#quickly but not so quick I get fucked up by the spam filters

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

Clearin out a chunk of the askbox again

hey yall clearing a bunch of old asks from ye olde askbox, i’ve closed submissions temporarily to avoid the confusion

most of yall know the drill, but what I do is answer all the asks in order to

a) record them to my notebook document so I can keep track of who’s requesting what and

b) run them by most of you folks so assholes don’t succeed in slipping an obscure slur or terfy assholery or whatever else have you past my tired, tired brain.

if you’d like to block the torrent of posts what are just me goin “okay sure thing” for the next hour and a half, the tag is “added to notepad” and I’ll reopen the submission box for follower art tomorrow

since doing the blacklist thing likely results in a WHOLE dash of "this post has been hidden from view!" please feel free to unfollow me til tomorrow unless you like the ritual of this monthly happening, because it's VERY dashspammy

and don't forget, when your card comes up in the schedule and gets written, you can buy it for a handful of dollars right here! you can even get a wax seal n everything!

[froggiewrites]

if you'll entertain four:

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

🧸 ⇢ what's the fastest way to become your mutual?

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

🥐 ⇢ name one internet reference that will always make you laugh 

love your writing, hope you have a great weekend!

I absolutely will entertain four!

Recommend an author of fanfic you love: There is a fic that feels genuinely like it's made to perfectly infiltrate my brain that I've reread like. four times since I found it. It's yandere, so if you aren't comfortable with dark content steer clear, but for people who love reading about obsession and the ways love can be pushed to the extreme I cannot recommend I'll Fucking Digest You One Kiss At A Time by StrawberrieMars enough. I can't stop thinking about it. I'm a sucker for a story that lets you see into the head of someone doing something they know is wrong and see how the justify it to themselves, and it's just done so masterfully here. Plus I just love Bartolomeo, and I haven't found many fics for him, so finding one so perfectly tailored to my tastes is SO good. If any of you end of reading and liking it please let me know, I'm SO obsessed with it.

What's the fastest way to become your mutual? Honestly I have no idea! I generally follow people who post art or fics I really love, so I guess just post what you like and I might see it? I've been pretty cautious with following people after I accidentally spoiled myself for something massive coming up (it was properly tagged, but I hadn't thought to filter the names of arcs I hadn't seen yet), but once I fully catch up and don't have to be scared of spoilers anymore I plan on going on a big following spree so maybe I'll see some of you there!

What's the weirdest topic you've researched for a writing project? Ahh this is a hard one. Most of the weird things I put in my writing I just know off the top of my head because I'm a fiend for trivia, but I've done a lot of silly searches for my OCs, and for my original writing. I guess it's probably a tie between getting really into the nitty gritty of how someone becomes a museum curator (because I have a character that's a museum curator by day and phantom thief by night and I REALLY wanted to be accurate to the education level she'd have) and when I was knee deep researching lightbulbs trying to figure out if they can burn out immediately if you turn it on and off too much and too quickly (for a character who had never seen electricity before discovering a light switch and immediately spam flipping it). That second one should have been a quick search but I immediately came across two sources that disagreed and I spent far too long trying to figure out which one was right.

Name one internet reference that will always make you laugh: This is another hard one because I have let a lot of internet references work their way into my everyday vocabulary and life. I think I have to pick a tie between two because I love them both for the same reason. One is the classic "hewwo??" not because of the original post, but because I got my (very not online) parents to start answering the phone with "hewwo?" when I was in college, and they still sometimes use it to say hello to our dogs, and it just makes me giggle. My older brother absolutely hates that voice, so I got them to start using it exclusively to mess with him, and hearing his reaction the first time he heard them use it is just. That's a treasured memory for sure. The other is from this stupid early ai video that ends with someone trying to say goodbye and it comes out "goo buh buh" instead. It's just so stupid that it makes me giggle and I've said it enough that my girlfriend and I always say goobuhbuh instead of goodbye when we get off call now 😭

Thank you so much, and I hope you have a great weekend too!! 💙

Writers Ask Game

[dinosaurtsukki]

DINOOOOOO CONGRATULATIONS ahhshsndb!!!!! May i have 3 and 4 for Osamu?

AHHHH THANK YOU ANON!! I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO REQUEST THE VODKA PROMPT AJGKSJ

Osamu + 3 + 4

3.  “Tell them to fuck off.”

4.  “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“Please tell me we’re done.”

“Okay, we are. We are. It looks good!” you said, half-crazed from the lack of sleep as you scrolled through yours and Osamu’s final paper for Biology I.

“Send it! Send it quick!” he egged you on.

“Let me change the name first!” you nudged him, renaming your document from ‘FINALFINALDRAFTAJKGJSKK.doc’ to ‘Miya_L/N_Final Paper.doc’ before sending it, one minute before the deadline.

“Yes! It’s done. Thank fucking god it’s done,” Osamu groaned, covering his face with his hands. You had crammed your final paper for pretty much the entire day yesterday and stayed up all night to finish it. 

“I hate this fucking class,” you shook your head, shutting your laptop close and leaning against your boyfriend.

“I know! What kind of professor sets their fucking deadline at six in the fucking morning?” Osamu exclaimed, his filter and generally calm personality whittled away from having to hunt down research papers with tiny footnotes and drinking nothing but black coffee and energy drinks. “Like, they knew, they knew deep in whatever it is in their chests that they use as a heart that everyone was going to cram the final and they still fucking did it.”

“Let’s never take their class again,” you shook your head.

“Agreed,” Osamu nodded, letting out one mighty yawn that practically reverberated throughout his body. “Okay. I’m going to sleep on your bed until the next day,” he said before flopping down face first into your pillows.

“Wait, Osamuu,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. “Why don’t we celebrate? It is the end of the semester after all.”

“Sleeping is celebrating,” your boyfriend mumbled sleepily into your pillows.

“Fine, I guess I’ll enjoy my secret stash by myself,” you sighed, scooting your butt across the floor to where your mini fridge was inside your dorm room. At the sound of ‘secret stash’, you could sense Osamu perk up without even turning around.

“What secret stash?” he asked, his voice clearly not sounding as if he was still mumbling into your pillow. You reached into your fridge and pulled out plastic water bottle that you had reused to sneak vodka into your room. From the sneaky look on your face, Osamu could clearly tell what the clear liquid was.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“I am a tired uni student who had to submit a paper for a class that I fucking hate at six o’clock in the morning. I have the right to,” you said while unscrewing the cap. “So, more for me,” you grinned, about to drink straight from the bottle before Osamu sat up.

“Wait, maybe I can have some too,” he said, rummaging through his backpack that he tossed at the foot of your bed and pulling out, of all things, a can of spam. For other people, that would be a weird thing to keep in their bag. But as Osamu’s s/o, you were all too familiar with him carrying around random cooking ingredients. The weirdest thing he carried around was actually a head of cabbage.

“Vodka and spam? That actually kind of works,” you shrugged. 

“I’m not drinking it,” Osamu shook his head, taking the bottle from you and spilling a little on the table.

“Hey!” you grabbed the bottle from him but kept watching for whatever it is your boyfriend was planning to do. Osamu went to your bathroom and returned with dental floss. Then, he plucked a pencil from your desk and sat back down. With strange precision and a lot of meticulousness that didn’t belong in the body of someone who had just pulled an all-nighter, Osamu used the dental floss to cut neat slices of spam before tying one of the slices with the floss to a pencil. Then, he used a lighter from his bag to ignite the vodka on the table and roast the spam on top.

“That’s... big brain energy right there,” you said aloud, unable to tear your gaze away at the roasting spam.

“I’ll make one for you if you want,” Osamu grinned. “Now this is a celebration.” You and Osamu took turns roasting the spam and making sure that the fire didn’t get out of hand. Finally, you had enough roasted spam and a burn mark on your table that you hoped nobody would notice.

“To the end of the semester,” you held a spam slice out.

“To the end of the semester,” Osamu nodded, toasting your spam slice. Right when you two were about to take a bite, there was a knock on the door. “Who the fuck is that?” Osamu scowled at the door, his mood quickly shifting from ecstatic to murderous.

“Hey, y/n? You awake?” you heard Atsumu’s voice come in. “Is Osamu there? He promised he’d help me train.”

“Tell them to fuck off,” Osamu told you. Most days, he pretty much tolerated his twin but he was in the mood to eating roasted spam and not dealing with Atsumu.

“He says fuck off and I agree!” you called out to him.

“Mean! Also, wait. Am I smelling spam?” Atsumu knocked again.

“No!” Osamu yelled. “Now go away we’re gonna fuck!”

“Okay, okay. Leaving!” Atsumu yelled and you sighed at the sound of his footsteps leaving.

“Did you just lie about us having sex so that we could eat spam that we roasted illegally?” you turned to look at Osamu.

“Obviously,” your boyfriend rolled his eyes. “I need my spam.” You laughed and shook your head at him before biting into your spam. It was charred and also still kind of raw on the inside, but it tasted so good after an all-nighter.

“And then sleepy cuddles?” you looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes.

“And then sleepy cuddles?” Osamu smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead and finishing his slice of spam.

taglist (open to anyone who wants in):  @montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart@akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan@therainroguefanfiction @atetiffdoesart@stephdaninja@oikaw-ugh @charliefredb

[domesticated-feral]

Steo Week 2020, Day 3

Title: Stuck in the Elevator (Rivals edition!)

Prompts: Forced Proximity Rating: Teen Warning: Small usage of profanity WC: 1820

You can also read it on my AO3

Summary:

“How are you so sure? I don’t want to die in this elevator with you,” “Why? Is it ‘cause you hate me?” “You hate me! Not the other way around!”

~

Stiles worked a job as a news reporter. Reporting crime and city mishaps in the golden city of San Francisco. He worked for the San Francisco Chronicle and it was just another workday. He quickly grabs his usual order of a medium flat white from the coffee shop below his apartment and walks to his workplace.

He arrives just in time and clocks in straight at eight and quickly walks to his desk. He sets his coffee down and slips his backpack off onto the chair. He takes his phone out, placing it on the desk as he sits down.

“G’morning, Stiles,” His best friend and workmate, Scott McCall greeted.

“Mornin’ Scottie,” Stiles said, as he turned his computer on.

Amongst the many work emails, he found one from his boss, sent just three minutes ago.

“Did you know about the meeting that we have in like half an hour?” Stiles asks Scott.

“Just read it, it sounds pretty urgent,” Scott said.

“Yeah, oh and do you need anything from the art department? I’m heading there to pick up some prints,” Stiles asks, standing up from his seat.

“No, not that I know of,” Scott muttered as he dug into answering his work emails.

Stiles turns around and heads to the elevators to go down to the art department. From the 8th floor, going to the 3rd floor would be nothing. Except it stopped at 6th and the corporate’s top reporter, Raeken stepped in.

“Stilinski,” Theodore sneered.

“Well, fine morning isn’t it, Raeken,” Stiles muttered.

He was also headed towards the art department, he didn’t push any buttons. The elevator continues downwards until it abruptly stops, scaring Stiles so hard that he felt himself jump out and back into his skin.

“Oh shit!” Stiles coughed.

The elevator’s lights turn off and so does its air conditioning. A small emergency light turns on and Stiles knows that he was stuck in the elevator with his rival.

Theo quickly presses the help button, but help was probably going to arrive in more than an hour. Stiles leans against the elevator walls and sighs.

“I’m going to miss the meeting and I guess this is ‘adios’ to my career,” Stiles muttered.

“You are one of the top reporters here, so am I, corporate won’t fire us, they don’t have the wits to fire their best reporters, Stilinski,” Theo said.

“You’re not supposed to give wordings of hope, you hate me!” Stiles said.

“Strong word of choice, I’d like to think as we never got along,” Theo remarked.

“You reported stories that our boss had given me to report!” Stiles whined, unprofessional, but he was still salty about it.

“The world of media is quick and ever-changing, you need to work quicker than it if you want to survive here,” Theo said, trying to call someone on his cell.

“There’s no cell signal available, don’t bother trying,” Stiles said.

Theo pockets his phone and they stand in silence for a while.

“Being the top reporter of the San Francisco Chronicle, how does it feel like?” Stiles asks, breaking the silence.

“Well, it’s exciting, to say the least, they send you out on stories that are dangerous, exhilarating and packed with action,” Theo described.

“What was the most memorable story you’ve covered?” Stiles asked.

“Hmm, I gotta say, the throne goes to the story about-” he stopped to think for a while- “about the lions getting loose from their enclosure in the San Francisco Zoo,” he finished.

“Not the bank heist that happened with a fully armed squad of robbers?” Stiles asks.

“Bank robberies are sorta lame to me,” Theo said.

“But they were dressed in cowboy apparel and rode armored tanks,” Stiles said.

“Still, not as unusual as lions getting loose,” Theo stood with his answer.

“They didn’t even kill anyone!” Stiles said, “Are you implying that top crime reporter Theo Raeken likes domestic, un-actiony stories rather than action-filled crime stories?”

“I am saying that I do like reporting action and crime stories, but I like heartfelt and wholesome content more,” Theo said.

“Ooh, Theo Raeken, this is a side of the cube no one has ever seen of you before,” Stiles teased.

Theo chuckles, “no one knows Theo Raeken more than himself.”

“True, true, now, when the hell is someone getting out of this metal cube suspended by wires?” Stiles said, pushing the help button.

