#shit at this point i might not be able to even make large video edits again because i can't trust that clipchamp will completely save my

[toastingpencils37]

Motherfucker. HOW DO I EVEN HAVE THAT MUCH NEGATIVE SPACE

I'VE NEVER EVEN UPLOADED CLOSE TO THAT MUCH SHIT, AND I'VE DELETED A SHIT TON TO TRY AND CLEAR UP WHAT I DID USE

Also.... I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH SHIT TO DELETE TO CLEAR ALL OF THAT

[deepdreamnights]

This is a point of clarification that people are likely to not know, regarding AI running on a personal computer. Broad strokes version to follow, though @datasnake 's take here is more detailed.

Stable Diffusion runs local on a desktop PC, takes up about 5 gigs of local drive space, and runs local. Stable Diffusion is the 'baseline' of image generation options. This is important for two main reasons.

The first is in terms of energy use. It takes a data center to crunch the weights, but once they're crunched, an individual generation is pretty trivial and the whole thing can run on a desktop PC. It is a resource heavy process, but so is video editing, streaming, or high-end gaming.

How many people calling for an end to AI on the basis of power use are making that same demand of the vast majority of YouTube or Twitch? (both of which we can all agree contain a whole lot of 'slop', organic and otherwise)

It's a real 'my shit is stuff, your stuff is shit' type situation.

For images (and video and sound), dataset processing is a matter of large-scale version upgrades, and those are only worth doing when you have a substantial amount of new training data. (Midjourney updates about twice a year in terms of full versions, as a point of reference, filling in their schedule with other non-dataset based features and improvements.)

The second important part comes down to the "this is not a collage machine" aspect.

In that a dataset consisting of around 2.5 billion images (the standard SD core) is taking up about 4-5 gigs of on-drive space. This means the average image contributes (generously) 3-4 bytes to the overall dataset.

That's two letters worth of data.

And you can run Stable Diffusion with no internet connection. The reason this is possible is because the AI recognizes and generates patterns, it does not store and regurgitate pixel data. This is why it is able to generate images of things that literally have never been envisioned before, by blending patterns from component concepts. It's why it takes hundreds or thousands of redundant copies of an image in the dataset (a sometimes-bug called overfitting) to reproduce an existing composition.

Now, some concepts you want overfit, because overfitting is the difference between Big Ben and a random tower with a clock in it. Some concepts you don't want overfit, like twenty hojillion minor variants of the same Marvel Movie poster, and a lot of effort is spent splitting the two apart.

To demonstrate why you'd want some concepts overfit, here's the Mona Lisa, 0a public domain work that is very frequently referenced and parodied.

On the left "the mona lisa by leonardo the ninja turtle" to demonstrate why some concepts are left overfit on purpose. I put the Mona Lisa on the right there for comparison reasons.

Only wait... that's not the Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci!

This (left) is the Mona Lisa, compared to the gen I made:

It's... "the mona lisa by leonardo da vinci" but, ya know, as a prompt.

I've done some perspective-warping and scaling to match proportions closer so the comparison is more detail-to-detail. It's very close, intentionally so. I ran several attempts and prompt variations to get as accurate a recreation as I could.

Even with this being a highly intentionally overfit concept, you get a regular old Mona Lisa at best 1/2 the time, and only when you're specifically asking for Leonardo's version.

Different relative hand positions, different finger positions, different cloth wrinkle patterns, different relative tones, the existence of fingernails...

Why is this important?

Generative AI 'grows' or 'draws' the image anew every time. It isn't replicating pixel data, it's using patterns to create new pixel data based on those patterns.

Now, what happens when we back off the iconicness of the image to a work that would not have been intentionally overfit?:

the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck, 1434; The Avant-Garde Never Gives Up (L’avant-garde se rend pas) 1962 by Asger Jorn; the Cover of Action Comics #1, June 1938

The extremely famous Arnofini Portrait is close, but each is wildly different in details. It has zero idea what "L’avant-garde se rend pas" was, which is rather disappointing because I at least consider it an important work, and it wasn't even trying with Action Comics #1.

