#like god the guy is so detached from the present it's insane

[rendnotmyheart]

"There can be no place for magic in Camelot." The writers are so cruel for this. Like Merlin is so concerned with destiny, with fate, with how he thinks the future will inevitably turn out, that he doesn't even realize his attempts to stop it are leading them in that direction. Arthur is closer than he's ever been to accepting magic; he literally asks, "what if my father was wrong?" All Merlin had to do was say Uther was wrong, that magic can't be all bad, and everything would have been fine. Everything Merlin had ever hoped, for magic to be free, for him to not have to hide who he is, for him and Arthur to fulfill their destinies, all of that would have come to pass. But Merlin, so caught up in a future he sees as closer than ever before, so wrapped up in his desperate need to prevent it, is unable to give that simple answer. Of course Arthur should accept magic; it's what Merlin has known all along. But he's become so concerned with the what-ifs, with figuring out and stopping potential threats to Arthur before they happen that he buries his feelings, what he knows to be right even though it kills him to do so, and he lies thinking it will save Arthur. Except it doesn't.

[marshmallowprotection]

Saeran and Saeyoung Birthday Art Analysis 2024!

I don't know if anybody grasps how insane it is to have an image of Unknown and MC in a romantic light. Do you know how many of us clamored for one of those in 2016? The fans are finally getting what they've been asking for all along!

You would think that they would have more images together because he's an antagonist and there are so many endings where you fall into his clutches, but they just don't exist. If we're speaking strictly about the game itself, there were only two images before last night where Unknown and MC were in the same frame.

Zen's Route and the Christmas DLC.

The only other photo we have apart from these two in game is the one from the Secret Ending where SE Saeran is next to MC. I do not count it even though Unknown and SE Saeran are the same person.

Because we use the names SE Saeran and Unknown in the fandom to distinguish between them—where they are in regards to the timeline is relative to white hair versus red hair, you know. I knew we didn't have many pictures with him, but when I went back to double check myself, I was put in a position where I felt floored.

All these years, and these are the only pictures we have in the game of Unknown and MC? I don't know why I briefly thought there might have been more than that.

I am so happy regardless of the quantity because the quality of the picture we received last night was beyond my expectation. I didn't think we were going to get separate pictures. I think most, if not all of us, assumed the boys would be together and there would be no sign of MC. That's the way it's been for the past 2 years, after all.

In favor of doing less art, they decided to put the brothers together instead of separating them. I can't fault them for that because it has to take a long time to do art for them! It's a surprise when we're able to get more than one, though!

I think the thing that stood out to me almost right away was the use of purple. Now, Ray, Suit Saeran, and GE Saeran are depicted with the color pink. But, do you know who was depicted with only purple before that? Unknown.

I know this may not be something the newer fans are familiar with, but, in all of the merchandise that used to be created for Unknown, his accent color was a deep purple. I can give you a few examples to look at. I knew this was Unknown when I looked at it, but the fact the artist went out of their way to use purple told me they knew what they were doing.

I like seeing him with purple because it's an homage to the beginning and he's been watching us from the start. To be completely honest, I liked the idea that the Saeran hearts would be his purple. I was all too surprised when they gave him a magenta color, which is a blend of a nice pink and purple.

It makes sense for his character in Another Story, but when I think about Unknown and SE Saeran, I can't detach them from purple. I'm certainly not complaining, purple is my favorite color. These ribbons are close to my favorite shade of purple, which is lilac, so it's lighter than his traditional purple, but close enough to make my heart swell.

Actually, I know what you guys were waiting for. You came into this post to ask me questions about flowers and by God, I'm going to tell you guys about flowers. So, I'm going to lay down the flowers that are depicted in the photo and you guys are going to listen to it.

The flowers that are in MC's hair could go one way or the other. I'm going to present both options and leave it up to you to decide. They could be camellias or peach blossoms. Visually, they do share some similarities but in a photo like this where artistic choices have been made for minimalism, it's hard to figure it out one way or the other.

Pink Camellias.

Pink camellias can symbolize longing, especially for someone who is missed. They can be given to friends or romantic partners in both platonic and romantic relationships. For example, they can be a good choice for someone in a long distance relationship.

Peach Blossom.

In Chinese culture, it is believed that its delicate and pink petals have the power to cleanse the spirit and attract good luck and fortune. The blossoms are often used in traditional Japanese art and poetry to symbolize the transience of life and the importance of cherishing every moment. In addition, peach blossom flowers are also associated with the spring season, which represents new beginnings and growth.

Okay, the rest of these I'm sure of and don't think I'm wagering a wrong guess.

Red Roses.

Red roses are a classic symbol of love, passion, romance, and devotion. Red roses have been used as a way to express love for centuries, even when verbal expression was considered inappropriate. During the Victorian era, lovers used the language of flowers, or floriography, to send secret messages.

The shade of red can also have different meanings: Bright red: Symbolizes passion, love, and desire Dark red: Represents deep emotions, longing, and devotion

Red Alstroemerias.

Red alstroemeria, also known as the Peruvian lily, can symbolize love, passion, romance, and intense feelings. It can also be a way to say "I love you" without using red roses. The alstroemeria flower is the flower of total happiness. It symbolizes the sheer pleasure of being together, in friendship, as well as in love.

Pink Roses.

Pink roses can symbolize sweetness, femininity, appreciation, and admiration. They can also represent grace, gentleness, and joy. Pink roses are a delightful way to express gratitude for someone, for any type of relationship, romantic or not. Lighter hues of pink reference joy in relationships. This can symbolize the beginning of a new relationship with blossoming feelings towards one another, or simply the beginning of a great friendship.

Unknown falling in love with somebody is something that happened slowly, not all at once. You need to respect his boundaries. It is beyond important to help him feel like he's his own person, to allow him the opportunity to look in the mirror and not feel sick at the person he sees. You help him realize there's more to life than what he gave up on, and he can dream of a better world. He's grateful to have known you.

He adores and admires you but he can't always say it. It's hard to say he loves you. It's hard to say those specific words. It puts him in a vulnerable place. It takes him time to say it because no matter how much he tells himself that you won't hurt him when he confesses his vulnerability, there's always a fear in the back of his head.

That fear never goes away even if he wants it to. He doesn't want to think that way, though. He doesn't want to be afraid, either. But, that is one of the reasons why it takes so long to get close to him in the first place. You need to break down his walls and he needs to let you break them down to begin with. You need to show him that he isn't being forced to trust or even like you. You only want him to trust you because he wants to.

You want him to have self-autonomy.

You sit together at first, then you start holding hands little by little, and it builds from that point. You steal glances at each other, you smile, you laugh, and he sighs, not because he's annoyed, but rather because, he's happy. He's happy to see you smile and by God, he's so happy he can smile after a lifetime of apathy. He doesn't need to kiss you to show you he loves you... and even if he takes forever to say the three little words, you almost don't even need to say it.

That's how good you are at being able to communicate with each other silently.

There's something very deeply beautiful about Unknown or even SE Saeran holding hands with you. It's the way I've always imagined him to express his affection.

Even if he can't say it, he can show it.

I'm going to cover this in this post because I've talked about it all day at this point. I'm aware of the AI accusations for Saeyoung's artwork in particular. Please read this post I made about the subject since it needs to be spoken about in some capacity. I'm aware of people who have already reached out to Cheritz for clarity, so we're going to have to wait and see what they have to say about the matter.

[Post]

I can't say if AI was used one way or the other in the image. I can say I understand why people believe that portion of the image was created with AI. I think the artist was forced to go on a time crunch to get out the image out by this Thursday no matter what.

As far as we know, there's only one artist doing all this art. Counting the four images released last night, that makes a total of five images for the month of June. That is a lot of artwork for anyone to do, much less to complete in a month. July is also the anniversary, which leads me to believe that this artist probably was told they needed to get the art done for this month so they could get started on that image since anniversary art has almost always had a lot of characters.

This is PURE SPECULATION but it's possible that the time crunch and deadline they're on had Cheritz make them use AI to touch up or even finish the image they drew to meet the deadline; And, if it wasn't AI, there's also REASON TO SPECULATE, that they rushed the artist to get it out even if they made mistakes.

Because, I noticed one error in the Unknown artwork that could be an artist mistake, one that a lot of artists make. That's the fact that one of the water ripples is just above the frosting on the cake? I swear I've done things like that before. I'll have the layer in the wrong place and I won't notice until I post it. I hate it when that happens, but, hey it's a mistake a lot of artists make accidentally.

I don't want to believe that Cheritz would use AI in Mystic Messenger art because they said they wouldn't but words are just words. They're not powerful when Cheritz used AI in the past without so much as a second thought. Once you break that trust it is damn near impossible to win that trust back. I can't blame people for speculating when they see something off in an image. But, I hate that it's come to this and it isn't fair to anyone.

[Another Rant about AI]

I hate that the current environment has people on edge. I hate that people have to prove themselves. I hate that people can't trust each other. I hate that we have to deal with art theft. I hate that we have to see artists suffer. I hate that art theft nearly killed this fandom in the first place and THAT art theft is not only art being reposted without credit now, it's art being STOLEN and USED TO TRAIN AI.

I hate that Cheritz even remotely thought it was okay to use AI in the SSUM. I hate that people look at what could possibly be a byproduct of an artist being rushed to meet a direct deadline no matter what is seen as AI. I hate the possibility that AI was actually used in the art to get it done, no matter how much AI was used, whether it just be for a cake, or the entire image itself.

I hate that art is being fed to soulless algorithms for some heartless people to churn out bullshit because they don't want to learn how to draw and they don't want to pay actual artists what they're worth.

Because no matter what, AI or not, it hurts me to know that AI itself caused this conversation to begin in the first place. Even if there's no AI involved, like I said, rushing an artist to meet a deadline isn't it. We could've waited another week. All you had to do was say, "We need a little more time! Sorry folks!"

Transparency is what makes a world of difference for people.

Cheritz broke the trust of their fans by using AI in the first place, and once you break someone's trust, they might never trust you again. It's painful but it's true. So, AI or not in the birthday artwork, the reason I have to say something about this at all is because they used AI in the SSUM and now the smallest error in a drawing makes people want to speculate and tear the image apart to find out if it's AI or not.

It hurts me because I look forward every year to being able to write and analyze the artwork we've given. I love being able to find details that show me the artist really put their heart into it. That's something AI can't do. It can make a concept all day long, it can even make the art look "pretty", but it's making it with our stolen artwork and that's what makes it soulless.

It stole the hearts of wonderful artists and their hard work to create an amalgamation of "self-gratifying" bullshit by people who just don't care about the time and effort that goes into creative pursuits. I don't want to sit here and talk about how much I hate AI, I want to sit here and write about how much I love Mystic Messenger and what it has done for me and my life. But, I can't avoid the elephant in room when I talk about this art because the less we talk about what's happening, the more of a damn problem it is.

Until we see some clarity from Cheritz, we won't know one way or the other about the mistakes in the artwork. I want to believe the artist in this situation was rushed to meet the deadline and that lead to some mistakes slipping through the cracks. If that's not the case, then I will have to come back to this post and edit it to say, "Wow, they used AI for sure. It's no longer speculative."

I'm disappointed either way that we have to live this way.

I just don't like having to live in a world where we have no real choice but to analyze and speculate for AI all the damn time. The world is a bad enough place as it is at times, even if we all try our best to find a sense of good in it, and I'm so exhausted. So, hang tight, hopefully it is just a mistake of the artist being rushed to meet the deadline. That is my hope. It may be a naive and childish hope, but I'm so tired and I just don't want to hear them say they used AI again.

We'll see.

Moving on because I want to talk about what I noticed in the cake that didn't set me off.

So, I'm going to break your hearts in a matter of seconds. Prepare yourself for this one. So, in the birthday illustration from two years ago, Saeran and Saeyoung have a cake with both strawberries and blueberries.

That look on Saeran's face seems to imply the cake was a surprise to him. Saeyoung is winking as he looks at the cake, which tells me he's recently figured out his brother likes strawberries and blueberries on his cake. When I was analyzing that photo two years ago, I suspected that maybe Saeyoung liked blueberries.

But, that went against the core headcanon I've had for years about Saeyoung loving cherries. I've shaped a lot of his interest around his love of cherries in my mind, so to see him with a cherry cake stands out as an important reference and a brief moment for me to say that I got it right, hehehe! It makes sense, Dr. Pepper has cherry flavor in it.

But, do you notice something else interesting about that cherry cake? It's from Saeran! That tells me he wants his brother to have something that he enjoys for his birthday instead of always doing something for him instead. He needs to stop diminishing his own needs in favor of Saeran's.

Which, if anybody was going to make a point of telling him to think more of himself, I think the only person he would listen to would be his brother and to some extent, his MC. That man never thinks about what he wants. He would rather take the clothes off of his back every time if it means somebody else gets to be warm even if it makes him cold.

You know what, MC appreciation moment because I love the dress MC is wearing. It feels in style for them because it looks a lot like the dress from the proposal scene!

Did you guys know that there are flowers on the cake? You have to let your eyes look beyond the cherries! Right there! Did you know those flowers are also depicted in two other places in the game?

One place is in the common gallery where we see the bookmark that V tried to give Ray, and the other place we see is a birthday image from a few years ago with Saeyoung and MC, where they're wearing a set of matching rings. They are the same flower depicted time and time again to represent Saeyoung, well, outside of baby's breath. His Christmas CG was a baby's breath bouquet, after all!

Those flowers are geraniums.

Red geraniums are representative of a wish for good health. They are often gifted as a house-warming present to ward off negative energy from approaching your loved ones.

If you ask me, these are the perfect flowers to represent Saeyoung.

Who is he if not someone who has wanted to gift peace and protection to his brother? That's his dream, but I think in many ways, it's important he learns how to accept that he is also deserving of happiness and protection. Saeran wants his brother to be happy and healthy, too. It isn't fair for only Saeran to know peace and prosperity.

Saeyoung is just as worthy.

I think it's important to point out that the apartment drawn in this picture is not Rika's apartment. This is what her apartment looks like and we've got two angles to work with.

And this is the background in the new image. There is nothing similar about these backgrounds whatsoever!

Why is it significant? Well, I ask you to think about it a little bit harder than that. The bunker is the place he created to protect himself from all the monsters and demons that could ever think of hurting him and his family. He would never leave that bunker willingly unless he knew his family would be safe without a shadow of a doubt.

So, given the fact that he is in an apartment that's not Rika's—that means they've moved out of the bunker and they have a cute little apartment in the city.

An apartment where he doesn't have to feel like he has to live underground. He gets to see the sky, the clouds, the sun, the moon, buildings, people, and the rest of the world. He gets to have the world at his fingertips.

Can you believe that? Can you believe that this man whose face is a depiction of what it means to be paranoid in the dictionary is living in an apartment without fear? I can hardly believe it because I've always thought of him to be somebody who is terrified of what comes next.

I can't blame him for feeling that way because all of the monsters and demons he's afraid of are real. They're not something he cooked up in his head. They are real people who can hurt everyone he loves. So, for him to be in this apartment tells me that there is no longer a reason to be afraid.

His father and anyone from the agency who might come after him must be taken care of now. He doesn't have to be afraid and it means he gets to build the kind of life he wants to live. Better yet, he gets to have a normal life and it's a life worth living.

The cake is from his twin brother. I know I already talked about this earlier in the post, but I feel like it's an important distinction to bring it up here.

