd said.

"Not a chance in hell, Seresin,"  had been your second response. But that's the thing with pretty guys, they can be awfully convincing.

It all happens so fast that you have metaphorical whiplash. Next thing you know, you're wearing a brand new diamond on your finger and going out to the bar with his entire squad the night before their deployment.

Of course, they're all a bit shocked at first. You would be too. You and Jake hadn't exactly been even remotely civil with each other just a few days prior. But if any of them are suspicious of your's and Jake's sudden union, they don't let on, all too happy to have something to celebrate before they ship out. Fanboy and Payback have each brought their wives and Natasha her girlfriend as well. You suppose you're expected to mingle with them, maybe shed a tear or two over the shared bond that your partners are going across the country, but you can't really find a way to connect with them so you kind of just avoid them altogether. You do feel bad, sitting there without a care in the world while they all try to offer comfort and reassurance to each other. But you don't really know what else to do because it's not like you're exactly sad.

Thankfully Javy, or as he's known, Coyote, stands up and raises his near empty bottle of beer in the air and saves you from anymore uncomfortable sitting. "I'd like to make a toast! To the newlyweds!" You spoke too soon. The table cheers and raises their bottles in response, all of the attention turning to where you and Jake are sitting. Cheeks immediately flushing, you have to refrain from sinking down in your seat. Jake is grinning, accepting the few rough pats on the back that he receives from Rooster beside him.

And just when you think that's the worst it's going to get, it gets worse.

"Kiss!"

You're not sure who starts it, but like teenage boys, the entire squad parrots in unison.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

At first Jake just laughs and shakes his head good naturedly, shrugging off the insistent urging of his friends, and you think that's going to be the end of it. But the chanting doesn't stop and finally Jake turns towards you. Your face is probably red hot and undeniably panicked. Heart racing, you try to read him in the half second that you're given as he leans and wraps his arm around you. Is he going to kiss you? Are you supposed to kiss him?

Neither option happens. Jake's arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side and at the last moment, he turns to press a kiss to your cheek. A series of disappointed boos follow but they are drowned out by clapping for the most part. He's uncomfortably close, closer than you ever would have liked to be to Jake Seresin, but you have to remind yourself that it's all for show. When Jake does turn away, you can still feel the warmth of his lips smeared against your cheek. Even so, he hasn't let go of you pressed into his side. 

Your heart still racing, you reason with yourself that if Jake can play the part, you might as well too, and under that pretense, allow yourself to hide your face into his shoulder to conceal it's redness. The smell of his cologne washes over you, and oddly enough, you don't hate it. It's subtle, with a hit of what might be amber, and nothing like the overwhelmingly masculine scent that you would have pegged him for. 

If Jake finds your sudden willingness to touch him strange, he doesn't comment on it, likely assuming that you're just trying to make this thing between the two of you seem real. You somewhat reluctantly pull away when Coyote's voice raises again.

"And here's to shooting down some fucking MiGs!"

Again, the table erupts into a chorus of cheering and hollering. You still, allowing Jake to fully pull away from your side while the proclamation rings out in your head. It's a very grounding moment, and suddenly you feel very alone sitting at the table. No one seems to have noticed your shift in mood. Maybe you're the only one put off by Javy's statement because this is their reality. There are people who are not coming home from this mission; everyone just likes to assume it won't be them. You know better.

You can't help it, the words just come out of your mouth. "That's a fucked up thing to say."

It's the first time you've really spoken up the entire night and all heads turn towards you. Based on the look in Jake's eyes, which is a bit apprehensive, as if he knows this is headed nowhere good, you realize you probably should have just kept your mouth shut.

Payback shifts uncomfortably in his chair while the rest of the crew glances around the table wearing varying states of confusion. Their gazes shift from you to Jake, as if waiting for some sort of explanation. 

Coyote is the first to break the silence. "Look, sweetheart, that's just the way things are. Here in the Navy, that's a badge of honor. Your boy Hangman here is the only one of us with a confirmed air-to-air kill."

"(Y/n)—", Jake attempts to interject, but you're not about to let him explain himself to you in front of all these people.

You set your jaw and swallow back the anger threatening to rise up in your throat. "Yeah, because killing people is so honorable."

Coyote scoffs. "We're just doing our jobs. And if that means taking down a few planes while we're at it, so be it."

"Your job is to protect people," you snap. "There are people out there who have families—"

"Alright, that's enough—" Jake begins to interject for the second time, but this time it's Coyote who interrupts him.

"Come on, man. You're really going to let her say that kinda shit—"

You stand up. "I don't need his permission to—"

"I SAID ENOUGH." This time it's startling enough to cut both of you off. "(Y/n), what is your fucking problem?" Jake snaps.

You flinch at the harshness of his question.

Your eyes travel around the quiet table, where everyone is holding their breath, and then back to Jake. His green eyes reflect a type of pissed off what would be terrifying if you weren't so angry yourself.

A small, logical part of you knows that he has a right to be angry. You've picked a fight for no apparent reason in front of his friends and he hasn't the slightest clue why. It's not his fault your brothers are dead and you blame the Navy for it.

Regardless, that doesn't make up for the fact that you're pissed off by his defense of what Coyote has said. Even though you probably owe him an explanation, you're not about to answer him when he's just yelled at you. You also know that if you don't say something, he's going to and you'd rather die before letting him tell you off in front of all these people. You abruptly push away from the table and storm off for the bar top. You can hear Jake chasing after you.

"(Y/n)."

You ignore him in favor of heading towards the back door of the Hard Deck, pushing past people regardless of whether they're in your way or not. Being slightly more considerate, you can hear Jake moving much slower as he excuses himself through the crowd.

"(Y/n)—"

You come to a stop once you reach the door, spinning on your heels with a fire in your eyes.

"What's my problem?!"

Behind you, you can hear the loud jesting and jeering of his friends back at the table. They're still ruffled with excitement from your outburst, and Coyote's voice follows your retreating back. "Jesus man, get your girl under control."

I'm not his girl, you want to snap. He doesn't own me.

Jake has stopped a few feet away from you. 

"What's my fucking problem?! My problem is that your friends are sitting over there calling murder honor."

Jake sighs harshly though his nose. Shaking his head, green eyes looking up, he begins, "He didn't mean—"

"No. I know what he meant, Jake. You're all a bunch of cowards. You're all too goddamn scared to admit that maybe you're not doing as much good as you thought over there, and so you just justify it by saying all killing is good killing, right?" you spit.

His vibrant green eyes harden but he doesn't respond. "That's some real goddamn honor, right, Jake?" you repeat, angrier this time, wanting more than just some watered down reaction from him. If there's one thing that pisses you off about Jake, it's that you've never gotten anything more than what he's conditioned himself to respond with. It's like he's locked up in this stupid box of his and the most you can ever get out of him is a glance. You want him to be angry with you.

"That's enough." His jaw is tight, and you can tell that even despite his lowered voice and rather subdued demeanor, you've hit a nerve.

"Admit it. Admit that you—“

"(Y/n)." His voice adopts a seriousness that you've never heard from him before. It sounds almost dangerous.

Jake steps towards you and for a moment you think you've won. And then in the moment following that, you actually think that he's going to get physically angry with you. Your heart stalls. Jake's a big guy, a naval aviator, and no matter how good he sells himself to be, he could hurt you if he wanted too. You would never have pegged him as someone who would put his hands on a girl, even after only knowing him for a week, but a man is a man, perfectly ironed uniform or not.

Only he doesn't. Instead he steps into your space and leans in closer than you've  ever been before. His hand presses into your back, firmly pulling you into his chest so that you have no choice but to shift closer to him, your bodies molding together. "I said that's enough. They can see us arguing."

The press of his mouth to your ear conceals the exchange of your conversation from the listening table. You can smell his cologne on the starched collar of his uniform.

"I don't care if they see us—" Pushing your palm into his chest, you try to reestablish the distance between you, but like a brick wall, Jake doesn't budge.

"You realize that we have to make this look real?" he hisses. "From here on out, they're watching everything we do. The government is watching everything we do. Do you understood that?" His voice is tense, and it sounds more urgent than angry now.

Standing there, you realize his heart is thumping heavily beneath your palm. His body is uncomfortably rigid, like a scared dog waiting for its owner to show up and see the mess he's made. Behind you, the table has gone relatively quite. Rooster murmurs something along the lines of, "It's a little early for there to be trouble in paradise already."

Someone—Coyote—responds, "I don't think he thought this through, man. They won't last two weeks."

Jake's eyes meet yours, and you know he can hear them too. You swallow, trying to relax a little in his grasp. He's right, you have to make this look real, and fighting right off the bat doesn't exactly look good.

"Are they still looking at us?" You finally ask, leery now to even speak too loud.

Jake breathes a sigh of relief beside your ear, taking your sudden quiet as cooperation. "Yeah, just keep talking, okay? Act like we're working it out."

Despite trying to appear more comfortable than you are, you don't move your hand from his chest. The coarse material of his dress whites rises and falls steadily beneath your palm. It's calming in a sense, and you try to focus on its rhythm rather than the fact that you're so close that you can feel the heat of his mouth beside your ear.

"Still looking?" You ask after a few moments pass.

He hums. "Yep."

"Well then what do we do? We can't just stand like this forever." The longer you stand together, the more details you become aware of. Like the fact that his face is freshly shaven against your cheek and that he must have brushed his teeth before this because his breath smells like Listerine.

"Look at me."

"What?" You ask, your brow furrowing as he pulls away. His hand that had been holding your waist firmly in place lifts to grip your jaw.

"You're going to have to kiss me," he explains, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

"What?" Before you can even protest, he's leaning in and pressing his mouth to yours. Without the time to process what exactly is happening given your state of alarm, all you can do is go along with it. His lips mold against yours in what might be the most borderline tame kiss you've ever had. Despite this, you are reluctantly surprised to note how good of a kisser he is. It's just forceful enough to let you know he's in control but not so much that it's unpleasant. His lips are full and taste vaguely of his mouth wash.

You don't kiss him back.

It makes no difference to the group behind you whether you actually kiss or not; they can't tell from this distance and all they have to do is believe it happened. It's more for your own self preservation than anything. It's one thing to play the part, it's another thing to get caught up in it and catch feelings. And with Jake Seresin, that was a dangerous game to play. You'd already felt it, him prying his way under your skin when he'd held you at the table and the smell of his cologne filled your sense. It would be that easy.

To his credit, Jake lingers just long enough to make the kiss believable before pulling away. Even si, it still feels uncomfortably long. He leans back and you don't miss the fact that he wipes his hand across his mouth. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Jake..." you begin, immediately feeling bad, but he stops you.

"Whatever, (Y/n). It's fine." He won't look you in the eyes now. You turn to look over your shoulder, desperate to get yourself out of this increasingly bad situation .

"They're not looking," you say, finding the table now amicably chatting with each other rather than focused on the two of you. The sudden PDA must have finally diverted their attention. "...you can step away now."

"Right," he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. Jake drops his hand from your waist and steps back like he's glad to finally put some distance between the two of you. So much for making this look natural.

You return to the table shortly after, in hand to make it appear as if you've made up and smiling tightly when Bob cheerily welcomes you back to break the awkward silence. Once seated, you drop each other's hand beneath the table immediately. The rest of the evening is spent avoiding contributing to conversations that involve the other. If anyone notices, they don't comment on the fact that the two of you hardly look at each other for the rest of the evening, and somehow you manage to put up an otherwise happily married front.

When a few of the guys finally get a little bit too drunk, specifically Rooster, you're all too happy when Natasha calls it a night. Because they ship out the next day, Jake drives you back to the hotel where all of the married couples have rented out a room for the night. Apparently it's a tradition or something. You make the drive in silence. You let him check into the room and carry both of your bags up, disappearing into the small bathroom to splash cool water onto your face. It helps to ease some of the tension from this evening. Leaning over the sink, you watch the water swirl down the drain.

Is this crazy? This is crazy, right?

Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands when you step out. He's taken off his hat and suddenly he seems a lot more fragile than he was a few minutes ago. There's a softness to him, something having been previously concealed by the precise styling of his hair and tense pull of his set jaw. Before you can break the silence, he sucks in an uneasy breath.

"Hey, we need to talk about something. Um, you know... in case I..."

In case he doesn't come back.

You swallow, looking down at the ground. After tonight, after he's kissed you, all of this is starting to feel a little bit to real. What the hell happened to pretending? This was all supposed to be pretend. "Jake, please don't do that—"

He stands up from the end of the bed, and you notice the folded paper in his hands. "This is all of my personal information, you know, bank accounts, passwords, phone numbers... Anything you might need if something happens to me." He says it all as if it's so normal, but you can hear the apprehension in the thinness of his voice.