If the machine was reaching out to the web to grab data an paste it in, the way the 'collage-machine' and (some) theft accusations would imply, then you'd expect the results to be similar to what I got with the Mona Lisa.

If you've seen a situation where a work of art less famous than these is being replicated in detail, you might be looking at someone who put a lot of work into dictating a pose and composition with prompting, inpainting, or ControlNet, or someone who trained a very specific LARA-

-Or, more likely, you're looking at Overpainting/IMG-2-IMG, a process where a user-submitted image is used as the 'base' for a generation in place of the normal random noise seed, with the settings set to mildly edit the image. This is essentially a fancy photoshop filter accomplished with a generative AI.

These sorts of images are often passed around as examples of "AI stealing" by misrepresenting them as direct text-to-image gens. A lot of common misconceptions of AI image gen seem to stem from confusing the two.

Hopefully this will give people a better idea of what's going on with image generation, and provide context for overfitting/overpainting/etc situations.

there's a popular twitter artist right now who is getting called out for ai on a drawing, because people are circulating screenshots from two years ago when they were excited about the possibilities that AI offered for going back to making their comic again which had slowed to a crawl because of their RSI. only the thing is the drawing they're getting accused of using AI for has no ai use in it at all, and they've needed to publicly publish their patreon exclusive process video to prove this to an internet mob because of the influx of hate they're getting! good job protecting artists, guys!

[namelessmewmew]

[Image ID: Shown is a rough pixel art drawing of an anthro zombie raccoon character. They have bright purple fur and high rainbow pigtails. They are wearing various accessories, including a rainbow spiked collar, a rainbow spiked tail band, rainbow sleeves, rainbow chains, a large pink bow, some pink and blue hairclips and a studded belt.  They are looking at the viewer. There a static/noise filter applied to the whole image. END ID]

Title: Z0MB1E RACC00N N0 CL1CKBA1T

Had alot alot of fun making this. :] The smiley's, stars and hearts are brushes I made X). Oh and I also made the static/noise texture! I wanted to create a old fuzzy image vibe but it’s also, like the watermark, meant to be obnoxious to nft fans/ai prompters! Two for the price of one!

Warning gigantic wall of text ahead.

Rambling: [about my irrational anxiety and ai prompted creations. I'm okay and please don't worry, k? I just wanted to mention alot of stuff that's been on my mind because lots of artists are probably also thinking stuff like this and might need encouragement. Their also may be typos and incoherentness, so if there is just let me know. probs will edit this later.]

Rambling [About anxiety] if you think that maybe some cheesy encouragement to make 'shit' art might do you some good.

Been going through the classic if I make bad art I am a bad person phase this year again and that combined with how busy I have been with studies and work I haven’t had time to work on improving my art so I have been telling myself that I just can’t make art so haven’t been making much this year honestly. [Again, I just have weird anxiety, please don’t worry k?] So, when making quick rough stuff like this, I feel alot more at peace with just creating stuff. I'll try to ride this 'you are allowed to make stuff that might be a bit or very shit' train for my sake for as long as I can. I feel alot more confident in making my rough paint 3d stuff, making a 'shit' voxel model, make something in 30 minutes in mspaint, draw something using highlighters and old lined exam pad.

Rambling [About 'ai 'art'] if you think that maybe some cheesy encouragement to keep going as an artist might do you some good.

I have been for awhile [and still am aiming for] my art skills getting to the point where I am able to make soft shaded anime paintings with amazing anatomy and super expressive faces and full detailed backgrounds, but with how AI Prompters have shown again how their are people [and big corps of course] that only care about the end product and could care less about human heart and soul, I have been thinking a lot about my relationship to the art I create and I think if you are self-conscious about your art not being good enough, or professional enough or reasonably feel mis-treated as an artist I think you should be kinder on yourself. That you should value the fact that you put whatever amount of skill and love for art you have into your art, whether you started a few seconds ago or decades ago. No matter if you think their are areas you really need to improve in or not. Wanting to improve or make grand things is wonderful and a good thing to strive for but like the whole point of art is just to connect with people, to express whats going on inside you, to analyze or interact with something you love like a video game, movie or book, to let your creativity fly and make your own thing, make a living off your passion by making paid art for people, or even just because you think it would be cool to make something! You, me and many other regular people that are artists and non-artists will continue to care about the soul behind art, about their being a person behind the art. We need to continue to care about human created art. If you are on fence about caring, I urge you to at least consider it. Not just but especially for the people that depend on it but also just for the sake about caring about such a base human thing that has been apart of our culture since basically since we started to exist!