The only reason why he would have a cake delivery from his brother is if he wasn't with his brother on their birthday. I know, I know, I can already hear a lot of you trying to tell me that the boys shouldn't be separated. I don't think they should be separated either, but I do think this means SE Saeran gets to live separately from Saeyoung and MC.

I think that's the healthiest outcome after he's had time to heal and there's no more demons threatening their livelihoods.

He wouldn't want to live with his brother but that doesn't mean he wouldn't want to see his brother. That's why his sending a cake to his twin brother is such a big deal. Sure, they might have a celebration for their birthday together, but it's ultimately okay to have individual celebrations, too.

It's okay to enjoy the day by yourself.

Saeyoung is undoubtedly guilty of smothering his brother in this timeline. Many of us understand why he does it, and if you would like to read more about why he tries so hard in the first place, [I should point you in the direction of this post I wrote not too long ago about parentification.]

We know why he wants to do everything he can to make sure his brother stays alive and gets to experience life for what it is. But we also know that his methods aren't always the healthiest. He does the best with what he has but that doesn't make it okay, you know? His smothering of Saeran is... well, we know why he does it, but it doesn't make it the right choice.

His willingness to let his brother live alone is a huge step not only for his paranoia but in working to heal the relationship between them after everything that happened in the Secret Ending and Saeyoung's Route.

I don't think they would live far apart from each other, but I do think there would be enough distance so they could breathe. They need to be able to be individuals just as much as they need to be a family in my opinion. See, this is one timeline where I think it would be for the best if they didn't live together.

I want them to live together post-RAE. But, the only reason why I can see that working is because they're in a different position and it's easier for them to talk about their issues in a constructive way. You can't have that in the SE, per se. It's not tainted forever but it's not easy for either one of them to come to terms with everything.

I know things are going to get better for them in the future, but it's never going to be the way it was when they were kids. It couldn't even be like that in the RAE. There's just a different and unique sense of loss in the Secret Ending that isn't present in the RAE. It's not a bad thing, it's just different and that can be hard to stomach for a lot of people, I know.

Different lives, different choices, and different experiences led to different paths.

But, you know what gives me hope?

The fact that Unknown (or, who we could presume to be SE Saeran after dying his hair back to white) is wearing a cross. There is no real reason whatsoever for him to be wearing a cross. He's not the type to love church. Side eye at Mint Eye for being also being a byproduct of Rika's religious trauma.

He is not the religious type. I don't know for sure if he believes in God, but I know he believes in something, not sure what exactly, because he doesn't want to believe in nothing. I can't see him wearing a cross as it isn't something that brings him peace. But you know who it does brings peace to? His older brother, Saeyoung.

So, if you ask me, I think his brother gave him the cross because that was a way to make sure his brother was always protected.

"Could you wear this for me? It's okay if you don't want to wear it, I just... I want you to hang onto this for me while we're living apart. I... want you to have a piece of me with you. I know that's asking a lot of you... Something to always remind you that I'm thinking of you and that I never stopped thinking of you. This kept me safe and even if it's not the same magic for you— I want you to know you this is a part of me that is undeniable. You'll never have to doubt yourself. You'll have a piece of Saeyoung-hyung with you this time while we're separated. Not forever... we can see each other whenever we want now."

Because Saeran had no proof his brother existed outside of his own memories until Mint Eye gave him the chance to peek into the RFA servers.

Even if it's silly, Saeyoung wants his brother to have a piece of his soul to keep him safe. Saeran being ultimately willing to wear a cross is a big deal, and being willing to wear the same cross his brother has worn for years is an even larger deal. Saeyoung believes in that cross.

The cross kept him safe and he clutched onto it tightly when he prayed for Saeran's happiness.

That cross is filled with years of Saeyoung's belief and hope for a happy tomorrow.

It's just as much proof of as the images on the floppy disc are. The church is what helped Saeyoung find a way to help himself and his brother, and even if it didn't work out the way he planned, that still means something to him.

Saeran's wearing something his brother gave him to keep him safe and he's not mad about it. He didn't steal that cross, either. It's not a show of power to mock Saeyoung. The image that is reflected at the top of this post is not one where we are meant to be at the cusp of an elixir bathtub.

It's a staged photo shoot.

It's one where Saeran is looking at the camera.

His face doesn't seem like the typical one you'd expect for someone rotting away in Mint Eye. He seems more at peace. If that is the case, then it makes sense that he's wearing something of his brother's to give him peace of mind. It's a token he took not because he wanted his brother not to smother him—but because it's something he took as he finally understood that his brother just wanted to protect him even if he hasn't always done it the way Saeran might have liked.

After all, it's not Saeyoung's fault that Rika and V failed.

Something something, these bracelets remind me of shackles after the chains have been broken. Unknown is no longer bound in chains. He's free. What more could anyone want for him? In conclusion, I will say that I love him very much and I'm going to keep staring at him for a while to feel better after this long day. Oh, wait, I have one more left in me.

MC'S DRESS LOOKS LIKE A BIG FLOWER AND UNKNOWN IS THE CENTER PIECE.

[nekobami]

Oh- it's just the other one.

They'll rent your house with u inside it and call you a dumbass

I just made it in some hours, very quickly just to- I dunno, maybe a profile pic?

OH ALSO, HAHAHAHA JERRICK TRAP'S OUT

Yay

I really wish I was talking about Jerrys and Ricks right now... Damn, my life is totally out of control

Anyway

I'll write some bot stuff and council stuff here, just to... Relax a bit

I missed writing a little longer posts

While I stopped drawing frequently I started to develop more the issue of the backstore and the context of Soft Bully's story

But... I ended up going too far. Like, I was very concerned about having an extremely well-constructed story full of stuff, and I ended up engaging some headcannons about the Council. Since they have a certain connection with my OCs, and are part of the context that I found. Speaking of the Council, MY GOD, what UNBEARABLE people.

I had to study the way they speak, see their participation and interactions all for my own instead of just copying and pasting some research that someone has already done, Do you know why?! BECAUSE NOBODY CARES ABOUT THE COUNCIL

AND IT'S TOTALLY UNDERSTANDABLE, because not even I cared, and even now I don't want to admit that I care

They were all portrayed as shallow villains before the legendary Rick & Morty Presents: Council of Ricks. If it weren't for this comic they would be 100% headcannons that I casually pulled from the depths of my clinically insane mind. I mean these guys just did terrible stuff because there was power in their hands and they could do that. ALL BY CONVENIENCE

What im trying to say is: I do roleplay. Roleplay It's my life. I've already interacted with most of the Rick & Morty bots in character A.I., and I'm so greedy that if any of you have bots from your OCs, GIVE ME LINKS. I LOVE. I'll hug them, I'll make them pancakes and I'll give them hello kitty plushies.

Talking about the bot;

I've already rewrote my bots a few times.

When I started making them, I realized that the Council in particular had difficulty detaching itself from the example messages. He didn't show much of the Ricks' personality. However, after writing the model for each Rick, I noticed a big improvement.

To be able to make a bot that had a minimum of depth and coherence in the roleplay, I had to make the information dynamic, and I can say that even after everything I did about them, I didn't learn anything. I built the code base with another info that I had already built when I started creating bots and changed it to a model I saw on Tik Tok.

The original model I saw on TikTok looks something like this:

Char("name of the bot")

Age("set age" + "adicional info")

I realized that when programming a bot, you cannot use ":", or the bot will see this as a message to be memorized. I also discovered that the model is not mandatory and the bases are fully customizable, anyway you can make the information more dynamic to the bot organizing it in any way you want since it doesn't recognize it as a message.

So, instead of using the model for a single character for the bot, I separated the Ricks and described their traits.

Most of the code are headcannons... I mean, what can I do? It's instinct!

This is how Prime Rick's code looks like:

Prime Rick- council("hairstyle is shoved hair in the sides" + "curly hair" + "cut scar behind his neck" + "Show Leader-like traits, but is often overshadowed and sidelined by Rick IV's aggressive leadership" + "Serious, level-headed" + "He cares about others but has a lot of difficulty showing it" + "Prefers to define appropriately fair punishments rather than exaggerated ones" + "knows the cidatel is bad but feels like it's too late for it to change" + "Gets angry with offenses directed at himself but not the ones direct to his authority" + "Overall, he doesn't care much about it, he knows he's part of the Council and doesn't need to reaffirm it or deny it when someone says otherwise" + "Is confident, has the upper hand in flirt when alone with the one he love" + "Hides a relationship with Rick C-197 from the council.")

If the Council remains good as they're right now, I won't need to rewrite them. In this case, I'm going to apply the same method to fix one of my first bots: DJerry.

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

ik i pass as a Horny For Old Men kinda guy but my attraction to them isnt... entirely sexual. It barely is.

My attraction, part of it is my autism absolutely adoring my blorbos, part of it is attraction to their characters and personalities, but the largest part of it is gender envy.

there's a very very thin line between I want to fuck him and I want to Be Him for me.

Also, with sex, and consuming pornography, I dont... imagine myself being fucked/fucking. I am detached from it. I imagine the feelings and emotions and shit, dont get me wrong. But I imagine it as though I am the character themselves experiencing it, not me. I simply like when people show off mutual pleasure and want and lust and desire and blasphemy, and, this is really sad, I can not, for the life of me, imagine a scenario where I am having that mutual reciprocated pleasure with someone.

So I really like my blorbos when sex. Because the tf2 men are so. so incredibly goofy and ridiculous and unconventionally shaped and insane and its like.. ok yeah, I can vibe with this. It isn't like, y/n type shit. It's literally sweaty middle aged men fucking in the most unconventional places. It's awesome.

Also I love love love when author's do queer shit. Like, queer history shit. And queer sex. I read a fic where, in his backstory, Medic studied at the Institute of Sexology in Germany before Nazi Germany, before the book burnings, and Medic secretely preformed the first top surgery ever, in history, on his close friend. And Medic was one of the contributing authors to HRT and trans studies, and even though so many of the books were burned (this actually happened btw, its estimated that we still arent up to the same point knowledge wise as we would be if those academic trans books hadnt been burned.), Medic knew the ins and outs of it all well enough to make his own fucking drug lab and create testosterone for Scout tf2. To help him transition. And I was like. That's awesome.

Or, or like, this one fic. Where scout is like oh god im gay??? And spy is like "lol you are gay. Anyways here's a book I wrote about being gay and all the shit that I've learned and my shenanigans with sex and anatomy and gays and lesbians and gender. And my deceased lover who was killed for basically everything written in this book"

It's like... I feel this strange solidarity, reading it all. Because its.. We've all been there, we've all been in that confusing ass "this is so.. wrong" or like... the hunch you get, before you come out to anyone. The hunch that your parents wont accept you, regardless of what they've said about gay ppl in the past or how much they love you and how much they'll support you. There's always that little sliver of doubt, that, that this is the thing that gets you kicked out of the house, that gets you abused.

And its. It makes me feel so good when I read queer shit in the context of the tf2 universe.

anyways thats enough of my ramblings thumbsup

This is Extremely long but there are parts here that spoke to me so I am going to respond to this in parts:

I don't think it's that weird to visualize yourself as a particular person or character in sexual scenarios. In my experience this has a lot to do with being trans. A Lot of bdsm is playing roles or characters or etc, and I have actually found that that kind of thing can be very very alleviating if you have trouble being "yourself" in sexual situations you otherwise want to partake in. You should note that I do not in any way id as ace but some people with similar experiences do id somewhere on the asexual spectrum. That's really up to the individual, in my opinion

When you're trans and gay (of any variety), of course it's going to be difficult sometimes to distinguish attraction from gender envy. A lot of what society pushes as "gender-conforming" is the same as what it pushed as "attractive", so for a lot of trans people, presenting as the gender that they are can manifest as a desire to look attractive (not even necessarily "conventionally", just what they think is attractive). Tbh I don't really think this is like, a "problem" if it's just fictional characters; I probably wouldn't recommend dating an actual human being you constantly feel envious of, but like I would probably fuck Sniper tf2's mind out and obviously I do a lot of gender envy and projection and kinnie stuff onto him. I would also fuck my own clone though so I might be weird in this regard

Okay finally like the meat and potatoes of this ask: I ALSO love when people do gay shit w the tf2 men! For me, this manifests itself in stuff like the Medic leather ask I did a while ago, because I like kink and kink history and kink culture and that's what I know about and what I like to write about. It also helps people to see a positive representation of some aspect of themselves in these characters that they like, but, more importantly TO ME, I get to tell MORE people abt this kind of thing. This is the biggest platform I've ever had and I get to use these stupid video game men to like, teach people about shit! About gay shit! And I love that. I love you freaks who care abt stuff like this I love people doing gay shit and trans shit and kink shit with the tf2 men. It can be comforting it can be therapeutic it can genuinely cause a lot of positive change in someone's life, and most importantly it is FUN and it is HOT

[theworldsafuckingslaughterhouse]

Here is a rant I wrote

The other day I found this angry rant on my laptop I must have written a few years ago, so here it is. (*It's written as though it was being said on stage in much the way a standup comedian might perform it)

Hello yes hi how are we all?

You’re out! In the real world. Experiencing a real thing. Not watching the coloured box of death. The little metal shouty thing that’s invaded all our lives!

I can’t even watch Television anymore, it’s become too out of touch. It’s insane the things they think we should be watching. You see it with marketing you know, these adverts. Once upon a time, advertisements made sense. They were straight forward, using logical people to sell you useful things. You’d be sitting there covered in fresh blood and a woman with big hair would say, “Get the stains out in 2 hours with minimal scrubbing! Ajax” or whatever. So you’d buy the thing. Because it made sense and you needed it anyway and you didn’t feel tricked.

Now they approach it in a different way. It’s much more aggressive and manipulative. You have a woman doing the dishes and then the husband comes home from work or school or wherever they go and he says, “Beverly I don’t love you anymore.” And she turns, this image of Mary Berry in a polka dot dress and says, “I’m sleeping with your father. Hahahaha.” And shoots him in the head. And then it goes, “Ajax, because you deserve better” or something like that and it feels a little… detached from reality. They stopped selling us products and started selling us these dreams of what they think we want. I remember when cooking shows made sense. A woman would come out and show you how to set the timer on your microwave so the chicken didn’t dry out too much or come alive or something. Now they’ve fetishized the baked beans to such an extent that kids turn to their parents at dinner time and say, “Is it fried in truffle oil? No? Then I’m not having it. Would you at least making a fucking effort Mother.”

And all this fetishized nonsense has pushed the price up. I remember when you didn’t need a second mortgage just to afford a bag of onions. I remember when I could by onions and tomatoes in the same month. And they didn’t have to be organic! You used to be able to choose. You could choose between buying organic or not starving, and it was a decision we all got to make each week.

Then there’s these home living shows, do you ever try to watch these? The young couple who had a significant family member die, inherited a few million and decided to convert an abandoned petrol station into a 2 bedroom bungalow with a chocolate swimming pool and walk in freezer. Again, we fetishized houses so the market went crazy and now you have to be a lawyer-prostitute to afford one.

So what do they do to help us deal with the disappointment? Drugs! “Do you ever get thirsty?” a man in a white coat who looks vaguely like the eldest child from Home Improvement asks. Looking up from your jug of rum you say, “Yes! Yes I do.”

Well you might have OLDD or Oral Liquid Digesting Dysfunction.