Stiles leans back and sits down on the floor, his legs were somewhat tired. He feels his pockets for his phone and then remembers, he left it on his desk. He heard a small sound like a cat’s claw being protracted or something. He looked up to see Theo's hand, his fingernails were long and sharp.

"What are you doing and how the hell did you do that?" Stiles said, in awe and confusion.

Theo tries to pry open the elevator door using his fingernails, and strength. He grunts as he tries to open it, the door only opened for half an inch. He decides that it was going to take more effort to try and open the door instead of waiting, so he retracts his nails back.

"Theo, what the holy hell was that all about?" Stiles asked.

"Well, I suppose I have to tell you now," Theo said, raking his hand through his hair, "I'm a chimera, don't tell anyone this, I'd like to keep a clear name."

"Chimera as in supernatural chimera?" Stiles asked.

"Not exactly, I was created genetically by a team of psychopathic doctors,” Theo said.

“So, what kind of chimera are you?” Stiles asks.

“Are you interrogating me to write an exposé?” Theo asks.

“No, I’m just curious, I have a couple of supernatural friends,” Stiles said.

“In that case, I’m a werewolf/werecoyote chimera,” Theo answered his question.

“My best friend is a werewolf, and my ex was a were coyote, my other ex was a banshee and my other-other ex was a werewolf as well,” Stiles blurted out, his brain to mouth filter was just not working today.

“TMI much?” Theo mumbles.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to info dump on you,” Stiles apologizes.

The elevator moved, it was like it fell down the shaft for a second, Stiles’ heart jumped up from his chest to up to his throat.

Theo spams the help button, “it’s unlikely to die here, but I would like to get out as soon as possible.”

“We might die, no chance is ever completely 0, I don’t want to die,” Stiles panicked.

“Listen, Stiles, you and I are not, and I say, are not dying here,” Theo said, crouching down and holding Stiles’ shoulders.

“But what if we do? I can’t die, not today, I have so many things I didn’t do,” Stiles said through quick, shallow breaths.

“Stiles, calm down, breath with me, we are not dying, not here, not today, you hear me?” Theo said, keeping eye contact with Stiles.

“Look, if we die-”

“We are not going to die, Stiles!”

“How are you so sure? I don’t want to die in this elevator with you,” Stiles said, his breathing erratic.

“Why? Is it ‘cause you hate me?” Theo asks.

“You hate me! Not the other way around!” Stiles accused, his mind diverting to another subject.

“I don’t hate you, where did you get that idea from?” Theo asked.

“You took my stories and rewrote it, and you also stole my spotlight by doing so!” Stiles said.

“Ok, I have to admit that I did that, but it was out of my hands, corporate wanted me to do it, not you,” Theo said.

“Yeah, yeah, blame it on the corporate heads, good job, Theo,” Stiles said.

“Ok, you’re alright now,” Theo said, standing back up.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, “being stuck in this elevator is not alright.”

“I meant your panic attack, your use of sarcasm must mean you’re fine now,” Theo remarked.

“Ey, I’m not that sarcastic!” Stiles defended himself.

“Lies,” Theo scoffed, “your interview was full of sarcastic remarks, I don’t even know how you got this job.”

Stiles frowned at Theo while Theo smirks back at Stiles. The elevator was slowly warming up, Stiles really wished that there were emergency air conditioners just like emergency lights.

Theo feels the warmth as well and he unbuttons the top button of his shirt, hoping it would help keep cool. Stiles fans his face with his hand, sweat beads adorned his forehead and nose.

‘I wish I brought my phone, how long have I been in here for?’ Stiles thinks, ‘Wait, he brought his phone, I guess I’ll ask him.’

“What’s the time?” Stiles asks.

“It’s been 10 minutes since we’ve been stuck in here, in other words, it’s 8:14,” Theo said, looking at his wristwatch.

“Statistically, it can take up to 30 minutes to an hour and a half, maybe two to get saved, unless the building’s closed,” Stiles stated.

“And if the building is closed?” Theo asked.

“It can take up to 8 or 9 hours,” Stiles said.

Theo sits down on the other side of the elevator and takes his phone out. He mindlessly looked at the home screen, nothing much to do.

“Can’t you open the door a little bit more? since you’re a chimera and all,” Stiles asked.

“I can, but most of the elevator door is blocked by a wall,” Theo muttered.

“Most of it, that means, there is a small percentage that isn’t, therefore, Theo, open the damn door,” Stiles ordered Theo.

“I’m not taking your orders, Stiles,” Theo protested.

“You will take my order of opening the door,” Stiles firmly said.

Theo glares at Stiles’ unbreaking stare, before standing up and standing in front of the elevator door. Before Theo could open the door, the elevator door is pried open from the other side, the entrance was half blocked by the wall, and the other half was open to another floor.

“Fina- fucking- ly,” Stiles whispered.

The building was dark as well, maybe a power cut through the building. Two firefighters help Stiles and Theo out, pulling them since the top half was not blocked by a wall.

The floor was filling up with smoke, it wasn’t just a power cut, it was a fire. The firefighters take them out and paramedics come to check them.

“How the hell is there a fire?” Stiles asks Scott who quickly ran up to them.

“Believe it or not, a microwave in the break room exploded,” Scott said, “we don’t know how, but it started a fire that is spreading, but is held within two floors, the smoke went everywhere though. Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I was stuck in the elevator, with him, for almost 20 minutes, 20 grueling minutes,” Stiles said.

“And nothing changed between the two of you?” Scott asked.

“I still hate him, just mildly less,” Stiles said, looking at Theo.

~

[mvmadvice]

MvM Bootcamp: Wave 666, the ultimate wave order guide

THE ULTIMATE MANN VS MACHINE, WAVE 666 GHOST TOWN GUIDE INCOMINGGG

I know it’s been awhile folks, but I’m back (briefly) with a down-and-dirty guide on wave 666.

Wave Order:

1. Crit W+M1 Pyros + Crit Bat Scouts + Crit Giant Demoknights

2. Crit Giant Soldiers + Uber Medics (one medic per soldier)

3. Giant Deflector Heavies + Giant Burst Fire Soldiers + Soldiers + Heavies

4. Tanks + Crit Scattergun Scouts

5. Giant Burst Fire Demomen + Crit Demoknights (small) + 1 Tank

6. Extended Banner Direct Hit Soldiers

7. Giant Heavies + Giant Quick Fix Medics

8. Tanks + 96 fucking Spies <----- HALFWAY POINT!!!!

9. Crit Huntsmen

10. Crit Rapid Fire Soldiers

11. Crit Burst Demomen

12. Crit Airblast Pyros

13. Crit Scattergun Scouts (not to be confused with part 4)

14. 1 Tank + Crit Heavies + Uber Medics

Yes, despite it all being one big waves, the bots still come in a specific order. I’ll organize them as “parts” (part 1, part 2, part 3, etc) since it’s all one big wave. Quick explanation of each part under the cut.

Part 1:

Aka the warm up. Just don’t let them get in close to you, and you’ll be a-okay. The demomen come in groups of four, and the little bots come in groups of I wanna say 10? I’ve never really counted because they’re not that big a threat.

Part 2:

The first time you meet Uber medics in the wave. It’ll be hard for Medic pickers to isolate the medics, since each giant soldier comes attached with one and they come as one messy group, meaning there isn’t a convenient place to put all your stickies/throw your gas to kill all the medics cleanly. Ideally, a good Sniper can take out most--if not all--of the medics. However, since good Snipers are hard to come by, you’re better off popping the medics as fast as possible. If you have a kritzkrieg Medic and a Soldier on your team, it may be worth popping kritz on the Soldier, since Soldier’s crockets can fairly reliably 1 shot Uber medics. 

Part 3:

The Giants will always come as a pair. Ideally, you’ll want to kill the first pair before the second one drops, etc etc. The little bots can be annoying though, since the spam is super crazy during this part. If you have a medic, make sure your projectile shield is ready, because you can literally render all the bots useless for a short period of time. If you’re playing Engineer, move your sentry gun out of the way at the beginning of this part or get ready to wrangle it. If you’re playing Soldier, you can fire a few cheeky rockets early to try to damage the bots right as they hit the ground. Splash damage is your best friend during this part. Soldier, Demoman, and Sniper really shine here.

Part 4:

This is the easiest tank part (and also probably the easiest part of Wave 666 if your team is good at working together). If you have an Engineer, he can singlehandedly hold the bomb for the entire duration of this wave, allowing the other 5 players to focus down the tanks. Alternatively, if you either lack an Engineer or your Engineer doesn’t realize the power he has against a bunch of Scouts, dedicate ONE person to stopping the bomb. Some good classes you’ll see often that are good at watching the bomb are: Soldier, Demoman, Scout, Sniper (if he can aim), Pyro (if they’re not on the tank), and Heavy. Demoknights and Spies can also watch the bomb, but they aren’t nearly as effective. Phlog Pyros, Buff Banner Soldiers, and Carbine + Bushwacka Snipers should always be on the tank, not on the bomb. If you’re really struggling, try seeing if your team has enough tank damage. I’ll talk about tanks and tank damage more extensively in another post.

Pro tip: If you think you might be done with the Scouts and want to stop watching the bomb, press tab and see how many Crit Scouts are left. You’re done with Scouts (for now) if the number is 75.

Part 5: 

The demomen (both the giants and the little ones) will move in groups of five or ten. This means that they’ll be grouped up very nicely with each other, but it also means that you can quickly get overwhelmed by 20+ giant demos all spamming grenades everywhere. They do, however, take a long time to reload, so if you want to get in a few quick Ubersaws, it’s possible with good timing (2-3 depending on how much you wanna push your luck).

This part is also pretty easy, depending on how much AOE (area of effect) damage you have. Basically, if you have a lot, the giant demos go down fast. If you have very little, well, it’s do-able, but you’ll need to be very efficient at rotating between the tank and the bomb. Oh yeah, did I mention that after 10-15 giant demomen drop, a single tank will appear? Yep! This tank has more HP than the tanks you just fought, so be careful. Ideally, your team will split in half and deal with them at the same time. If you have very little tank damage but a lot of bot damage, focus the tank first (I know, but hear me out). Since you know you don’t have a lot of tank damage, starting on the tank early will make sure you have enough time to get rid of the tank before you take on the robots. Most teams with very little tank damage will have a lot of robot damage, so you should be able to take care of the robots fairly quickly. If you have very little of either, I have to genuinely wonder how you got so far into the wave in the first place.

Part 6: 

If you’re playing Engineer, you basically have to hide your sentry around corners to pick off bots before they can react to your gun. If you’re playing any other class, buy crit and blast resistance. Wave 666 is different from other modes in that you can refund your upgrades during the wave. The ending of Part 5 is very slow (a few crit demoknights filter in over a short period of time), so take that chance to get as much crit and blast resistance as you can. Let the sentry gun watch the bomb while your team goes to get upgrades. You’re gonna need it.

This part usually isn’t that hard though, overall, since most people have blast and crit resistance by now anyway.

Part 7:

As soon as the last soldiers spawn, the first Giant Heavy/Medic pair will also spawn. Try to clean up the soldiers before they drop. This is a pretty straightforward part of the wave. Kill the Medic (without letting it pop uber, or else it’ll go back to full hp), then kill the Heavy. Make sure you don’t have more than 2 pairs on the field at any given time, or your life will be hell and the wave will be over.

This part you’ll have relatively little control over, but don’t let the last pair touch the bomb. Usually, the first or second pair will be able to touch it, maybe let the third pair, but absolutely do not let the last pair touch the bomb. If they do, you risk having the bomb still in play during the dreaded part 8.

Part 8: 

The spookiest and hardest part of wave 666 that everyone has told you about. Wave 666 is known for 2 things: being really fucking long and the ninety-six fucking spies that come at the same time to destroy your life.

These spies are NOT your normal support spies, which typically come in groups of two or three. No. These spies will swarm. There will be something like 10 or 20 on the map until you kill them all. They also drop money ($2 or $3, this is the part where even the best scouts will lose that A+ rating). But the most annoying, least known part about these spies is as follows:

They can cap the bomb.

You read that right. It’s extremely rare that they have the opportunity, since the tank usually gives enough time for the bomb to respawn, and the Spies will never spawn with a bomb, but if you do happen to have a bomb? Good luck winning this.

During this part of the wave, buy backs, crit canteens, and uber canteens are your best friends. If you’re a non-explosive class, you can jump on top of the tank. If you’re a Scout, please don’t do that if you already see someone up there. You can dodge spies with pretty good success, let the tank Sniper sit up there. Sincerely: a tank Sniper.

HALFWAY POINT IS OVER, SOMETHING LIKE 7 OF 10 TEAMS FAIL BY THIS POINT, SO IF YOU’RE HERE, CONGRATS! YOU’RE BASICALLY DONE!

Note for parts 9-14: These bots all come in a row, and don’t give you a break in between bot types, so you’ll often get a mix of two bots at the end of one part and beginning of the next. You might also start to lag due to the large number of particle effects now in the game.

Part 9:

Crit huntsmen. They’re pretty easy if you have a Medic and a Soldier. I’d argue they could probably hold the bomb all on their own if they don’t die. Snipers are really weak in the HP department, so they’re easy to burst down in groups. By now you should have more than enough damage.

If you’re playing Sniper, this is the last part of Wave 666 that you’ll be useful in until part 13 (since Soldier does your job better).

Part 10-11:

The Crit Soldiers from part 10 are very dangerous. You might want to dodge in and out from behind walls (the ones on either side of the main pathway are good, as well as the wall on top of the building in the middle. If you’re lucky, the bomb bot will go towards the right side (if you are looking from the hatch to the robot spawn), where there is a really good bottleneck corridor. Have a low quality screenshot from a recent game (ignore the icicle sentry buster).