Already, you're shaking your head as he hands you the letter. "Jake, please. I don't want that." Your heart is pounding and all you want to do in the moment is go back in time and never have agreed to do this in the first place. This was insane. What were you thinking? Like you were going to put yourself through this again? 

"(Y/n)—“ Jake tries, interrupting your spiral of thoughts.

"I said NO, Jake," you snap, stepping back from him and the letter. There are tears burning at the backs of your eyes, like you might burst into a hit of hysteria at any moment. "I change my mind. I can't do this..."

Jake's eyes glance from you to the paper in his hand and then back to you, and then he drops his outstretched arm with what sounds like a laugh. "Right. Not like we're fuckin' married or anything." He releases a puff of air from his cheeks and runs his hand through his hair like he's contemplating pulling it out. "Do you know how screwed we are if anyone finds out about this? Do you, (Y/n)??" he asks, his voice rising to a concerning level. "We're done!" 

"Jake, I—"

He tosses the letter onto the bed and sits back down with a heavy sigh, looking down at his feet. When he finally speaks again, his voice had lowered to a more acceptable volume. "It's a bit too late for you to back out now. If the Navy finds out about this— if anyone one finds out about this, I could lose my job. We could both go to jail."

Silence settles over the two of you as Jake sits on the bed, staring at his feet, and you stand there in the middle of the room, willing your heart to stop pounding in your chest. You need to get out of here before your heart implodes. You turn and grab your coat from by the door.

"Where are you going?"  Jake asks, his voice tired and annoyed.

"I need some air," you say, shrugging on your coat and opening the door. He doesn't try to stop you on the way out. 

You regret the decision the second that you walk out the door. Now that the sun is gone, it's freezing outside. Your original plan had been to go for a walk to clear your head but you doubt now you'd make it very far. Walking down the stairs and out into the nearly empty parking lot, you look around, considering whether or not you would survive the trek to a gas station. When you realize you've left your phone back in the room, you decide against it. You aren't dumb enough to walk in the dark alone. Instead you head towards Jake's truck, which is parked out by itself at the end of the lot. To your surprise, you find it's unlocked and the door swings open when you tug on the handle. You climb in and the switch to lock the door behind you. Even the inside of the car is cold but at least it's out of the wind. You hug your knees into your check and tuck your chin into them, curling up in the driver's seat to keep warm.

And then you just sob.

It's the kind of sobbing that starts long and drawn out and then escalates into the rapid breathing that happens when you can't get enough air into your lungs and it feels as though there's an entire golf ball stuck in your throat. You haven't cried this hard since you were a kid—since your first brother died. You didn't cry the second time, didn't allow yourself to feel anything the second time because you knew there wasn't going to be anyone to pull you back together if you did. 

At least being away from all of this had allowed you some time to forget, even if for just a moment, that they were gone without having to be constantly reminded. You had moved to put as much distance between yourself and the Navy as possible. Because that way life wouldn't get the chance to take another person from you in the same way. Looking at the ring on your finger now, that's exactly the opposite of what you had just done. This was just supposed to be until you could get back on your feet, and if it helped Jake out in the process then great. Now that you think about it, it was stupid of you to think that you would be able to make it through this with out catching feelings for him. 

Now you're going to lose him too.

You cry until you almost make yourself sick and then some more. Your sobbing is interrupted every few minutes when you choke on your own air and have to swallow the golf ball that is lodged in your throat so that you can breathe. You're not sure how long you sit there just crying. Surely at least an hour has passed. By the time your sobbing has slowed, your head hurts and your chest aches enough to be sore.

Knock knock knock

You jump at the noise, head shooting up from between the bracket of your knees. It's dark outside, the parking lot just barley lit in a wash of grey by the moon. Even so, you can make out Jake's broad figure in the darkness.

"Open the damn door." His order comes out in a puff of frosty condensation that warms a spot on the window, his voice only partially muffled by the barrier. His shoulders are hunched against the cold, the upturned collar of his coat doing little to protect him from the brutal conditions.

For a while you just stare at him through the window, swallowing back the spit in your throat.

"Open the door," he repeats, knowing better than to think that you can't hear him. If only locking yourself in his car was the solution of all of your problems. Reluctantly, you reach over and click the lock, slowly rolling down the window.

After it stops, you stare at each other through the open car window, separated only by the frame of door that he could now easily reach out and open. His soft brown hair is mushed and in disarray, nose and cheeks tinted pink form the chill. The pleasant green of his eyes is mostly hidden as he squints against the wind.

Finally, you suck in a breathe, your chest shuddering. "I cannot do this," you stress, all of the fear that you've been shoving down now presenting itself in a singular sentence.

Jake sighs, his face softening to reflect a look of sympathy. "Look, I promise you, it's not that bad. You'll come with me to the carrier when I ship out tomorrow, we'll hug each other goodbye, and then you won't even have to see me for a couple of months. It'll be like none of this ever happened. And when I come back... we'll figure it out. Okay?" His voice is soft and understanding, like he's talking to a child.

You stare at the dashboard, your stomach still churning anxiously. "That's not what I'm... It's not you, Jake." Quite the opposite. "I lost my brothers to the Navy. Both of them. And I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

Immediately Jake's face falls as he puts everything into place. Your initial distaste for him, your furious outburst at Hard Deck, your reluctance to have have anything to do with the Navy... "I—God, I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I had no idea."

You shrug, calming down now that you've finally let go over everything that you've been holding in. "I asked Natasha not to tell you. I just thought that I could get over it so what was the point in even telling you?"

The wind blowing into through the open window is bone chilling and so you can only imagine how cold Jake is standing outside the car. For a while there's only the sound of his quiet breathing.

"Nothing's going to happen to me, (Y/n)," he says into the darkness.

"How can you be so sure?"

Hands shoved into his pockets, body braced against the wind, he shrugs. "I'm not. But if I didn't tell myself that every morning, I'd never get out of bed."

Sighing, you pull the handle on the inside of the door. "C'mon, it's fucking cold out there."

Jake huffs as if to say, you're telling me, and grabs the handle to pull open the door. Only instead of climbing in, he steps further inside the door and grabs your head in his cold hands so that your faces are mere inches apart. "I mean it, kid. I'm not going to leave you, alright? You just gotta trust me."

Looking into his eyes, you know he means it. For the second time since you've known Jake, you really see him. Standing before you is the same man that you saw in both of your brothers. Granted, they were much younger than he is now, but you get it. You'd been trying to see him as anyone else other than the brothers you lost, praying that it would hurt less, but you can't make someone into something they're not. 

"Okay," you whisper. "I trust you, Jake."

You're awake hours earlier than what you're used to in the morning, but that's only because you had glanced at the alarm clock at half past three and realized that you only had few hours left with Jake. The both of you had returned to the hotel room and changed in comfortable silence, slipping into the single bed together without a word. Jake had reached over and pulled you into him without so much as a second thought. Now his body is draped heavily on top of yours, his nose tucked into your hair as your fingers trace along the bare skin of his exposed back. 

You switch between staring at the ceiling and watching the numbers change on the alarm clock, trying to think about anything other than the fact that Jake would wake up in about an hour, you'd drop him off at the carrier at six, and that would be it. You'd only just gotten him and now you were going to have to let him go.

When Jake's alarm does go off, you're more emotional than you thought you would be, but Jake seems to be fine, dutifully putting on his uniform and carefully packing all of his bags, so you try to put on a brave face. You move slowly, dragging out the process of getting dressed as long as possible just so that there's no excuse to leave for the dock any sooner than you have too. After you're done getting ready, you watch him shave once and then again for good measure before he ultimately decides that you've both wasted enough time putting off the inevitable.

The drive there is silent as well and would have been unbearable had Jake not reached over the consol to reassuringly squeeze your hand. He doesn't let go of it until you pull into the crowded port. Between people trying to get their things on board and a bunch of teary goodbyes, it's beyond you how you manage to find the Dagger Squad in the midst of the chaos. Fanboy and Payback are saying goodbye to their families while Rooster and Natasha chatter excitedly with an older man also dressed in naval attire, the name plate on his uniform identify him as 'Maverick'. It's all so overwhelming that only when Jake squeezes your hand again do you realize that it's time for you to say goodbye.

Reluctantly, you turn towards him, interlocked hands swinging between the two of you. He does his best to smile, and to his credit, it's not entirely fake. "Well," he sighs. "This it it."

"For now," you add, returning his soft smile as you look up at him.

"For now," Jake agrees, his smile brightening now that you seem to be okay also. He pauses, just staring down at you for a moment before he adds, "Are you going to let me kiss you?"

You smile, answering him this time without hesitation. "Only if you keep your promise."

Jake's large hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling your chin in his palm as he leans down to you. "I promise," he murmurs before pressing his mouth to yours, perhaps even more tender than he did the first time at Hard Deck. Only this time you reciprocate it, chasing his mouth as you lift up on your toes and run your fingers through the back of his hair. Groaning, Jake sighs into the kiss. It's dizzying and you don't know how it's possible to put all of the passion that you've been holding back into one kiss, but somehow you do. His lips are soft and you have to shove down the urge to grip his hair and demand him for more, because it by some miracle occurs to you that you're on a ship in front of hundreds people. 

Jake's the one to pull away, his eyes shining and pink lips slightly more swollen than they were a minute ago. You can't help but laugh, wiping away some of your lipgloss from his mouth with your thumb. "Goodbye, Jake."

"Goodbye, (Y/n). And don't forget, I'll see you soon."

[deifyruby]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤlittle theorizing timeee~~~

beware, spoilers for i spent 100 days hidden in a secret minecraft base.

(ps ps. i didn't do a post for the other eps, but fuck yeah, FUCK YEah, i called it. the director is sooooo meta. fist up in the air moment.)

the moment the director involves themselves in the story they wrote, egg stops being meta (mentioning his irl life, literally said he watched spoke's videos when wemmbu asked him if he knew spoke) and starts taking uu seriously (literally told someone to chill because minecraft empires were Not That Serious, famous words thirty minutes before taking a minecraft empire Very Seriously), and spoke is acting out of character + there's clearly missing story between s1finale and s2e1. do you reckon the director is finally stepping up, busy with hunting down parrot and orchestrating tax duo's gradual descend, so they don't have enough time to fill in spoke's blank spots? couldn't bother to write anything abt minute and mape? because, a director only has two hands. godly being or not, i assume the director has a human-like form. maybe someone like cc parrot. :)

since we're going down this rabbit hole, do the mcs have protagonist halos? is it a halo granted to them by the director? then, can they lose it? when they lose it, will they stop uploading, because they are no longer center piece? also, i believe s2 is gonna heavily revolve around taking away the mcs' support network. isolating them from their best friends (wifies, eggchan and mape. i had a feeling when they killed off wifies, but egg suddenly doing a 180° just furthered my suspicions. and today we Clearly saw, mapicc and minute were not even Mentioned or referenced).

on that line of thought. the video was so out of character and Not unstable universe like at all, that when spoke actually brought up s1 after being weirdly vague about squiddo and ash as if he hadn't known them more closely than he was acting like, that it actually broke my immersion a little bit? so not immersive i got immersed in the not-immersiveness. 😭

side note, i don't have the ss but squidswag kiss in uu i know that's right... i knowww ash did that on purpose, and the way squiddo went quiet. 😭🫵🏻 why are We third wheeling. why is Spoke third wheeling rn.

also we saw a new side to ash today. :) he's a retired guy who just wants to live in his bunker with squiddo. i can respect that, to the point i felt... kinda bad for ash! crazy isn't it? since when do i, the viewer, feel bad for ash and (mildly) upset at spoke? after the stunts ash pulled? whatever spoke did may lowkey be his karma ngl. :crying:

by the way... ash is changed now that he is no longer the director's pawn. does this mean uu characters were already existing, not entirely the director's creation; just being influenced by the director? but when the director is no longer puppeteering their strings, they are now perhaps free to be the person they always were. maybe ash liked squiddo because squiddo was not a big character in the director's plot, so they saw through the role that was put upon him by the director.

not to cleanse ash of his sins, i think it'd be interesting if the director actually chose the puppets for their play based on pre-existing ambitions and traits. would make ash still a greedy manipulator, but maybe he wouldn't make a whole ass mafia?

hey. doesn't this whole yap remind you about someone else? egg, perhaps? what if the director got egg. influencing him, taking away the bits from egg that inconvenienced his plans. the fact that egg was so meta was inconvenient, wasn't it? egg may just be the closest to busting your whole play. without egg, wemmbu always seems to crack less jokes. to take the situation more seriously. without egg around, wemmbu is less likely to break the fourth wall; to even realize it's there in the first place.

wowieee i went a bit crazy yapping my head off, but hey. we'll see how far fetched this was. :P

you 🫵🏻 will not convince me that spoke s2e1 isn't intentionally edited that way. it feels meta in a weird way. if i can care enough i'll rewatch it and hopefully come out with a theory about why it's this way.