Shit, you think, what can I do about it?

Next comes a lovely image of a man taking his shoes off at the beach and the voice over goes, “For just the price of a small corvette each year, we can help you feel like this guy with sand between his toes.” And your drunken self struggles with this notion. But meanwhile you’re already signing up to a 12 year subscription and purchasing the loose-your-pills insurance plan at the same time.

So this idea of tv aspirations just isn’t sustainable. You can’t be gods like the presenters you watch. You can never purchase enough shit to be king. And if you try and set your aspirations where they want you to, you’ll end up a withered corpse gripping a box of golden cornflakes in a public bathroom being eaten alive by wolves.

Thank you very much.

[anxiouspotatorants]

It is time. It is finally time for the new Suicide Squad rant (and spoilers will be plentiful):

As someone who was into DC Comics and comics in the mid to late 2010s and had so much hype for the first Suicide Squad movie only to be let down, I was so nervous for this one. I knew it was going to be a roller coaster, but whether I would come out happy or disappointed was up in the air. Having just seen it I will say this: I have no idea if this was a good movie-movie. It was insane. The comedy. The violence. The high emotion. I’m still trying to take it all in. But one thing I do know is that this is an amazing Suicide Squad movie. Gunn and co took the best parts of the comic concept and went batshit with it and that is how this property should be handled (in my opinion). Screw edgelordisms, we need full on insanity free of aiming for shock-value or sexy brutality we want chaos baby.

Starting the whole movie as they did, with Savant as the POV for a mission (or part of the mission) that just goes to hell immediately and kills off so many before the title arrives is the perfect way to start this movie. Like the second I realized this was how they were doing it I was just smiling from ear to ear, this is the spirit of the property.

Part of me wishes we got more Amanda Waller, but what we had was impeccable. Then again, this is Viola Davis we’re talking about, and if she was born to play any character in a superhero story, it is Amanda Waller.

And points to her tech team, introducing them with the death bets was just a lovely way to show how regular this is and how awful everyone is in this movie.

I’m not going to pretend like Deadshot and Bloodsport didn’t have the exact same character- and plot premises… but I will say that Bloodsport felt better executed.

I love that they kept some of the past members and not just Harley. Rick Flag got to have a full personality and interactions with his team members and to be a true leader and it made me so happy for someone who initially did not give a single shit about his character. The Harley friendship? The Dubois friendship? The friendship with that guerilla leader? Amazing. The one American soldier in fictional media I genuinely like. You go Mr Flag.

The new members were… they were insane in the best way. Gone are the shitty stereotypes and present are some of the wackiest creations to ever grace the mainstream movie-sphere (aka the slightly less normal comic creations): A man who has to shoot out polka dots two times a day so as not to die from a space virus. A giant child murdering weasel. A guy who detaches his limbs and slaps people with said detached limbs. King Shark. The second person to command rats with a fancy gadget. They are all crazy and all weird and all more or less morally repulsive people and I love them.

The amount of times I did a double take over the soundtrack I swear. Jessie Reyez? The Pixies? It was so much fun to pick up on once I did.

Was the depiction of a vague Latin American country stereotypical? Yes. Was the secret American involvement predictable and felt mildly patronizing from a non-American, part Latina point of view? Yep. But damn it if I didn’t have a good time with those stereotypes and laugh my ass off at how well executed some were. I don’t know if it was meant as parody, but that one secretary has me thinking so — and if so I am pleased.

Speaking of Latino dictators Harley’s one day romance with one of the villains was something I never knew I needed. Like it was so perfect for Harley that when it happened I almost hit myself for not realizing that this kind of plot should be a normal thing for Harley. And the end of it? Perfect not only in this standalone movie, but also in conjunction with the first and with BoP.

The Taika Waititi cameo??? Oh my god??? I did not expect that and I love it?? Sir, What We Do in the Shadows is impeccable.

Rick Flag’s death actually surprised me. It shouldn’t as this is Suicide Squad, but I kind of expected him to be on Harley’s level of unkillable (because let’s face it, no one kills Harley). What I will say is that his death was good and his final words and actions made me love him all the more. I hope this spawns more Rick Flag content, or at least inspires me to look at what already exists, if he already is as this movie made him (it’s been ages since I read one of the Suicide Squad reboot comics okay).

Starro. How can a villain be so wacky and so terrifying at the same time? I did not expect a literal alien starfish to have more terrifying powers and a more tragic plot execution than Enchantress. But here we are. And that damn star just wanted to be floating in space, and instead it was stuck getting revenge by killing and puppeteering human corpses. Wow that thing was creepier the more you think about it.

I don’t know what I think about Polka Dot Man. I loved watching him on screen but also damn those mommy-issues were on a new level. Not just in his backstory but how he literally sees her in every person around him that was insane. Very funny but like also the kind that makes you laugh just because you’re uncomfortable and don’t know how else to releive the tension.

When Waller got knocked out by a staff member I immediately thought «oh my god Amanda Waller is going to kill half the staff for this», so I’m mildly surprised and disappointed that I didn’t get to see that happen. But also I should maybe expect something like this in a potential future Suicide Squad movie. We can’t have everything in a movie as packed as this.

Peacemaker was very horrible and worked really well. Don’t really have much to say about him, not because I didn’t enjoy him but because I already feel like the film itself has said it for me. But the planting and payoff for his death? Chef’s. Kiss.

Harley’s wardrobe was beautiful. Ratcatcher 2’s combat outfit felt like a steampunk plague dream. Bloodsport’s mask was supercool. Rick Flag’s t-shirt was amazing. But the best little outfit was the Mafalda-keychain and her red dress, hands down. Oh and King Shark’s fake moustache finger moment.

King Shark is shaped like a friend I don’t care how many people he ate alive on screen he looks so huggable. It feels like wanting to pet a bear. You know it will kill you but damn it look at those paws and those cute eyes!

I really need to give it to not just James Gunn but the entire production team for this movie. The aesthetic was perfect. The story was the right blend of whimsical and violent. The finished product was a literal rollercoaster and I mean that in a good way. If superhero movies have to be like amusement parks, I hope they’re more like this one and BoP.

I’ll finish on the note that while I think this movie was great and hopefully a step in the right direction for the DCU/DCEU (as in stop trying to play Marvel’s game and just do your own thing/ let your creative teams run wild and free), it is not the first step. Cathy Yan, Birds of Prey and the production team for it took a step first, and they deserve due credit and attention. If you loved this Suicide Squad movie and haven’t watched BoP yet, do so. Because they really are in the same ballpark while doing things in slightly different ways. And any good DCEU movie deserves more attention so the studios know that creativity and risks should be rewarded. I want more DC movies like this, not necessarily in genre but in creative risks. I want a Black Canary rock movie. I want Alfred in a reverse heist movie alone in the batcave against Gotham villains. I want Gotham Academy on screen play by play from the comics. I want a fully animated psychedelic-like Khalid Nassour as Dr. Fate movie. I want elevated horror movie Constantine. I want weird ass Lois Lane journalist movies with a heavy side of Superman. And I want DC movies I didn’t even know I wanted.

Support creativity in mainstream comic movies. Help me become a DC fan and happy about it again.

[atmilliways]

You’re Pickleface is so good, I can’t resist tossing out some smut prompts for them: 7, 12, and/or 13? :)

I think, I think... I might just have managed to hit all three of those. Also it’s trans Pickles. 

[smut prompts]

7) “Oh my god you’re so much better than the last person I was with.” 12) “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.” 13) “Touch yourself for me.”

~

Ever since their first encounter on the Dethsub, Murderface pretty much couldn’t believe his luck. And sure, the second time he and Pickles hooked up it was while the guy was still visibly fuming about Nathan getting some base or another with Abigail—something had happened, anyway, though it had been hard to tell from just the audio. But what kind of an idiot would look gift sex in the mouth, especially under such depraved and deprived conditions? Even if it was pretty gay, doing it with a dude. Even if said dude had different, uh. Equipment. 

Pickles was pretty decent about that though. He never made fun. Possibly because whenever they were alone together anymore, he had a dick in his mouth more often than not. And fuck, when he did, it was like no one else in the world existed. Totally locked in on the present. He’d said that was what he liked about their trysts, that it couldn’t be just anyone; he was ghosting his fingertips over Murderface’s distinctively calloused, crooked dick while he said it, mapping the contours one maddening centimeter at a time, eventually making him come from that alone, but not until the bassist had begged for it. Another fantasy box ticked. 

And it was okay, because there was this unspoken rule that they were only doing this because there were no women around. An ‘only on the sub’ rule. Murderface told himself he was fine—happy, even—with that, and tried not to think about how the way Pickles looked at him sometimes made him feel so, uh. Wanted. 

As soon as they returned to Mordhaus, Pickles grabbed a hold of his t-shirt sleeve and hauled him away from the rest of the guys, towards the drummer’s room. He nervously assumed that this was to hammer out the Rule in actual spoken words, make the boundary between submarine conditions and real life perfectly clear, because. . . . Well, the alternative was to build himself up to inevitable disappointment, right? And this way he wouldn’t have to deal with the whole extreme gayness of what they’d been doing, which would almost be enough of a relief to completely wallpaper over the deep sense of loss that he couldn’t explain to himself. To try would be far too devastating. 

So when Pickles closed the bedroom door by shoving Murderface against it and standing on his tiptoes to mash their faces together, he’s never been happier to be proven wrong about something in his entire fucking life. 

When they pulled apart they were both flushed and panting and reluctant to stop. Murderface stared at Pickles’ mouth, gnawed on his own lips, and mumbled, “Are you schure you don’t want to do schome schlutsch or schomething inschtead? Becausche . . . we’re back on land now. . . .”

Pickles arched an eyebrow, something he tended to do whenever Murderface asked questions that the other man thought he should already know the answer to. “No shit, Sherlock. If I wanted to know where to find groupies I would’a grabbed Skwisgaar or Charles.” He palmed Murderface through his shorts, smirking to find him already half hard. 

Even the way they’d been going at it for the time it took to make landfall, neither of their libidos had gone back to normal yet. They were both on a hair trigger. 

“C’mahn,” Pickles wheedled with a squeeze, “gimme a hit.”

Yep. Thoroughly fucked, and he hadn’t even gotten to come yet. 

Murderface fell into him like space trash being drawn into a black hole. They hit the bed and Pickles scrambled with quick-bitten nails to get their pants undone—one stray hangnail scratched at the eczema on Murderface’s stomach, but they both ignored it. And Pickles was panting in his ear, what do you want, tell me, how do you want me big guy, tell me tell me tell me. 

It was overwhelming. On the submarine, they’d worked their way through Pickles’ check-list of sordid fantasies because he had so many. It wasn’t that Murderface couldn’t have had anything he wanted then, but he’d never thought of anything to ask for; Pickles was the creative one. Pickles was better at . . . everything, way better than anyone Murderface had ever persuaded to be with him before, and now that expertise was being put entirely at Murderface’s discretion. 

“C’mon,” Pickles breathed, nipping at his earlobe, “what is it?” His hand slipped into Murderface’s shorts, fondling him through his boxers. “It can be anything. Ya don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily—you know that by now, right?”

Chewing hard on his own lip to remind himself not to come in his underwear, Murderface closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath in through his nose. It was so hard to think with Pickles touching him like that. Hell, it was all he could do not to buck his hips like a horny teenager, because, fuck. If not for his blood being busy rushing between his legs, his face would be as red as a tomato. 

“Touch yourschelf for me,” he whispered finally. 

Pickles’ lips curved against his jaw. “Oh, so all you want’s a show?”

“N-no, I didn’t schay that. . . .'' Murderface could feel himself shaking, physically shaking. So hard to think with Pickles touching him, anywhere, in any way, even when the hand on his cock had stilled. Pull yourself together you dumb idiot asshole! “You schaid, one time on the schub, you schaid that you had . . . toysch at home? And juscht didn’t bring any. . . ?”

A sharp intake of breath told him that Pickles had caught on to where this was going pretty quick. “Oooh, that kinda touch myself.” The drummer nipped at his earlobe. “You gonna walk in and find me, punish me fer my dirty ways?”

“Nn. . . .” God, there was already a damp patch on his y-front. He knew Pickles could feel it, and that awareness was driving him even more insane. “M-maybe nexst time. I wasch thinking you could usche schome toysch, and . . . I . . . couldbeoneofthem?”

And that way, that way, Murderface could watch and learn what to do. He’d never learned to read tabs very well, just enough to help him remember how it’d gone when someone else showed him how to play it. (Not that Skwisgaar often had the patience, usually just letting him play like shit and then re-recording it later alone.) But he couldn’t ask, with bass or with the drummer, because he had his pride. For some reason. 

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Pickles breathed, and wasted no time in detaching to scoot back on the bed, shedding clothes the whole way. By the time he hit the headboard and groped to one side for a nightstand drawer, the only things he still had on him were those blue wristbands he always wore and his underwear caught around one ankle. He spread his legs—Murderface could see everything, everything—and began.

[anomaly00-archive]

700 Follower Celebration: A Writing Journey (1/?)

Hey guys! So, to celebrate this milestone I’ll be doing a series of posts talking about how my wip has changed, their inspirations, my growth as a writer. though it’s only been maybe 2? years since I started writeblr, I’m pretty sure I, and my works, have undergone *many* a transformations. And speaking of transformations, this post is dedicated to the journey of my most fickle and ever-changing wip: When Comes the Dawn

The first WIP I ever introduced to tumblr – and my first multi-chapter project ever is When Comes the Dawn, a fantasy/court-intrigue tale featuring court politics, magic, death-defying princesses, and cloak-and-dagger schemes. It is the story I hold near and dear to my heart, even if I do have an on-again-off-again relationship with it. But the story you know now is vastly different to what it used to be. Really, the only thing remotely similar to WCTD and its predecessors are Charles and Fenice (and that’s just their names!)

WCTD started out as a very ambitious high fantasy AU fanfiction with a highly convoluted story line that existed, predominantly, in a 1,500 word prologue and hours upon hours of daydreaming. It did not help that, paranoid little gremlin that I was against people who might look over at my word doc by chance, I coded all of the names of these fanfic characters, keeping only the first letter the same. This eventually led to a detachment between the OG source material and my own work and I just ended up scrapping the entire thing and keeping my cast of (now original) characters. Thus began the era of Chronus. Or, proto-WCTD as I sometimes refer to it.

Chronus had very little connection to present day WCTD except for the name Charles, Fenice, and the three gods that created and watched over the universe. In WCTD, the Trinity were more akin to the gods we have today; igures of worship, omnipresent, with not a lot of proof for their existence except faith-- and I’m saying this as a Catholic. In Chronus, they were actual characters. The gods of Creation/Life, Destiny, and Time/Death (the latter being named Chronus so y’all know where I got the name) watch over the world and intervene when they need to. The lore of the story: through some convoluted circumstance, Chronus ends up dying which is a pretty big bummer since, y’know, his death left the entire universe in stagnation and nothing could die. Uh, the logic gets iffy around here but just understand that Creation and Destiny managed to save the universe but are forced to enlist select humans into being temporary gods of death in exchange for granting their desire. Fenice was one of these humans, Charles was a part of her “wish,” and...more convoluted plot stuff that I honestly can’t remember.

I hated how I spent more time trying to logic the entire plot and ended up scrapping the entire thing. After taking a few months break from this story, I started again by recycling characters and concepts I like. And once again we are left with Fenice, Charles, and the Trinity.