This bottleneck is absolutely amazing vs the bots from part 10-12 because if you can get the bomb placement just right, all the robots will funnel in from the front.

Sometimes, you might get a cheeky flanker, but if you have an Engie or a very aware power class, they aren’t a problem.

The Demomen can be dealt with similarly as the Soldiers.

Part 12:

The Pyros are where your power classes start to falter. The best class against these Pyros is your Engineer. If you don’t have one, good luck. They’ll probably be able to push you all the way to your hatch, but if you have enough people alive (2-3) at any given time, you should be able to prevent the cap.

If you’re at the bottleneck, have one person above and the rest of the team on the ground. Ideally, your soldier(s) are smart enough to figure out that these Pyros know how to reflect and have perfect reflect timing, so they’ll position themselves accordingly. 

Part 13:

The Pyros will soon trickle to a halt and some Scouts will start to mix themselves in. Be careful, these Scouts do a lot more damage than the Scouts from part 4.

Part 14:

A few minutes after the Scout’s start spawning, a tank will spawn. This tank is even tankier than the tank from part 5 and drops very little money when you kill it (but that doesn’t matter, you’re basically done anyway at this point). At the same time, the Heavy/Medic pairs will also start to drop, so it’s just a giant fuckfest of crits and panic.

Be warned: robots can cap while ubercharged. If you do not have a Demoman, Pyro, or another class that can disrupt a bomb drop, make sure to pop the medics’ uber before they reach your base.

If you’re playing Sniper, this is the part of the wave that you get to be useful again, because your charged bodyshots will 1 shot the uber medics, preventing them from popping.

If you beat all of that, then you’re done!

Congratulations!

You get to feel accomplished that you beat wave 666.

Make sure to keep an eye out for some in depth analyses of the harder parts of the wave, along with some class guides for wave 666.

[elecman108]

(This is about to be a BIG rant on my part about MatPat’s video on YouTube he made today, so I’m gonna put my rant under the cut but you can watch the video here: https://youtu.be/iB7C7o920zE )

MatPat summarized my whole opinion on YouTube in the video I mentioned above. Content creators, especially gamers, give back to their communities more than most, in more than just monetary values. I’ll admit, while I personally want to go into a Psychology field, I’d love to BE a YouTuber. And one in the gaming sphere, for that matter! Or maybe more like a variety channel with gaming and the rest in it. But that’s beside the point.

YouTubers give content because that’s what they want to do. They’re entertainers, educators, and yes, some could be bad, some could do stupid things, but look: Humanity is inherently flawed. YouTube in and of itself is comprised of people. Cat videos? Done by people. YouTube Gaming? People playing those games. Beauty Vloggers? That’s people on the screen right there.

There is no way I can describe my outright rage towards ad companies pulling ads for a bad press story one niche channel did in one small video in a sphere of so much other content from the platform. If that were the case, why don’t they pull their ads anywhere else? Racism, sexism, bigortry, and so, so much more happens on the Television. But you still see Disney advertising their theme parks, their movies. You still see all these ads for products you’ll never need just there, on your screen.

YouTube is television, sort of, catered to watching what you want, when you want, from who you want. Television, you’re stuck with what’s on right now on the upwards of like, 800 channels out there. I want to watch the Kirby Anime! Where do I go? YOUTUBE. I don’t care that each of a hundred and one videos, each of which about twenty minutes long, have an ad at the start. That’s a hundred and one ads over the course of a hundred and one videos, for about forty hours that I’ve wasted of my life watching Kirby beat Dedede at his own game. But that’s beside the point.

“No one wants to hear good stories from YouTube.”

With today’s reality, the news is full of... shit. For lack of a better word. I’m in Canada, so I watch local news - car crashes, events, shootings, fires, sports, entertainment, weather - and some satirical comedy shows out of the US - presidential, presidential, oh my god can we hear something that isn’t presidential I want to gouge my eyes out, disaster, Stephen Colbert’s “Meanwhile” segments, and interviews - and it’s a whole lot of shit. I get no real “feel good” stories.

But here’s the thing: MatPat mentioned charity streams.

There was the one by... oh, my memory’s failing me again, but the Trans DK64 livestream. I heard about that! It made me so happy! I watched (not live, of course, I’m a bit slow for that sort of thing) Awesome Games Done Quick from their YouTube channel, and watched their Mario Odyssey playthrough when they hit two million just to make the runner do the re-fights, and to support the charity. It made my little heart so happy at like, midnight one night when I watched the whole thing, to see so much kindness.

Because all “real” news gives us is depressing.

Give me some feel-good stories about the Yogscast Jingle Jam raising 3 million. Give me some stories about AGDQ raising two million for cancer research. Give me some stories about Markiplier raising almost a million for charity. Give me some stories about that twenty million MatPat spoke of that YouTube content creators raised this past year.

You want to know why I think this?

Because the media can’t control the content.

They can’t control the creators and what they want to do.

They can’t turn to a YouTube channel and say “no more use of guns on your gaming channel” because, here’s your wake up call, a lot of games have guns in them.

YouTube lately has, from what I can see in my own personal watching, done something about their content creators, because the Yogscast seems to be... censoring some swear words. They censored cunt before, and it was funny at the time because it came out of nowhere in a TTT video. But now they censored Lewis saying “Duncan, I think I fucked up.” in the recently completed SevTech series on Duncan’s channel. You can fuck up - EVERYONE is entitled to fuck up at least once in their life - and Lewis, the idiot whom we love so much for being awkward and terrible and having almost no filter when it comes to stupid comments, thought he fucked up.

But they censor it, and the gravity of Lewis realizing with a sinking heart that he’s fucked up is lost, and it’s just irritating beeps and Lewis sounds worried in tone. I can get it being in a television show - Children may be watching! - but on YouTube, the only thing you can stop is age restricting things to 18+.

And you can just make a new account that’s over 18. I have a spam Gmail account I use for signing up for things for school that I really didn’t want on my main email, and through the random act of hitting random dates and years, it’s an 18+ account I can use on YouTube. I mean now I’m over 18, but still. 

I think they realize that kids have access to these 18+ concepts online, but there’s nothing they can do about it. Go online, look up boobs, the only thing stopping you might be Google’s Safe Search, which is easily turned off with a click of a button. Go on, look up Call of Duty with all its gun violence. Nothing’s stopping you! You can watch someone else play the games you can’t because of age restrictions.

I said before that I want to go into Psychology, and I’m currently in some Psychology courses at College - soon to HOPEFULLY be a Psych program next year for two years, possibly with Co-Op. Regardless, I think my class today in Developmental Psych taught me a couple key things. And I’m going to mention one of two here: Parenting.

Sounds kind of out there on a YouTube-based post, but bear with me.

There are four types of parenting, more or less, and I’ll just list them from my lecture slides (if they’ll load for me...) because I’m not going to bother with images that probably won’t load anyways: Permissive, Authoritative, Rejecting (and other terms for this one), or Authoritarian. I’ll cover each quickly for you.

Permissive Parents are parents who don’t control their children much, but are very nurturing. “We love you so you can do what you want”. Simple as that. Authoritative Parents are parents who control their children but care for them. I like to say helicopter parenting falls somewhere within here, but “I must know what you’re doing at all times because I love you and care about you deeply.” I know this part very well, and this is the “golden standard” which I’ll be returning to. Rejecting, Neglecting, or Uninvolved Parents don’t care and don’t control. “Do whatever, I don’t care.” Not good, lemmie say. The last is Authoritarian Parents, who are controlling with no nurture (or little of it). “You must do as I say because its my way or the highway.” I’ll return to this too.

Let’s talk about Authoritative. Take this concept and put it to YouTube. They want what’s best under their views for their users, so they control the content (or try to) that’s put on their side. Helicopter Website? But they don’t care about the viewer, they only care about money, I hear you shouting from the depths of this hellsite. Then Authoritarian, I raise to you. You must abide by these things to protect the children who may or may not see this content because it’s this way or the highway. Or the ban hammer. Whichever.

Now I said two things from my lecture today, so here’s the second: Gender Development. I can hear confusion. So here, let me clarify. Children around the age of two or three learn to differentiate the sex of themselves and others through physical appearance. Gender and sex are not the same. I’ll say it again. Gender and sex are not the same. Gender is a social construct. Sex is biological. Sex, in layman’s terms, is whether you have a puss or a wang downstairs, and if you have something else, that’s intersex. Gender is how you feel. I personally feel like social constructs don’t fit, so I am gender non-conforming. Because Society wants it to be black or white, I’m gonna be green like Luigi.

But think about it: YouTube has content for everybody. So... Children who go to YouTube for entertainment see these people and start thinking. I have another Yogscast example, bear with me.

Sjin, one of my personal favourites, does a thing (almost?) every Jingle Jam, and he dresses up as Elsa and sings Let It Go. He’s fantastic. And hell, he looks good in the Elsa dress. Think to these children told that boys can’t wear dresses and makeup and like girly things from a young age by society looking at this grown-ass man living the life and singing a Disney song for charity. That’s not something society wants, they want black and white. They can’t have Sjin in a dress because he wants to! They can’t have men wearing makeup and doing girly things! No way in hell that’s happening! And yet YouTube... is here... and Sjin is Sjelsa.

He gives open arms to people who don’t feel like they can conform to society’s standards and says, with his actions, it doesn’t matter, so long as you’re happy with who you are. No one can deny that Sjin loves Frozen, and loves Elsa. He’s happy. And some people, seeing a grown man in a dress go “I don’t want my kids seeing that, its indecent and not what a man should do!”

Dude. If you’re a woman wearing pants right now, then go put on a skirt. Its indecent.

Or so people would’ve said several decades ago.

Because Society is changing.

And these old crones need to learn that Society is being run by people who open their arms to difference, and instead of saying “its this or that and nothing else”, they kick the false dilemma fallacy that it originally held and say “Hey, you’re different, and I want to know why if you’re willing to share. Oh, that’s it? Cool! Let’s continue our lives both richer with the knowledge we’ve gained today.”

((God, I put both of my classes’ lectures into this rant...))

Life isn’t black and white anymore.

It’s not even monochrome.

Life is in colour. And society needs to catch up.

As per usual...

TL;DR: Society, as shown by MatPat with his video on YouTube, wants to paint any new thing in a bad light and really only a bad light even though its good. I theorize it’s because society is the helicopter parent nobody likes and the censorship to everything that nobody deserves.

Let people live their lives. Honestly.

[vankoya]

Extra Cheese, Please!

✽ Read the indecorous follow-up piece, Less Cheese, More Please!

Genre | Best Friends to Lovers / Housemates AU.

Pairing | Jeon Jeongguk / Feminine Reader.

Words | 9,524 words.

Conspectus | Jeongguk dislikes three things: 1. Having his Overwatch marathon nights interrupted, 2. Dealing with drunk people while he is sober, and 3. Cheesy ramyeon. His best friend slash housemate slash insufferable crush is the drunk girl with an incessant craving for super cheesy ramyeon who interrupts his Overwatch marathon night, and ultimately proves that the aforementioned meal looks just as gross coming up than it does when it is first in the bowl. 

Luckily, there is always a silver lining. Even in the worst of situations.

Warnings | Swearing. Alcohol. Vomiting as a result of being overly drunk. Sexual innuendos. Fondling. Jeongguk cannot deal with cleavage.

Jeongguk guesses that it is nearing one in the morning when his phone buzzes four times in succession. The vibrations occur no more than a few seconds apart against his balls, which is where the device has slipped down to nestle over the course of the past eight minutes.

He knows he should probably reach between his thighs and retrieve it to check the slew of texts that tickle his dick through a pair of grey sweatpants. He is also ninety-nine percent positive that he knows precisely who the sender is. But the military bomb payload is that fucking close to being at the Deadlock Gang’s cave hideout, just having passed Checkpoint B, and Jeongguk is quite possibly playing his best Escort game since he planted his sweet ass on the living room couch. The four instant ramyeon packets that he inhaled at eight o’clock are still burning off in his system. Well-needed fuel for a long, uninterrupted night of Overwatch.

Well, the chances of that peaceful gaming occurring were narrowed to considerably slim once a certain someone had slipped out of her bedroom and announced she was going out for cocktails. She had managed to breeze through the front door before Jeongguk could really have enough of an opportunity to stare at her magnificent ass in those jeans. But if his calculations were correct, he has made it through a solid five hours of tranquility so far.

When he sees the attacking team’s Lucio put up a sound barrier, Jeongguk cannot help but blast a grin of victory. He unleashes his McCree’s deadeye, obliterating the entire team. There is a triumphant shout that is echoed amongst his own teammates, and he nearly throws his goddamn PS4 controller at the television when he fist-pumps the air out of excitement. Through the headset, Yugyeom makes a comment amongst his hooting along the lines of: “McCree, that OP motherfucker!” while Jeongguk spams McCree’s: “I’m the quick, you’re the dead,” voice line over and over in the final seconds that the payload reaches its destination and the game comes to a close.

Earning play of the game was expected after the shit he pulled last minute. Though Jeongguk finds himself surprised when he gets ten votes out of the twelve players, considering the opposing team is currently shouting a stream of insults. Because yeah, McCree is overpowered as fuck. But the sheer laziness in him cannot bear the thought of having to train up on a different hero, at this stage.