[hellodragonkit]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Opinions and Points.

SPOILERS... obviously.

Ok I watched the movie, and ... some things that are my own personal thoughts and possible points I noticed. And some things I have seen others point out to where this is just my over all opinion and its kinda long.

The backstory lets not forget beetle is a unreliable narrator as proven by the first movie as Julliard and Harvard did not exist while he was alive, and unless he was possessing someone when they graduated its unlikely he said the truth. - so I don't think he gave us the full backstory. Maybe yes he did marry her, but given he never dies on screen and previously stated point. I just find it hard to believe that he drank a poison then had enough strength to chop her up as much as she was, if it was actually effecting him. i find it far more possible he had already been poisoned so often he was immune at that point. and was just pissed his new wife tried to do him in. Also in first movie it was suggested with the red mark he hung himself... maybe he tried to take over the death cult and had to do himself in for a quicker death?

the Newspapper. Yes it did say people were falsely accused of offing themselves at death, I think this was to help clear up the plot hole that would have been with Astrid's dad. And maybe be a red haring for Beetle. Next few points are BeetleBabes related so if you don't like the ship, please move on.

He gave her autonomy in his power. During the therapist scene when he "sewn" her mouth shut, it was less truly sewn and more duct taped. She had the ability to remove it, yeah he had it stick long enough for a gag, but not much more. He didn't force her.

The Contract and Nullification of it. Beetle wrote the contract, and he worked as a dead con man for years, he knew the handbook inside and out. He wrote up the contract for Lydia to sign and save her daughter, knowing there was a Massive Loop hole. even blowing a hole in the "back door" of the Neither to insure the loop hole was as big as it could be the second he had her sign, obviously with a bit of theatrics for both signing and explosions. But would we expect anything else from him?

Delia calling him: when Delia died, she called him asking to go to Lyd's wedding. He did so no questions no strings. Any other deal he always asked for something in return but for Lyd's step mom he didn't charge a dime, possibly because he felt Lyds would be upset if she missed it, and didn't get to say good bye.

Rory Beetle obviously didn't like him, could tell he was scamming Lyds, and yeah he probably could have sent him off but instead had to prove to Lydia why that guy was bad, hence why he used truth serum. He need to make sure she wouldn't go back to that guy once he was gone again. It was even hinted he heard her talking in the graveyard rushing to the church that she was not ready to marry.

He planed to go away. His song at the end, was not one of love and togetherness. MacArthur Park is more of loss and remorse. He was saying Goodbye to Lydia! Not permanently anyway

He set up sending away Deloris and helped the contract become Null When Deloris burst in through the door, the wind didn't effect Lydia, or Beetle, or Delia but the book slid to Astrid as easily as it had moved away, He moved it to her, conveniently on the page to summon sand-worms and how to brake the contract.

He stalled for the cops I find it funny how in the first movie he summoned a Man of the cloth and the guests. But this time he had both, and unlike the first time he wasn't rushing... he took his time to sing a whole song and to let the Neither cops show up, possibly also baiting Deloris to take care of her but I'm still not sure on that bit. ether way He had won, he had Lydia, the pastor, and guests. But instead he did a song and dance, a song that I already pointed out was one more of goodbye.

He let Lydia send him away. Beetle loves to make a entrance, he also may love to make a exit. he has also shown he can silence someone for just saying his name once. But instead of silencing her or taking over her voice as he had before. He started a dramatic plea, showing her he was getting sent away, showing her he was going to let her send him off.

The ending given the fact he may have over heard about Rory, And all the other notes, he could probably see Lydia wasn't wanting marriage at that time. But I also feel... he just likes the chase. What fun would it be if the Coyote already caught the road runner? he didn't mind her sending him away, because it means he could keep trying to get her to call him willingly. Over all this is just my ramblings that I don't have any friends irl who may appreciate them or be able to properly counter lol And if you made it this far thank you. And I hope you liked the movie as much as I did.

[richeeduvie]

ok so i’m in a super deep angst hole and i wondered what would happen if baby jr or baby were to be kidnapped, like how would roman react or the whole family and like how would the reunion would be like

Okay, Baby Jr being kidnapped is kinda funny to me

been a hot minute since I wrote something a lil long for Roman and Baby, and of course it has to be angst to get me in the mood <3

I know it'd actually be so traumatic and sad when it comes to Roman and Baby's little girl because you know she'd be so scared. All she knows is her Mommy and Daddy and the world they made for themselves. Even if nothing's done to her.

But I remember seeing this siblingroyoc headcanon tiktok where they were kidnapped as a child but Logan didn't do anything about it so the kidnappers felt bad and sent them back. Like, the Succession fandom is filled with geniuses. Anyways, I feel like this is what would happen to Baby Jr in the sense that she's kidnapped by people who don't want to hurt her.

Maybe they realize that along the way, Baby Jr was the wrong choice? She's the baby of the guy who got the fuck out of Waystar and is now doing...nothing but being wealthy? Who knows, I just know that what makes it funny is that Baby Jr would eventually calm down and try to be nice to her kidnappers. She asks if they can play Encanto while Roman and Baby are just panicking.

Just imagine that, Roman about to kill himself while Baby Jr's out there having a good time with her kidnappingbabysitters.

It would happen when Baby Jr's at school. Out of the week, after a hesitant Roman allowed it, Baby Jr gets to go to kindergarten for three days. There's the weekend and then one special day saved for the family. But with all the events of wealthy life going on? Roman takes her out of school so much.

So much so that the school staff thinks the person signing her out of class is just one of the Roy family assistants. You'd think private schooling would have a lot more security.

Baby Jr's happy to get taken out of school by Mommy and Daddy, but she slows with her little legs when she sees it's this...person. She's never seen them before. She puts her thumb near her mouth.

"Daddy told me to come pick you up."

Now, she's learned about stranger danger. Just not in the sense the stranger could get into her school and pretend it's one of the many people whose existence benefit minor activities of the Roy family. She's a bit nervous, but okay. If Daddy said so.

"...Okay."

Okay. So they go. It takes the little girl to see another person waiting for them in the car. They talk, they look intense on the face. All scrunched lines.

Baby Jr wants her Mommy. She'll see her soon, but she wants her now.

"Don't be scared, sweetie. You'll just be with us for a little while."

"She still thinks were taking her to them."

"...What she thinks isn't going to change anything."

What gets Roman, in the all of all it, is how long it takes him to find out his daughter is missing.

He's picking her up, picking at his coat jacket. Baby's at home, making brownie bars. He thumps his hands on the office desk.

"Mr. Roy."

"Hi, Ms. school office lady. Here to pick up my kid."

Roman wants to flick her nose. Why the fuck is she staring at him like that? He'll feel bad that he does when him and Baby Jr past the office and waves her little, chubby hand like she always does.

"I know. School's done in ten minutes, but my wife has brownies that are best when they're fresh, which - can somehow be insanely sexual? But yeah...sorry to be a dickfuck and pick her up but I sorta need her now."

"...But you checked your daughter out at eleven."

Roman doesn't blink.

"No. I didn't."

"Not you. I'm sorry, not you - but your assistant. One of them came in and signed her out."

Roman scratches his neck with his middle finger. It digs in at the end, a sharp pain against the way blood rushes through his ears. He blinks fast.

"Yeah...no, I didn't send any fucking...assistant you're saying? No, no one would've came to pick up my daughter but me today."

"Did your wife send anyone to pick he-"

"She's the one at home, baking. Like I told you a minute ago, I would tell her that I'm leaving to pick up our daughter. Which...I'm here to do so did you make a mistake? Someone pick up their own fucking kid and not mines and it's just her name in the system or whatever?"

The office lady watches Roman's finger shake, tapping quickly on the counter, like he's pressing a key over and over and over again. She swallows.

"Sh-she left. She was sent to the office and she went with him."

The tapping stops.

"...Isn't there a list?"

"A list?"

"A list of people who parents put down as people that can pick their child up. Only those people, which...you're Ms. school Office lady so I'm hoping you fucking know about the list. Ours has...has - we have Connor Roy, Frank Vernon, Shiv Roy. Her son is in the building right now. Unless you're telling me you let him walk the fuck out with a stranger? Right? Is that what you're telling me?"

"...I'm...I'm new. It's only my third day."

Roman stares. The office lady watches his chest begin to rise and deepen.

He closes his eyes.

"Did you say eleven?"

"Yes, Mr. Roy. I am so-it's most likely-"

"It's two. It's going to be two."

"Mr. Roy....Mr. Roy-"

The room and it's walls watches the way Roman pressing the heels of his palm into his eyes, stepping back and out into the hall.

"Oh, fuck."

The walls hear this high, cracking pain in his voice. Something panicked with angry coating his throat. Roman bends at his knees to the floor.

"God. Fuck, fuck - fuck! Oh, God. God. You-"

He gets up suddenly, every line twisted in his face with his hair messy. He jabs a finger to the office lady.

"Call fucking 911! You fucking bitch-you're-you're nothing! Call fucking 911!"

It's the sounds of shuffles and buttons, then ringing. Then cursing.

The brownies are done just in time when there's ringing on Baby's end.

"Roman?"

"You need to come down here. You need to-I um...I'm sorry. I don't fucking know. I don't fucking know but you need to come down here and...fuck."

It's a cracking, soft cry. Baby can imagine Roman rubbing his eyes, or the bridge of his nose.

"What happened? Is she okay? Are you okay?"

Roman and her don't know that he feels like a child caught in the act of something bad. He needs to tell her something. He has to tell her something's wrong, and being the barer feels like a crime. It feels like he's going to kill her, and Roman doesn't think he's ever wanted to hurt her in his life.

"Someone fucking took her. They don't know who. The uh, the brainless bitch who gets fed off the tuition money said that it was someone who said they were one of our assistants."

Baby Jr turns to the cat paw oven mitts she got for Baby Jr. She looks to the tile floor.

"No. No."

She says it like saying no will change things. It's simple.

"Can you come down here, please? Please? I'm sorry, I should've picked her up earlier or...or shot the office staff in the head."

"When did h-he he...when did...was it a he?"

"Apparently. But I need that to not...not matter. Please, come down here."

It's all a plea where Baby doesn't know if Roman's on the verge of crying or he's just finished crying.

"I need that to not matter to you. But when? Are you asking when?"

Baby takes a breath that shakes with her body. She holds her palm against her stomach. If she presses in, she can feel her c-section scar.

Tears come as quickly as the panic.

"Roman."

"It's been two hours since they took her."

Baby's head tilts up, face twisting and quivering and her spine curves. She cries harshly.

Roman closes his eyes at the sound. He lowers his head.

"Can you come down? Please, I've sent someone to get you but fuck that if you just wanna come down here by yourself. But please, come down. Please."

It's an long, almost-gentle begging from Roman. He needs her body, he needs her for any sort of reality. He needs to cling onto her and he can't listen to her cry without wanting to touch her, bring her down. But he fucking can't right now because she's there and he's here and their daughter is gone.

Not gone. He'll do a lot of things if she's gone.

It's a big news story even before Baby manages to make it down to the school. It's a Waystar kid kidnapped midday. It's press, parents, people all over. It's a sea she has to cross. She can't cross it without notice, not when she's the mother.

But the flashes and callings fog out at the right of Roman. He's pale and brightly red all at once.

Baby Jr would giggle.

Her feet pick up. His don't even when he sees her. He knows he'll fall into the ground and he won't be able to get back up. But his face against her chest and his arms wrap like suffocation around his crying wife. Hers do too around his.

"Shiv's called about five times. And Karolina, for some reason, as if our daughter's on the company deed. I'm not even on anything anymo-"

"Did they find anything yet?"

Roman can't avoid that question because he's been asking it every thirty seconds. He gets more into a pale rage when the answer doesn't change.

"No. No, because they can't fucking do anything right. They can't find her. They can't-"

"Roman."

Baby pulls his hand away from his shoulder across. He was digging. She thinks he's colored a bit of his shirt red. She sees his coat on the steps of the school.

"Can we do something? Like fucking-they keep telling me I can't do anything and I get the feeling like I could rip their jaw apart but she wouldn't want me to do that."

Baby looks at the small of Roman's body, but the bigness of his rage and panic. It the fidgeting and shifting. For her, it's tears and questions where she can't afford kindness. As a mother, she can't afford cordialness to anyone at the moment.

"Mr. Roy, we got the security footage of them leaving the building. And...are you Mrs. Roy?"

Baby nods. The officer pulls out a phone, makes them watch the footage of a man dressed casually hold their daughter's hand.

Baby breathes so unevenly watching it, she wouldn't give anything to that man in the grained video if she could afford it. Roman keeps his mouth covered by his knuckles.