I understand how it's hard lately to keep going as an artist and I am actively having to fight myself against discouraging 'I should just quit art' thoughts, because shit like Ai prompters getting hundreds of followers, selling ai 'art' commissions,  training models off specific artists works [including recently decreased ones, mind you!] is very disheartening [Especially with it seeming like they have support of many big corps and sites, including da!] No one should be trying to tell you as an artist or lover of art to not be upset! You have very right to be! Especially if art is your livelihood! Especially if art is very something personal to you! Especially if you rightfully think people should just give a shit about art!

AI Art does suck AND it is actively harming artists work. Especially artists that depend on surviving on their work. If I have a chance of convincing you, someone, anyone that is on the fence or is extremely pro ai prompted creations, I might as well ask you to listen to artists and let them have at least a change to explain why and how ai prompted creations are wrecking the world of art and why artists are rightfully upset.

Please if you can support artists, support them, especially those in need. Doesn't need to just be financially, sharing and engaging with art you think is cool is something that matters as well! We are all just regular people that all are just trying to survive!

Done Rambling:

All of that negativity and positivity leads me to a thing I made spontaneously in 3 days: A very silly very short [2-3 minutes] twine game about the above zombie raccoon trying to escape a rave forest. I really enjoyed making the art for it! It's ‘shit’ and I absolutely love it!

Character[s]:

xX Arc Doom Glitter Xx  [OC]

Have a good day/night further!

[MewMewMew~]

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

car ride, m | kth, jjk

pairing(s): taehyung x reader x jungkook

summary: You really know how to make a car ride, er... eventful. Maybe too eventful for Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. They try to punish you, but who are we kidding? The three of you are too busy being horny as fuck. Oh well.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, (slight) exhibitionism; intense smut (fem reader, fingering, lil cock slapping, threesome, m-receiving oral, f and m-masturbation, double penetration/spit-roasting, cum eating; also you get covered in cum, yay!); fluff; non-idol!AU; noona!reader and you’re all nymphos, welp

Technically a continuation of just kidding and ii, but can be read alone.

–

Kim Taehyung said it first.

“She’s actually insane.”

Jeon Jungkook nodded tightly; jaw clenched as he tried not to stare at you through the rearview mirror.

Thirty minutes ago, you had called Taehyung, tone casual and light.

“Hey, could you pick me up? I think I missed the last bus.”

“Hm, sure.”

“Bring Jungkook with you, please.”

And then you hung up.

Taehyung had stared at his phone, frowning. Then he went to go collect Jungkook, who was in the middle of editing a music video. He edited videos for indie bands in his spare time, kind of for fun, kind of as a passion project. He did want to be a director or video editor, after all.

“Oi, our horny little seductress called.”

Jungkook had snapped his head far too quickly, long black hair cascading against his cheek, eyes glittering with interest. Too much interest. Taehyung would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little annoyed.

“Asked you to come, so you’re driving.”

Jungkook had grinned.

“Okay.”

Except it was not okay. Very not okay.

“You can sit in the front, Tae. I need space for my bag.”

So now the three of you were sitting in Jungkook’s car, Jungkook driving, Taehyung riding shotgun as you sat in the backseat. From this position, you could see Jungkook’s black sweater and Taehyung’s camel coat. You were wearing an oversized black parka with a nine-pointed star embordered on the chest, your black leather skull-shaped purse chilling beside you. Knee-high black leather boots.

Bare legs.

That should have been their first warning sign.