“I’m out,” Jeongguk announces to Yugyeom as he reaches down to grab his phone, beginning to vibrate against his balls again due to his lack of response. Yugyeom laughs, the connection slightly static.

“Gotta get your girlfriend, huh?“

“Fuck you, not my girlfriend,” Jeongguk barks before exiting the main screen, albeit with a tiny smile, and then shifts his headset to sit around his neck. When he clicks the home button of his phone, he is greeted by a screen lit up with eight notifications, confirming two things.

It is definitely past one in the morning, and it is definitely who he was expecting to be.

Jeongguk gets his heart stuck in his throat, bites his tongue and stupidly grins at the last text that was sent, chest tight at the thought of her missing him. He can picture that dumbass drunk smile of her’s so clearly; a sight that he has seen enough times to have it burned into the very cells of his brain. It is the one thing that is beyond fucking adorable when paired with her glassy eyes, staring roundly at him while she perches that amazing ass on his lap. Right on the zipper of his jeans so that the jagged metal presses right against his dick and– Fuck, too far.

He chances a glance at his sweatpants and yeah, shit, he is a little bit hard now. Jeongguk slaps himself, firm enough to properly wake up from his unexpectedly lascivious daze, and then he quickly punches in his passcode.

He sputters and incredulously shakes his head, running a hand through his hair because hell yeah, she is a twelve alright. More than that even, a hundred in his books, if numbers had to define her. Maybe Jeongguk should not think such thoughts about his best friend of seven years slash university flatmate of two. But then again, her attractiveness is common knowledge amongst their friends and all those alike who encounter her. As clear as the sky is blue and the grass is green. Simply, Jeongguk is just confirming the obvious and nothing more than that.

Yeah, definitely nothing more than that. Totally still not semi-hard over the thought of her drunk smile, of all the boner-inducing things about her.

Before he can text her back, the theme song to Legend of Zelda is filtering through the living room and the ugliest photo he has of her is appearing blown up on the screen. The image is one that is zoomed right in on her face from where she breaches the ocean, pixelated by the added effect of it being a screenshot. The fast motion of her coming up after a wave had crushed her makes it appear as though her face is being dragged down by gravity; mouth parted in a gasp; completely wet hair plastered to her scalp, and presented at such an angle that she looks bald. 

It is fucking hideous. Jeongguk had laughed so hard that he peed himself a little the first time he noticed it in one of the snapshots that he had taken on his DLSR at the beach that day, and he never let her live it down. But they did come to a mutual agreement to not allow such a monstrosity to be released to the general public on an unfortunate Facebook birthday post, or as a tactic for revenge. Otherwise, Jeongguk would similarly be having a picture of himself exposed as far as the eye can see. The one where he is slumped backwards over their coffee table, blacked out and wearing nothing but a pair of her pretty pink panties, the tip of his sad and soft dick poking out the leg hole.

Jeongguk stares at the caller ID photo a moment longer, eyes watering with hilarity before he swipes his finger across the screen to answer with, “Well, well, if it isn’t–“

“Th–The sexiest motherfucker you know?” slurs through the other end of the line, nearly drowned out by the commotion she most likely sits cross-eyed within. “Who s’about to be joined by a much less sexy motherfucker, hmm?”

“Let me guess,” Jeongguk runs his tongue over his teeth, unhooking the headset from his neck and placing it on the coffee table, “I’m the less sexy motherfucker?” he says as he reaches for the remote to turn off the television.

“Ding ding, ten points to Gryffindor,” she whoops and giggles, and god, Jeongguk melts a little as he stands up but definitely not because he thinks her intoxicated laughter sounds fucking adorable. No way. “Y’gonna come collect the goods?”

He stuffs his feet into a battered pair of Vans and reaches for his black parka, looking like a damn slob and all with nothing but a dark shirt and his grey sweats underneath. He has no plans to stay longer than absolutely necessary at the bar, anyway. “I can’t think of any goods I need to collect,” Jeongguk sighs, swiping his house keys and wallet from the dish atop the entry cabinet and making way towards the front door. “A drunken mess that unfortunately so happens to be my best friend sounds more accurate.”

“At leas’ she’s got a great ass!” she defends herself, Jeongguk mentally agrees, then literally has to slap himself across the face again for focusing too long on the mental image of it, which he has copied in high-definition into his memory. Her voice becomes distant from the speaker, shouts out, “No you may not touch it, fuckin’ perv! Go piss in yo’ girly fuckin’ Cosmopolitan, yeah?!”

“Please don’t get yourself killed before I get there,” Jeongguk raises his voice a little in hopes of her hearing over the music. A smidgen of the tension that is suddenly squeezing at his chest is released when he hears her indignant huff right against the speaker. “I’m gonna be pissed if I walk all that way just to find you’re dead.”

“It’s like, one kilometre tops, pussy,” she retorts, the eye roll practically audible as Jeongguk locks the front door and then heads down the hallway to the elevator. “A light jog’ll get you here in what, five minutes. So start runnin’, boy.”

“Fuck no. I’m hanging up. Stay alive.” He mutters, punching repeatedly at the elevator button as if it will make the doors open faster. 

Distantly, he wonders why he is in such a goddamn rush. He narrows it down to just wanting to get back home again as soon as humanly possible; to return to his disturbed Overwatch marathon. Yeah, of course that is why.

“Thanks babe, you th’ best!” she sings, hangs up before he can, and Jeongguk jams his finger against the button with a greater ferocity until the elevator dings open after what feels to be centuries of waiting. (It was not even thirty seconds.)

He ends up speedily jogging the entire way to the bar to build up his blood circulation because it is cold as tits outside, of course. Definitely not because it means he will get to see her sooner, make sure she is safe and sound and not being leered at by some drunken, creepy lecher.

Nope. No way at all.

They say that there is always a silver lining to every unfortunate and downright dreadful situation. Jeongguk is currently wondering where the fuck such lining happens to be once he finally finds a particular girl that he was forced and threatened to brave the cold in order to collect, only to be met by the pout that she knows gets him all pliable and willing. He does not know it yet, but the silver lining is still coming. Slowly, gradually, but it will.

Even if, right now, that shit seems as likely as getting a blow job from Beyonce.

“How much?” he shouts to be heard over the pounding music, repeats for the second time because he refuses to believe the sum that the bartender first announced. 

At Jeongguk’s hip slouches the self-proclaimed goods. The treacherous best friend, who keeps having to be hiked up by his arm curled tightly around her waist since her bones liquefied by liquor are failing to keep her standing. She has that goofy smile pulling at her plush lips, and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to slap from her face, or to kiss it away instead.

The bartender checks the amount again, then leans towards Jeongguk with a somewhat empathetic expression to call back, “Rounded to one hundred and eighty-four dollars.”

On the inside, Jeongguk might be crying a little. Funny how the reason behind his internal agony is also the same thing that is keeping him slightly sane through his mental calculations of how much money he has left in his bank account. Pressed against his side with an intoxicated, unfocused gaze that stares up at him too endearingly for him to be one hundred percent angry. He is at ninety-nine point nine-nine percent. Okay, maybe on the cusp of no less than ninety percent. Goddamn.

“I’m letting you go for a second,” Jeongguk warns her and begins to slowly recede his arm, giving her enough time to support herself on the bar. Rather than doing this, she wraps her own arms around his waist and nestles under his armpit.

In any other situation than the apparent one, where he has to aid his best friend’s spontaneous cocktail night with his own miserable funds, Jeongguk would be fighting to tame the glee. The kind that would be demanding to tuck her closer, and perhaps press his nose to the crown of her head so he can breathe in the soft scent of her vanilla shampoo. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wills himself to be dreaming that his weekly budget is about to be kicked repeatedly in the balls and that maybe, instead, they are just at home on the couch and it is one of those movie nights where she gets extra cuddly for no apparent reason, Jeongguk is still stuck in the apparent situation.

He glares at his tormenter, who continues to latch like a lock around his body, and barely manages to keep his tears from falling as he retrieves his wallet and flips it open, fingers shaky. An extra tug is required from the bartender to loosen the measly grip Jeongguk’s fingertips have on his debit card when he hands it over.

“Girlfriend?” The bartender politely chips in as he swipes the card through the eftpos machine and then faces the keypad towards Jeongguk. As Jeongguk punches in the pin number, the bartender darts his gaze up to him with a raised eyebrow. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Neither, and I don’t know if that makes it better or worse,” Jeongguk smiles, the kind that conveys his immense internal suffering. The bartender gives a sympathetic nod and hands back Jeongguk’s card before rushing off to continue serving drinks.

The latest, monstrous attachment on Jeongguk’s side squeezes him with her feeble, jelly-drunk arms. Albeit the situation, something softens inside of him when he grabs her chin so that she will properly face him. She blinks languidly like an overtired kitten, mascara smudged beneath her eyes, lipstick smeared a little on her chin. Not in the way that suggests somebody else had their mouth on her own. It is definitely the familiar mark caused by the back of her hand rubbing against her lips after taking a shot. Jeongguk is still weighing up whether he prefers the latter to the former.

“‘m tired, Jeonggukie,” she whines, slumps closer to him, and he wraps his arm around her waist again, hoisting her up with a displeased sound.

“All that talk about wanting me to have a drink with you, and now you’re making me pay the bill and run?” Jeongguk teasingly chides, and she unabashedly nods against his right pectoral. Alarm bells start ringing in his head when her weight against his side grows a tad too close to the ‘falling unconscious’ side of the spectrum. “Woah, hey– No. Don’t you dare fall asleep on me, ___. You still have to walk home.”

She hooks her chin on his shoulder and conjures that goofy, heart-melting grin that has Jeongguk crying a little on the inside, because he is such an absolute sucker for her. In that moment, her pout becomes the bane of his existence as she says, “Jus’ carry me, yeah?”

“Hell fucking no.”

Jeongguk carries her on his back the entire damn way.

By the time they reach the front door of their apartment, Jeongguk’s knees are weakly trembling and he feels utterly winded. Maybe it is a sign that he needs to get back into the gym on the weekends instead of indulging Yugyeom with Overwatch marathons. Or, more favourably, he needs to find a new best friend who will not 1. have him pay for her expensive, alcoholic ways, and then 2. make him piggyback her through the bitter cold night while she is practically deadweight against his shoulders in her partially asleep state.

“For someone who was calling me a pussy because I couldn’t be bothered walking to the bar, you’re awfully hypocritical in riding my back the whole way home,” Jeongguk says, gasping a little, jiggling the key in the lock and bustling them both inside once the latch clicks.

She clambers off his back, staggers slightly, and then catches herself on the back of the couch. Miraculously, she appears minutely more sober than she was twenty minutes ago. “Could’ve got an Uber.”

Jeongguk kicks off his shoes. “What, and paid him with the moths flying out of my wallet?”

She shrugs. “It would’ve cos’ like, three dollars.”

“That three dollars is lasting us until next Thursday, thanks to a certain someone who just made me blow my pay that I only got four days ago,” he hisses, sliding out of his jacket and hanging it over one of the dining table chairs.

And there it is again. That silly little grin tugging softly at her lips as she wiggles her hips against the couch. Strategically, Jeongguk briskly turns on his heel and strides into the kitchen before she can get her nails in him. Moulding him like the pathetic putty that he is. He can practically hear her pout when he ignores her blatant attempt at melting down his cold facade. Then, her heels unsteadily click across the vinyl flooring to watch him pull out a saucepan and fill it halfway with water, positioning it on the largest hotplate.

Jeongguk does not cast his eyes her way, even if every inch of his body, particularly his dick, is demanding that he do so. Because holy eight-pound six-ounce sweet baby Jesus in his cradle of hay, he did not notice in the dim lighting of the bar, but she is wearing a black v-cut sweater that exposes her shoulders and collarbones and a barely there shadow of cleavage. That, in itself, is saying something since her tits are a size that would fit neatly in his palms without any overflow. Just a nice, small and cute handful. God, he has never seen her with even a hint of cleavage like this before. This is unchartered territory that he has no idea of how to face, especially when he can barely cope with the sight of her amazing ass in any kind of legwear.

Jeongguk, staring blankly at the packet ramyeon in his hands, mentally forces himself not to get fucking hard like a teenage boy in the middle of their goddamn kitchen.

“What’cha doin’, good lookin’?” she hums, now perched on a breakfast bar stool with the side of her face mashed into the heel of her palm, elbow propped up on the kitchen counter. In his periphery, those small, adorable breasts spill from the v-neck onto the white laminate as a result of her slouched over position. Every single one of his nerve-endings is aflame.

Jeongguk releases the air trapped tightly in his lungs and then proceeds to make way towards the slowly simmering pot of water. He dares not a single glance at her, for the fabric of his sweatpants leaves little to the imagination, and she has definitely recognised a semi in them before.

“I’m making you something to eat since you always get hungry after drinking. Also, because I’m the greatest best friend that this world could’ve ever graced you with.” Jeongguk’s eyes are glued to his hands as he begins tearing into the packets. He dumps the dehydrated noodles and seasonings into the water, and desperately tries not to think about how sweet her tits would look in his hands. Praying that she takes the bait, he adds on as an afterthought, “Why don’t you get changed into something comfortable, and the food will be ready when you are?”

There is a pause, a moment where Jeongguk’s tongue pulses like a heart in his mouth, and he tries not to break into a nervous sweat. He can practically hear his own words clicking into place in her mind; connecting, disconnecting, reconnecting; fumbling through the drunken haze that still lays thick on her thought process. Twenty seconds pass, and he ends up so on edge that when she slaps her open palm against the countertop, he startles so abruptly that he rips open a seasoning packet with the ferocity of a gorilla. Beef flavouring bursts over his shirt and the stovetop in a cloud of brown dust.