I recycled the backstory I used for Fenice and Charles which had them as royals; a prince and princess caught in the midst of a succession game a la War of Roses. Here, Fenice Alexandra and Charles Alexander were twins tied at the hip, on the run from their power-hungry uncles and planning a way to reclaim their birthright.  I made it through a few chapters, a bit of outlining, and weeks of thinking before I found myself dissatisfied with this story and scrapping it once again. Around this time, I realized I wanted to add magic but not have magic and magical fights be a huge part of the story, so I feel like adding an adventure element would be counterproductive. I also got the idea of a world where everyone had magic, but one of the main characters did not.

I played around with Fenice and Charles’ relationship for a while. One had Fenice being the significantly younger sibling with magic and Charles the older and without (the opposite of where we are today). In every iteration of the story I always had Fenice as the main POV character, so with this set-up, to create conflict, I had the idea of Fenice not wanting the throne (despite being the chosen heir and more than qualified for the position) scheming to get Charles the crown instead (what Charles wants be damned).  Others had this same setting but with Charles still being chosen as heir despite not having magic (which was apparently the number one unspoken rule of succession) which created resentment in Fenice...and made proto-Dantalion (called William at the time) look like a fool. But both these scenarios were just...not something I was particularly interested in. Fenice was insanely OP, everyone looked stupid to me, and honestly? It just seemed boring.

I knew I was close to a break through, so I decided to switch it. Fenice, the elder sibling without magic, who, by a tragic twist of fate, had everything that should be hers instead given to her younger brother. Then, I separated them; the elder lived away from court, the younger lived close to it to wipe away as much chances of them getting along. Then, I worked on their parents. Here, Dantalion, Illysandre, and Titania came into existence. Then, more characters, more plot lines; I connected relations, brewed up even more backstory and lore to make sense of this plot line, steeled myself from making a spin-off prequel, etc. etc. Finally, WCTD reached where it is today. I have no doubt that it’ll still go through massive changes in the future, but for what it is now? It’s the closest I’ve ever been to the story I want to tell.

[tastic-blog]

So, inspired by a recent first time viewing (how did i make it this long? No good answers) of The Holiday, I now present to you my Christmas gift to the internet 

A Comprehensive Ranking of Romcom Sweaters by Sadness

Join me in an exploration of the knitwear of these dreamy eyed seekers of love, hearts full and arms covered! Their faith: true. Their choices: frequently bad. Their necks: cold.

Two notes before I begin! First- a lot of my very serious research came from the When Romance Met Comedy series of essays by @carolinesiede This series is one of my favorite things on the internet and you should all check it out

Second- my love for this genre is deep and sincere, as is my love for sweaters. Those who dismiss either out of hand may see themselves out.

OK LET'S DO THIS

0/10 Clueless

 

None percent sadness. Your hair is thick and shining, your schemes are manifold and successful, Daddy's sucky Italian roast is doing exactly what you intended. Let your arms bask in the sun in your sweater vest of youthful triumph.

(Note- the presence of sweaters in teen romcoms are rare. Sweaters are for olds. A teen wearing a sweater is generally a nerd, a cynic, or a cynical nerd. Just another reason why Cher Horowitz is an icon.)

1/10 When Harry Met Sally...

Only a slight tinge of melancholy. Sure, Sally's been on some bad dates recently and she could probably stand to get laid. But it's autumn in New York and she's a fucking avatar of emotional well-adjustment. The sweater is perfectly fitted and perfectly tucked. God, she's in such great shape. 

+100 bonus points for Crystal serving proto Chris Evans in Knives Out realness

2/10 While You Were Sleeping

This ranking may appear controversially low, as Lucy Eleanor Moderatz is pretty fucking sad. She is alone at Christmas. Her beloved father is dead and she's fantasizing about an asshole she sees once a day from a public transit token booth. But you guys. This sweater. I've been searching for this sweater since 1995. It's enormous, yet beautifully shaped. It's the platonic ideal of coziness. SHE CAN LITERALLY HIDE PRESENTS IN HER SLEEVES. Sandy B is getting a break on the rent and peak Bill Pullman is about to lean over her, she's doing fine.

3/10 Bridget Jones Diary

Not great, but not precisely sad. Mark Darcy is at a shitty party wearing a dumb sweater and is about to thoughtlessly fuck up his romantic life. But his parents aren't the most embarrassing in the room, and he's got wine and gherkins. Things could be much worse. 

4/10 Practical Magic

 

The sadness of Sally Owens is legion, but she cried in her PJ's and she's got more pressing concerns now. She's got daughters to take care of and a thriving skincare business to run and an undead rapist to send to hell. This is a sweater that acknowledges that your sister is a glamorous fuck up with terrible taste in men, and then is ready to get down to business. It's lightly fitted, with the breathing room for serious magicks. 

(Maybe rethink the hair clips tho)

5/10 (500) Days Of Summer

 

This is where things start to take a turn for the more majorly sad. Tom is pretty pathetic. This is the saggy, washed out cardigan of a man who thinks that liking The Smiths is a meaningful character trait. It needs to be lain flat to dry, and so does Tom. But he still gets up in the morning, puts on a tiny tie, and goes to work. His depression is functional, and so is his sweater.

6/10 The Holiday- Cammy D edition

Amanda is sad in the way that only the thin, unhinged, and inexplicably wealthy can be. She has no friends. She doesn't know how to pronounce esophageal. The pristine whiteness of this cable knit is terrifying; the reckless abandon with which she waves a glass of pinot in front of it, even more so. You know that shit is dry clean only. Truly, a sadness touched with insanity.

7/ 10Love Actually, Colin Firth

The heaviest, darkest, most turtley-necked sweater to wear on a sadness vacation, sorry writer's retreat, in fucking France. What kind of whiny sack falls in love with someone with whom he cannot communicate at the most basic level? She's in her underwear, he's in an itchy monstrosity 3 sizes too big. This plot line can eat me like that collar is eating his chin.

8/10 Breakfast at Tiffany's

Who gave Holly Golightly the right to be so sad and look so good?? I spent my twenties sobbing on dozens of fire escapes and never came close. In a movie of iconic fashion, this sweatshirt is pre-American Apparel nonsense. Her soul is empty, but her hamper is apparently full because that's some laundry day shit. Her sad sweater is so sad, it trudged north and grew a depressive turban companion. 

9/10 High Fidelity and Love Actually 

 

Aka the asshole division. Above, a terrible boyfriend turned into a worse ex boyfriend in the worst fucking sweater I've ever seen. It's a Cosby sweater.  A COSBY SWEATER. And below, a creep who turned filming his best friend's wedding into an opportunity to stalk and who keeps that video WITH THE REST OF HIS REGULAR VIDEOS AND IS THAT A DETACHABLE COLLAR?? At least Rob exhibits some growth, Stalker McGee over there gets a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the ass from his movie. These guys are jerks and their sweaters are terrible.

10/10 The Holiday- Kate Winslet edition

 

The nadir of sartorial desperation. Like its wearer, Iris' sweater has given up. It has no color, no shape, and no options. It is a formless mass that won't even keep your neck warm, thereby necessitating The Stringy Scarf of Sadness. It is literally a sweater in which to contemplate suicide. Thank god Eli Wallach is waiting in the wings, because this is as bad as it gets.

Ok, I'm gonna go watch While You Were Sleeping. THANK YOU AND GOOD NIGHT

[mattzerella-sticks]

metamorphosis

Chapter 1 (ao3)

Prologue (ao3) (tumblr)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

Chapter 1 - Dean I

           “Cas?”

           Dean waited, watching Cas’s lips. He waited for his name to be spoken, said in that same mixture of fondness and exasperation and gravel that ticked the tempo of his heart up a notch. He waited for his angel to smile, then tell Dean that he’s fine; that it wasn’t more than a scratch, that he’s still here.

           Any minute now.

           “…Cas?” Dean’s voice sounded scratchy, raw, like a needle ripped through a spinning record. He blinked back his tears, embarrassed, because Cas might wake soon and see him break, see him not be strong enough. His gaze broke from Cas’s bluing lips, staring at the starless sky above. He saw night begin its transition to early morning, a sun sliver dipping into the horizon, and wondered how long Cas will play with him like this. How long will Cas pretend to lie there? How long will Cas insist that he’s –

           “Cas!” Even with the extra help from gravity, Dean couldn’t stop the pinprick tears tracing their way down to his ears, wetness setting his skin aflame. He choked on a sob, the rubber band of his body snapping and recoiling into itself. His shoulders shook. He squeezed tight to his stomach. Dean closed his eyes, but inside that shuttered darkness was Cas, emerging from the portal. Cas with the blade in his hand. Cas with a blade, poking out his chest. “Oh… oh, God…”

           He’s really gone. He’s gone and Dean hurt. Dean hurt so much.

           Dean cracked one eye open, then another. In his periphery, he saw the tips of Cas’s limp fingers lying in the dirt along with the rest of his body.

           It was something he has wanted to do for some time now. Dean noticed what happens halfway into its journey, his trembling hand hovering over Cas’s. He lowered it cautiously. When there’s barely an inch of space separating his middle finger from Cas’s knuckles, Dean stopped. Dean couldn’t close that final gap. He stared at the emptiness between them, small but terrifyingly infinite, and was frozen in terror.

           “Dean!”

           Sam’s call stirred him from that horrid trance, urgency reminding Dean of all else that happened. Of Crowley’s sacrifice, of the portal closing, of mom on the other side; those events crashed into him like a terrible wave, washing him out into a roaring sea that denied him any sense or reason. Standing, legs ready to give out on him at any moment, Dean stumbled towards where he last heard his brother.

           He forgot about the steps. Sam caught him, guiding him past the threshold and into the cabin with lumbering haste. Dean’s vision returned to him soon, though. He drew Sam further to his side, for a loose hug, then shoved his brother’s oafish frame off of him. Dean supported himself using the wall instead. “What?” he asked, growling, “What is it?”

           Sam tried to speak but got cutoff by a shrill cry coming from another room. Sam shrugged, jerking his head to where, Dean guesses, the crying originated. He’d also take a stab at who’s responsible for crying, too.

           Kelly’s son. Lucifer’s son. The whole damned reason Dean’s life lay shattered in the clearing out back.

           Hearing those whines and sobs rattle the cabin’s chilly silence helped harden what remained of his heart, enough so that the baby’s shrieking echoed in the hollow chambers of Dean’s chest. It made what he must ask next much easier. “You didn’t kill him yet?”

           Sam visibly startled, jaw clenched that familiar way Dean knows meant an argument brewed within; his brother’s puppy dog features deceived, hiding his true feelings. Again, as Sam readied to speak, the baby took his cue and interrupted with a damning wail. Sam pressed his lips into a thin, mangled line while he waited his turn.

           A minute passed, and it’s doubtful the little guy would lose steam soon. Dean sighed. He pushed off the wall, passing Sam as he followed the noisy little bastard. Sam stayed right behind him, heavy footsteps and chiding tone mixing with the crying to shred Dean’s nerves into oblivion. “You are not doing this, Dean,” Sam hissed, tugging on his elbow, “we need to talk about it first –“

           “Who can talk over all this racket!” He wrenched his arm free, storming into the baby’s nursery while Sam dawdled under the doorframe. Their entrance meant little to the newborn, who continued crying despite their entrance. “And I’m not killing him –“ he kept his yet stored in the barrel of his mouth, unfired, conscious of how it will be received in the moment – “gonna shut him up for a while, s’all…” Dean punctuated his claim by grabbing the baby, Jack if the painted name on the crib meant anything, and tucking him into the crook of his arm. He bounced him like he did Sam decades ago, like he would for any normal baby, cooing sweet nothing that tumbled out of him as if they were sand in a broken hourglass, shards mixed within. Dean spied a rocking chair in the corner and, with Sam’s piercing gaze studying him, Dean collapsed into it.

           That seemed to work. Dean’s gentle rocking, paired with a hummed lullaby cherrypicked from his past, put the hellion in his arms at ease. Jack stared up, transfixed by what Dean guessed is the tall lamp casting a gentle glow on them both; a lamp Sam, now in the room and by his side, flicked on after Dean sat down. It must be the center of his focus, because Dean wouldn’t believe the baby looked at him like he did; like he’s a bright and beautiful thing, deserving of attention, of being the center of his known universe. He didn’t want that, especially from him.

           Dean swallowed a curse and ended their contest, sure if he looked into the baby’s eyes any longer, he would damn the consequences and wring the life from this tiny body nestled in his hands. He waited for Jack’s fit to tamper lower and lower, rising only after a moment of uninterrupted silence. Dean carried Jack back, returning him to his crib. He added another mistake into the column of ever-increasing errors and glanced at Lucifer’s kid a final time. He examined him, searching for little horns or a tail or tattoos of sixes; he found nothing. Nothing that proved he’s more than a child, innocent and carefree.

           Sam hung by his shoulder, buzzing halo bothersome in Dean’s ear. “I think he likes you.”

           Dean huffed under breath, “I wish I could say the same.”

           He left. Sam trailed in his wake; tread heavy from being constipated with a smug righteousness Dean dreaded will be shat all over him when Sam had the chance. He was silent until the kitchen, then Sam struck. “His mother just died, Dean.”

           Dean shrugged, “So did ours.” He expected that to feel weird saying, but it hadn’t. Sam gaped at him, like it had. Maybe Dean’s in shock. Maybe he was too used to having a dead mom. Dean carried on regardless. “If you think a sob story’s gonna convince me of anything, try hitting me when the kids got enough pages to fill a book larger than Moby Dick’s, or ours. Right now, he’s a table of contents and not much else.”

           “Exactly,” Sam needled, poking Dean’s chest. Dean swat him away with the refrigerator door, creating a makeshift barrier to protect himself from Sam’s crusade. He dug around for something to drink, something boozy, as Sam prattled. “Look, Dean, we… I know our thing is – our thing is killing monsters but, Dean, he’s a baby. He – he didn’t do anything –“

           “He was conceived,” Dean said, “that’s enough for me.” His groping fingers pushed aside the carton of milk for a third time; he still couldn’t find the beer.

           “That wasn’t his fault.” Sam rested his hand over Dean’s where it rested on the refrigerator door, pleading for Dean to look at him by touch alone. Dean relented, darting his eyes for a fleeting glance. Sam’s brows were drawn in like a steep hill, and he appeared absolutely ghastly because of the refrigerator’s light. Dean fell back to his mission. “Lucifer… he set this in motion, and we’ve dealt with him.”

           “And what did it cost us?”

           Sam sighed. “Everyone we lost knew what this was about,” he told Dean, “knew how it might end. They were ready to risk their lives for this.”

           “We were here to take down Lucifer, end of story,” Dean spat, knocking items onto the floor in his fervor. He tore through like a whirlwind, throwing food everywhere. Eggs, lettuce, ketchup and pickles – no beer though. Dammit. “And with the kid kicking, we haven’t even finished our mission.”

           “Jack is not Lucifer!” Sam squeezed Dean’s wrist, begging for more attention. Dean’s spiteful, rigid glare burned a hole in the back of the fridge. He refused to move even an inch. “He’s a baby, and we… we kill monsters. We kill the ones who have no chance of being saved. He was just born, Dean. He had no choice in that.”