“What were you doing?” Taehyung had asked as you climbed in. Jungkook started the car, pulling out of the parking garage, into the night.

“Doctor’s appointment for my wrist.” You sighed, tapping your right arm. “Just a check-up.” You pulled down the sleeve of your large parka, showing the wrist brace. “I should at least sleep with it.”

Taehyung scratched his head. “Damn, I didn’t realize your carpal tunnel was that bad.”

You waved your hand. “It’ll be fine. I’m exercising it.”

“Where to?” Jungkook chirped, stopping at a red light.

Pop.

Jungkook’s dark brown eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, narrowing. His face was lit with red from the cars in front of him. Taehyung turned around sharply. You smiled, feeling the cold air on your bare collarbones. Pop, pop, pop. The silver buttons of your parka snapped apart, revealing skin. Bare skin, the gentle curve of your breasts and cleavage. Taehyung’s dark eyes widened, as you pushed the sides apart, your naked breasts bouncing as the light turned green.

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

A car honked very loudly behind Jungkook and he was forced to press on the accelerator as Taehyung exploded, his deep voice booming as he gawked at your tits.

“Are you insane?” Taehyung shouted.

You grinned, cupping your breasts and squeezing your nipples between two fingers, mouth open, tongue tracing your teeth from side to side.

Taehyung snapped back forward, searching for police.

“She’s actually insane.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw so tight that he couldn’t say anything, trying to focus on driving and only driving, and not the sound of you moaning as you played with your breasts, pressing them together and flicking your nipples.

“Do you want us to get arrested?” Taehyung hissed, sneaking glances at you in the darkness while simultaneously darting his eyes around for literally anyone who might be able to witness your sinful lunacy.

“Taehyung, she went to the doctor like that,” Jungkook gritted out.

That thought apparently hadn’t crossed Taehyung’s mind. He whipped his head around again, eyes so wide that you paused your heinous display of lust for a second, afraid they were going to fall out of his head.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he roared.

You grinned, holding your hands up. “I didn’t have to take my coat off, if that makes you feel better,” you said cheerfully.

Taehyung did not look like he felt better. In fact, he looked like he was going to pass out. He lifted his head to stare at the sky, mouthing silent words, running a large hand through his dark brown hair and messing it up. Your mouth watered, seeing that hand, knowing what it could do. Jungkook’s knuckles were white with how hard he was gripping the steering wheel.

“So, where are we go–?” you began, far too cheerfully for the two men in front of you.

Jungkook cut you off tightly. “Ours. You are going to our place. Now.”

“Ah,” you exhaled, smiling. “That’s good.” You nuzzled back into your seat, tits still out, nipples hard from the cold air. “That’s very good.” You spread your legs, hands clutching both sides of your black parka.

Pop, pop, pop, pop.

Jungkook nearly veered off the road.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

Taehyung was going to get whiplash with how hard he kept jerking his head back and forth. “Where the fuck are your panties?”

You placed a finger to your lips, smirking. “Oh no, I think I lost them.”

Maybe it was time to pray because Jungkook was trying very hard not to fucking die, his eyes shooting from the road, to the rearview mirror, to the road, to the mirror, veins popping in his forehead, his black hair covering his left eye. You pushed the shoulders of your parka down, spreading it open, inserting your finger into your mouth.

“Noona, don’t you fucking dare…” Jungkook warned.

But you did dare, swirling your tongue around your finger, softly moaning his name, Taehyung slack-jawed as your lashes lowered. You ground your hips into the seat, pussy already glistening as you popped your fingertip out of your mouth, making Jungkook hiss, sliding your hand down your neck, between your breasts, all the way down, down, pressing your wet finger against your clit.

Taehyung’s voice went low, dangerous.

“Are you a bad, bad girl, noona?” he growled.

You bit your lip, pressing down on your bundle of nerves, gasping. “I’m a good girl sometimes… But it’s so hard...” You rubbed your clit slowly, pushing your head back into the headrest, locking eyes with Taehyung, rocking your hips into your hand. “It’s so hard when I want to be naughty for you, Tae…”

His beautiful lips curved into a wicked smile, voice so low it was tearing through you, burning you with arousal. “Yeah? Just for me?”