“I shall go do that,” she announces. Jeongguk, going from nearly hyperventilating out of surprise to having a coughing fit from inhaling seasoning particles, sees her slither like a lizard off the stool out of his watering periphery. Except drunk, and with a goddamn, freshly fucking harvested cleavage.

He only lets a tear roll down his cheek once she has staggered down the hallway. This is Jeon Jeongguk, at the ripe age of twenty-three, accepting that he may die tonight.

Despite this possibility, he goes about cleaning up the spilled beef flavouring, saving as much of it as he can and depositing it in the simmering pot. The ramyeon-making itself goes rather smoothly. He manages to not spill the boiling water all over himself, nor accidentally rub his eyes after touching the chilli sauce like he did that one, hellish time that rendered him blind for just under three hours. He stirs the noodle broth and listens to her clomp around her bedroom, the occasional grunt and groan emitting when she cracks her hip against her desk, or whacks her shoulder against the frame of her walk-in closet.

She remerges in an acceptably less boner-inducing outfit. Consisting of one of his black hoodies that nearly reaches her knees, and assumedly (he prays, at least) a pair of unseeable boyshorts underneath. Jeongguk starts straining the ramyeon into a bowl.

“That’s mine,” he says about the hoodie while she clambers back onto the stool, looking soft and cuddly in her bundle of cotton and fleece. Her attire may not be as threatening to his vulnerable dick, but it is definitely as murderous to his weakened heart.

“Finders keepers, losers are weepers,” she immediately fires back, settling into her previous palm-smushed-against-face position, waiting for him to finish plating up the ramyeon. “Dun’ forget the cheese, either.”

At that, his whole body shudders with repulsion. For the first time since the growth of her cleavage was made apparent, Jeongguk faces her directly and hopes that the sheer suffering she puts him through is perfectly translated through his withered expression when he says, “You are disgusting,” before opening the fridge anyway and retrieving the container of pre-sliced easy-melt. “I will never understand how you can perform such sacrilege against the two holiest foods by combining them into the edible-equivalent of Hell.”

“Excuse you, cheesy ramyeon is the best gift this world has given us.” She frowns at the ceiling, thinks this over for a moment, and then corrects herself with, “Has given me, since I’m the best gift this world has ever given you.”

Jeongguk merely chuckles, does not deny it, because one may call him a deadset liar if he were to do so. Instead, he peels two slices of cheese out of the container and places them atop the bowl of steaming ramyeon, pressing them down with a fork so that they melt faster. 

She makes an iffy little sound, somewhat of a whine, and says, “Extra cheese, please!”

“You’ll make yourself feel sick,” he warns, yet all she does is glare adorably at him until he caves like the weak man that he is and adds an extra two squares. A thought itches at the back of his mind, informing him that he is most likely going to regret this, and he brushes it away just as quickly as it forms. Under that beguiling gaze of hers, she could ask Jeongguk to stick chopsticks up his ass and impersonate a popsicle and he would.

An over-exaggeration, but you get the point.

“Alright, one extra cheesy ramyeon for the drunk girl with disgusting taste in food,” Jeongguk declares, reaching across the counter to place the dairy-laden bowl in front of her before grabbing her hand, putting the fork in her open palm and forcibly curling her fingers around it with his own. He holds her hand a moment longer than necessary between his own, grinning tightly, remaining to ignore the voice that is now screeching in his head that feeding her this is a very, very bad idea. “Bon appétit,” he finalises, and the deal is done.

She smiles up at him, eyes shining and all of her teeth on display. Jeongguk wonders what wars he must have ended in his past life to be rewarded with this girl of starlight and vanilla and honey who winds around him, softens him into warm and easy. Before he can further dwell on such a tender thought, she shovels a grotesque forkful of cheesy ramyeon into her mouth.

“Tfhanksh Jeonguffie,” she says around the stickiness, and Jeongguk, now the perfect picture of nonchalance, wordlessly turns on his heel and begins to clean up the dishes. Anything, really, to distract himself from projecting the small amount of vomit that has lurched up to the back of his throat at the horrendous meal making contact with those lips that deserve so much better.

Minutes slowly go by, stretching past two in the morning and beginning to progress towards quarter-past. Besides the sickening slurps that she makes behind him, and the clattering of the saucepan with a handful of dirty dishes from his own dinner being washed in the sink, no conversation is made, and it is comfortable. These moments are precisely why Jeongguk has not risked it yet; asking her the big question; the determiner as to whether their best friendship will advance into something more. If she were to deny him, he believes he would be able to handle it, but he knows well that such knowledge would be on her mind every time she looks his way. The awkward tension would ensue, she would overanalyse his every move, and he would become distant because he does not want her to get the wrong idea. They would anticipate the day that the lease on their apartment runs out so they can go their separate ways as soon as possible.

So, he keeps quiet and basks in the contentment that they have created together in their little home. At the end of the day, she is his best friend, and he could not imagine a future without her in it. No matter if they were romantically involved, or purely platonic. Sure, he would love to kiss her collarbones and put his hands on her hips and maybe – just maybe – tell her that he loves her in the morning glow of a lazy Sunday, whispered across the pillowcases. But he can live without that. He can be a big boy about it and move on.

He keeps telling himself this, at least. Soon, he will genuinely be convinced that he can do it.

“Jeongguk.”

“Mmm,” he hums in response, turning around when her follow-up is delayed, and he instantly notices how her expression has suddenly transformed.

Honestly, Usain Bolt could not even compare to how fast his ass moves. Jeongguk skirts around the kitchen counter, pulls her off the stool, and hastily guides her towards the sink while cursing under his breath.

“I feel…” she mumbles as Jeongguk takes out the plug and then gathers her hair up as well as he can manage, holding it in a loose bun at the crown of her head and cringing when her torso slightly convulses. “Like I’m gonna– Ugh–“

“Oh my god.”

Jeongguk swears he did not make her that much cheesy ramyeon. But dear fucking lord, the sheer amount that comes up and splashes into the sink is simply horrifying. The noodles must have expanded in her stomach for such an extensive volume to now be regurgitated in disgusting, yellow chunks that make his own stomach turn with wooziness. He cannot believe he thought cheesy ramyeon looked bad in the bowl, because it is appearing to be at least ten times worse in the form of barf.

“You owe me– Ugh, christ– So big after tonight, you little shit,” Jeongguk grunts at her between clenched teeth and gags when he gets a whiff of the stench. Like over-fermented dairy left out in the sun for weeks, doused in a hefty helping of vodka.

The sound she makes is awful when the next heave is unleashed onto the stainless steel, and she reaches one hand back from where it is braced on the counter to weakly pat his stomach. When she shakily murmurs, “I’ll give you the best blow of your life as thanks,” Jeongguk has to bite the wet, fleshy inner of his cheek to stop the visualisation of her words from drowning his mind until it is all he can think about.

“Don’t talk about sucking my dick while you’re vomiting,” he groans with a small tilt to the corners of his lips despite himself, collecting a loose strand of hair that is falling dangerously close to her mouth. She halfheartedly laughs before another surge of cheesy ramyeon makes its departure from her body, and Jeongguk dry-heaves in perfect synchronisation.

By the time the contents of her belly have been completely and utterly expelled, Jeongguk is admittedly feeling much weaker in the stomach than he was before her bout of throwing up. Especially after having to wash it down the drain. Once there is not an inch of cheesy noodles in sight, he gingerly carries her bridal-style into their shared bathroom and props her up on the sink, one hand on her waist to keep her steady and the other reaching for her toothbrush. 

Jeongguk bites his lip to hide his smile when she leans forward and rests her forehead on his chest while he squeezes out a line of toothpaste. He wets the brush a little under the tap, and then takes her chin like he had back in the club, lifting it up so that he can see her sleepy, downright adorable face. Seriously, who looks this cute after vomiting up their breakfast, lunch, dinner, and all of the vodka sloshed in between?

“Open your mouth,” Jeongguk says, moving his fingers so they can squeeze her cheeks and make her lips pout like a fish. His heart weeps like the pathetic thing that it is at the sight.

She waggles her eyebrows to the best of her ability in her sobering, exhausted state. “What’re you going to put in there?”

“Not my dick, unfortunately for you,” Jeongguk chuckles, holding up the toothbrush, and she sighs loudly with faux disappointment. Well, he thinks she is joking. Surely she is.

Obediently, she opens her mouth. Jeongguk abruptly shoves the toothbrush in there and starts scrubbing at her pearly whites before he can think of the way she looks with her lipstick-smudged lips parted so obscenely like that.

His brain is the epitome of a keyboard smash.

It only glitches all the more when Jeongguk gradually comes to realise the entire position that they are both in; taking him over like a virus. His non-brushing hand still cups her small jaw. Glitch. Her bare thighs brush against his hips as she lightly swings her feet. Glitch. She blatantly stares at him, eyes half-lidded and looking like melted butter. Error: Jeon Jeongguk is no longer computing.

At least he can thank all of the deities that she is no longer wearing the Cleavage Sweater of Jeongguk’s Absolute Demise. Otherwise, he would have a bird’s eye view of the goods in question, and he, undoubtedly, would be a dead man.

Before he can linger on the dangerous thought of her small breasts while he is at this high-risk proximity, she makes a distressed gurgling sound. A sliver of Jeongguk’s sanity returns to him and he realises that toothpaste is spilling out of her mouth and onto his hand. With a panicked yelp, he yanks the toothbrush out of her mouth and she hurries to swivel around and spit out the accumulated mass of minty foam into the sink.

“Jesus H. Christ, Jeon,” she rasps, coughing once and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Her glare is watery and suspicious. “Were you trying to drown me? Imagine that. Death by toothpaste.”

He sputters, swallowing down laughter. “Shit, sorry, I was just– Uh, thinking about something,” he mutters, sheepishly smiling and reaching around her to rinse off the toothbrush.

“‘bout what?” she hums, dipping her head down so she can cutely shove her face in his own. Jeongguk grunts and cranes his neck away, but she grins wider and follows him, accidentally bumping her nose against his jaw. “What’cha thinking about, huh?”

“Ugh, hey– Stop!” He lets the toothbrush clatter into the sink and smooshes her cheeks between his large palms, holding her still, approximately an inch away from his nose. Cautiously, Jeongguk leans back, redeems the blush that is steadily heating his own cheeks by saying, “I was just thinking about all the ways I’m going to make you repay me for making me deal with your drunk ass.”

She half-heartedly waggles her eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”

“Oh, you know,” he says as he drops his hands to her knees, but he does not fucking know at all since he was thinking about her tits again. His barely functioning, overtired and exhausted brain manages to conjure a handful of weak options. “I could make you do the dishes for a whole month. Or maybe, I could get you to buy the groceries for the next two fortnights. That’ll wipe your cocktail debt, at least.”

“You’re too soft on me, Jeongguk. Even when I can make your life a living hell,” she sighs, sleepily blinking at him. Unexpectedly, she knots her hands into the front of his shirt and pulls him close, successfully bringing his face back to the proximity that it was only a moment ago; nearly nose to nose. He can very suddenly feel his pulse practically vibrating in his throat. “‘m really sorry. You deserve something better than just some silly chores. I’ll pay you back the money of course, but– … Hey, what does my breath smell like?”

Before Jeongguk can even question her, she is forcefully exhaling onto his face. A gust of peppermint fills his nostrils, powerful enough to make him flinch. “Minty fresh. Why?”

Her lips stretch into a gentle curve, and beneath the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom, it almost appears nervous. “Good, ‘cos here goes nothing.”

Jeongguk is about to frown, about to speak, about to something. He cannot recall. Not now that she has closed the short gap between them and is accurately planting her mouth upon his own.

For a moment, Jeongguk thinks he might well and truly be dreaming. That tonight was some ridiculously real, torturous fantasy that his imagination managed to conjure in his unconscious state. But then her soft, damp lips part ever so slightly. Warm with the heat of her mouth, yet cool from the toothpaste. She opens up to him, her hands sliding up his chest to lock around his nape, the tip of her tongue skimming along the rosy flesh of his lower lip, and he knows.

This is very, very real.

Holy shit.

It takes a second for him to comprehend that he should kiss her back instead of standing there like a startled creature. And so, he slides his hands up from her knees to the middle of her thighs, the soft flesh warm beneath his palms when he gently grips them, and he tilts his head slightly to the side to deepen it. At this, she makes the most pleasant, lovely little sound. The edges of her nails lightly graze against the hair on the back of his neck, and elicit gooseflesh that tingles along his arms. 

Jeongguk parts his lips, lets her in, groans quietly when her tongue brushes against the underside of his own and then recedes. He chases after it, tasting warmth and cool peppermint as he carefully sinks his teeth into her lower lip, nibbling at the plush flesh and releasing it. A thin string of saliva connects their mouths as they separate for the most infinitesimal of moments before they dive back in. They are abstrusely drawn to each other. Like a black hole has formed between their bodies and they are radiant stars, pulled to the centre by gravity, colliding and becoming one.