"Do you recognize this man at all?"

"No. I don't. Roman?" They both wait for Roman. His vein pops out and pumps. Pulses. His brow is raised under it. It's all harsh, it's nerves and it makes Baby even more nervous. She didn't know that was possible. "Roman?"

"Sir-"

He presses play on the video again. It's a short feature, ten seconds of bare information but Roman winds it out to forty seconds.

He presses pause.

"Roman."

It's a soft scolding as Baby licks and bites her lips, as Roman slaps the phone to the ground. He walks away, hands grabbing at the back of his head to pull at his hair.

"Roman, not this. We don't have to talk about everything, about how this happened, but we need to listen to them - we need to think about what's happened? Maybe? To figure out any information?"

She waits half as long in his silence.

"Rom-"

"Do you think she's asking for us right now?"

Baby closes her eyes. "Don't think of these things, baby. It's not going to help-"

She thought of every question she could on the ride here. Roman turns to her but looks to the ground.

"She's asking for us and wondering why we're not there? Our daughter's out there with people who will be dead come time and she's wondering why Daddy hasn't come to get her? Because I don't mean to think that highly of myself as a father but she wants her Dad to come save her and she doesn't know why he can't."

"She knows we're looking for her, Roman."

"She's five. She knows Mommy and Daddy, she doesn't know that things can come in between Mommy and Daddy. She's wondering where we are, isn't she?"

"Roman-"

"Why aren't we there?"

The way he asks the question, it sounds like years ago.

Baby cries silently, into Roman's shoulder when she tries to comfort him. It's this way until a phone rings.

"Mr. Roy. Mrs. Roy. The kidnappers have called, we have them on the phone. They've managed to get the chief's office personal number. With the information they've given, it appears to be a standard ransom case. They have said your daughter is unharmed-"

Roman's dragging Baby, both in the aftermath of their tears to the Chief officer.

"Give me the phone."

"Mr. Roy-"

"Give me the phone."

"Mr.Roy-"

And like a child, Roman snatches the phone out of their hand. It would be humorous if not for the situation. Baby Jr would've giggled.

"...Hello?"

How quickly Roman's hands find the need to pinch and peel at the sound of their voice would be funny too. His nose flares.

"I'm going to take the skin off your feet. Where is my daughter?"

"...She's fine. I said she's unharmed. This is not a political act, this is not a personal one against Waystar or the Roy family, although you can say we picked you due to your politics and what Waystar has done, but this is where we ask for ten million dollars in exchange for your daughter's safety."

Roman sniffs.

"Okay. I'll paypal it to you. Let me speak to her, though."

Baby's more than willing to give up anything for their daughter. She never expected anything less than Roman giving up ten million like it's nothing. Everything is nothing in the face of their baby.

"...Reall-"

"Put her on the fucking phone."

"...Alright."

There's shuffling. Roman and Baby wait as they barely blink.

"Daddy?"

Roman exhales something heavy. It's almost a laugh, but Baby cries fully again. Her forehead presses into the side of his head. Their breathing is unevenly, but somehow aligned with the other's lungs.

"Are you okay? This is Daddy. Daddy's sorry, honey. Did they hurt you?"

"No. We're watching Coco. I was super fear. It was crazy! Cause I didn't know anyone here, but they like Coco like I like coco. And they have Candyland! So it's okay. It is almost done. Where is Mommy?"

"I'm here, baby."

"Hi, Mommy."

It's so sweet and soft. Baby Jr hums.

"Daddy's sorry. We're-" Roman chokes on his own spit. "We'll be with you soon."

"Why are you sorry, Daddy? I go now, so you can say later."

Roman's stomach eats itself at the idea of her going. There's ten to eighty thoughts of how these people could be lying, how this could be the last time he hears her. It could be false, fake. He twitches. They could be doing everything his nightmares are made of. The things that are why he keeps her and Baby to himself.

This could be something that kills him. It drinks his blood and cuts off the air to his head and muscles.

But trusting these fuckers is believing she'll be in his arms soon, to never leave the penthouse or Mommy and Daddy. So, Roman lets her off the phone.

"We will text you the instructions on how we want the money delivered to us."

"Yeah, fuck you. Fucking bitch. You're so fucking ugly too. An ugly little nothing. You go ahead and do that."

Roman shoves the phone into the officers chest.

"Just, do whatever you want with my bank account."

It's a bit of time in trying to get ten million suddenly ready to deliver, but it's done. They wait. Roman can stop twitching and Baby can't stop wringing her hands. They both think of Baby Jr's room. They don't know the other thinks of the same thing.

"They've dropped her off at Waymond park."

They're at Waymond park way too quickly for the ride there to have been legally possible.

"Go fucking faster! Jesus fuck."

Baby wishes she could say that's not what she wanted to say to the driver.

Car doors slam when they see the little girl in the coat they made her wear to school on the swings. Always a bit too warm, that's how Roman likes it.

Baby Jr kicks her little legs. She lifts her head when she hears her named yelled out. She smiles brightly. Those little legs don't run sharply, and they can't catch her when Roman and Baby engulf her.

But they can catch her. They'll always be there to catch her.

Baby Jr giggles at how funny her parents are. They're hugging her like it's a competition to see who can hug the tightest and longest. So, she tries to join in. But she won't win.

Roman kisses her head as tears wet her hair, Baby's tears wet his. He kisses her. They kiss each other.

"I'm going to ask Kendall if we can borrow Colin."

Baby's not against that, not when she's a mother and her daughter's back in her arms.

[hunter-burton]

Recently, I’ve developed the headcannon that Alex owns a little sketchbook! Absolutely consumed by this idea, I made a physical “replica” of what I think it would look like- including some of the sketches inside! When making these pages in particular, I actually acted out a specific scenario to help myself figure out what to draw. This fic is that scenario a bit more fleshed out. Enjoy :)

Opening Up

It sucked coming home so late, especially with all that rain. After, yet, another dragging day of witnessing absolute horrors, coming home, Alex practically dropped their body into the door. Upon finally stepping into their house, they clicked the door behind themselves, muffling the sobbing clouds

Their weird ass cat, Clyde, sat at the small, round, dining table. Its yellow eyes blinked, “How was work?”

“Exhausting.” After closing and setting down their umbrella, Alex let out a sigh, lifting their uniform’s heavy coat off their hunched body and hung it on the thin coat hanger. “Y’know, the usual. Just gotta… sit down… maybe make a cup of tea.”

“Want me to make bubble water on the…” the creature traced circles in the air, “hot thing?”

“Stove? Yeah, actually. I’d really appreciate it..” Alex paused, brows furrowed, “Wait- you know how to use that thing?”

It nodded, “You turn on the knobs and, then the, sttt..circle thing.. tops turn red. I’ve seen you do it before.”

“Hm, yeah. That sounds about right.” They eased their boots off by the door, then made their way to the kitchen cabinets, “Have at it. I’ll get you a pot.”

As Alex reached for and opened the cabinet doors, Clyde tilted its head, “What’s in the rest of those little doors?”

“Oh, the cabinets?” Alex handed Clyde a small, metal pot, which it, then, took to the sink and began to fill with water. “Just general kitchen stuff. Pots, pans, spices…” they spoke over the rain hitting the road and the pot’s wet, metal hum, “Not the tea though. That’s kinda more where you’re at- by the sink.”

Once the pot was filled, it stopped the water, passed the pot back to Alex and then began to pull open all the little doors, “What does the tea look like?”

“They should be in little boxes. One should have a bear on it?”

Clyde squinted into one of the drawers, “keeyy… leee… sty.. all?”

Alex raised a brow, “Does the word start with a ‘C’” they traced the letter in the air.

“Yes.”

“‘Celestial!’ That’s them.”

“Alright.” Clyde sifted through the boxes “Which one you want? Green? Sleep?��� Gine grr?”

“Ginger? Ginger sounds nice.”

Clyde echoed Alex’s voice, “Ginger it is.”

“Thanks!”

Clyde huffed, “Don’t mention it.” The box rustled as it pulled out a tea packet. To the side of the boxes, it spots a brown oddity in the corner, adorned with colorful stickers. It pulls it out, along with the tea, “Hey, what’s this?”

Lights sparked on in Alex’s eyes, “Oh! That’s my sketch book!” They snatched the thing from its claws and began to flip through the pages, “Man! It’s been forever since I’ve opened this thing… I used to doodle in it all the time before this… fuck-ass job.”

Clyde scrunched up its face, “Doodle?”

“Yeah! Here, I’ll show you- hold on, le’me get a pencil!” Alex set the sketchbook on the dining table and raced to their bedroom and, soon, returned with a yellow pointy thing and a tiny metal object with holes. Over the trash can, they stuck the yellow stick into one of the holes, shedding off what appeared to be wood, then returned to the dining table to flip the sketchbook to a blank sheet. With the dark tip, Alex began to write symbols onto the page, narrating every movement, “I’ll start with a circle… then some rectangles… dot- dot… maybe some squiggles for the hair- then a neck…” with every soft scratch the tip made on the page, a line appeared. It was like watching magic. One moment, there was a blank page, then, the next moment, “Line, line, box box…” Alex drew an arrow and wrote

Me

“…And that’s me!”

Clyde sat there for a moment with its jaw ajar, “gimme that thing.” It held out its claw, then shifted its eyes, remembering the magic word “..please.”

“Pencil.” With a wide smile, Alex dropped the pencil into those claws, then twirled their hand, “give it a whirl!”

Clyde clumsily situated the magic stick into its four fingers, then began to scratch the page with the tip. Lines turned into shapes and shapes turned into little units of invigoration. First, there was the face, then the horns, the uniform stripes down its sleeves, then the large zipper in the center of its chest. Once blank, this section of the page was now Clyde’s closest replica of its reflection. To top off the illustration, it, while admittedly crude, attempted to copy Alex’s arrow and Me.

Arms crossed, Alex sipped on their ginger tea and nodded, “Nice! That’s actually pretty good for your first time!”

It felt as if some tingling force was tugging on the corners of Clyde’s mouth and from the inside of it’s chest. For some reason, though, it didn’t mind- it couldn’t mind. Dismissing the sensation, however, it looked up to its next subject, sitting across from it, and, once again, scratched at the page, lines flowing more than they did before, now that the pencil was solid in its claws. Once the image manifested, Clyde, again, copied the arrow, pointing to the portrait of Alex, writing:

YOU

Seeing that the page was now full, it dropped the pencil.

“Yeah!” Alex took the pencil and wrote the word by Clyde’s drawing of them.

Clyde shifted its eyes to the previous page and up to the writing stuck up in the corner. It pointed to this mysterious text, “What does this, in the corner, mean?”

“That’s the date,” Alex passed the pencil back to Clyde, “I always jot it down when I finish my drawings so I can look back and know when I drew it.”

“Hm.” Clyde twirled the pencil back into its four fingers, “What’s today?”

“Uhm…” their voice trailed off as they stood up and made their way to their calendar, “1988…January…”

In the corner of the page, Clyde scratched down the year and its closest approximation of the spelling for what it heard:

JANeeuARY

“Today’s a Tuesday… the twelfth!”

TWelth

The tip skating across the grainy texture of the page was an addictive vibration. Clyde flipped the page, then paused, eyes darting around the room for a new subject to draw, eventually landing on the front door. It scribbled down two rectangles, one for the door, then one for the door’s window, through which rain could be seen pouring down from the sky, then, finally, a circle representing the door’s handle. Besides the sketch, it drew an arrow, labeling the sketch:

DOR

“A door?”

“Well,” Clyde crunched its face, “what else am I supposed to draw?”

“Hm,” Alex put their chin on top of their hand, “What’s your absolute favorite thing in the world?”

After a moment, Clyde lit up and began to scratch at the page once more, first outlining several shaky curves, then scribbling in the one at top, and, finally, adding two triangles and a jagged mouth for a face, making a Jack-o-Lantern and, with an arrow, labeling it:

FAVORit thing

“Oh nice!” Alex beamed, “Yeah, I like Halloween too.”

Clyde dropped the pencil and slid it to them, now setting it’s chin on its hand, “What ‘bout you?”

“Oh- shoot…” Alex’s spine pulled them straight soon before they held their chin, “I need to think about this one- hold on…” their voice trailed off until, “Ah! Got it!” They snatched the pencil, twirled the book to face them, and sketched away. With five fingers, as opposed to four, their lines were, clearly, a lot more cohesive, dancing together to suggest depth in what appeared to be a ghost popping out out a TV screen, exclaiming,

BOO!

Alex turned the sketch book back to Clyde, who read the note they left besides the illustration:

I really like horror movies!

“Horror movies, huh?” Clyde looked back up from the page to Alex, “Like that Critters thing you showed me last week?”