You cried out softly, adding more pressure. Your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, to Jungkook’s panicked, blown-out pupils.

“No… For Jungkook, t-too…”

“Fucking shit,” Jungkook breathed, trying to drive slow and steady so he wouldn’t die while having the biggest hard-on of his life.

Taehyung yanked the lever of the passenger’s seat, pushing down the back to get closer to you. Jungkook slammed his palm against the wheel, snarling at him, but Taehyung completely ignored his outburst, sliding up the seat. You licked your lips and rubbed yourself faster, tipping your hips in his direction.

“Fuck,” Taehyung breathed, eyes roaming over your form. “You’re so fucking hot, noona.”

“Tae…” you whined, angling yourself to him.

“You want me to touch you, noona?” Taehyung purred; eyes even darker from the low light. He lifted his hand, flexing his long fingers. “You want me to touch that naughty pussy of yours?”

You whimpered, stroking your clit, chasing your orgasm, your dripping wet hole opening and closing, begging for his fingers. He dragged himself closer, fingertips dancing on your thigh. So hot, so close, fuck, you wanted him, Taehyung and his hungry eyes.

“I want to tell you no,” he whispered, gravelly and deep. “Shit, I want to tell you no and make you get yourself off, but you’re so fucking sexy, I just have to touch that dirty little pussy.”

And then he shoved two fingers into you, making you throw your head back and moan, long and wanton, Jungkook’s frustrated cries coming from the front seat as Taehyung’s fingers squelched into you, hard and fast and rough, not letting you get used to him, but you didn’t care, didn’t give a single fuck as you fucked your hips into his fingers. Gasping his name, rutting into his hand.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Taehyung demanded. “Be a good girl and tell me when you’re close.”

You nodded tightly, feeling the car slow as Jungkook pulled into the neighborhoods, nearing your orgasm, rubbing yourself fast as Taehyung thrust his fingers into you, your head pressing against the glass window. You panted, hip rising to meet him.

“A-ah, Taehyung, your fingers feel so good, so good, so fucking good,” you gasped. “Gonna cum, gonna cum just for you, Tae, all over your hand...”

Taehyung’s eyebrow rose, a smirk on his lips as he pumped his fingers into you, watching you come undone, seeing you hit the peak. Voice low, sexy, and authoritative.

“Oh, you wish.”

And then he ripped his fingers out of you as you screamed, your juices spilling out, pussy empty and clenching, orgasm hit, but wildly unsatisfying as Taehyung lifted himself up, grinning over you, fingers slick as he slid them into his mouth, licking them off. Your cum slid all over your thighs, dripping down, falling onto the carpet of Jungkook’s car.

“T-Taehyung!” you panted indignantly, sitting up sharply. “How could you!”

He cocked his head as the car stopped. Jungkook tore himself out of the seat, practically blasting his car door open to rip open your door, snatching you from the backseat. He slammed your nakedness against his black sweater and jeans, his hard body flexed against yours. You gasped at the sudden force, skin tingling with stimulation, the aftershocks of your orgasm still trembling through you.

“Noona,” he growled into your face, bringing his dark eyes to yours. “We have to teach you a lesson.”

-

Somehow, the three of you made it into the apartment without you flashing the entire complex.

Nice.

Getting you out of your clothes was easy. You were barely wearing any after all.

Taehyung shoved you against the hallway wall, tearing off his camel coat. You grabbed his white shirt and kissed him, hard, his musky cologne filling your nose. He whispered your name against your lips, grating and dangerous, smiling as you kissed him hungrily. You changed your positions, still kissing him, pushing him into the wall as Jungkook came up behind you, rolling his hard body into your back, sandwiching your nakedness between their clothed bodies. Jungkook grabbed your head and yanked your hair back, breaking your kiss with Taehyung to crash his lips into yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth and fucking it roughly, making you whimper.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Taehyung growled, grabbing your thighs and hoisting them up to hook them around his waist. You leaned against Jungkook’s chest, holding your upper body up Taehyung licked up your breasts, latching his lips to your nipple. You whined in Jungkook’s mouth, hands coming up to grab the black fabric of his sweater, back arching. Taehyung’s large hands found your ass, smacking it once before gripping it tightly.