Jeongguk cannot think straight. His mind has become an unrecognisable labyrinth that he cannot navigate; sent into turmoil by the taste of her, the feeling of her underneath the weight of his hands. He searches higher up her thighs, skimming beneath the hem of the hoodie and over her boyshorts, finding her waist and anchoring his fingers there, pulling her closer. Now, with her torso melding against his own, she loops her arms over his shoulders and her legs around his hips, locking her ankles and hands so that the embrace cannot be broken. Jeongguk melts completely, and he prays that this is not just some measly, intoxicated repayment. That what he feels in the slow movements of her lips and the press of her tongue is what he thinks it is. 

What he has been hoping for all this time.

As if she reads his mind, she suddenly jolts away like she has been electrocuted. Jeongguk, startled and with his lips still parted, stares at her with awed, lovestruck eyes. She gazes back as though she is very, very unsure.

Oh no.

“Woah,” she breathes, then she is untwining her limbs from his broad figure and clasping her blushing face with something akin to embarrassment. Jeongguk would think it looks utterly adorable if the fear was not currently spiking his adrenaline. “Wow– That was– Oh. Geez. I’m so sorry–“

“Why are you apologising?” Jeongguk barely whispers, and he almost does not want to know the answer for the fear of her words shattering his feeble heart like a hammer taking to glass.

“I’m– What? I’m apologising because that– That was something I shouldn’t have done,” she stammers, then sighs, letting her hands fall into her lap and staring down at them. Jeongguk is frozen, his own palms still firm against her waist underneath the bunched up fleece. “It was out of line. We’re best friends. I mean, I could blame it on being drunk if I wanted to and we could forget all about it. But in all seriousness, I’ve wanted to do that for a while. It was a very sober decision–“

Jeongguk exhales, and it shudders reluctantly out of his lungs. “You’re not making sense.”

“Okay, fine, fuck it!” she suddenly shouts, and it makes him jump. Her voice echoes around the bathroom, and she looks up at him again, eyes overflowing with frightening determination.  “Jeongguk. I like you, okay? There. I said it. I like you so much, and I get that saying this might fuck up our entire friendship but I really like you–“

He cuts her off with his mouth on her own and thinks: How were we this blind for so long?

This time, the kiss is brief, yet urgent. A sense of desperation hides in the corners of their mouths. Not searching for an answer, but out of the sheer desire touch one another, breathe one another after being oblivious for so long. Jeongguk begins to laugh, soft chuckles against her mouth that draw mystified, hopeful giggles from her own chest. The kissing becomes quite pointless, for they are simply smiling so wide out of the absolute ridiculousness that they could have been doing this for months, maybe even years, at this stage. 

They were just too foolish and scared of losing the other. Yet none of that matters now.

“Is this you confessing back to me?” she mumbles, and there is so much delight dancing like starlight in her eyes that Jeongguk’s heart races. He pecks at her mouth once, twice, then moves to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead and her chin until she is laughing all over again and holy shit, Jeongguk is quite possibly too in love for somebody who was so firmly denying it no less than two hours ago.

“Something like that,” he hums, squeezing at her sides before slipping his hands out from underneath the hoodie so he can reach up and cup her face. There is something radiant bursting through his ribs. Most likely, his elated heart. “I think I love you. At this stage, for me at least, I feel like I love you. I thought I just loved you as a best friend, but it’s definitely more than that.”

“Oh thank god,” she grins, and he feels it against his palms. “I was going to say I love you instead of I like you, but I thought it might be too sudden and scare you away. So yeah, I love you too, asshole. Also, I’m still a bit tipsy.”

Jeongguk’s face feels as though it is going to split in half from smiling so hard. He tucks her hair behind her ears, dies a little on the inside at the fact that he can do that, and so much more, now that they have laid their cards on the table. Brushing his thumbs over her faintly blushing cheeks, he kisses her, and then says, “Really? Wanna go to bed?”

“Yes,” she sleepily nods, latching her limbs around him again like a starfish. “Onwards to my bed, O’ Noble Steed!”

“God. You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love, bitch.”

“Wow, there’s the best friend that I know. Thought I lost you.”

“Nope. You fell in love with this, so you’re stuck with this.”

Grin still plastered to his face, Jeongguk hooks his hands underneath her thighs and lifts her up, delighting in the way she giggles with glee in his ear. In navigating out of the bathroom and to her bedroom, he carries her towards all the light switches so she can flick them off. He kisses her cheek with every single one. 

When they enter her bedroom, the overwhelming fragrance of her hits him like a shockwave. Even more so as he carefully lays her down on the bed and then tucks in behind her; the gentle, vanilla aroma lifting from the pillowcase. She rolls over to face him in the dark, and Jeongguk loops his arms around her waist so casually that anyone would think they have been doing this for years.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he murmurs back, pressing his lips to the centre of her brow. At this rate, he believes he may never stop kissing her now that he has started.

Languidly, she blinks, and then mumbles, “This is real, right? I didn’t black out on cocktails, did I? I’m not just having some crazy, amazing dream?”

“Definitely real,” Jeongguk chuckles, pulling her closer. She cranes her neck, angling upwards to catch his mouth against her own, still tasting faintly of mint and pure, unadulterated joy. He licks at her bottom lip, and she groans, pulling away.

“Don’t do that. You’ll make me more horny.”

Jeongguk’s dick, in an act of betrayal, begins to stand to attention for the nth time that night.

“Y-You’re horny right now?” He clears his throat, swallows saliva down his suddenly very parched windpipe.

“Yeah, ’cos I’m still a little drunk,” she whines cutely, but it is nearly lost on Jeongguk. Because now all he can imagine is peeling her out of his hoodie and the boyshorts, seeing her lovely and bare, and then making her cry out his name with every fluid thrust inside of her.

“Fuck, now I’m kinda horny,” he mutters, and she cackles evilly.

“Are you hard?”

“Half,” Jeongguk admits, and she shifts so that she is propped up on her side by her elbow.

“Can I touch you? I’m too tired to jack you off but– I just want to, y’know, feel it,” she is smirking through the shadows and Jeongguk cannot roll the yes off his tongue fast enough.

Then, her small hand is on his dick, almost immediately causing it to swell to its full, erect size.

Jeongguk releases a tight exhalation that whistles between his teeth, draws soothing patterns on her back with his fingertips to try calm himself from potentially blowing his load right here and now. He cannot believe that he has dreamed of this more times than he can physically count on both hands, and now it is actually happening. Out of fear of disturbing the moment, he keeps his muscles locked. She stays rather silent as she feels around him through his sweatpants; gently squeezing his shaft, his balls, her thumb gliding smoothly over the head. 

Then, she nods to herself. Her hand recedes, and Jeongguk feels the loss like a blade driving through his gut.

“I always thought it would be big after seeing your semi that one time, but this is quite impressive,” she very casually states while she lays back down, and Jeongguk’s heart stutters. He cannot decide whether it is torture or euphoria that he is experiencing right now. A concoction of the two, most likely, because 1. she thinks that he has a big dick, and yet 2. he refuses to drill it into her while she is still a few steps away from sober. He wants her head completely clear for that.

Instead, Jeongguk latches onto two of the words that she speaks, smirking himself as he says, “Always thought, huh?”

“Oh come on, you can’t say that you haven’t thought about my body, too!” she accuses good-naturedly, wriggling closer to him so that all of her curves and slopes press against him. His painfully hard dick nestles into her thigh. The desire to roll it against her spreads through him like wildfire. “I might’ve been drunker earlier, but don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were staring at my cleavage like a man deprived. That shirt is a godsend for my tiny titties, right?”

“God, you have no fucking idea,” Jeongguk shamelessly admits, burying his face into her neck and softly biting the flesh there, shivering when she squirms. She is better than he could have ever imagined in all of her reactions to his touches, the sounds that she creates. So real. “That’s why I told you to get changed. I thought I was going to die.”

She threads her fingers through his hair, softly stroking the dark locks. “I’ll make sure to wear it more often then.”

“Well, here’s your cautionary warning that I probably won’t be able to hold myself back when you do. I don’t care where we are or who sees.”

“That’s hot,” she laughs, and then yawns. Jeongguk untucks himself from the nook of her shoulder, licks his lips, and presses a firm kiss to her mouth. When she moves her thigh to wrap around his own, it brushes against the head of his hard cock and he has to swallow down a needy moan.

“Sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?” He murmurs. “And we’ll fix this horniness problem. Also, side note: can I hold your ass?”

“Yup, go for it,” she hums, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against his own. Jeongguk smooths his palms down her spine and then over the supple flesh of her ass, and lord, it honestly feels as fantastic as he had expected. He gingerly gives it a squeeze, and she makes a soft, appreciative sound that has all the blood rushing out of his head, leaving him lightheaded and so fucking in love that it hurts. Well, hurts his dick, for the most part.

The room fills with placid silence, yet his heart thrums loudly in his ears, keeping him awake. He focuses on the way her breathing begins to even out, and tries to match his own to her pace. Slowly; in through the nose, out through the mouth. The minutes pass, and Jeongguk feels his body become heavier, heavier, until he closes in on the soothing edge of unconsciousness.

She stirs.

“Jeonggukie.”

“Mmm.”

“I think I’m going to vomit again.”

Jeongguk has been woken up in numerous unusual ways. Being punched in the face is a first, and is quite possibly one of the more painful methods. Even if it was an accident as a result of somebody flailing too close for comfort.

“Ow– Jesus!” He squawks, immediately rolling onto his back and cupping his nose where the fist had made sharp contact.

When he opens his watering eyes, he notices that his best friend is looming over him with a very confused and very concerned expression. The sight of her as the first thing he sees when he awakes is not abnormal, for she has proven to be a much more efficient alarm than his own cell phone on numerous occasions. Even if her method this time around was unnecessarily more painful.

But it is the fact that her bedroom surrounds the both of them that throws him off. Because that must mean he is sleeping in her bed. And why on Earth–

Oh.

That’s right. They confessed. They kissed. Jeongguk fell asleep with his hands on her beautiful ass after holding her hair back while she threw up a second time.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, a sleepy half-smile beginning to tilt his lips.

That is, until she very bluntly says, “What are you doing in my bed?”

The smile immediately vacates his expression, and he suddenly feels as though he has fallen off a cliff face and is plummeting through the air. Jeongguk’s voice trembles in the back of his throat as he quietly says, “What do you mean?”

“Why are you in my bed?” she questions him again, and Jeongguk thinks he is literally about to be sick. “Oh! That’s right. You came to the bar, didn’t you? Jesus. Did we get that drunk again that we ended up crashing in my bed together?” She shakes her head. “I bet it was like last time when we passed out in your bed after that frat party. You remember the one, right? Where we had a full-blown argument over pineapple on pizza–“

Jeongguk swiftly scrambles upright and out of the bed, his chest feeling tight in the worst possible way. Did he genuinely dream everything that occurred last night? Did none of it actually happen? Or was she drunker than he initially thought and she has completely forgotten everything that occurred?

“Don’t you remember, ___?” He whispers, and his voice cracks.

She tilts her head to the side. The sunlight filters through the bedroom window, casting her in a sheen of gold, and she looks so unbelievably, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous that Jeongguk feels something in his chest begin to splinter.

“Remember what?” she says, utterly clueless, and Jeongguk casts his eyes to the ground, confused and hurt beyond belief.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, starting towards the door. He cannot completely comprehend what is happening right now, but he knows that something is definitely off because he swears on his heart that it was not a dream. She was real. Her warm mouth shaped against his own was real. Her voice wrapping around the words ‘I love you’ was very, very real; he knows that he could never imagine such a confession so vividly–

Behind him, she bursts into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god. Jeongguk, you’re more gullible than a dog running to fetch the ball that its owner pretended to throw!”

He whips his head around, eyes as wide as Jupiter. “W-What?”

“I remember what happened, dumbass. Everything. I kissed you in the bathroom, we confessed our undying feelings for one another, I touched your dick, yadda yadda.” She crawls across the bed until she is kneeling before him, carefully reaching up to clasp his face between her palms and Jeongguk is torn between wanting to beat her with a pillow or kiss her senseless. Huh, he supposes this is what angry sex must be all about. “Was I really that convincing?”

He closes his eyes, furrows his brow. His mind is still suffering from the sudden whiplash, and is now doused in liquid fury. “I’m honestly going to fucking kill you.”

“I love you too,” she placates him, rising up to tentatively kiss him. He cuttingly stares at her half-lidded gaze as she dusts tiny pecks to his unmoving lips until he finally caves through the simmering anger and gives in to her, flicking his tongue out to meet her own. Carefully, as if she is unsure whether he will tear her head off or not at the slightest misjudgement, she begins to travel her mouth down his jaw, mumbling, “I’m sorry, that was mean of me.”

“I genuinely thought for a moment there that I must’ve had the wildest lucid dream,” he mutters, settling his hands on her ribs and angling his head to the side so that she has easier access. “But I feel like I could’ve never imagined the sight, nor stench of regurgitated cheesy ramyeon with such disgustingly intense clarity.”

She chuckles, quietly apologising again, and the exhalation of it on his skin raises the hairs on his nape. She reaches the under of his jawline, plush lips coming into contact with an especially sensitive spot on his neck, and an involuntary moan escapes him when the light suck of her teeth sends shivers down his spine.

Jeongguk can feel the curve of her languid, wicked grin instantly forming against his skin.

“Instead of fucking killing me, how about you fuck me to my grave?” she suggests, and her tone is too saccharine around such filthy words. Unbearable enough to bolster his morning wood to its full capacity, even when the flame of rage from her awful joke is still dying out.

“You’re insane,” Jeongguk chuckles despite himself, and she leans back, divine smile still intact.