“Yeah.” Alex's eyes sparkled, “Oh- and especially- like- the really bad ones. I heard “Creepazoids” is supposed to be awful- I bought it yesterday.”

Clyde scoffed, “You humans are weird.”

Alex smiled, “Wanna watch it?”

There was a moment where the sound of rain hitting the roof filled the room.

A smile. That’s what that tingling tug was, “Sure.” Clyde smiled.

[future-dregs]

audie please i beg of you give me your opinions on sam and dean reading fics about themselves !!

( @wincestwhispers )

I don't think I have anything super unique but-

Sam obviously did his research before showing Dean the forum. He knows his way around and is familiar with the terms. So I think he deepdove, he rabbit holed, if only just out of horror and the Need To Know.

Now, I know what his revulsion about the slash fans is about, but in my.Wincest mind I like that it's because he doesn't like that other people can pick up on it, see it, without even knowing them. That he and Dean's intimacy is entertainment.

(Something I also wonder about is in the wake of learning that their lives literally were written, is how that would affect the way they think about each other and the people they care about. Do they feel love cause it's in them, or are they being told to feel this way?)

I think Sam would beeline straight for the explicit stuff rather than a character study or feelings exploration or fluff piece. He's watched just as much porn as Dean has, but he doesn't have built up resistance to corny porno dialogue and descriptions like Dean has (and I say this as a porn writer. Eventually you just run out of ways to say things! 😆) so I think he has to take look off into the distance breaks to get through some of them. (I think he also does have a bit of eyeroll like he had for Gary the Virgin)

Dean I think looks it up later, after the convention, and he tries to do it in relative secrecy. He and Sam already agreed that it was weird, he doesn't want to have to own up to his curiosity after all that. He goes straight for the ones from Sam perspective. It takes him awhile to get up to the slash fics, and he doesn't touch the Standford ones (though his mouse does hover agonizingly over a couple). He scoffs at the ones that get Sam's character all wrong, but a few times he'll be looking at Sam kinda quiet and thoughtful and Sam'll be like "what?" and Dean'll say "nothin'" but he's really thinking of a line or "thought" of Sam's and wondering about it, if Sam's thinking that way now. It makes him even more introspective about Sam (if that's even possible).

Dean can handle the smut better than Sam. What with his own canon incest kink (I just have to bring that up sometimes because CAN YOU BELIEVE) and his love of telenovelas he can actually get pretty entertained by them (up to a point). He also knows what key tones and phrases to look for so he usually gets luckier in the quality of his picks than Sam did.

I think Sam kinda finds the whole thing distasteful and that Dean wants to keep his initial gross out reaction, but he softens to it. I don't think he makes and account or leaves comments or anything like that, but I think over the years he might come back and revisit a few stories or authors out of nostalgia. I think he (eventually) comes to like the idea of he and Sam sort of living forever like that, that somewhere people care about them and that they and their lives mean at least a little something.

Neither of them touch a fic with John or Mary in it.

Also. Somebody (I cannot remember who and if you see this I'm sorry I can't credit you 😖) wrote a little thing about Sam keeping on of the books. Highlighting parts of Dean's inner monologue and his thoughts about Sam, and that Sam would come back to that, and reread those passages to comfort himself when he and Dean would fight and I am SO ONBOARD WITH THAT. Proof that he loves him, right there on the written page by God. Even if he still thinks the fan thing is sorta weird.

(Also I am SO curious about the in universe Supernatural fandoms habits and jokes)

[zmediaoutlet]

I was going to make a post of this, but decided to do it as a question instead. Okay. Real talk, how many Sam slash Dean fics did Sam read?

I don't think it would take him long to pick up the lingo or the general fandom vibe, but do you think he just hit one or two and called it quits? Did he rabbit hole? (Did Dean, later?)

His impression (obviously) wasn't favorable, but what do you think about it all?

happy wincest wednesday, future-dregs, and let us have a confab about the weird and wild canon of supernatural where we can have a wincest wednesday about how the characters know about the ship of themselves. I hope the weirdos in the canon Carver Edlund Books fandom have their own wincest wednesday <3

(...altho wait, I think it's also canon that Chuck never wrote the last name into the books? Maybe in-universe they have Salmondean Saturday...)

There's a bit of fic about this premise, including one with the hilarious conceit that they both get so deep into fandom that they get anonymously paired in a wincest Big Bang. As I recall Dean writes an awesome story and Sam is a horrifically bad artist, lol. Funny idea; probably a bit too far away from my naturalism vibes for me to buy it, lol. (I mean where the hell did Dean get the time, you know.) Most of the fic about this goes in a 'they aren't incesting but this gives them the wild idea and they're grossed out but then secretly jerk off about it', etc. Usually ends up being a first time fic.

Because I love naturalism AND established relationship, tho, I'm currently have way more fun with the idea that Sam does indeed read a bunch of fics and mostly thinks that the prose is fucking awful. Like we saw Becky's attempt at writing -- if that's the stuff they're getting in Carver Edlund fandom, I don't think Sam's jerking off about it. If he shares it with Dean... Dean might be able to get past the bad writing to jerk off about the concept of the premise, haha. Although then you'd get the very entertaining moments where fic-character them would do something super OOC, and then they'd get to argue about whether it really was something Dean would do or not, and Dean could be like WHAT THE FUCK, I DON'T WANT TO EAT YOU, ARE YOU STONED, and that is also making me laugh here at my desk. What I can see is one or both of them getting half-assed drunk and reading some fics when they're home alone for some reason -- Sam's out buying some old books at an auction hoping for lore, Dean's checking in on Jody and the girls, etc -- and finding kinks that they wouldn't previously have thought about or even find gross, but then it's, you know --

...and even if it's OOC and probably badly written and the scenario's insane, the image of their actual real-life brosband doing whatever that activity is kinda can't get out of their head. Then you're just left with the challenge of bringing it up as an idea, and depending on how weird it is seeing your brother raise his eyebrows and be like where is this coming from, and you have to decide whether to admit you got it from samluvsdean6969 on morethanbrothers.net.

[pentrologram]

What Normal People Do - 3

You've been, frankly, having a shit day. Your boyfriend (whom you don't even like that much) breaking up with you was your final straw. Then two very attractive young men and their service dog walk into your life and can't seem to leave. bit of a rushed chapter- not as finely tuned as i would like it to be. the reader kinda took me by the ear and wrote this chapter themselves, lol ao3! ghost/soap/gn!reader (established ghoap)

Lately, I've Been Crying Like A Tall Child

You have, frankly, been having a pretty shit day. Firstly you had three difficult patients back to back with varying degrees of Bitching Mothers™️ that insisted on you throwing safety to the wind for a small payout. You heard a lot of:

“No, can we skip that vaccine? I heard from my nail girl that they have red dye 40 in them,” one had said, her springy six-year-old doodling with the crayons and colouring books provided. You feel your jaw tick as you put on your best customer service smile.

“No ma’am, we can’t because the diphtheria vaccine is meant to help her. She’s at risk right now of getting it. She could die, ma'am.” You say. She frowned, a little convinced, but still stubborn.

“I don’t know if I want red dye in her bloodstream-“

“There’s no red dye 40 in any vaccine she'll ever get.” You grit out. “Ma’am.” She sighed as if she was being forced, but she nodded her head anyway.

“Well, I’m trusting you here.” She said, dramatically sighing.

Another was upset you had given her son a purple band-aid after his vaccine. The last openly talked about her tween daughter’s problems- ‘blightin’ useless, she is, scored dead last in her class- surely there’s something you can do to her, lovie?’- she had said while the said tween sat, mortified, on the table after you had told her through gritted teeth that that wasn’t related at all to your job.

After all of that, you were done with your job. Like, ‘I’m going to punch my next patient kind of done’.

You make it through the last bits of your shift with no more rude and/or stupid patients and without assaulting anyone. You make it to your car before texting the one person you trusted to not overwhelm you in your fragile state ; your friend from uni, Emma.

                                                                                                                        Today 2:28 PM

                                                                                                                   - can we hang? please? abt to commit second degree murder

     - always, babes 😘

     - St. James’ Park

                                                                                                                                                       -   give me an hour

And that’s how you found yourself in a strawberry festival with Em, laughing at her as she tried to throw strawberry-shaped bean bags into strawberry-shaped corn holes while wearing a strawberry-shaped hat that was frankly ridiculous. Actually, this entire thing was ridiculous . Perfectly so because you could barely remember why you had been murderous earlier.

When you’ve both got strawberry scones and are walking to your next destination- a strawberry jewellery stall, at her insistence- two very hot, very large men with a dog pass by you. One of them is wearing a black surgical mask that does nothing to hide how pretty his deep brown eyes are, framed with pale blond eyelashes that almost blend into his porcelain-pale skin that’s marred by multiple scars. The other one, who was shorter than the blond but still tall in his own right, had bright blue eyes, a friendly smile and short, spiky brown hair cut in a mohawk. The German shepherd trotting along with them has a harness that reads ‘SERVICE DOG - DO NOT DISTURB’. You’re snapped out of your thoughts by Em whispering in your ear:

“Hunks galore.”

“More like a one-way ticket to pound town.” You whisper back. Em smacks your arm and then you cackle together because the two hunks are surprisingly very fast walkers and have already left you in the dust.

Maybe an hour later, Em gets a text from her girlfriend.

“My maiden!” Em exclaims as she looks down at her phone while chatting with you about nothing over strawberry tea cakes.  “Her car broke down!” Em says. “Oh, I’m sorry babe, I’ve gotta dash. I’ll see you later, mmkay?” She kisses your cheek and then she’s off.

Thinking of Em’s girlfriend reminds you of your significantly worse love life. You have a boyfriend right now, but it isn’t like you’re head over heels or anything. He’s nice but a little boring- admittedly, you’ve dated worse. Maybe that’s why you’ve stayed for half a year.

You decide to wander around the fair for a little longer, needing some extra cheer to make it through the work week and you more or less get pulled into getting your hand read by an elderly woman in a strawberry dress unwittingly. She’s small, definitely shorter than you, but her eyes are wise and her smile is knowing.

“Come, sit,” she frets, pulling out a wooden chair for you. So you do. Then she demands you give her your hands. So you do. She puts on reading glasses while she hunches over your outstretched palm, peering down at the fine lines. She makes a contemplative noise before tracing a wrinkle. “Misery soon,” she observes. “Oh, dear, within the hour.” She stares down some more. “It’ll be repaid tenfold with good karma, don’t worry your pretty heart.” Her face brightens. “Oh-ho, companionship! Soon! Oh- my, very good friends.” She says, gaping for a moment at your hand. “Hmm. Maybe some bumps on the road but that’s to be expected. It’ll be worth it, dear.” She pats your hand with one of her old, withered ones, slipping a strawberry bonbon into your hold with a wink. “Now shoo!” 

You leave feeling a little confused. Just an old lady with a complex, you rationalise. And just as you’re finishing up making your last rounds, passing by stalls, your phone rings with a text. So you pull over and read the text from your boyfriend.

                                                                                                                             Today 6:52 PM

     -  hey

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - hi babe

     - i need 2 tell u smth

                                                                                                                                                                                                        - okay?

     - i wanna break up

     - idk i feel like things hv gotten stale

     - u dont mind right

     -u can come get ur stuff 

So surely it’s no surprise to anyone when you turn into an alleyway, slump against a concrete wall and start ugly crying while staring down at your phone. While admittedly you weren’t that upset about being broken up with, you were upset about so suddenly moving out. Going out onto the housing market, so soon and so late in the day, no less, was sending you down a panic-induced spiral.

Then there is a large, comforting weight on your lap, like someone had covered you with a weighted blanket. You open your eyes a little, tears still falling, and you see a German shepherd on your lap, nudging your elbow with its muzzle. Then you see the service dog harness and remember the dog as the one that had been side by side with the hunks that passed you and Em. You gawk for a moment before determinedly trying to stop your tears; if the dog is here, surely the very hot, otherworldly hot owners are nearby. You’d hate for them to see you snivelling.

You focus on the big, fluffy body on you and, damn, whatever the hell the dog’s doing is working because you no longer feel like the world is ending. You just need a new apartment. Worse has happened.

Once you take some deep breaths, you immediately see one of the hunks standing there. Just… watching. You panic, because you can’t fully read his expression from under his mask, and surely he must be mad that his service dog had pounced on you. You try to convince the dog to move but it’s having none of it.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, your dog sort of- um, trapped me here, I didn’t mean to-“

“No.” The hunk says (he’s hotter up close). He’s gruff and big and truth be told he does not seem like the kind of person you wouldn't want to argue with, so you stay quiet. “She wanted to help you. ‘S fine.” He says.

“Um,” you say. “Okay. Are you sure?”

The hunk merely grunts. “Are you okay?” He asks, and perhaps you’re being persuaded by his sheer mass and your new-found single status, but you swear his voice has softened a little, to not spook you more.