           “Who’s to say that he won’t choose to be a monster, once he’s old enough?”

           Sam strangled his wrist, now, Dean’s fingers numbing because of his brother’s impassioned grip. “We’ll make sure. We’ll raise him right.”

           This drew Dean out of the refrigerator. “We?” he laughed, bitterness churning in his gut. “We, really? You think…” Dean didn’t finish, speechless at the insanity Sam presented. He and Sam, raising Lucifer’s kid? He and Sam, sheltering the baby who ruined their lives? He and Sam… “I hate to break it to you, Sammy,” he continued, his voice returning, “but this ain’t the nineties. We can’t have it all, clearly. And we are not taking that kid in like some muddy stray.”

           “Cas wanted to raise him.”

           Dean gagged. The toxic rush of seconds ago disappeared, spilling out from the seam Sam pulled loose.

           Sam, at least, was aware enough to briefly mime an apology. His face contorted into a pained expression, exaggerated to better mangle his earlier fury. However, that’s smoothed and replaced with sterner features as he detached himself from his words, and the ugliness that they inspired. He stood tall, committed to the outburst, and from the curl of his scowl, Dean wouldn’t expect him to take back what’s been said. It will linger like the other ghosts.

           If that was how he wanted to do this.

           “Sure,” Dean agreed, “and that got him what, exactly?” He slammed the refrigerator door, startling both of them and the baby. Jack’s wailing picked up where he left off, although sharper and more annoying. Dean pushed into Sam, instinct urging him to soothe like he did earlier. Dean stopped himself, hesitating. He spun on his heel, leaving where he came in.

           Sam shouted, “You can’t just run away Dean!”

           “I’m getting some air, is all!” he yelled back, ripping the door off its hinges in his haste to leave.

           A terrifying gust rammed into him almost immediately, giving him the very air he craved. Then, a second wind blows in the opposite direction; stealing his breath as his gaze landed on the body of his angel, immobile, with black skid marks in a shoddy recreation of what might be wings splayed beside him like oddly bent branches. Dean blindly descended, too focused with Cas’s form than the stairs. When his feet reached solid, uneven ground, Dean slowed to a glacial pace. Cas didn’t react.

           Dean tried not to, too. Hand at his cheek, wiping some more stray tears, Dean failed.

           He ripped himself away, jogging from the backyard space towards the front where his true escape was. Dean white knuckled his keys, jagged teeth biting into the palm of his hand. Pain kept him from spiraling, from thinking, from staying there. And when he couldn’t use pain, key nestled in the ignition instead of his hand, Dean had the next best thing – open roads.

           The engine roared, overpowering the blood rushing past his ears. Dean demolished the speed limit easily, bulleting across the asphalt, pedal his trigger. It’s early enough he needn’t worry about highway patrolmen or wayward pedestrians. He drove fast, loose, and recklessly. Fuck Vin Diesel, Dean thought. Vin had nothing on him.

           Kelly’s cabin was a blurry spot in his rearview mirror, a speck he might scratch off with his nail if he pleased. Trees became indistinguishable from each other. Not that it mattered, Dean’s tunnel vision blocking his periphery. His eyes remained fixed ahead of him, uncharacteristically so. It took most his focus to keep like that, hands cramping on the wheel from throttling it. He counted dash after dash and tallied potholes as he hit them, stuffing his mind with senseless figures other than the lone one he abandoned in the field.

           Soon, Dean reached a nearby town. The greenery became sparser, leaves and wood replaced by buildings and city blocks and lampposts and streetlights. He hit his first light, a blip of red flashing for attention. Thoughtlessly, Dean flattened his foot against the brake; Baby’s tires squealing as she fought momentum. Dean knocked against his dashboard from the force, falling back only after his car fully stopped. He couldn’t see the streetlight dangling above. Dean knew he sat over the line, his Baby’s hood hanging in the intersection, asking for an accident.

           A second later, and what he was driving from caught up to him.

           Dean gasped, curling in on himself, hands glued to the wheel. His body seized with sobs that bruise, each tremor punching his gut. He used what little strength he had and glanced at his reflection. That speck on his rearview, that he foolishly clawed at, didn’t disappear; it was caught in his bloodshot eyes.

           He couldn’t continue driving like this.

           Red light, green light, it didn’t matter now. Dean crawled along to the nearest lot that belonged to a tacky chain eatery. Parking inside, Dean threw his car door open and spilled free of his Baby. He fell to his knees, hissing, denim ripping on impact and gravel scratching his skin. Dean staggered to his feet. Blood trickled down his leg from the open wound on his knee. He walked forward, dazed, while Baby idled at an angle, keys trapped in her ignition. If it were later in the day, someone might steal her. If Dean were acting like himself, he might care.

           He didn’t go far. Dean slowed as he approached the fast-food joint, stopping inches from the backdoor. His bottom lip wobbled, Dean raking his hair with twitching fingers. He stared at the door, at the wooden sign hanging by a single, rusted nail. It depicted a stereotypical pirate, with hat, beard, and eyepatch, painted on a blue background and encircled by cartoonish rope that framed this pirate’s face along with an oblong addition underneath of the word ‘BUCCANEERS’. The pirate glared ahead, at some far point, as if Dean weren’t there blocking it.

           But he was. Dean was here, while everyone else – everyone he cared about…

           “Why me?” he muttered, “Why’s it always… why do I have to deal with it, with the after, with picking up the pieces of someone else’s mess.” Dean growled, head bowed, eyes unflinchingly locked with the pirate’s. “Mom… Crowley… Ca” – he stuttered on his name, wounds still too fresh – “you’re gonna bring him back. You’re gonna bring them all back. After everything I’ve done for this shithole, that I’ve been through, it’s the least that I’m owed. I deserve to… I – I don’t deserve this.”

           The pirate ignored his pleas, it couldn’t answer him. And Chuck, apparently, wouldn’t answer him.

           “…Okay.”

           Dean launched himself at the pirate, picturing a brown beard instead of black, and a grayish blue eye where a black one was painted. He smashed it with one punch, face splintering and spraying everywhere. Dean continued wrecking it, nearly destroying the door in his fury. Aiming a final blow, Dean hit the sign off the nail and sent it flying from view.

           Exhausted, knuckles as bloody as his knee, Dean collapsed near the stacked crates and leaning pallets.

           A shudder traveled across his body, from the top of his head, dragged along each vertebra like a sharp, clawed finger, and finally making his legs seize and stretch out in front of him. Dean vacuumed in a deep breath, chest ballooning to contain it. He won’t release it willingly.

           “Dude…”

           Coughing, Dean glanced up at some teenager standing nearby, gaping at the scene. He wore a large brown jacket a shade lighter than his skin over a deep blue polo that matches the visor currently worn like a headband, so his bangs wouldn’t  his face. A ring of keys dangled in his hands. Keys that, Dean guessed, were for opening the very door he pummeled as if it were a punching bag.

           “Hey, man,” the teen asked, glancing between Dean and the wrecked door, “are you… like, good? Do I need to call someone?”

           A repairman. The teen’s manager. Neither would do Dean any good, but both will need to know about the damage he did to the property.

           Dean groaned, climbing to his feet. He swayed with the breeze, a lone willow in this blacktop clearing. Some of the blood from his knuckles drippled like morning dew would off its leaves. He advanced, the teen tensing as he moves closer. Their shoulders brushed, the younger of the two stumbling back a few inches, cowering in Dean’s presence. Dean thought he should say something, let him know there’s nothing to be afraid of.

           That felt like too much of a damned lie, so he caught the words in his throat and swallowed them down.

           He returned to his car, starting it like nothing happened, like his skin hadn’t torn and tears weren’t drying on his cheeks as he refused to wipe them off. Dean tapped the pedal and drove off. He drove the same path he took earlier, only in reverse. He drove to Kelly’s cabin, and all that waited for him there.

           Dean parked sloppily, again; however, pocketing his keys this time as he left Baby. He didn’t acknowledge the front door, shuffling into the backyard for another glimpse of Cas’s body.

           Cas was gone. His wings were still there, and Sam was, too.

           Sam dropped a stack of branches onto a large pile he must have begun gathering after Dean fled. He rubbed at his neck, steadily avoiding where Dean’s gaze was by looking at the pile. “I moved him,” he explained, “I figured we might as well start on the… on the pyres for him, and Kelly.” Sam paused. He grabbed a lone branch, snapping a twig from it. “I didn’t do anything else. Figured you would want to…”

           “Yeah.” Dean blinked, then imagined the shadows burnt into the ground rising and rising, flapping determinately, until they vanished. He blinked. Those wings hadn’t moved an inch.

           Dean headed into the cabin.

           He spied Cas’s body immediately, laid atop the kitchen table. Sam rearranged him during transit, closing his eyes and setting Cas’s arms at his sides. If he weren’t thinking about it constantly, weren’t reminded of Cas’s current state with every beat of his own heart, Dean might believe Cas was asleep. Or, at the very least, imitating it, since angels can’t sleep. They can’t eat. There’s a lot they can’t do. And Cas won’t ever not do any of that, not anymore.

           Sighing, Dean circled the table while tracing the edges of it with his fingertips. He reached the other side, where a gauzy pair of curtains hung. Dean swung his arm outward, going through the motions to free them. It’s quick work.

           Wrapping Cas with these curtains will take a lifetime.

            Dean started by lifting Cas’s head and slipping a strip underneath. He cradled him, unnaturally soft tufts of hair tickling his fingers. Holding Cas in such a manner encouraged further action, tempted Dean to do more. He succumbed to these voices, the fast few hours since they last sung weakened his resolve. Dean ran his bloodied knuckles across Cas’s face. He stained deathly pale skin red. He hissed, stubble like sandpaper against his cuts. He left no wrinkle untouched.

           Finally, Dean switched to his thumb and pressed it just below Cas’s lips.

           It’s maddening, touching Cas like this, like he always wanted. He dreamt of being able to for longer than he could remember. Daydreams and fantasies of Dean, curled into Cas’s side, leisurely and lovingly memorizing every inch of the other’s face. Those moments were always pretend, too human to ever be real, to expect from an angel like Cas. Now, as his thumb swept along the bow of Cas’s lips, Dean paid his respects to the thousands of imagined mornings and nights that would not be. Dean worshiped Cas in a way he never wanted to, but in the only way he’d ever be allowed to.

           “I’m sorry…” Dean placed a featherlight kiss to the corner of Cas’s mouth. Then, unable to bear looking at him, he wrapped the curtain over his face.

           He shrouded the rest of Cas’s body with military precision, robotically completing his ritual. Dean hovered at his side, tightly clutching the final knot in Cas’s wrappings. His head hung listlessly, the foundations of a prayer forming on his tongue. He gnashed his teeth together, smashing it, and the sentiment’s remains tumbled backwards. It ripped apart his insides like glass. The only person who would listen, who’d care, who might heal this hurt, couldn’t.

           Cas was –

           Dean let go, marching into the backyard. Silently Dean joined Sam, amassing wood in his stead while Sam assembled the pyres.

           Together, they completed their duties by sundown. It might have been sooner if Sam didn’t slack off to play nursemaid to Lucifer’s kid. He ran off at the slightest bit of static coming from the garish, incongruently colored baby monitor clipped onto his belt loop, dragging their duties out because of intermittent breaks. When they finally set Cas and Kelly on their respective pyres, the sky darkened to the same shade it was that they lost both of them.

           Dean handled the fire. He struck two matches from a box buried in a kitchen drawer, then tossed them into the kindling. Sam, meanwhile, held a very fussy baby that showed no respect for ceremony. His piercing shrieks rung out clearly, somehow amplified by the open space. And as Jack’s cries mixed with the roar and crackle of flames, along with Sam mindlessly grunting back in a desperate plea for Jack to stop, Dean gave in. He stole Jack from Sam, nestling the baby against his chest.

           His temper lessened while in Dean’s arms, and Jack soon quieted.

           Dean felt Sam’s stare on his profile once more, an uncomfortable heat much different than what radiated from the cremating bodies before them. He hated it, being gawked at like some zoo animal. Yet Dean refused to turn, to bark at Sam that this momentary lapse meant nothing.

           He’s only exhausted. Too tired to shutter the devastation on his face, every crack of Dean’s heart was on full display. He’s not in the mood to fight with Sam, either, aware he needed him more than he needed to lash out. He’s broken and couldn’t even manage the energy to toss Jack into the fires like he imagined himself doing.

           Instead, Dean embraced him. He watched the smoke of his angel’s body drift upwards, Cas leaving him for good, forever, and rested his chin against the small, soft head of Cas’s destroyer.

Tagged List:

@llamasdumpsterfire

[babi-correia]

Finding Fire (Part 9)

Words: 1142 Warnings: Near death of a character Pairing: None A/N: Why is my life still hectic even when I have nothing to do? God help me. Currently working on 2 requests, but will be publishing more of FF because I have a lot of parts already written.

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

A few days passed since the first encounter with the arson since you got to 51, and at every fire you attended, there had been the stench of kerosene, the black sedan parked nearby, and only the charred structural remains of the empty buildings remaining. It was driving you mad, quite honestly.

This shift though, it's peaceful. Almost too peaceful, and you begin to feel jittery. You guess you jinxed yourself as the buzzer comes to life.

"Truck 21, Truck 81, Engine 51, Squad 3, Ambulance 61, fire in progress-" As usual, you don't even listen to the rest of the announcement as you run to the truck, getting inside and slamming the door shut behind you. 

Upon arrival, you immediately notice the black sedan parked on the street, but the pattern is broken: this was an occupied building. You watch the people rushing outside as you jump out of the truck and put on your SCBA. 

"Espino, Sinclair, with me. Thorton, Boyd, start dousing the outside." You distribute. "I want everyone with an open radio."

You rush inside, the two men right behind you. 

"Sinclair, you're not to leave Espino alone under any circumstance." You instruct, heading towards the stairs. "Start clearing the building."

The smoke is thick and black, you can tell even from behind your mask. You climb a few stories up and start kicking down doors, calling out to any victims that may be left in the building. 

You're clearing one room when you notice the weirdly crisp line of fire on the floor, following it, and regretting it immediately as you open passage for the fire to get to a bottle of compressed gas. The small explosion knocks you onto your back and you groan, hearing an incessant beep coming from your hip.

"Guys," You rasp out, getting back on your feet. "Stay away from any suspicious fire leading to an area out of your sight. There are traps. I have to get outside, there's something wrong with my SCBA."

You stumble into the hallway and down the stairwell, removing your mask once you get outside and jogging to your truck. You notice a very large gash on the tube connecting the tank to your mask and work quickly to replace it.

"There's no use in doing that now. Sinclair and Espino have been ordered to come out, the building isn't safe." Casey's voice startles you. You turn around to see him standing directly behind you, ashes dusting his turnout. You reluctantly nod and remove your helmet and the tank from your back, rolling your shoulders as the weight they were under was gone. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the blastwave that slams you into the truck. 

"Mayday, mayday!" Sinclair's voice comes through the radio. "Espino is trapped!" 

Your blood runs cold as you detach yourself from the truck and grab your helmet, beginning to go towards the building but being stopped by a pair of arms grabbing you by your waist. 

"Let me go!" You shout, kicking and elbowing whoever is restraining you.

"Stop it right now (Y/L/N)!" Casey's voice is strained. "The building is not safe, you're not going in there."