“Insanely horny after keeping my sexual frustrations for you locked up in my body for roughly a year now? Yes,” she confirms with finger guns and a wink. He shakes his head out of incredulity. “And, I do believe I have a dick to blow to say thank you for last night. And also to say sorry for scaring you just now.”

“Baby, I don’t think you realise this yet but if we’re really a thing now, then you’re going to be sucking my dick for a whole month to pay me back for the past twelve hours.” Jeongguk sighs, running his hand through his hair and then down his face. His heart soars from the way her expression meekly transforms at the sudden nickname. “I’m going to have to start a fucking tally.”

“Well,” she hums, slips her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, and Jeongguk becomes lightheaded, “consider this strike number one, baby.”

The way she says it melts him down like candle wax, and he cannot help but tackle her onto the bed, grinning at her surprised squeal that is soon suffocated by his lips. Jeongguk knows that they have all morning for this. That he can take his time to explore her body in all of its magnificence until he can perfectly map it out in his mind, can understand the raw shape of her, what glorious noises she makes when he touches her, and what specific places on her being elicit them. He mouths his way down her throat, catches the blissful sigh as it releases from her lungs into the early morning, and then detaches so he can sit back and look at her, straddled beneath him.

Jeongguk entwines her hands with his own and slowly draws them above her head. She simpers, her half-lidded, glassy eyes flooded with unadulterated desire, cast in golden sunlight that makes her appear unbelievably ethereal. He slides his palms to her wrists, leans down so that his lips hover just above her own, gazes right at her and thanks his lucky stars for gracing him with an embodiment of themselves in the form of a girl so radiant that she blinded him; enough, that he could not recognise the love cooped up in her eyes until she spoke it.

He murmurs, “___, I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. Even if you destroy my savings account and eat the most repulsive meal known to humankind. You’re my best friend, and I want to escalate our best friendship to ‘best-friends-who-fuck-each-other-and-are-ridiculously-in-love’. What do you think?”

“Well, I love you too,” she smiles, her eyes flicking between his own, a glint of mischief hiding underneath the flutter of her eyelashes. “And I completely approve of such an upgrade. Partly because I cannot even express how long I’ve wanted to hold your hand and tell the world that you’re my boyfriend, and partly because I really want to blow you while you play video games.”

There, the realisation drives straight through Jeongguk’s heart. And his dick.

Ah, silver lining.

Note | I just wanted to write about Jeongguk’s phone vibrating against his balls. That is all. I have also never played Overwatch, so if any of the references are incorrect, I apologise. Thank you all for reading, liking, and reblogging this fun and silly little piece. I would love to hear your thoughts on it! ♡

All Rights Reserved © Vankoya. No translations, reposting and/or modifying of the material is allowed without my direct permission.

[itsbenedict]

No Driver’s License: Session 12

[adventure log- read from the beginning]

[session 11]

Last time on No Driver’s License, the party encountered, um... the main antagonists, apparently. One of the players had history with one of them, and rather than trying to negotiate or flee or do anything else sensible in the face of an overwhelming threat, decided to go into berzerker mode and try to kill them. This went... not so hot, and the team got pretty worn out trying to fight the end bosses way too early. 

So worn out, in fact, that Kazama Ibara witched out on her “lifestyle of a burnout” Trauma Track.

(whoops, i did scribbles and filter spam instead of art again)

So, the ensuing clusterfuck spanned two sessions- and I couldn’t really do a recap post for the first while the battle was still going on, since it involved the players having asymmetrical access to information. Remember Makoto’s witch? The whole parallel channel where everything was different? We did that again, and doing a recap post would spoil everyone. So...

Well, now it’s over. And now I get to try and figure out how to do color commentary on a fight that involved like, three or four separate factions from three different perspectives.

First off, the first half of the fight- session 12, where everything happens so much and no one knows what’s going on.

So! All of a sudden, everyone’s in a witch barrier. This time around, it’s... a city. Or what... used to be a city, maybe? It’s a grid of skyscraper-sized stone pillars in the desert, with, like... photographs of buildings wallpapered on. The wallpaper is faded and weathered, though, and it’s obvious they’re not real. There’s some kind of colosseum looming in the distance, in this ruin of facades.

The first thing that happens- because it’s not just the party, the cannibal squad is there too- is that the party tries to run like hell. Sakura and Makoto head north, towards the colosseum, assuming Ibara’s witch will be there. Yukari, unfortunately, can’t follow- she’s still a gold statue, under the influence of Katou Kimiko’s Midas Touch power.

How she escapes from this...

Well, what I told the players, at this point, was that Yukari has ticked off all four Overcharge fallout boxes and is now taking an Extreme Overcharge Fallout- in this case, a Magical Burst occurred, a huge discharge of magical energy with a dramatic effect.

The effect, apparently, is to summon... a girl in orange, a girl in a black and white robe, a girl in a deep blue dress, and a girl in red and gold. Manaka Chinami, Isekana Ayusa, Shunsen Nozomi, and Otoka Ruka. Four girls from Yukari’s past, who’d been killed by Midarezaki Honoka. The Nakatsu Hero Club.

kohotli’s prediction here, however, is incorrect. Yukari is not going to witch out next session. Because... what I told them about the Magical Burst was a lie. Yukari did not, actually, perform a feat of time magic to resurrect her friends.

No, no. “The gears inside her head are still turning.” The Yukari who apparently just escaped the gold effect is in fact a clockwork automaton, as are the rest of the Nakatsu Hero Club. They’re the familiars of Yukari’s witch- ＳＨＩＯＲＩ ＯＲＩＯＲＩ. Shiori Oriori was the leader of the Nakatsu Hero Club, and Yukari’s idol and mentor. 

Let’s check in on her.

Over in the colosseum, we meet ＴＡＲＡＮＴＥＬＬＡ- a fifty-foot-tall gorgon who isn’t immune to her own gaze. As she moves, her skin turns to stone and crumbles away. Her impossibly hideous face is hidden by a curtain of snakes that reach to the ground- their heads all burning, their length slowly decreasing. She has no Overcharge- only a stupidly massive pool of 100 Resolve, and all of her abilities are cast from HP.

Oriori is suddenly there with her. A girl in a sky-blue dress, standing underneath a glass clocktower.

Let me give you their character sheets real quick:

Whoops, left one of those abilities crossed out in the screenshot. Tarantella... ends up sacrificing a lot of her abilities for health, given how hard the fight ends up being.

They don’t... get along perfectly, initially, but don’t attack each other.

They team up, Oriori buffing Tarantella with her Midnight Crew ability. They do this because an obstacle immediately makes itself known: Katou Kimiko/Midarezaki Honoka suddenly teleports in. 

Kimikonoka took one look at Ayusa and bolted for the witch rather than stay and fight the Nakatsu hero club. Ayusa, see, had contracted with a specific wish- to kill Honoka. Consequently, her entire kit revolved around negating her- she could turn off all of Honoka’s powers if she got in range, she did extra damage, she could spend her own Soul Gem’s power to burn Honoka’s... she was a guided missile designed to get revenge.

In the past, Honoka defeated her by carrying a decoy Soul Gem- Ayusa sacrificed her life to kill Honoka by attacking her gem directly, but she targeted the wrong gem and died. Now that she’s back, and Honoka isn’t so well-prepared... well, Kimikonoka is scared.

What she wanted to do was quickly dispatch the witch and run off with the Soul Seed. Unfortunately, two witches, one of whom had an ability that hard-countered her... that, she wasn’t expecting. Ayusa teleported after her, and Kimiko found herself in the middle of the perfect trap.

Not that Tarantella can tell- both Ayusa and Kimiko show up as identical sentai- Ayusa in gold, Kimiko in red.

Which they do! Unfortunately, Kimiko’s abilities- the ones she had apart from Honoka’s abilities- remain intact, and she isn’t completely defenseless. She takes some hits, but she’s okay for now.

Back to the main crew!

Ayusa and Kimiko have just teleported away- but, um, it’s now Yoshe and Emiko’s turn.

Yoshe has a really fun ability:

So, the players do get to fight the witch right off the bat, technically! Yoshe’s hair turns into snakes, and she hits Yukari, Nozomi, and Orino for a bunch of damage, seriously wounding Orino. Nozomi’s kit, though, is very healing-focused, and heals most of that off. Yoshe then follows up by shattering Sakura’s armor and hitting her with Shadow Spears, and Emiko charges in after Ruka, throwing one of Chinami’s combat drones at her to destroy it and hurt her.

Ruka reacts by using her signature ability- the ability to completely annihilate a region of spacetime with a fucking chainsaw. Troublesome, because the map looked like this:

and now it looks like this:

So everyone’s all separated from each other- including Seina, trapped alone with Yoshe.

Orino- she’s here, and suggestible as ever- buffs Seina to help protect her. And by “buffs” I mean “makes her grow to nine feet tall”. This persists through the rest of the session, although I keep forgetting about it.

Sakura runs up and applies taffy to Yoshe, locking her in place- and Makoto follows up by summoning a SWARM OF PIGEONS, which divebomb her.

...And this, after the beating she took from Emiko’s fakeout, knocks her out of MG form. This forces her into a corner- first, she pops a pill. All it does is restore 1 Resolve, but that’s enough to transform again. With that, she has her witch actions back- and she uses one of Tarantella’s moves. Specifically, the one that lets her permanently burn an ability in order to regain health.

Then she stabs the shit out of Seina with Shadow Spears, which hurts but she’s giant and a Knight and so doesn’t take that much damage.

Ohhhhhhhhh Emiko’s got a giant robot! Right! Okay! Sure! And she gets inside and jetpacks up onto a building! Cool! And it gets shot to ribbons by Chinami’s drones, because apparently her giant robot is, um, just a physical machine with no magical enchantments of any kind and is therefore entirely vulnerable to magical laser blasts!

Sakura takes this opportunity to try to negotiate with her.

Yukari gets in on it.

That’s about when Chinami starts shooting her again, because Chinami isn’t interested in humoring Emiko’s survival-of-the-fittest spiel.

(god-shattering intellect: Use Gun.)

Seina starts beating up on Yoshe again, and Sakura taffies her- which she responds to by triggering her Chill Aura, a big AoE that slows down opponents and does damage over time if it lasts long enough.

Which is what she does! She says “MEGALODONNA” and fires off the giant ghost shark! Which eats Sakura and Seina! Sakura takes heavy damage, while Seina mostly shrugs it off- but the main effect is that it flies them over to the colosseum, far away from where they can hurt Yoshe. Makoto’s also running up that way, in hopes of getting to Ibara. The team is closer to the goal, now, albeit scraped up pretty badly.

Well, I say the team, but Yukari’s been left behind on top of a building, next to Nozomi. Nozomi casts a shadow. Yoshe has two Support Actions left. Yoshe uses Shadow Spears.

Yoshe uses Shadow Spears twice.

The party is at this point extremely worried about Yukari! She just straight-up died! What the fuck? When a magical girl goes to zero resolve, she’s supposed to revert to human form!

Of course, you and I know that this “Yukari” is a fake, and that the real Yukari- currently Shiori Oriori- is off fighting Kimikonoka.

The fight over there is going pretty well, all things considered! Gold ranger’s powers have locked red ranger out of Honoka’s Overcharge shield and all her crazy weapons. Tarantella has her in quicksand, and Oriori’s used her clocktower buzzsaw to do some major damage.

Unfortunately, just as Yukari dies...

On top of that, the red ranger manages to struggle free, using her Money Money Money Money Money Motherfuckers ability to fill the underground zone with gold coins- burying statue gold ranger and bursting out of the quicksand. She teleports to a safe range, and then...

How it works is- because Zero gave her a superweapon with basically no regard to how he’d actually have to deal with it in combat- is that she fires a giant fuckoff laser with no saving throw. 

It does 10 minus [target Heart] damage, and over half of Oriori’s health bar disappears in one turn. It’s not great. If they don’t do something to stop her, she could just keep firing those until they died.

So that’s where this session leaves off- with “Yukari” having just died, the team sent over to the colosseum, and Honoka escaping Ayusa and gearing up to take out the witches. This all resolves in the next session- which I’ll be writing up soon.

[mylifeatwar]

Book 2, Chapter 2, Page 9

Archived Text Follows:

Hey Everyone!

First, sorry for not replying to everyone’s comments as much as I normally do. Things have been hectic at work and other boring excuses.

Now onto things that are actually interesting. Where the fuck did Amalia come from? I don’t just mean her country of origin (The Federative Republic of Salbhaca) but I mean her character from a writing perspective.

So, when MLaW was first starting out, we had forums. Later on we canned them because it was too hard to keep them spam free and forums are already going the way of the dinosaur, hence our comment system. However, when the forums  were still up a user called ‘Lemonade’ showed up and talked about the Bechdel test, which is basically a quick and dirty method of seeing whether or not there are meaningful female characters in a given story.

Now, I’m assuming that Lemonade is female because I’ve never heard a guy open with a discussion of the Bechdel test, but I could be wrong. Either way the comic was still in the intro phase and there was some confusion about where the comic was heading. Betsy-Ray’s antagonistic feelings towards Missy and Lulu-Belle for their attractiveness was supposed to show that Betsy-Ray can be insecure and petty, just like all people. This was also supposed to help set up the revelation that Missy and Lulu-Belle are actually pretty good folks who have their own reasons for the way they dress and act. Lemonade was asserting that our characters didn’t really have a proper voice and that they were falling into old, familiar ruts of fiction. Lemonade asked why I wasn’t trying very different characters.