“Oh, um. Yeah.” You say, internally wincing at your overuse of ‘oh’.

The hunk stares down at you for a long while. Did you do something wrong? Shit. Maybe he does really mind. You shift underneath his dog awkwardly and feel the urge to explain yourself.

“I just, um- I have an, um. A thing.” You say quietly. It’s not an entire lie- yeah, you were half-convinced you had a ‘thing’ from Em’s insistence that ‘you’re not okay, babe!’ multiple times over. You can’t help the guilt of telling a lie when you weren’t diagnosed with anything, however.

“Are you okay?” He asks. Again. “Riley doesn’t start DPT on total strangers for no reason.” He sounds dry, but… insistent. Somehow. It leaves you with no way to squeeze out a lie. His pretty eyes stare two dead holes into yours, and you’re sure you’re gonna get vaporized, Terminator style. Unease creeps into your gut.

“No, I’m OK. Just… got a little upset.” You say weakly, forcing out your best smile. You’re proud that you don’t grimace instead. He just keeps on staring at you, showing no inclination of answering. Then, just as you’re about to force the dog off, the other hunk- an Amazon gladiator, holy hells- walks in, excitement in his eyes.

“Si, ‘ave found a strawberry sex stall-!“ He says, but then he notices you and his expression goes into something you can’t read.

“Well, hello, there.” He says. You surely must look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hello,” you squeak out, because not one but two superhumanly hot men are paying you attention. You gently push the dog off of you, mumbling a ‘bye’ before you scurry away and straight to your car. You don’t look back.

——

The next morning, you’ve just packed up your every belonging from your ex-boyfriend’s flat- he didn’t even bother to help- and rented out a storage cube, packed in everything single-handedly, and then got the best sleep of your life in a hotel. You had woken up and then gone to a coffee shop because your entire day would be filled with hunting down an affordable place to rent. You had Em help you fill out a few applications while you were driving from the ex’s flat to the storage cube to the flat and then storage again .

You’re reading through an email one of the landlords of one of the nicer apartments sent you this morning as you walk inside, give the barista your order and pay. Your reading quickly becomes scanning- you got the place!- for payments to make, forms to fill, people to contact, etc. But you’re stoked! This new apartment is better than the ex’s, and the one you had before him, so you really can’t help yourself from smiling like a dork.

“Seems like ye’ve got a love-hate relationship wif’ that thing.” A masculine and not too unfamiliar voice says from your right.

You startle, almost ready to throw hands, and then remember that the voice is familiar. You stare at him- shit, it’s the Amazon from yesterday. Everything had been so chaotic you had forgotten about that embarrassing encounter with the hunks, but you had no such luck. It’s fine. He doesn’t seem too disgusted with you. 

“Oh! No, um. I got broken up with yesterday.” You say, reading his expression to see if there’s any hatred there , that you accidentally made his service dog sniff you out and take him away from his boyfriend. “Had to move out and find a new place on short notice.”

“And ye got the place?” He says, pretty blue eyes soft and inviting. It’s like he cares.

“Yes. It’s really lovely . Rent’s maybe a bit much but I’m sure I can budget it… It’s such a great stroke of luck that I’ve found it under 24 hours.” Ouch. Overshare. You cringe inwardly.

The Amazon nods.

“O’ course. ‘M glad fer ye.” Hot and nice. If he wasn’t a taken man….

“Thank you.” You say, smiling shyly. He smiles- big and bright and genuine.

“Och, no need tae thank me.”

Your brow furrows and you’re about to explain how your thanks are very much deserved- you should be thanking him for breathing the same air as you, much less hold a conversation with you- and then the barista calls out a poor butchering of your name and you leave because you’ve got some new-apartment paperwork to do.

It’s only halfway through scanning PDFs that you realise you hadn’t even gotten his number.

——

You’re going grocery shopping because it’s been three days and you’re frankly getting sick of takeout. You had written a list and you were considering if you needed apples when, for the second time this week, a masculine voice shocks you out of your train of thought.

“Well, lookit tha’!” The Amazon exclaims (you haven’t even gotten his name). You look up from your pondering. He smiles the way he had at the cafe; big and bright, and he claps your shoulder with his big hand.

“How’s the new flat?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s better than the photos,” you say. Just thinking about how pretty the flat was during your tour yesterday was enough to make you smile again.

“‘M glad, bonnie.” He says.

“Bonnie?” You ask, confused. Did he think that was your name?

“Don’t worry about it! How about this weather?” The Amazon says loudly , making you blink.

You chat with Johnny in the produce section about whatever comes to mind, and then at some point the Amazon- Johnny, as he introduces himself- shifts your focus from the groceries and he ushers you to a new cafe right next to the grocery store. You buy your drink and find a booth and you spend at least two hours talking with Johnny. At some point, you had to leave because you truly did have other things to do, no matter how nice the conversation was.

——

The next day, you’ve gotten your keys and are moving your boxes into your new flat. The neighbours seem quiet, you think, as you heft a box of plates into the apartment.

It’s been about half an hour before you get all the boxes inside and start fiddling with some deadbolts you’d bought on Amazon, just in case.

"Need help?" A voice asks, materialising behind you and spooking the living hell out of you. You then recognize him as the blond hunk- Johnny’s boyfriend, Simon. He’s staring- waiting for an answer, shit.

"No, I'm okay. Um, thank you, though." You say, still feeling remnant fear from his sudden appearance.

"Did you just move in?" He asks. Blunt, you think. The dog from earlier is there, too, tail wagging.

“Yes.” You hesitate- no way you have enough luck in this world to bag a beautiful apartment and beautiful neighbours. You decide you just have to know. “Do you… live here?” You ask.

Simon grunts. “We’re the flat over.”

“Oh!” You smile. “Well. Thank you for offering to help, neighbour.” You say, cringing a little- 'neighbour'? really?- but you put on a smile that must coax a smile from Simon from underneath his face mask. Then he says bye and you’re quick to reciprocate while the dog trots over to butt its head against your leg, and then they go into the flat over, just like Simon said.

——

The next morning, Johnny and Simon, your new, beautiful neighbours, are at your door at ten. Thankfully, it’s your day off, otherwise, they’d be knocking in an empty apartment.

When you open your door after the second knock, Johnny is standing in front of Simon outside your front door, holding a platter full of blueberry muffins and a still-tired Simon hovering behind him- almost protectively, you think. You probably don’t look the best as your plans today were to rot in bed.

“Hello, you two.” You say, trying to subtly fix your appearance while smiling .

“Hi! Ae made ye muffins. Tae help settle ‘ta the new flat.” Johnny says proudly.

“Wow, thank you. You didn’t have to. Here, come inside- I’m sorry, it’s a mess,” you apologise, inwardly panicking. After you’d gotten all the boxes in, you hadn’t even considered unpacking anything but the essentials yet. And you’d gone digging for certain things, leaving a few boxes open with stuff falling out.

“You got here last night?” Simon asks gruffly while you direct Johnny to set the muffins on your kitchen island.

“Can I make you some tea?” You ask, scrambling for your manners- God, it’d been a while since you last had new people over. You start looking for your kettle.

They start a conversation with you about the weather as you look for mugs and tea bags.

“Sorry, no sugar. Or creamer.” You apologise, making up for it with more tea than normal in their mugs.

Then you talk about leasing dates, the landlord, the best parking areas, the cheapest takeouts, and things to do around.

They manage to get you in their apartment once you become immersed in the conversation enough, just picking back up where you left off on their rather comfy couch. Johnny is more talkative than Simon is, but that’s not to say that Simon is a hulking statue (though that’d be hot, too). He grunts when appropriate, asks you questions, rags on Johnny and seems genuinely interested in the comings and goings of your life.

By the time you leave, it’s half past five and you have a full feeling from companionship. —— You come to realise that Simon and Johnny are the sort of friends you can rely on. You were putting your brand new bed frame up when you realised you didn't have a single screwdriver, so you had tucked your tail and asked the boys if they had one- and to your surprise (and delight) Simon came right over with a toolbox and made the entire frame without being asked to. He even put the mattress atop your new frame. He was just about to fix the hinges on your door before you had to stop him and make him lunch before he remade the entire flat. "Really, you didn't have to do that, Simon," you fret while putting a sandwich together for him while he stares at you, toolbox sitting on the kitchen island. "Sure I did." He says. It's like in their mind they've made up that they have to take care of you- like earlier this week. You'd just gotten home from work and decided to get groceries while you were out and about- you needed milk, anyways. But between the shopping bags and your work bag, your arms were a little overloaded. You didn't want to go through two trips, either, which resulted in you holding five bags and fumbling around for your keys. It was inevitable, really, that your work bag would slip and fall.  You had groaned and just began to bend your knees before you here an 'och, le'me!' from behind you. Johnny is there, taking your work bag and then three of the remaining bags from your arms. "Johnny, it's-" "Nae, I dinnae hear it. Open your door, bonnie." He seems intent on calling you that, too. Even though he knows your name. You'll have to ask about it soon. You just sigh and unlock your door before putting one of the grocery bags down, Johnny following suit.  "Thank you." "Nae sweat o' ma back." He says with a boyish grin before leaving and closing the door behind you. The attention is nice, really. It feels good to be so close to some people you could trust.

<- back next ->

[eod-agent-13-12]

Tunnels and Access Points

Agent Phoenix has to travel underground passageways in order to get away from Zoraxis operatives.

Content Warnings: Implications of war, enclosed spaces, mentions of death and violence, guns

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

"Sir? Do you have a map of this place?" Agent Phoenix asked as they looked around, eyes darting at the dark cavernous expanse before them. Their breaths were shallow as they stretched a bit from their formerly crouched position.

"Unfortunately, these seem to be undocumented tunnels, Agent. I don't know much about this. I'm honestly quite surprised at how extensive this place is."

They hummed, looking around for any stones they can lift with their TK to hit their steps in advance. "It had to be."

Reginald watched through the cameras, a sense of dread—as the echoes of the rock hitting the soil followed by footsteps—grew the longer the screen displayed night vision.

The pair remained quiet, keeping an ear out on any Zoraxis operatives they managed to lose in their chase.

The wires were aged, covered in dust and some of the bulbs were discolored. The dim night vision of their ocular implants was the only constant to the darkness.

"Agent, you seem to be used to navigating this kind of terrain."

"It's... familiar. Not sure if you've been but there was a shrine...? Kinda. It was an old house that had a bomb shelter. To be honest, the dark entrance scared me as a kid that I wasn't able to sleep that night. It was a class trip." They fought back the urge to chuckle, careful to plan their every step.

"It's refreshing to hear you talk about yourself more, even if it's in the middle of a mission." He gave a wry smile, the sound of scribbing coming from his microphone.

They shook their head, choosing to duck as they entered a crawlspace. They suppressed a cough when the dust seemed to climb up when their arrival disturbed them.

"It helps with not thinking about the fact it's likely a lot if people died here, Sir."

The pair continued to traversed—more like Phoenix crawled while their handler spoke—occasionally pausing at the tiny bullet holes and deep gashes within the walls.

The sound of Zoraxis operatives below them gave them pause, prompting them to take a peek. Their pistol was held firmly in their hands, suddenly feeling the weight of an old rifle. They're not in an underground passageway marked by war but–

They paused, slowly lowering their pistol before hiding themselves. They controlled their breathing until the threats left.

"Why did you spare them, Agent?"

"We're not in a godless war anymore, Sir."

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

It's been a while since I wrote something specific to my Phoenix lore!

Tag List (Please tell me if you wanna be taken off. /gen):

@phoenix-and-found-family, @the-one-and-only-043 , @agentwraith, @agent--shadow, @silverdragon889, @tillywunderwing, @stellar-collective

@jellyfishgummy, @blueorchid-95

@nor5tar (Wanna be included here? Just curious since you do follow my main, Wyvchard.)

[lazymonth]

Neg-rant ⚠️

Well, here we go again. Ya know, it's hard to explain the feeling rn, but I can simply say that I got jealous out of my friend again.

The wall of text :

I know that it's common for people to compare themselves to other people sometimes, but it's a bad feeling everytime it's happening. And I feel bad to that, that's happening to me when I saw my friend's work. Because I don't want them to feel bad for making me jealous too..