His grip loosens ever so slightly but you notice and take the chance to free yourself, running into the building before anyone else can intercept you. 

"Sinclair, where are you!?" You call out, coughing from the smoke still present inside. Maybe not bringing your SCBA wasn't the brightest idea. "Sinclair, Espino! Where are you!?"

"Lieutenant!" You hear Sinclair's voice not too far away and dash towards it, finding Sinclair trying to push a piece of concrete off of Espino. Not even the heat from the fire can unfreeze the ice on your veins as you take in the situation. "It's moving, but I'm not strong enough to completely push it off of him!"

You join Sinclair in trying to push the concrete slab using your shoulder. The heat in the concrete seems to seep right past your turnout and burns your skin, but you don't find it in you to care about it; the only thing that matters is freeing Espino. 

"Rafael!" You call out, feeling the concrete give in to you and Sinclair. "Rafael, you lazy piece of-"

"Why are you so mean to me, Lieutenant?" His raspy voice brings tears to your eyes.

"Don't you dare die on me, Espino." You snarl. "Drag yourself out of there, c'mon, work with us!"

You see him crawling away, slowly, and leaving a trail of blood behind him. When he clears the slab, you and Sinclair let it fall and grab Espino, one at each side, hoisting him onto your shoulders and hurrying out of the building. 

Sylvie and Emily are already waiting for the three of you with a stretcher and you and Sinclair hoist Espino onto it before stepping away, letting them do their job. A hand on your shoulder turns you briskly around and you almost slam into Casey, his face contracted into pure anger.

"You disobeyed direct orders!" He shouts at you, and you take a step back, surprised.

"You were expecting me to leave my candidate and engineer inside to their deaths!? Are you insane?" You shout back, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes. 

"You had a direct order to fall back, (Y/L/N)! Instead of two, there could have been three deaths! Three fewer firefighters. Do you ever think of the consequences of your actions?!" The double meaning implied in the last question makes your face heat up, a lump on your throat forming. He winces slightly upon your reaction. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"You meant what you meant. You said it, congrats. But you don't get to judge me or fuck me over me trying to rescue my teammates." Your voice is weirdly calm and contained, but the venomous tone is very present and noticeable. "My job is to save people, and I had a chance to save two, who happened to be my teammates. I'd do it again in a heartbeat because that's my job, and if saving other people ever ends up meaning that I have to sacrifice myself, you can bet I'll do it. I'm ready to lay my life down for this job, always have and always will."

You glare at him, and he just stares at you, unable to reply. Sylvie calls you to ride the ambulance with them back to Med and you jog over, climbing in the back. Foster closes the door and runs to the driver's seat.

"Lieutenant..." Espino's croaky voice reaches your ears. You look at Sylvie, who gives you a weird look and you look back at him. "No matter what, it was an honor serving under you."

"Espino, shut up. You're not dying." You rasp out, fighting back tears. "Just hang on, alright?"

[assortedmutts]

hello here i am ♦♦ for cal and maybe ♢ for him and sev??

Send for Headcanons!

Headcanon #1: if not for the injury which ended his military career, Merc would have likely gone on to become an officer and stayed on to serve for a long time/possibly for the rest of his working life. His commanders saw a lot of promise in him and, before he was injured, there was already talk of sending him to train as an officer once the war was over. 

On the one hand, he certainly would have thrived in that environment. No one - especially not anyone coming from such strict framework as the military - has ever had faith in him that way. No one’s ever believed in him. He did very well in the military regardless, as an enlisted man/NCO, but being supported that way would have made him want to prove his commanders right all the more - to prove himself worthy of their choice. 

On the other hand, with that said, I don’t think he would have done so well in higher ranks - say, Captain and upwards (I do think he would have made it to Major at some point but, god, could you imagine?). He does much better at being a soldiers’ soldier, a men’s man - a position which would have already taken a significant blow when he shifted from being an enlisted man to an officer - and topping that off with the higher-ranking jobs that are mostly managerial, that keep him away from the field and detached from his men, would not have been his cup of tea, to say the least. Might have eventually retired from that role and become an instructor, instead, and I think he would have found purpose in that, strict and thorough as he is.

Headcanon #2: the three worst things you can tell Merc, in ascending order, are:

that he’s stupid;

anything negative about his sexual orientation;

that he’s mental.

Either and any of ‘em are liable to get you beaten, but are also placed rather far from one another on a scale of irritating to enraging. 

Merc, too, believes that he’s thick and, while it isn’t likely that he’ll let others pass that sort of judgement on him without clapping back, ultimately, it’s not that big a deal because, in his mind, it’s true. He’s clever about hiding certain aspects of what he considers his “stupidity” (i.e. his dyslexia; he’s rather good about masking it/finding other plausible excuses as to why he cannot read right this very moment/lie about having read things) but, intimidated by individuals he considers to be intelligent, he just assumes there’s only so much he can hide, and that “truly intelligent” people will eventually see through his act.

Likewise, repressed as he may be, Merc is confident in his sexuality and his right to openly present it and, though homophobia certainly rubs him a very wrong way, ultimately, negative comments only serve to annoy him, not unnerve him.

Comments about his mental health, though? That’s the one thing he absolutely cannot take sitting down. Too insecure, too much trauma linked to the notion that he may very well be insane. It’s the ultimate way of saying he cannot control or know himself - two problems that are at the very core of his identity. Ironically, egg him on about this long enough or, worse: make him doubt his sanity, and he will eventually lose control in a violent rage. His sort-of-ex, AKA his former handler, who has been missing for almost a decade? That’s how he went, and you can now find his frozen body at the bottom of an abandoned well in the New Jersey Pine Barrens.

Merc + Sev: during the war and, as The Guy With the Boombox (and roughly 30 cassettes’ worth of 80s hits), coming up with silly dance routines was one of Merc’s main means of keeping his mates and himself occupied during long stretches of downtime between missions, and I would not at all put it beyond him to try and get Sev involved, especially the more anxious and needy he grew. I’m sure Sev would have turned him down multiple times and thought it would be stupid or embarrassing (or both?), but I wouldn’t put it past Merc to virtually force him to do it, either. War is fucked and he can’t have any of his mates - and Sev in particular - losing their shit if they want to make it out of there alive.  

It has me thinking that going out dancing as civilians might be more bonding than either of them would care to admit - helps let go of some of that animosity and bring them back to simpler times, when they genuinely liked and relied on each other.

[awkwardlyflustered]

It’s Been Too Long

A/N: To start off, I would like to give a quick thanks to @magnificentfirebailiffcloud for prompting this. Thank you so much for this prompt, sorry it took as long as it did. I would also like to apologize for the quality, it’s one in the morning, this is honestly my best effort. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy the fic. On a side note, I hope to have the TUA fic week fics out soon, I’m sorry they’re so late. I think that’s all for now. Enjoy!

“Ben, would you please for fuck’s sake shut the hell up,” Klaus said, highly annoyed. Ben laughed at how annoyed Klaus was getting then continued to make the same noise he had been making for an hour. Klaus groaned, and flopped onto the couch covering his ears. 

“Ben giving you shit?” Five asked with a slight chuckle. Klaus groaned again, and threw one of the couch cushions at Ben. “I’ll take that as a yes. What is he doing?” Five asked, his amusement growing by the minute.

“You remember that god-awful noise Ben would make when we were kids?” Klaus asked, “slapping” Ben, but his hand phased right through him. Five nodded along with what Klaus was saying. “Yeah, well he’s been making that noise for the past hour, and I’m ready to bring him back to life just so I can kill him again,” Klaus said, his voice very clearly laced with irritation.

“Yes, well that is certainly a problem then, isn’t it?” Klaus simply nodded in response. “Well when Ben was being annoying when we were kids do you remember out little antidote to fix the nuisance?” Five asked his brother, a glint of mischief present in his eyes. Klaus’ brow furrowed in confusion for a minute, before his face took on a look of realization and playfulness.

“Oh yeah, I do remember that. It was always so much fun, wouldn’t you say?” Klaus asked, scrunching his face in concentration trying to bring Ben into a form that could be touched by him and Five.

“Oh yeah, it definitely was a great deal of fun,” Five replied grinning as he could see Ben all of a sudden. Klaus nodded in agreement, and let Five get a quick hug and hello in before he tackled and pinned Ben.

“Wh-what are you two doing?” Ben asked, only slightly nervous, but still in a very playful mood.

“Don’t you remember what we used to do to you when we were kids?” Five asked, straddling Ben’s waist. Ben continued on with the same confused look on his face. “Aw, look at him Five, he has no idea what we’re talking about,” Klaus cooed, “All that means is that his reaction is going to be that much funnier when we start.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to his reaction. It’s been a while since I’ve heard him laugh,” Five said with an evil smirk. Ben’s eyes widened in both realization and remembrance.

“Nonononononononononono, guys I’m sorry, please don’t,” Ben pleaded, squirming around in their hold.

“Ben, I’m not going to let you off after an hour of annoying behavior simply because you said you were sorry,” Klaus explained, lightly trailing his nails along Ben’s neck. Ben scrunched his shoulders up to his ears, in an attempt to protect his neck.

“Aw, Klaus, look, he does the same thing he used to do when we kids,” Five stated, trailing his fingers all over Ben’s stomach, “He apologizes as soon as he figures out what we’re about to do, it’s really quite adorable.”

“Ihihihi dohohoho nahahat,” Ben defended, wiggling around more, and pulling at his arms. Five and Klaus smiled and continued their actions. 

“Oh, Five you remember one thing that used to drive Ben insane when we were kids?” Klaus asked, still fluttering his fingers over Ben’s neck making him giggle like mad.

“Well I have something in mind, but let’s see your trick,” Five responded, moving up to pin Ben’s arms. Klaus smiled and walked down to Ben’s feet, slipping off his shoes. Ben’s eyes widened in fear and his feet flailed about, as though they were trying to detach from his legs. Klaus smirked evilly as he removed Ben’s socks painstakingly slow. He lightly grasped Ben’s big toe making Ben squeal.

“This little piggy went to market,” Klaus sang wiggling Ben’s big toe. “This little piggy stayed home,” Klaus continued, wiggling Ben’s second toe making Ben cackle with laughter. “This little piggy got roast beef,” Klaus repeated the process. “This little piggy got none.” 

“Ahahahalright, thahahahat’s enohohohough,” Ben giggled, trying to free his foot. Klaus ignored Ben’s pleas and continued on. 

“And this little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home,” Klaus finished, running his fingers up Ben’s sole. Ben shrieked with laughter.

“OKAHAHAHAHAY STOHOHOHOHOP!”

“Aw look at his cute little toesies,” Klaus teased, “Look at how much they wiggle around.” Five laughed at his brother’s predicament, but did nothing to help him. Ben squirmed around as much as he was able to, pleading for Klaus to stop. “Oh, hey Five, did you want to show us your trick?” Klaus asked sickly sweet. Five nodded excitedly as Ben shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. “Will you come hold his arms for me?” Klaus nodded in response and moved to pin down Ben’s arms. Once Klaus got Ben’s arms pinned down Five went and sat on Ben’s waist. “You ready?” Five taunted. Ben shook his head in response, trying to buck Five off of his hips. “That sucks for you then,” Five retorted, pushing Ben’s shirt up. Klaus watched, his eyes wide with amusement.  Five leaned down slowly, an evil smirk on his face the entire time. Ben tried sucking in his stomach as much as he could, attempting to delay the tickles as long as he could. Five finally reached Ben’s stomach and blew the biggest raspberry he could. Ben arched his back so much that his spine looked like rubber, and howled with laughter.

“SHIHIHIHIHIT FIHIHIHIHIVE STAHAHAHAHAP!” Five looked up at Ben with fake shock.

“Ben, did you just say a no no word?” Five teased, tracing his fingers up and down Ben’s sides, “Klaus, I think he needs to be punished.”

“I fully agree,” Klaus replied. Five grinned at Ben and started squeezing his knees and thighs making Ben cackle, and kick his legs. Meanwhile, Klaus spidered from Ben’s hips to his underarms. Within minutes Ben had tears of mirth falling down his cherry red cheeks, and his laughter went silent. Once Five and Klaus heard this they stopped tickling Ben and helped him up. 

“You okay?” Klaus asked, a small bit of concern laced into his voice. Ben nodded his head, panting just a little bit.

“I’m sorry if we went overboard,” Five apologized, “It’s just been too long since I’ve gotten to hear you laugh.” Ben nodded in understanding.

“It’s okay, I get that,” Ben began, an evil smirk growing on his face, “But you know, it’s really been too long since I’ve been able to get revenge.” Without so much as a second thought Five teleported away, leaving Klaus and Ben. Klaus smiled awkwardly, his eyes pleading with Ben for forgiveness. Ben ignored his eyes and pounced. For the rest of the afternoon, the house was filled with joyous laughter.

[kitsoa]

Meta reality anon: Well when it comes to Yozora we'll know better (or won't) in a couple of days. ;) Yeah something like that. I do think the merging and confusion between fiction and reality will be a major theme in the upcoming saga. After all it's been built up since COM in various ways: false memories vs real. Nobodies. Data and Dream worlds. Woldlines. Different realities w/different versions (video game Yozora and real Yozora). I do think MoM will toy w/this a lot. I think I'm pretty -

2 pretty focused on those dark beings MoM told Luxu about in Union X. He made them seem very different from what Sora and anyone else besides MoM has encountered so far. More intelligent. More scary. I'm wondering if MoM isn't the only mastermind in the shadows. Like those dark beings he mentioned are beyond anything even existing in the Realm of Darkness and they're pulling their own strings to keep this war cycle going. Shoot for all we know they messed w/reality first and MoM got in-

3  on it later on. There's a lot to unpack and a lot we don't know. But I do think those dark beings are going to be a huge deal: possibly the true final bosses of the saga (not that I think MoM will be a blameless saint unless some epic twist is made. He's definitely a shifty guy just for what he put Luxu and all the other Keyblade weilders through. Good intentions or not). They say there was darkness before light and all light must have a source. Maybe we'll learn about the first clash-

4 between light and dark, battling for supremacy as reality was taking shape. MoM could be a ancient being as well from around that time. As one reality fell to darkness. People learned to create new realities like storybook tales. Ansem said a heart like Sora's could breathe life into anything, from wind to a puppet. Maybe MoM also had a heart like that. One that could create whole realities even. The heart is the most powerful and mysterious thing in KH. Kingdom Hearts itself will make anyone-

5 a god who opens it successfully. Kingdom Hearts is a character all on it's own. It's the one that truly decides what is or can be real. It certainly seems far less inflexible them most Keyblade weilders are. W/this in mind Kingdom Hearts already has a very mysterious connection or interest in both Sora and MoM. Maybe KH is more active then we think? Everyone just sees it as this thing to attain or protect. But maybe it uses the Keyblades as its eyes to watch all these realities w/hearts 

6 I'm not sure if this whole kh universe is MoM's creation or if it's Kingdom Hearts. But I do think MoM is fascinated w/ideas of what's real or not on many different meta levels. I think to a degree Sora (and Yozora) is too. Sora's very first lines are questioning if what he knows is real. He also thought more deeply about the nature of nobodies and found out they are real. Not to mention, again, Ansem's insight that Sora empathy allows his heart to create hearts in others. What's real again?-

7 In KH Idk. Honestly the very idea of questioning reality to this extent is unthinkable. You'd almost feel detached like you were in a constant dream. Then to suddenly to yoinked to another Final World when you're existence was suppose to vanish. That's insane. Do you think the MoM's and Sora's actions are causing a ripple effect on KH? One that's warping fact and fiction. MoM and Sora were brought to a world: Fantasy based on Reality (FF13V's original tagline). What does KH consider not real?