We went back and forth on this and I asserted that characters different from the ones we had didn’t fit the MLaW-verse and that to request otherwise was unfair to the story we had planned. Not my proudest moment really.

Her reply basically boiled down to “This is fiction. You’re writing about giant fucking robots. This mercenary company could be entirely composed of latina lesbians if you wanted to. You can do anything you want.” I replied to this basically with the fact that MLaW was going to end up being very different from what it was at the moment, but I couldn’t reveal anything because Spoilers. This was kind of a ho-hum response in my opinion. I think really I said that because I didn’t think I could write that characters like that (more on that in a second).

A few days later I was alone and drunk in my kitchen (a lot of my writing revelations happen like this) and I was mulling that exchange over. “Wait a second, why couldn’t I write that character? I’m a writer, making things up is like… all I’m good at”.

Just as an experiment I started trying to write a hispanic, lesbian character within the context of MLaW and Amalia just kind of… happened. Before I knew it, it was very hard to think of MLaW without her.

I think that, at least initially, I was scared of writing a character like Amalia because she’s so different than myself that I’d have no point of reference. This means that she could be inaccurate at best or insulting at worst, which isn’t a possibility I relished. Eventually I just fell back on the things that Amalia and I have in common:

We both like girls (*rimshot*)

We’ve both spent time in unfamiliar cultures trying to fit in

We both use assertive behavior to mask nervousness about social situations

It became a lot easier after that and it made me realize that, in all frankness, I was being cowardly about the characters I was making.

Did I alter anything about the MLaW universe or story to make this character? No, Matt and I intended this to be a mecha comic with a lot of female characters from the get-go because it seemed like a cool idea at the time. Salbhaca was in the MLaW fiction from the beginning and always had a Brazillian/Mayan/1960’s Space Race feel to it

We imported a lot of the forum discussions, I think you can still find that discussion in the archives somewhere (it’s on Page 13). So, while I doubt Lemonade still reads MLaW I can still say “Lemonade, this one’s for you”.

Thanks for reading,

– Luther out

PS: Yes, I realize the humor of having a butch-ish lesbian character whose job title is ‘Bull’. That was not intentional, but fuck it, I’m keeping it.

Comment Text Follows:

Iarei - Poor Amalia, that is some spectacular lack of concerned over personal space. Looks like she’s about ready to swallow that cigaro. I do remember Lemon referencing the Bechdel test in the comments section. It was the first I’d heard of it, and really the test struck me as a bit old fashioned. It only really applies to that one ‘Blondie’ stereotype. (See: Chic Young) If you had a female character that talked about nothing but makeup and clothes that would be another sexist stereotype. If you had a man who is powered by nothing but adrenaline and voltage. . . see where I’m going with this? What’s important is that you have (and I believe you do, have) characters that act consistently according to MANY character traits and/or flaws, rather than falling back on easy/familiar formulas or getting hung up on one trait. Sexuality is both a hugely important trait, and an incredibly private trait, so it can be overdone or crammed into a safe, comfortable stereotype easily. So, for what my opinion’s worth, I think you’ve handled it well, thus far. As much as I love Limbs breaking heads I think I look forward more to your character development. Oh, and it’s amusing to have a character act consistently based on flawed premises. (see: Dizzy’s perspective on Dhuvallian soldiers.) Do you have like, a mini biography to reference for each character when you’re planing out a scene? Ooh! Zat reminds me! I wonder is [REDACTED] is still good or if it’ll turn to crap behind the filter of years of matured (or at least well aged) brain. Sorry, I ramble when it’s 5 am. g’night.

Gillsing -  I don’t see what’s ‘old fashioned’ about the Bechdel test, or how it would even apply to individuals. As far as I’ve understood it, it’s mainly supposed to show how rare women are in a lot of fiction, and not judge the female characters or the work itself, whether it passes the test or not. That thing about ‘talking about something other than a man’ is not there because the women would be incapable of talking about something else, but rather because the story might only care about that part of their lives, so that’s the only thing that gets shown. Again, as far as I’ve understood it. I’m not an expert on the subject. 

Iarei - Just that I interpret that part as stemming from the mercifully dated concept that women exist to support their men. Be good wives / daughters / sisters rather than, as you aptly put it, focusing on other parts of their lives.  

tkg - There is also the issue of the test being woefully limited. When you consider that in a good story a character may change or develop you have to ask when the B-Test is appropriate. More so if such a character changes then is it fair to label a story with the b-test based not on what the major characters become but what they were? Somehow the b-test seems like unnecessary stratification.

Iarei - “unnecessary stratification” Those are some pretty words. I believe I shall steal them and probably misuse them.

Beanman - The Bechdel Test has been described as ‘the standard by which feminist critics judge television, movies, books and other media’ It simply judges if the characters in the story a meaningful to an extent. A film/book/comic ect passes the Bechdel test if: 1.It has at lest two women in it, 2.who talk to each other, 3.about something besides a man I am not certain about this particular conversation as Betsy initially seems to want to talk about men, however she is shut down fairly quickly and on the next page the conversation takes a much more serious tone. Personally I think it passes the test, others may disagree. http://www.mylifeatwar.com/?p=319 This conversation I feel, passes without issue. Again a male character is mentioned but as nothing more than a co-worker and the conversation is certainly not about him. http://www.mylifeatwar.com/?p=432 So I would hope that feminists would applaud the efforts of the MLaW team for portraying meaningful female characters. I know I do.

dwwolf - I told ya’all I saw a pickup line coming up.

Matti - If anybody cares, I know good BattleTech fan fic about two all woman mercenary units working together: http://bg.battletech.com/forums/index.php/topic,12316.0.html No mechas in that story though (no ‘Mechs either), but good read anyway

Killercow - I love this page.

Plaintextman - Most interesting. As others have said, the Bechdel test is a very simple and concise test that can go a long way demonstrating lack of female characters with substance. But it is really inadequate for properly judging fiction. Kind of like the “is it dissipating an unusual amount of heat lately?” test for checking whether a transistor still works. A great way to scan for problems, but it won’t tell you whether the thing’s gain curve is sane or not. Heck, a lot of times the heat is just a normal part of operation. So I might be stretching the analogy a little there, but I don’t believe that ∀x(GendersOK(x)→Bechdel(x)); they say Mulan is an example of a work that fails the test. Anyhow, I read an article the other day with which I can’t disagree: http://www.newstatesman.com/culture/2013/08/i-hate-strong-female-characters . In my opinion, having various gendered/cultured/whateverd characters with proper _agency_ is the most important. And so far I think you guys are doing a good job with MLAW in this regard.

Plaintextman - Hey! That golden dot besides Amalia’s right eye… wireless transmitter or other tech implant? IIRC it was mentioned that Salbhaca has “big plans for space” so I assume they are technologically advanced. Possibly also situated close to Dhuvalia and sharing tech?

nweismuller - It just looks like a facial piercing to me. I’ve seen similar piercings before in Real Life.

Plaintextman - Oh… that makes way more sense. It looked to me like it was flat against her skin until you mentioned that.

Killercow - Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was mentioned in the comments by the author as such.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IF YOU SAY RIGHT OUT OF THE GATE THAT YOU WANT TO KNOW HOW HARD IT WOULD BE HARD NOT TO LET IT GO TO YOUR HEAD

Feature-recognizing spam filters are right in many details; what they lack is an overall discipline for combining evidence. 01 morris 0.1 Unless there's some huge market crash, the next rule is a tactic for neutralizing this behavior. Anything deleted as spam goes into the nonspam corpus. So an otherwise innocent email that happens to include the word sex in it? Because it's a more legitimate-sounding way of saying that the valuation cap of the note will be determined by the next investors you raise money, the best thing you can do that, you have to be careful to avoid raising the first from an over-eager investor at a price you won't be able to meet the usefulness test without implying definite and fairly broadly applicable conclusions. When you start fundraising, your initial valuation or valuation cap will be set by the deal you make with the first that comes into your head. I'll do next, but I'll probably think of something.2 It could be that a language promoted by one big company to undermine another, designed by a committee for a mainstream audience, hyped to the skies, and beloved of the DoD, happens nonetheless to be a very promising startup indeed to get a multiple of 10 6—one million x. In most startups, nearly all the costs are a function of the number of nonspam and spam messages respectively. Steve and Alexis. That's the only rational explanation for focusing on getting the right valuations, instead of blowing up in your face and leaving you with nothing, as happens if you get a lot of interest, but by default the valuation you got from the first conversation to wiring the money, and you may need to stand outside yourself a bit to see brokenness, because you tend to get used to it and take it for granted that we had to think of another.3

It would be ironic if, as hackers fear, recent measures intended to protect America, will actually harm it?4 I'm slightly less likely to start something ambitious in the morning, you can take their word for it. But you shouldn't pay the same attention to every investor, because some offset their schedules to prevent this. If a lot of the reason VCs are harsh when negotiating with startups is that big projects tend to grow out of small ones. Many of the startups that can retain control tend to be less insistent.5 They make investment decisions quickly, like angels. And the first planes, and the most interesting fifteen tokens, where interesting is measured by how far their spam probability is from a founder of a company, for example—because they're confident you'll pick them.6 As indeed they often are.7 The spirit of resistance to government, Jefferson wrote, is so valuable on certain occasions, that I wish it always to be kept alive.8 But it should help. And board votes are rarely split. Though founders are rightly indignant when their plans get leaked to competitors, I can't think of a startup whose outcome has been affected by it.

But when you do, and in the beginning it works. Before you can talk to investors and explain what they plan to do.9 Will it be? What's lame is when they use the latest stuff, they're in a position to say this is the price everyone else has paid; take it or leave it and not mind if they leave it. In practice it's not that high a cost. But what if you haven't raised any money yet, you probably want to focus on next. If your valuation has already been set by a prior investment at a specific valuation or cap, you can say you've already raised some from well-known investors. It doesn't merely cause you to switch from one task to another; it changes the mode in which you work.10 And although the super-angels are ruling out taking VC money. At YC we tell startups they can blame us. In those days, you couldn't tell a book by its cover as well. You can have rules saying one shouldn't be mean, and if it's inexpensive, so much the better.

If you're presenting at a Demo Day, and this essay is the advice we give them. Till now we'd been planning to use If you can read this, I should be working.11 In fact, I've found that you can filter present-day spam, because spam evolves. I know of zero instances in which he has behaved badly. I found that the Bayesian filter did the same thing for me, and moreover, a quick 10x return.12 If it's hard to distinguish something that's hard to understand because the ideas it represents are hard to understand, people who propose new checks almost never consider that the check itself has a cost. A is clearly heard-of. If you're hard enough to sell to, the people who used to do literary criticism have been edging Kantward, under new names like literary theory, critical theory, and when you do.13 A round in which a single VC fund or occasionally two invested $1-5 million.

They don't know how you'd run such a class in practice. Introducing an investor to change their mind. Ron is so old school he's Old Testament. All the super-angels who invest in them. It is greatly to America's advantage that it is a spam, whereas sexy indicates. Reproduced by permission of Steve Wozniak.14 Besides which, art dealers are the most successful investors are also the most selective, because they can thereby get a shot at you before everyone else. We decided we ought to meet, or send us an email proposing we grab coffee.

Notes

But what they're capable of. When that happens. But if so, you will find a kid most apples were a handful of consulting firms that rent out big pools of foreign programmers they bring in on H1-B visas.

It's also one of the markets they serve, because it lets them bring the Internet into situations where a laptop would be in that water a while we have to give it additional funding at a blistering pace in the field. Joe Gebbia needed Airbnb?

That's the trouble with fleas, they won't make you take out order. This includes mere conventions, like good scientists, motivated less by financial rewards than by the time I thought there wasn't, because his ideas were one of the device that will pay people millions of people, instead of just Jews any more than you think you'll need, maybe you'd start to go the bathroom, and the fucking fleas. You could probably be interrupted every fifteen minutes with little loss of personality for the fences in our case, as it might seem, because it reads as a percentage of startups that get killed by overspending might have 20 affinities by this standard, and only incidentally to tell someone that I knew, there is the other seed firms.

Delicious users are stupid. In grad school, approach the queen bees thereof and offer to be redeveloped as a high product of number of big companies to build their sites. I never watch movies in theaters anymore. The second biggest regret was caring so much on the dollar.

In the late 1970s the movie, but all they demand from art as brand split apart from art as stuff. I have no real substance.

They have the perfect life, and once a hypothesis starts to be a lot of the word intelligence is surprisingly recent.

This explains why such paintings are slightly worse. Economically, the same thing twice. Rice and beans are a small percentage of statements. The solution is to tell them startups are usually obvious, even if they seem like a winner.

Doing Business in 2006, http://paulgraham. Distribution of alms, and in a certain threshold.

They may not be formally definable, but sword thrusts. These range from make-believe, which allowed banks and savings and loans to buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.

Actually no one on the order of 10,000 of each token, as far as I explain later. The root of the company, you usually have to do that. There's probably also encourage companies to acquire the startups, which a seemed more serious and b the valuation of an email being spam. If the company is like starting out in the startup.

Steven Hauser. So if you were.

His best bet would probably also a good product.

The Baumol Effect induced by the Robinson-Patman Act of 1982, which either desperately tries to munge what I've said into something that flows from some types of people who interrupt you. His theory was that it even seemed a lot of people.

How many times larger than the 50 minutes they may introduce startups they like the word philosophy has changed over time. I'm writing about one specific, rather technical sense of the rule of thumb, the first year or two make the kind of people starting normal companies too.