Most of the time, I got jealous because of the.. well, how good other people can do the " story telling ". Especially my good friend, Danish ( sorry for dragging you into this again ). She has an amazing talent on world building, story telling, and literally EVERYTHING. I'm always looking up to her tbh. But for me, I'm the kind of person who likes to keep stuff inside my head, and I'm quite enjoying drawing stuff like a character relationship and dynamic then a big world building and lore.. something like, you know, yaoi and shipping. But evey time I saw Danish's amazing world building, lore, and journey of The Føol. It's making me feel like " What the hell am I doing here!? She's out there cooking! But all I do all day is making gay drama- ". Main! Turbø is literally doing the REAL The Føol's journey, meanwhile my Turbø is still trying his best to ask Nitrø and KC out! (Maybe it's for the best for Main! Turbø to be Aroace, so he doesn't get distracted by other things )

And Føol's escape stories... It literally has nothing to be compared with the Dawn of Førgotten! That main universe is deep, amazing, and literally having a story inside whole rabbit hole waiting to be found! But mine? Pretty much a straight line... Turbø going out each land and kicking everyone ass so he could just get the hell out of Wøndergotten. Maybe having some self discovery too alone the way.. but compared with the main AU, it's literally having much better Turbø! The way he lost the memories can make so much interesting story of self discovery for that Turbø!! His anxiety, identity crisis, the over all evening!

Seeing how good of that Wøndergotten is making me guilty for having this much of simple storyline... I don't even really have a ACTUAL WORLD BUILDING! The Wøndergotten I have is literally using the same world building and overall thing as same as the main one, just a little bit more chilling for some reason. All the world building stuff is go to Danish who's the creator. Which it's making me guilty again for not doing anything other than playing around with the characters instead of doing some actual story like her.

Actually, If I want to tell the story, I'll be prefer to do the writing more than drawing. But the only reason that I'm not writing it out.. is because I lack of motivation to doing it. You know, when work doesn't get that much attention from the people you're just kinda throw it away... Same here, I wrote the actual Wøndergotten story long ago. I posted it in my writing blog, and even sharing it the main blog and hope people seeing it more! But yeah.. it's not really getting that much of a attention. So, I'm pretty much just F with it and go back to drawing toxic yaoi, which is something that I'm sure people love, and I love it too.

Lack of motivation is probably something that makes me don't draw or write stuff about the story or lore about Wøndergotten much. It's like, yeah I love the characters relationship drama and everyone loves the relationship drama! No one probably cares if I'm posting a draw or a written about a story of AU itself. So that's pretty much why The Føol's escape is 80% Toxic yaoi and 20% The Føol's journey.

Another thing that I want to say is that my humble ass self always makes me see people are better than me. If it's not the art, it's going to be the story telling, and probably the characters building too, sometimes. I never think I'm good enough tbh.. never think I'm a big artist.

Maybe Føol's escape is really the opposite of maine Wøndergotten.. probably the down grade of it.. I really think that sometimes.

[magic-biscuit]

As someone who's main team has been MQ since the very first cup I need to yap a bit about the story that dropped today, feel 100% free to ignore me. Like I was not looking forward to this one at all, especially after the KL and KD stories because I'm personally sick and tired of the "Black Hole" *laugh track* jokes and I've been sick and tired of them since they ramped up back in the AC 6 pre-season. (TNT can do what they want with their own character, of course, but little me got her headcanons taken out back and shot and she has yet to recover. I still claim my right to do whatever I want in my own fanfics tho lmao)

With all that being said though, the conclusion of today's story is low-key funny to me;

TNT: "Elon Hughlis....he....dosen't trust....people...??? G A S P 😱😱😱😱 Me who's been here since 2006 and had that very headcanon for about as long: "I mean I could have told you that" I do have some problems still - Tonie as much as I love you a single goalkeeper shouldn't be enough to keep MQ consistently in the top bracket and if it is then Tonie should be known for his god-level keeper skills alongside Garven Hale and Sir Pollonaire Freidl and he he's just not..?

All I'm saying is that If MQ has managed to stay up in top bracket then there should be some level of teamwork going on over there (ala Filo and Elon's relationship) so going "Nope that's all Tonie lol" is odd to me. Every other team make it to the top through friendship and magic and teamwork except MQ, I guess..? We're there through uuuhhh *checks notes* Tonie - who TNT themselves has called clumsy, slow and fat (bloody rude btw - I would love to post the receipt on that but pinkpit is broken for me rn 😞) like ok then. There's also little sense of time if that makes sense? No forward momentum? Stagnation?

BV are still cheaters even though this activly contradicts their year 3 blurb. Qlydae Wegg's own goal from 20 years ago is still relevant. Derbi Azar is still bitchy even though her worst offence is just being nominated for most selfish player back in 2006 (a nomination Winberto Seiliz also got and Elon himself won) and Elon still dosen't pass the ball - ignoring what TNT themselves wrote last year and so forth and so forth. (side note I quite liked the press release stories and blurbs from last year! Each team felt like a valid choice to join which is ultimately all I want from these. For no team to feel like the "villain" team)

Like ok, Elon has trust issues. I have no problem with that, but only until a certain point. If we wanted to be somewhat natural about this then wouldn't it make more sense to have these problems be resolved around the 4th cup? The cup MQ went from 9th~10th place to a solid 5th which was repeated in the following year and you're telling me Elon somehow didn't trust Dorina at all during that? The girl who was brought onto the team because she's good-natured and selfless and easy to get along with? The absolute disrespect towards best girl's efforts aside Dorina has no stated canon reason for leaving the team so saying she left because of Elon's issues kinda ends up feeling like revisionism to me.

But let's give TNT some grace and roll with it; Elon cannot - under any circumstances - trust people, even people he's known and worked with for 20 years. He's so jammed up that he's fully incapable of opening up to anyone.

For 20 whole years.

I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that counts as a severe mental health issue.

This is a huge problem and now that its out there it must be treated as such. What the actual hell happened to this dude? What (or rather "who") hurt him so goddamn badly that he snaps and hisses and bites at anything that comes even remotely close? That's therapy levels of effed up, TNT. Your point and laugh guy has been flung straight into poor wet little meow meow territory; now what? Are we actually gonna leave it at that? Go back to our usual scheduled "Black Hole Bad" jokes like nothing happened? Don't get me wrong having ✨issues✨ is not a get-out-of-jail free card nor would I want it treated as such. What I want is an actual follow-up that takes their own idea seriously. I don't wanna come across as a bitch, but if we go back to the status quo I will be extremely unimpressed and annoyed.

Don't get me wrong though; This story is so much better than what I feared we'd get. They could have gone all in on the "Elon stinky bad boooo", but we actually got some level of respect. (which is waaaaaaay more than what previous years can boast. "Hughlis said MQ didn't win because he wasn't selfish enough" bro stfu no one actually talks like that) Also the misogyny allegations got killed! That's a huge W and I'll gladly take it~

TL;DR: MQ's story didn't grab a shovel and dig below my expectations that were in hell. Not quite sure if TNT realises how long 20 years actually is though 🤔

[balrogballs]

Another question about your essay, it’s been something I was thinking about a lot because I used to look down on ‘self inserts’ and to see that your amazing Celebrían is a self insert just kinda blew my mind. You mention basing her personality on you, but I was wondering then if your characterization of Elrond is based on your partner (if it’s the same partner you talk about here). Please ignore if it’s too personal, my apology.

No worries, happy to answer writing questions always :)

So short answer is, re: Elrond, no, not at all in terms of characterisation. Elrond is a very popular character in fanfic so has a very well developed fanon characterisation and whilst I may add onto or subtract from it, the Elrond that exists in fanworks/fantexts is what I go off as the “base” model so to speak.

Also, Mr. Balls — and yep, same partner, we’ve been together since our teens — is nothing like fanon or canon Elrond LMAOOO he’s more Eomer or Faramir than anything!

More complex answer is that while the character himself does not come from my partner in any way, some of Elrond’s actions with relation to Cel post trauma — namely his sleeping on the floor beside her bed to hold her hand, and him cutting his long hair off because she had to — are things my partner has also done (the lore for Eomer’s first corporate haircut #iykyk). Which I added not to develop a character but rather because in my mind they symbolise a certain kindness/strength within a relationship between two people, romantic or otherwise, elven or not.

Re: self inserts, I joke in the essay that she is but tbh I wouldn’t say Cel is a direct self-insert, not at all, just that the character as I write her contains aspects of myself. Not even personality traits actually, although yes a couple of the more feral ones are mine lol, but rather the way she approaches the world, the attitude she has towards her own experience. It was relatively easy to do, in a literary sense, as there’s literally nothing “canonical” regarding her except the footnote. It’s not a one sided relationship — as I say in the essay “to find Celebrían, I had to write her, and in doing so, she wrote me in her image.” So I’ve taken just as much out of the character than she has out of me.

However, literature, both published and fanworks (though I think whilst fanworks can and often are as stylistically sound as published work, to say they must be is a very damaging approach), is richer for inserts of the author’s selves and experiences. All writers put bits of themselves in the text, formalistically or otherwise. They’re not always Mary Sue types, or even Katniss Everdeen archetypes — self inserts don’t have to be direct parallels to the author, and me basing certain aspects of Cel on myself doesn’t mean I act/think exactly like that — autofiction is simply an addition to the whole, rather than a “hole” in the text filled by a direct facsimile of the writer.

Hope this helps!

[lippiethehoe]

Well hi tumblr queers again :D.

Okay so for starters CONTENT WARNING I'll be talking about sexuality sex and overall sexual stuff so if that's not something you wanna look at then don't read thanks :).

I kinda feel like starting a little conversation and also hopefully getting some answers from lgbts from tumblr which hmmm... idk if this is the best place for this, especially since I don't particularly have a big following, nor do I think I have the means to make this be more visible to randos on tumblr so hmm, if this amounts to nothing know I'll be embarassed about it but that's okay, but also I fucking hate reddit and all my google research efforts have resulted in either basically nothing or people asking similar questions to mine but having very deeply different prespectives of both gender in general and sexuality in general than me so google research didn't slay at all, and so I'll lend my trust to the tumblers ig.

Ok so hello, I'm lilly I'm a demiromantic trans woman and I've struggled for kind of a while with my sexuality, not because I don't know what it is, but because I'm actually a huge labels person. Having a word to describe the way i feel about things has always helped me feel as though I know myself better and can make others know me better aswell. Even if putting labels on complex human feelings and emotions is essentialy pointless, it's still something that means alot to me, and I hate that for the longest time I have been perfectly capable of knowing what my sexuality is, but can't simple it down to one word and use it on my day to day life and that makes me sad. It also makes me feel kinda alone in my feelings? cause I'm basically the only person i know with this prespective on my sexuality at least for now so I'm a bit confused, obviously I don't think I'm the only person like this cause that's basically impossible but it still feels that way ig?

Also I remembered this recently only because it's pride month, happy pride month btw :3, and I was doing a thing on discord where everyday I'd add a flag that I indetify with on my profile picture, problem is I've ran out of flags, because no sexual orientation feels right and from my knowledge of it there isn't a sexuality nor a flag for what I feel, and now not only does my discord pfp not look full of colors and pretty it also re-awakened a little identity crisis I've had for a while.

This is definetly gonna be a very long post but I won't feel like I explained myself correctly if it isn't a big post so bear with me, but let's start.

So I'm gonna start explaining how I personally view sexuality and gender so you, reader, can have all the means available to understand my prespective on this. Sexuality to me is kinda simple, simply means whatever a person is attracted to, what makes them sexually interested in someone, whatever other way you wanna put it, and gender is simply the way a person identifies themselves with, the eyes they navigate the world through, the way they percieve themselves and the way they want to be percieved as by others etcetera, I won't explain my prespective on romanticism cause that's essentially useless to my question, but yeah simple stuff right?

So here's where I don't believe I fit in with most sexualities, here's the question I've had for quite a while but never thought to express it in a place where more than just a few friends could hear, I am not sexuality attracted to genders, ok now is when someone screams at me and says pansexual, I don't agree, but moving on, I'm not sexually attracted to people much, I am sexually attracted to penis tho, and here's where someone screams heterosexual at me AND IF YOU DID I FUCKING HATE YOU FYI NOT CAUSE I HATE HETEROS BUT BECAUSE THAT AS AN ANSWER TO WHAT I SAID IS FUCKING TRANSPHOBIC, YEAH I SAID IT, BITCH!!!