In regards, to the dark beings mentioned in the flashback, I’ve basically said my piece in my analysis of the scene. I personally don’t think he’s talking about an actual force of darkness. I think he’s taking advantage of the double meaning in KH terminology to make us think there’s another force of evil out there. I think he’s actually just explaining his ‘sympathetic’ back story. The reason for the smoke and mirrors is because it’d be in dramatic character, point to the themes of fantasy as a coping mechanism, and the reality of it being the interpretation of real world evil would give away the twist. 

That’s my meta reality lens. If we limit our ideas here, then yeah, MoM could be talking about a new dark force in the lore. I just think we have all the lore pieces in terms of opposition laid out before us.

And having someone behind MoM is always a possibility but it’d be a little tired due to MoM’s reveal that he’s basically behind the entire first saga too. Motive is one thing but I personally am not a fan of last minute villains. MoM’s being established as a villain for years now and it’d be a little low to change that in the finale. 

Ultimately if you view the KH world as an entirely fictional beast, the subjects within it unaware, then you can essentially explain any plot holes and contrivance as a “meddling god” or author. I’ve always been one to try to understand the inner mechanisms of mythological physics which is why I’ve gravitated to this reading. Making real that which isn’t. I refer to my interpretation of the Replica situation to best describe the entire function of the kh world. 

Replicas are objects imbued with data. Cold hard facts and information. A heart is the force that sparks that data into life. Whether its a heart placed in the object or born from surrounding relationship, the heart is the sole requirement to be considered an existing person. And by nature of this very basic law the object miraculously becomes the intended person down to the blood pumping in their body. It’s not magic, it’s like… the actual physics. Because this is a reality that is subservient to the emotions and those emotions are born from the story told. The fantasy being presented. I go into this in my Worlds as Stories theory but it’s the reason why I see these grand entities like Kingdom Hearts as simply the embodiment of the entire fictional realm. 

I think the 4th wall is going to be broken soon. That Sora is going to discover his origins and have to grapple with his philosophies of existence being put to the test. This could very well change the entire fabric of the KH universe as a result. I mean you can't undo that knowledge once it happens. (i mean unless you forget which could happen). I’m the weird one saying that I don’t think Sora and Yozora are in the world of Verum Rex but in the real world. Because if Yozora dwells in a Fantasy based on Reality. Then Sora exists in a Reality based on Fantasy.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Temptation pt16

Warnings: Mob Styling Warlords, Strong language

Masterlist

---

Chapter 16 – Future Plans

All staff in the building except for ones that could handle phone enquiries were sent home, there was no point in attempting to conduct business with the internal systems down. Thanks to the early alert warning it was possible to minimise the attack but it still hadn’t stopped it.

“Who did you annoy this time Oda?” Shingen swept into the room like a prowling storm cloud trailing Kenshin at his heels. Yukimura and Sasuke entered side by side.

“Hello to you to Takeda.” Nobunaga calmly replied without rising to the bait. “To answer that question, it would be the same person as before. I had wondered why we were seeing no increase in activity.”

“Yes, the tedium has been driving me to drink.” Kenshin elegantly took his seat before reaching out for a glass and the water jug.

“You drink anyway.” Yukimura groused as he looked at the god of war. Shingen shot Yukimura a side-eyed glance which promptly shut the young man up.

“I drink more when I’m bored.” Kenshin reiterated, downing his glass of water as if it was an alcoholic shot and poured another.

“Or angry, plotting, celebrating…” Masa laughed as he held up his hand turning down each finger individually as he listed the many reasons Kenshin seemed inclined to turn to drink.

“Are you trying to discover what it’s like to feel the barrel of my gun in your mouth.” Blue and green eyes locked on the single blue one across the table. Ieyasu slapped Masa on the back of his head already bored with his idea of fun.

“Kinky… but I think I’ll pass ta.” Masa rocked back in his chair as he laughed before straightening himself so the meeting could begin.

“So, what was the point in this cyber-attack? I checked with my own business it remains untouched.” Ieyasu looked towards Nobunaga who did not seem surprised that this was the case.

“Mine too.” Masa nodded. None of it was making sense if you wanted to take down the system why not target everything?

“From first glance, it appears they have gone for the data relating to company funds and trade overseas.” Hideyoshi started passing around the earliest report he had received from the tech support guys. It wasn’t a lot but it was all they had for now and it was better than nothing.

“What the hell is the point in that? You could find that in the public records, no need to bother with hacking.” Yukimura cried out at the seemingly pointless nature of the attack.

“You can find a lot of things in public records Yuki, but specific details such as transaction codes and things are not there.” Shingen’s face turned grim as he looked at the list on the page. He came from trading, it was his domain and he knew these would be the files you targeted if you wanted to clone a company.

“Precisely. As Takeda says you can find general information but the actual numbers and codes are part of the business and kept here. We are only obligated to release a certain amount of information to remain transparent to the outside world, not all of it.” Nobunaga agreed with the tall redhead.

“And you would know all about withholding information.” Shingen looked over at Nobunaga. The ever-present resentful glare was plainly visible on his face.

“I could say the same to you Shingen. Don’t tell me you are still sore over our last little confrontation?” Nobunaga enquired smirked with an infuriatingly playful way.

“No comment.” Shingen clenched his jaw and his fist in an effort to maintain control. His signature placid smile long since gone from his face.

“I still don’t get the point of knowing the trade details stuff. It’s useless isn’t it?” Masa huffed.

“Not necessarily.” Sasuke who had been quiet and playing with his smartphone during the meeting spoke up. Noticing eyes had turned his way he placed his phone screen down on the glass table and straightened in his seat. “The attackers might be looking at the information by way of insurance.”

“Insurance?” Kenshin perked at the idea someone was trying to use leverage. Where there was leverage there was blackmail and that usually followed in the footsteps of desperate men looking for a gunfight.

“I see. With this information, they can, in theory, control our company funds and use our resources and trade route for themselves. Anything that would happen as a result of that would only ever be traced back to us here and not them.” Mitsunari spoke clearly as he grasped what Sasuke was saying with ease.

“They intend to hijack the company and take us all down with it?” Hideyoshi looked at Mitsunari in shock. It was true something was wrong.  Badly wrong and he knew it might affect trade given what he had seen, but it hadn’t exactly crossed his mind to think that far ahead of on that tangent to draw the same ideas that were floating in the air at this meeting.

“Set up like dominos.” Shingen scoffed.

He would have taken great pleasure in this plan if it was his own but it hit too close to home and his own history for it to be of any enjoyment to him now. He would still love to see Nobunaga Oda crumble and fall from that pedestal he built for himself but the facts of the matter were, they were now allied, however unhappily. His downfall was also his own and Shingen was not certain he would survive a third strike. He was acutely aware his health had not improved even after the “unification”.

There were still nights he spent alone unwilling to entertain guests not wishing to see the pity and sympathy in their eyes. Yuki had been aware of the continued ill health and stubbornly stayed despite protests. Yes, in this case, it really was better the devil you know. Not just for a man of honour but also for the sake of preserving what little future he could for his cherished staff and friends.

“We need to stop them.” Yukimura adamantly declared.

“That is why I called you all here. After all, I didn’t think we needed to throw a welcoming party.”

---

When she woke up a she felt like her whole body was floating, it was strange. She was laying down on the backseat of a car but all she could feel was this detachment between her own conscious mind and her limbs. What the hell was in that thing he gave me? [Name] raised her hand to her head after a lot of concentration to get her body to respond to her.

“Seems you are a little more sensitive to that particular drug than I thought. Aren’t you glad there wasn’t more in that syringe than a small drip?”

[Name] cast her eyes around the car and found Takahiro staring at her from the other end of it. A limo again?  

“What happened to my father?” Her voice came out a little strangled.

“A minor incident.”

“Minor? He had so many monitors hooked up to him he looked like an electric octopus. And what do you intend to do with Mitsuhide?” [Name] asked as she dragged herself up in the seating so she could be upright. This is stupid holding a conversation laying down like a flounder.

“I will not be doing anything with him that is in the hands of someone else. As far as your father goes. His condition is and shall remain “minor” as long as you now do everything I tell you too.” Takahiro’s voice was completely devoid of emotion. In fact, he looked completely different to the man she remembered from before.

“How romantic. You are blackmailing me now? Where are we?” The car stopped in front of a large building. The fancy sign outside marked it as a high-end boutique. One of those, you need an invitation to enter stores. Very exclusive.

“Shopping… you need a dress. Oh, and shoes, nothing frumpy if you are to be my wife you must look the part.” Takahiro moved to open the limo door.

“What?! But you said we wouldn’t…”

“And I changed my mind.” He suddenly turned and pressed her into the padded leather seat. His face was so close she could now clearly trace every fine line on it. “You WILL marry me and put an end to this. Or I shall turn your father into electronic calamari.”

“No!” [Name]’s protest was strong enough that for a fleeting moment Takahiro was very nearly speechless. But this was something where the clock was ticking that knowledge alone kept him focused.

“I cannot say I dislike a fight to get the blood pumping [Name] but I wish you would wait until after the wedding to provoke such an occurrence.” He tucked his hand around the side of her face, flexing his grip as he brought it down to rest on her throat.

“You… you don’t even see me like that. You have Shin.” Her voice was cracking now. Takahiro was not himself, or at least he wasn’t the man she knew. Takahiro was caught between several realities all colliding together in that one place before his eyes.

Her father had the ability to annul the agreement. He could pull out and then Takahiro would be left high and dry. It wouldn’t be the first time he had been cast out but this time he would have nowhere to go for aid. Alternatively, if he killed the father to prevent that reality from taking place [Name] wouldn’t marry him at all. Why would she? There would be no point she would be free of her binds and would likely run. There was also another more finite reality for him. A chill ran up his spine as he felt the cloaked figure of final judgement draw nearer.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I bedded a woman to please one of the doddering old relics in the head of a house. Oh, and if your father is not enough of an incentive to get you to play blushing bride, I should point out I could still change my mind and put a mark on that Azuchi Corp. guard dog. He need never be around you again.” There was definitely something wild behind his eyes as he made his threats.

“You’re insane!”

“Insane? Insane would be ignoring potential. Ignoring the need to progress and move forward. Adapt and change in order to sustain the future. Insane is what “they” are. You saw it yourself [Name], was that not why you ran that night?” He was shaking her by her shoulders as he spoke. He was passionate that was always obvious but he was now emotional.

“You know why I ran Takahiro. I had no desire to be a caged bird. To be married off to someone I didn’t love. Have my future dictated to me.” [Name] tried to remain calm.

“Well isn’t that a cute little dream?” He spat.

“It doesn’t have to be just a dream you can still…”

“Still? You are forgetting something [Name]. You are playing games with the big boys now. It’s the difference between a weekend card game in a rumpus room at someone’s house or a glittering table at a casino. And the house always wins.”

---

Floating in darkness. Dark. It was probably the only blessing he had received when he quietly groaned. If it had been bright there was little doubt in his mind that he would be feeling even worse. Judging by the fact he had regained consciousness it at least told him that he had some time to figure out what was happening. How much time would depend on who he was playing against.

The air around him didn’t just feel damp it smelt it too. It was an aged smell that he was familiar with. You would be forgiven for assuming that because of the lack of one of his five basic senses that he also had diminished capacities with another. His loss of taste was something he forfeited in order to survive, but that was another story. Right now, at this moment he had to figure out where in his own playground someone had taken him.

Muted light filtering in caught the floating dust particles that laced the air. Even they seemed to be suspended in time around him. Suspended… Speaking of which he couldn’t feel the ground under his feet and his shoulders felt like they were contorted. Flexing a little he felt something dig in at his wrists. He was definitely attached rather well to something. The old metallic rattle sound told him it was something a little similar to a metal cage. No, not a cage. Fence? There would be no call for one inside though. His head began to pound as more and more of his consciousness woke up.

A melee of small signals started to reach his mind. The muted connections reconnecting, all clambering at once to be known by him. Mitsuhide smiled to himself as he remembered the injection. It must have been very similar if not identical to the drug he used. Fast acting immobiliser. You want to take down a target but also have something to say to them that cannot be done quickly or at that location, you can use that. It was something that allowed you to take your time “talking”. Something that gave you the opportunity to change locations and play your games undisturbed. Serves me right I should have been more observant. Any other day I would like to think they couldn’t get a drop on me.

“I see you’re awake.”

---

[theboyz-engup]

Serendipity

Q: can I please get a scenario with eric where your out on a date at night enjoy the city lights, walking around and being couples goals and just having an endless fun romantic night where you don’t want it to end?

There wasn’t a day that could’ve gone better than the one you had last night. It was a day you would spend the rest of the following weeks thinking about, smiling about, or bringing up in conversation. Sometimes your friends would beg you to just stop talking about it because you would bring it up at such dumb times, or when someone was upset, but you were just trying to relate. You just wanted to make them feel better but their methods of feel better perhaps weren’t the same as yours. When you were upset you had someone to go to, someone real and sturdy with little glasses and fading grey hair. He would stick his hand in yours and pull you outside, telling you that everything would get better with just a fresh breath of air and some cotton candy. God, he loved his cotton candy.

Eric had found you in your room that day, studying and near tears. It felt so draining, like everything you were copying weren’t even words and you weren’t getting anywhere. With an antitrust semesters exam in a week, you didn’t know what you were going to do, the drawn lines and measurements meaning nothing to you. Just as your notes started to blur, there was the knock on the door, polite as ever, and a boy with a little hat in the doorway.

“Still at it?” he asked despite knowing the answer, padding in for the moment just to sit on the edge of your bed. He toyed around with a loose string in the fabric of your blanket as you sighed, turning around in your chair to face him. He had a silly smile on his face, meek and small but silly nonetheless.

It caused your feet to push themselves out of your chair, arms slipping between his to give him a hug as you came closer. You fell back on the bed with him, holding him awkwardly but holding him nonetheless. “What are you so happy for?”

“I’m seeing you,” he responded, short and sweet, eliciting a small snort from you.

“Okay, Romeo,” you snickered, feeling a slight light start glowing in your heart. It usually did that, growing dimmer on the days you spent apart due to scheduling or school. But with him, it seemed as if someone added gas to a fire and slowly, slowly it grew.

With a kiss on the top of your head, he brought you closer only to whisper, “let’s go to the carnival, huh? It’ll make you feel better.”

You shook your head, snuggling into him and insisting you stayed here where you could watch terrible movies and eat popcorn and pretend like nothing else existed. He was quite intent on going though and it came through his voice.

“Come on, y/n,” he whined, pulling away so he could see your eyes, “we haven’t done anything really, really fun in forever. We just buy food from stores and eat homemade ramen. It’d be good for us to see the sunlight- well, streetlights, I guess- together for once.”

You pointed behind him, out the window where the setting sun was taking its toll on the land. A few street lamps were lighting up as the sun disappeared and you simply murmured, “we’re seeing them together right now.”

“Wow,” he whispered, knowing he couldn’t deny the joke. It didn’t stop him from tapping your forehead with his index for a moment as he said, “but that’s not what I meant. You know what I meant.”