“You’re so naughty,” Jungkook murmured against your lips, right hand snaking around your waist, in between your legs. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at him, but Jungkook was focused on you and only you, your panting mouth as Taehyung sucked on your nipples, switching between them. “Dirty girl, walking around the city without underwear,” Jungkook purred, watching you gasp as he slid his fingers in between Taeyang’s clothed stomach and your dripping pussy. “Were you thinking about us all day, desperate for our cocks to fill you up?”

Your arms encircled Jungkook’s neck as you moaned, head against his broad shoulder as he began to rub your clit.

“Y-yes…”

Jungkook’s breath so hot against your neck as Taehyung spread your nipples with his tongue. You rocked your hips into his stomach, so wet Taehyung’s white t-shirt squelched against his skin, Jungkook’s fingers rubbing you hard and fast, racing you to your orgasm.

“You’re such a bad girl, noona. What are we going to do with you? Should we give you cock?” Jungkook snarled, so low and dangerous that you shivered, crying out Taehyung’s name as he nipped at your nipple, sending shocks of pain through you.

“P-please…” you panted, eyes rolling back as Jungkook pinched your clit, your hips grinding into Taehyung’s shirt. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…”

Taehyung removed his mouth sharply and you whined, nipples dripping with his saliva.

“You think you deserve cock, noona?” Taehyung barked, spanking your ass hard as he spoke, punctuating his words with slaps. “You’ve been such a bad, bad girl. Should we even let you finish?”

You were nearly sobbing now, knowing you were so close, so close, breath hitching as Jungkook violently stroked you to orgasm.

“P-please… Please, Taehyung, let me cum, please, I need to cum so bad, please…”

Taehyung smirked, locking eyes with Jungkook.

“Aw, too bad I’m not the one pleasuring you.”

And then Jungkook tore his hand from you, making you wail, orgasm met, but wholly unsatisfying as you leaked all over Taehyung’s stomach, legs shaking, almost slipping if it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms catching you. You clenched Jungkook’s sweater, yanking hard.

“You guys are so fucking mean!”

Taehyung chuckled as your legs slid down, down, gently placing you on the floor. He looked down at his white t-shirt and shook his head.

“You made a mess.”

You glared at him and then at Jungkook, who gave you an arrogant smirk.

“Sorry, noona. You nearly killed us all with your antics, after all.”

“Are you saying it wasn’t fun?” you countered.

Jungkook’s smirk grew. “It’s fun punishing you too.”

You narrowed your eyes, but quickly became distracted with Taehyung stepping away from the wall, pointing to the door at the end of the hall.

“Go.” A command.

That wasn’t Taehyung’s room. You tilted your head. You’d never been in Jungkook’s room before.

“Now.”

Your eyes shifted to Jungkook and he cocked his chin in the same direction. You frowned but went, legs still unsteady. Jungkook began to walk after you, but Taehyung grabbed his forearm, stopping him.

“Jungkook.”

The younger man turned his head to look at him. Taehyung’s expression was very stern, almost cold.

“There can be no one else,” he said quietly. “I’ll kill you if you hurt her.”

Jungkook blinked. He had never seen Taehyung so serious over a woman. Sure, Taehyung dated and fucked around, but he let things go quite easily most of the time. Jungkook placed a hand over his, staring straight into Taehyung’s eyes.

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s grip tightened, eyes hardening.

Jungkook smiled, lowering his hand.

“Trust me, hyung, she’s more than enough for me. I don’t need anyone else.”

After a long moment, Taehyung let him go, turning away to go to his room. Jungkook looked after him, rubbing his arm. He turned away, gazing at his now open door. A weird feeling overcame him, a strange push and pull, before he brushed it aside and walked to his bedroom. Jungkook stopped at the doorframe.