But here's the thing, what is a gender, ok I wrote alot after i said that but deleted it all cause this could fall into a very long rabbit hole, but gender's a construct blah blah, can you tell I probably have some neurodivergencies going on in the head anyways continuing. Genuinely, I don't know what it feels like to be a sexuality that includes gender in it, not because I don't think it to be true obviously i know people are heterosexual bisexual homosexual lesbians any other sexual orientation that implies gender being a part of the equation. But to me I can't be sexually attracted to men because a man can be anything to me, I can't be sexually attracted to women because a woman can be anything to me, i can't be sexually attracted to enbys cause being non-binary can be anything to me and the list goes on. Nothing is set in gender because to me gender can look like, feel like, and be like anything, if I labeled myself heterosexual, sexually attracted to people of the opposite gender of me, what would I mean by it? cause think about it, there're big men small men skinny fat muscular men hairy shaved brown eyed dark skinned pussy having dick having blah blah blah and the list goes on again, and even in there I'm not specifically attracted to any of the traits on that list anyways, none of those traits sexually arouse me, men don't sexually arouse me, women don't sexually arouse me, but you know what does? penis. So therein lies the issue, cause surprise, there's a bunch of dicks in the world, what? that's crazy? Yeah penis is everywhere, there're men with penises women with penises nonbinaries with penises intersex people with penises dildos people with strap-ons and the list goes on and in that entire list, the only thing that sexualy arouses me personally, is penis, not who has it, not wether or not it was there from birth, not wether or not it's made of plastic or human skin, not wether or not I'm specifically sexually attracted to any other aspect of said person, but simply the thing that sexually arrouses me and makes me feel pleasure is the thing that sexually attracts me, which in my head is so fucking obvious? Like it's a conclusion so natural to me, but it seems I'm the only person in a 50 km radius that feels this way? It's also possible that I'm actually wrong and view the current existing sexualities in the wrong way and if that's what's up please tell me.

Also i feel the rising tension of someone saying stuff like "people can sexually stimulate others with fingers are u FiNgErSeXuAl?" and the truth is not really but I still find it sexually arousing when it happens, but the last thing I'm gonna do is look at fingers and blush I think. WOAH THAT JUST OPENED A NEW DOOR FUCKK OH NO THIS IS GONNA BE TOO LONG MAYBE I SHOULDN'T POST THIS IDK. I am also sexually attracted to certain actions, but at this point I feel I'm leaving sexuality and going into kink territory and that isn't really where I wanted to go. EITHER WAY my overall conclusion is I don't understand most sexualities and feel as though my view of my sexuality should have a label so I feel more comfortable, maybe I should be the catalyst who knows maybe someone's already been the catalyst and I'm simply unaware of that, either way I'd like a sexuality flag to add to my discord pfp so maybe I'll just make a flag up, who fucking knows, that's it tho. So yeah if anyone who sees this post experiences anything similar to this and wants to share about it please do I'd be really thankful.

Thank you so much if you sticked with me all the way to the end, and if you feel like you might have some insight on what I'm saying or simply wanna say something relevant to this topic please do, it's pride month and I'm incredibly proud of all queers and gender fuckers :3 happy pride month!

Ps: I just wanna say something, this isn't an invitation to flirt with me send me unsolicited dick pics or respond to things I clearly showed not to be questions, I want this topic to be taken in more of a discussion way than a sexual one, if that could be possible I'd be thankful, ok that's it bie bie.

[inposterumcumgaudio]

Mr. Kite

Remember how I said you already know everything you need to know about Mr. Kite?

Mr. Kite, as a character, embodies a narrative concept that I think a lot of people struggle with these days. There seems to be this idea now that if a question is posed and then left unanswered in a story, it's unfinished or a plot hole. It's not! Not every story is going to spoonfeed and hold your hand all the way to the end. In fact, some stories will leave you hanging, left to determine on your own what happened. People who cannot do this will have a bad time with stories like those. Further still, some stories will purposely leave you wondering with deliberately inconclusive possibilities, such that you'll never have a satisfactory answer even if you have the wherewithal to actually suppose about it on your own.

Like the question of what happened to the kids on the train. There's not a canon answer for that; there will never be a canon answer for that. You can come up with your own answers, but you're never going to have the satisfaction of knowing whether it's correct or not. And real talk? There was never any intent to have a correct answer. The writers themselves almost certainly do not have the answer because they purposely didn't want one.

Do they not make kids read The Lady, or the Tiger? in school no more?

Anyway, the question of Mr. Kite does two very interesting things.

In a world where apparently people are no longer comfortable with being left with an unanswered questions, the game presents you with this one and then makes you play through three acts and three more DLC without ever giving you the conclusion. Kinda mean! Love it!

Though not specific to videogames, but I do think it's the best medium to play with this idea: that you never meet Mr. Kite or ever get very close to learning more about him is playing with the convention of anything you encounter in a world like this being there specifically for you. That is, you are playing the protagonist and so any information presented is for your benefit and any problems that arise are yours to solve.

The second is the more compelling concept because a world where you are merely a cog in the machine rather than the operator is more realistic, but videogames are constructed so it asks a bit of both the designer and the player to engage with that and be satisfied. For the designer, you have to put in things that seem extraneous to the experience and there's limitations and considerations to take into account. Because it's a fine line. We Happy Few does do this in ways far less successful than Mr. Kite. You know, those things I like to call go-nowhere-mysteries. There's a difference between a part of the story you're not permitted to get any closer to and a part of the story that wastes your time trying in spite of that. And for the player, one has to be okay with not being the center of the world's attention at all times. They have to have that understanding that not everything is going to be for you to manipulate or interact with.

Now that I've made you sit through my philosophical rant, here's the one thing I think it's important for people to know about Mr. Kite (but you probably already knew and just never really thought about it (unless you wrote Une Raison d'Être Au Courant in which this is a crucial detail).

Mr. Kite does not help just anyone. He only helps Downers who can still take their Joy.

Part of this is, I think, practical. That we find Prudence in the motilene mines tells us that the way out for him is the same as it is for Arthur who must make the same journey unguided. And to get there, you have to go through the Parade and to get into the Parade, you must be able to take your Joy at least once.

But... there's also a dismissiveness to the Wastrel condition in his instructions. That they're starving and cold is no concern of his, he cares only for his "favourite Rabbit". Still, his Edenham safehouse is guarded and populated by Wastrels who will attack other trepassing Wastrels who enter which means that even if there's no Resistance, he does have accomplices in this. I wrote a chapter detailing why a Wastrel might want to work for Mr. Kite, but less nobler intentions might be that working for a man who has access to "good food" is the better bet than siding with your fellow Wastrels in Barrow Holm.

And then there's that he calls Prudence his "favourite Rabbit". It's a little creepy, yeah? That Prudence does make it all the way to the end suggests to me that this isn't any sort of play on her so much as that Mr. Kite might just be Like That in General but still, if my life were in the hands of some mysterious benefactor, I don't know that I'd like him being that affectionate in his missives.

But I also like the idea that whoever he's moving out of town at the moment is his "favourite Rabbit". Means you don't have the change the codes on the phones every time you get someone new.

You know what rabbits are? Delicate. They break their own necks if you look at them the wrong way. A person who wants to leave town on their own could and does. Arthur, Sally, Ollie, and Victoria all leave on their own. But I think if you need Mr. Kite to guide you through a town you've lived in your whole life, it's because you're too timid to set out on your own.

His note also seems to imply a joviality about the whole thing. Prudence is having a miserable experience making her way through the town, but Mr. Kite's having a grand time orchestrating Downer escapes under the nose of polite society. I suspect his is a life of some privilege if he's having this much fun with it. Would explain his disinterest in the plight of Wastrels, despite his otherwise apparently charitable acts against the status quo.

He's also one of Sally's Blackberry clients meaning he's either someone of enough importance in the town to justify it or, more likely, he's convinced her that supplying him is a good idea. Possibly even both. Prudence was also a client of Sally's so it's possible she's the one who referred her to Mr. Kite.

Overall, I think Mr. Kite is someone who recognizes the problems of Wellington Wells, but is not suffering from them personally. In fact, he's having a lot of fun playing subterfuge with the local government and playing hero to people who would never have been brave enough to leave the town on their own.

[jtr-taonaw]

Rabit Holes

Woke up a bit after five in the morning. Mind racing, thinking of unfinished tasks at work, trivial ones, but when you’re half asleep, you don’t have the sense to convince yourself of that until you’re more awake.

Installed Micro.blog for macOS again. Discovered Grammarly stopped working outside of Safari again. Reinstalled. Meanwhile, I saw my feed on Micro.blog, where @javbel said, “Two things about this”. It’s a nice cover for Mad World, so I felt like listening to Mad World. An hour later, my browser tabs look like this, by order:

The Curious Meaning of ‘Mad World’ by Tears for Fears.

Tears for Fears - Mad World | The Story Behind The Song.

Wikipedia: Tears for Fears,

Wikipedia: Mad World.

Wikipedia: Bath, Somerset.

Wikipedia: The Primal Scream.

YouTube Music: Mad World (TFF version).

YouTube Music: Mad World (Garry Jules version, AKA the Donnie Darko version).

Reddit: Which Mad World do you prefer: Tears for Fears or Gary Jules?

Did you know Mad World was originally written by then-unemployed 19-year-old Roland Orzabal (Tears for Fears) while his girlfriend worked three jobs so he could stay home and look outside the window playing around with his guitar? He watched people going to work from above and came up with the lyrics (see link 2 above).

Such a dark powerful song, influenced by primal therapy (that link I opened just now) nevertheless, about lack of feelings on one hand and feelings about death on the other, and Orzabal had no idea. Listening to the TFF version, I believe it: it’s punchy, upbeat even.

Garry Jules, on the other hand, who did a more true-to-form (or true to lyrics?) version a couple of years later, performs the perfect version for Donnie Darko and what I believe is the song’s true meaning.

How can a 19-year-old teenager who doesn’t need to work for a living create something so different than what he is at that time? Can we experience feelings that are completely disconnected from our daily experiences (…." daily expiii-riences…." in a Mad World tune, as playing in my head right now)?

It’s possible that at the time, Orzabal had some suppressed feelings (if to go by the theme of the book), and those did come up in the song, but listening to the song he created with Curt Smith (who ended up singing it), I don’t believe it. He wrote about what he saw and read, letting his creativity take over. Then the song was out as its own entity, something separate from its creator, like a child born to parents, and they are alike but also different than the parent.

The feelings we express are entities in themselves, based on our experience, but do not reflect them completely. I find the whole thing funny but also kinda sad. Time to go to try to sleep again.

[overclockedopossum]

OK I wrote out an even longer response but tumblr lost it so fuck it.

I hadn't, because it's not necessary. I don't need it to point out that you're moving the goalposts, and I don't need it to point out that you're imagining a fantasy land where everyfucker else wears a mask.

I now have read both, because I'm sat with my window open waiting for my room to cool down enough to sleep anyway.

Goldman's letter to The Lancet is opinon, not a study, and draws on a varienty of studies of not-covid.

Let's be clear - you absolutely cannot point to that and say it is "known since 2020", it was one man's opinion in 2020, that is not a scientific consensus, it's not even proper evidence, it is not valid to call it known.

In any case, the study he references positively contradicts him by concluding that their data shows fomite transmission (of SARS, not covid) should be taken seriously. He complains about unrealistically large samples being used to test lifetime of actual covid on surfaces, but this is clearly only done to be able to measure half-life within a range that's more practical to detect. After all this, he still concludes that basic precautions (like use of hand santiser) should be taken.

Now, the actual study in Nature collected 418 samples and failed to find covid in any of them. There are a couple of holes that you can poke in this.

First, maybe their sampling method was bad. They tested their sampling method with "an equivalent to 500,000 genome copies in 50 µL of SARS-CoV-2 suspension in each area", which is two orders of magnitude above the number that Goldman complained was unrealistic.

Second, they note themselves that most people were using masks at the time. It's likely people were also being unusually careful to wash their hands as well. Neither of these are circumstances replicated in the modern day. It is entirely likely that the tested areas were in fact benefiting from people's use of hand sanitiser.

Third, they also collected air samples from covid wards and didn't find shit in that either. So... I have my doubts about their methods.

A different study absolutely has found it on surfaces. If one person looks but fails to find something, and another looks and does find it, does the thing exist? Obviously it does!

Now, that study estimates a "less than 5 in 10,000" [1 in 2000] risk of infection from touching a contaminated surface. While that's still not zero - it's enough to be sensible and take basic precautions - it would be easy for someone arguing in bad faith to take it out of context and try to imply the risk was kinda a bit similar to zero. So as a reminder that's a single touch on a single contaminated surface. While the study suggests prioritising masks (which no-one disputes!), it concludes in relation to public policy that disinfecting frequently touched surfaces is worthwhile. Since we're not talking about public policy, the closest equivalent is... using hand sanitiser.

Incidentally this study refutes the claim that fomite transmission is "unproven", it shows it's be a viable mode of infection. There have also been specific cases that were directly attributed to fomites, though I don't consider those particularly persuasive as they were arguably just reproducing an assumption that fomites were the likely source.

Look, what is true is that in the early stages of the pandemic there was a massive, unjustified focus on only hand sanitiser and social distancing with use of masks borderline discouraged (at least here in the UK) and airbourne spread denied. But nobody is saying that was correct. You don't have to go this far the other way.

(besides all of this, like... it's probably a good idea to wash your hands regularly or use hand sanitiser in a pinch just because of all the other diseases like influenza that have higher risk of fomite transmission)