A little frown formed on your lips but it was taken away just as quickly by a small peck. Eric had to hold himself back from giving you more, knowing you’d be stuck in there forever if he did. So, he stepped away and made for the door. As he turned around, pulling you up with nothing but his voice, he smiled.

“You coming?”

Despite Eric's complaining as you bustled in the bathroom trying to make yourself look presentable, you’d made it outside with a little bit of light left to spare. He had taken your hand in his the second you'd walked out of your home, silly smile on his lips. With a deep breath in, he nodded.

“Yeah, it's gonna be a good night,” he decided. He gave you a small look from the side of his eyes just as you opened your mouth to respond. You would’ve said something that sounded like ‘how would you know?’ or ‘why’d you inhale like a weirdo?’. His lips pressed against your forehead in an attempt to stop it.

It was safe to say it worked.

As you two walked to the bus stop just down the street, he kept humming a silly song. He looked so calm, eyes glancing around the street until they found yours and he'd lift up your folded hands to kiss them. He would even spin you around at the dramatic parts of his songs, which didn't always end up well.

“Oh my god, Eric!” Your voice rose octaves higher than you ever thought it would, hitching off with laughter as he spun and spun you, ending off with a horrible dip. He had the most ridiculous smile stretched across his teeth. He laughed like he had gold in his lungs, looking at you like you were everything he’d ever wished for.

“What?” He drew out the word, fixing you with a serious look. He straightened you up, fingers fitting between yours perfectly. You walked ever so slightly backwards, led by his converse until your back lightly touched the glass of the bus shelter. The way he looked at you took your breath away, making it so hard for you to say anything- much less come up with a silly reason to complain.

“You’re insane,” you somehow muttered, letting him press his forehead to yours. Both of your eyes closed and for a moment, it was just you. Two students together, waiting for the bus on a warm night with no cars and dim orange lights. It was your very own world and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I know,” he hummed, bumping his nose against yours as he pulled away. He always seemed to know when the busses were coming, head turning just in time to see the large red and white vehicle slide down the road.

“But you love it.”

“That’s not true,” you said pointedly, tugging away from him to beat him to the front of the bus. He tugged harder, pulling you behind him as he ran just a few steps to make it to the bus driver in time.

The exhaust from the doors opening nearly shrouded his words, thin over a grin, “losers have to pay for their own bus fare!”

It took everything in you to not throw your small coin purse at him as he waved at you from the highest seat in the bus. Paying kindly, you made your way to the seats just as the bus started to move again, sliding in beside him. Your hips hit each other’s, his small complain slipping past his teeth. He even patted your arm, eyebrows furled.

“Why are you so bony?”

“Ever since I payed for my own bus fare,” you shot back, eyebrows arch upwards. His lips formed an ‘o’, shoulders then shrugging.

“Well, good then,” he decided, eyes looking out the window, “I need someone with strong bones.”

A laugh bubbled up through your throat, eyes crinkling as you asked, “what does that even mean?”

He paired his words with a wink. “Don’t worry about it.”

Having been up since six in the morning for his internship, Eric was obviously tired. He seemed to need a little rest halfway through the bus ride downtown, his mouth slowly not working anymore. You didn’t mind the quiet, looking out the window as his head rested on your shoulder. He smelled like mint, the shampoo he used being left at your house once when he begged you to try it. You hadn’t done it, knowing that you’d hate the smell on you but, somehow, he made it work.

All you had to do was tap his cheek a few times once you got to the stop for him to wake up. His eyes were rimmed with red, little bags under his eyes and you almost suggested going back home. He wouldn’t hear it though, yelling a thank you down the bus as he tugged you out of the door with his newly found energy. He had a bright expression on his face, hands rubbing at his eyes to take the sleep from them.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The question slipped past your mouth without thought, fingers pressing around his wrists to pull them from his eyes. Though sleepiness caused them to be slightly milky, he nodded.

“This really isn’t about how tired I am,” he began as you walked towards the bright yellow lights and the sound of laughter and games, “it’s about the cotton candy we can win.”

You laughed a bit, saying, “you know, playing games for toys and cotton candy is basically the same as paying for it. There’s just the chance that you won’t get it.”

Seriously, he looked at you with narrowed eyes and deadpanned, “you’ve got no love for the adventure. This hurts me deeply.”

You held eye contact for a bit before he cracked a little grin and hummed, “but I guess I like my people boring. Take Juyeon for example- most boring guy you’ll meet.”

His mouth worked faster than you could keep up, words slipping in and out of your ears just in time for you to catch his jokes and laugh at his friends’ antics. It was sometimes difficult to keep up but his voice was so compelling that you just had to listen. When he paid for your tickets, he made you promise one thing as he stuck his pinky out. You’d just made it inside the fenced off carnival.

Looking you dead in the eyes, he said sternly, “at least try to have fun. I know you’re stressed and I know you’re worried but none of that matters right now. You left it at the entrance when we paid, okay?”

You nodded, reaching your pinky out to him. He simply shook his head, indicating he wasn’t finished. “That’s not the promise. The promise is that you have to relax. Be happy, okay? I want to see you actually smile. No inhibitions, got it?”

“Got it,” you hummed, wrapping your pinky around his. He pressed your thumbs together before pulling you forward and pressing a kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened from the surprise, not expecting it though you probably should have. He was always quite cheeky like this.

The worst part was when he grinned at you and pulled away, detaching himself. With a devilish laugh, he darted off, nearly yelling, “come and catch me!”

It took everything in you not to throw your coin purse at him.

Eric seemed to have diamonds under his skin that night as he ran around, playing game after game. You went back to back as you entered a laser tag game full of little children in the centre of the park and decided to let them annihilate you in the end. You sprayed water at each other when you walked past the water park. He took you off your feet, arms coming around your waist to pick you up. You were screeching almost, laughing for him to stop but you both were under a large bucket of water. As it came toppling down over you, you both let out a yell. His was more tribal, starting from his throat and so full of passionate happiness. Yours was feeble and from the cold water.

He was glowing though, letting you off his shoulders. You two pretended to be in an early 2000s Usher music video, him lifting up his shirt and doing poor body rolls while pointing at you soulfully. You clapped reverently, sitting on the floor and watching him go until he pulled you up and did spins. Somehow, your feet found the ground easily and at least made it easier for him to lead you in the dance to the mechanical falling of the water.

“You look like a wet gerbil,” you chuckled, one free hand reaching up to brush back his hair. He only shrugged.

“Not like you look any better.”

Your jaw dropped, unbelieving. “You’re so rude.”

He only shrugged, dancing along with you as he looked past you. His lips curled inwards to hold back a laugh. And then the smile faded and turned into complete panic, mouth nearly screeching and getting louder, “our phones!”

You spent about twenty minutes in the bathroom air drying your clothes alone, your phone safe and sound and working on the counter beside you. You thought you looked ridiculous, hair dripping and eyes irritated from the water that fell in them. To be honest, you couldn’t help but feel happy. There was already a sudden lightness in your heart that you’d been yearning for, spreading with each moment you spent with Eric. It never seemed to stop and the thing was that you didn’t necessarily want it to. No matter how momentarily reckless it was, you couldn’t remember the last time you just did something without thinking. It was safe and hilarious and you weren’t alone. You were with someone you couldn’t imagine ever existed and somehow, it made everything better. You were living a dream other people wished they could.

As you emerged from the bathroom, feeling a little damp but overall okay, you found Eric waiting with his hands in his pockets. He was leaning against the nearest wall, eyes up at the clouded sky. There weren’t any stars present, just the lights of the city below. He didn’t hear you coming until you rested beside him, arm touching his.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just seeing if I can find shapes in the clouds,” he mumbled lightly, taking your hand in his as he kicked off from the wall, “let’s get some food, yeah?”

After finding a spring roll place, Eric seemingly lost his mind. He got way too excited, ordering about twenty for himself as a snack. He was very tedious, asking what was inside and then choosing random numbers of each. The people behind in line weren’t necessarily impressed but he didn’t care. He just kept listing off items, paying as much as he needed too and then devouring one. As you rested by a tall table, looking around for some sort of dinner, he made you do a love shot with him with the rolls. For a brief moment, you wondered if people would think you were stupid doing it. Though, looking into his crystal brown eyes, you remembered your promise and sighed, waving the bag over.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

He giggled, linking arms with you and struggling to get the roll into his mouth. The table was too high and your elbows were propped at a ridiculous angle but the way he laughed was enough to help you forget about your surroundings. It was so high pitched, his face getting redder as he laughed harder and harder, unable to contain himself with the little roll sticking out between his two lips. You didn’t know why he was laughing so hard but it didn’t particularly matter, your throat quivering with a similar intensity.

He could barely catch his breath as he somehow made out the words, “you just looked so stupid,” and continued on. Without even trying to take offence from it, you remembered his face and laughed along.

Without really deciding, the two of you bought a small bucket of wings and decided to share it outside on a bench. Though it was night, the little carnival was so bright that you could see nearly everyone walking the cobblestones pathways and playing the games. There were couples holding hands and sharing food as well, couples just like yourselves but somehow, you couldn’t imagine them being anything like you two.

You were a mismatched pairing, Eric always so excitable and sweet while you sometimes came off as cold and completely not personable. Your coming together was unexpected but sometimes he would come over just to hold your hand and watch shitty movies. Sometimes you would play his video games with him and scream along to bad songs. Sometimes you’d watch sports games together and hype each other up or you’d stay in his backyard with his friends and talk while a fire ran in their pit.

It wasn’t that you didn’t think you fit well together because, despite everything, you did. You were so diverse, so comfortable in every situation. It was beautiful for you to just be able to be yourself with someone who only ever wanted that for you. As you thought this, you caught yourself properly staring at Eric, as if you’d seen him for the first time. It wasn’t the first time you had said it and meant it but it would be one of the times you remembered for a while.

“What?” he mumbled, chicken in his mouth a bit of barbecue sauce beside his mouth. It only made you smile as you grabbed a tissue to wipe it off lightly.

“Nothing, I just- I love you, you know?” You didn’t have the strength to look him in his eyes as you said it, leaning in closer to make sure you really got it.

“You know,” he began as you pulled away, a little blush on his cheeks, “if I didn’t have all this sauce on my fingers, I totally would’ve done that romantic thing where I grab your face and kiss you. But… yeah.”

He shrugged, showing you his fingers and you snickered, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I just wanted to say it.”

With a little lull in the conversation came some worry so you only looked at the plate of garbage and murmured, “I’ll throw this out while you clean your hands, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he parroted slowly, reaching for the wipe you traded him for the bucket. While you were only a few steps away, he called your name and professed, ever so silently, “I love you too. You know that, right?”

As you looked over your shoulder at him, you found yourself with a little smile. A nod was all he needed to get up from his spot, grasping both of your phones with his clean hands and bounding right up next to you.

You picked the few games you were going to play next, making him walk past a cotton candy machine three times to play them. He lined up to shoot down plushy fish with water guns for a big panda toy with you. Halfway through, he lost focus because of the machine whirring up and lost. You instead chose a little elephant, and asked him to give out to Changmin.

“Changmin,” he puffed, pouting and looking at the little elephant. It was rather cute though and even he couldn’t deny it, holding it under his arm with a little grin as you walked to play basketball.

His eyes landed on the bright pink machine and you pretended like you didn’t even see the cotton candy, pointing at a cute toy at the basketball station. A bunch of high schoolers decided to play at the same time, heckling each other and trying to out Eric. He only gave you a sigh, whispering in your ear that they didn’t have the masters Juyeon and Jacob as their teachers. He lost, but the effort was worth it, you supposed.

The third time you walked past the machine, he huffed and tugged you into line. Losing put him in a slightly foul mood so you let him have his fun, taking the elephant from him generously. Once he got his two big bags, he wasn’t anywhere near upset, digging into one with his hand and pulling out a clouds worth. You chuckled as his joy turned into horror, not knowing how he was going to finish the part he pulled out. You heckling him perhaps didn’t help his pride, so he took the chance to prove himself. He even squared his shoulders and huffed.

“Of course I can eat this much,” he assured, chin pointing upwards, “you know I have four stomachs. I can open each one at will.”

“Wow,” you drew out, chuckling, “what a man.”

Halfway through the large piece, you ended up in a haunted house. He screeched louder than you did, grasping onto you for dear life as he did so. It was hard to be scared when he was there, causing giggles to form in your stomach. Though, you supposed a perk was watching him throw the candy into the air at one point, allowing it to stick to the dripping walls of fake blood. It was even better being with him as you walked out, cotton candy-less and upset that he’d gotten the wits scared out of him.

Then, the little bell came and an announcement bumbled through the little speakers across the park, stopping your little joke before it even came. “The park will be closing in twenty minutes. Please start making your way out. Thank you for coming!”

Eric pouted, though he had no reason to. The night was well spent and for half-price tickets, you were happy with what you got. You only nudged him with your elbow, making his eyes come to yours. “Hey, we had fun.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” he admitted, exhaling lightly. He was tired, you could tell, but perhaps he was doing it for you. Though, when you looked him dead in the eye, you found something else.

With slight worry, you raised a hand to his cheek and cupped it, asking lightly, “what’s wrong?”

The two of you took to a small bench per his request, his eyes getting slightly sadder as you sat, two bags of cotton candy behind you and a little elephant in your lap. He held your hand gingerly, like he was going to say something wrong when he didn’t mean to. It was confusing to watch him act like this, skittish and worried, even as he spoke.

“We just haven’t been able to see each other often and I- I just get worried. I want you to be happy and I want you to feel appreciated. I wanted to spend every moment with you tonight and I don’t want it to end. I want to be like this every night.” He paused, giving you a breath before continuing softly with, “I want to see you every night and feel like-”

He cursed deeply under his breath, muttering, “I can’t even figure out what I want to say. I’m so dumb, I’m sorry.”

            “You’re not being dumb,” you assured him, cupping his cheeks. His eyes hesitantly met yours and you had to decide how seriously you were going to take him. For the time being, you simply pressed your lips against his, the familiarity enough to hopefully calm his nerves.

“Okay, we haven’t seen each other a lot recently. It’s okay, Eric. We still have dumb dates where we go out to eat, you still call me, we check up on each other- we tell each other we love each other. Somehow, when times get rough, that’s what we’ll remember, right? Not all the times we didn’t see each other.

“A relationship’s about all the times you do see each other, and how you communicate when you don’t,” you finished, giving him a confident smile, “and if you ask me, we’re pretty damn good at that too.”

You supposed he didn’t particularly know what to say at that, not quite sure you’d done enough when he conceded. He nodded, coming in to press his chest t o yours. His arms wrapped around you so tightly as if he was trying to cause an imprint, wanting to be permanently each other’s. You loved the way he felt and missed the pressure when he pulled away, mouth tiredly murmuring, “home?”

“Maybe not,” you decided. Nodding your head up, you led him up and out the carnival doors.

Though it was late, you wandered and explored the open shops. You stared at little figurines in windows and made faces at each other through stained glass that hung in stands. You walked near the water and did nothing at all. He kept humming that silly song, both of you with one bag of candy and Eric with a little elephant tied onto his belt loops; and he kept his hand locked in yours like it had no other space.

When you got home that night, grinning like an idiot, and plopped backwards onto your bed, you might have believed it: perhaps there wasn’t another person for you in this world. You were sure you didn’t want anyone else.