And was greeted by the sight of you sprawled out in his gaming chair, holding one of his t-shirts against your chest, inhaling deeply as your eyes closed, right hand between your legs. Your wrist brace was making it difficult to go fast, so instead you stroked your clit slowly, breathing in the scent of his residual cologne that clung to his clothes, paying little attention to the fact that Jungkook was now watching you, amused. 

"You really are a horny little seductress, aren't you?'

You grinned hearing his deep voice, eyes still closed. You rubbed the fabric against your nipples, moaning at the sensation. 

“How often do you sit here, jacking off while thinking about me?” you wondered out loud.

Jungkook clicked his tongue, making you open your eyes.

“Too often.”

You licked your lips, purring his name enticingly. His lips curved into a lazy smirk.

Ah.

Jungkook was just so very, very sexy and he knew it.

Your eyes admired him for a moment. The right side of his hair pinned back, revealing his undercut. Long dark locks obscuring the left side of his face, hiding his angular cheekbone, framing his chiseled jaw and mischievous eyes. He stepped into the room, reaching down and crossing his arms, pulling his sweater up and over his head. You sucked in a breath. His toned torso, lean and tan. His right arm, covered in tattoos, flexing as he pulled the clothing over his head, mussing up his hair. It curled a bit around his forehead. Fuck, both his arms, shapely and strong, deliberately tensing them to make you gasp. Jungkook raised his right hand, tiny tattoos flashing as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here.”

You stood up from his chair slowly, his t-shirt sliding down your body and onto the floor. Light, careful steps as he circled the bed, putting it between you and him. You crawled onto the bed on all fours, hands digging into his slate gray sheets as he stepped to the very edge of the bed, undoing the button of his black jeans, zipping it down as you approached him, nearly moaning when you pushed them past his hips, pressing your face into his black underwear, breathing hotly against his erection. Your eyes traveled back up to him, tongue sliding out and pressing wetly against his clothed cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathed. “You’re so fucking hot.”

You grinned as he pushed his underwear down, his cock springing up to smear pre-cum against your cheek, already dripping from lack of stimulation. You went from base to tip, swirling your tongue all over, watching Jungkook’s head fall back as you took him in your mouth, so wet, so hot, so tight. Took it all the way down, feeling him swell in your mouth deliciously, his strong hand gripping the back of your head, keeping you there.

“Ah, such nice lips…” he purred, releasing your head so you could bob up and down, slowly. “That’s it, noona, just like that.”

You did, keeping a measured but deep pace, sucking in your cheeks. He hissed at the added stimulation, rocking his hips into your face. Jungkook looked back down, seeing you observing him, crouching on your hands and knees, your ass up in the air.

“Look at you, noona,” he murmured, reaching down to tweak your nipple. “So good at swallowing cock, so good at taking it all.”

You whimpered, rubbing your thighs together. Jungkook took both your nipples and pulled, making you groan around his cock. He thrust his hips into your mouth and you almost choked, hands suddenly coming up to grab his thighs. He shushed you, rubbing your nipples soothingly as he pulled out of your mouth, cock slapping your chin wetly.

“On your back. Show me that pretty pussy of yours.”

You scooted back, spreading your legs. Jungkook went to his desk, opening a drawer, watching you as you gripped each side of your thighs, spreading them further, your glistening slit out in the open. You flexed your vaginal muscles, opening and closing, making him suck a tight breath as he rolled the condom on.

“Fuck, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He climbed onto the bed, trailing his eyes up to your face and your half-lidded eyes, mouth open, panting his name.

“J-Jungkook, please…”

He smiled. “What is it, noona? What do you want?”

You wiggled your hips into his bed. “Your cock, please, Jungkook, I need it…”

He smacked his length against your clit, earning a sharp gasp. You pushed your head back into his sheets, whining as Jungkook slapped your swollen clit repeatedly with his cock, hard and fast, smearing it with lubrication from the condom. He was so hard that it almost hurt if it wasn’t for the lube.

“Is this enough for you?” Jungkook taunted. “Or does my naughty girl want more?”

“I-inside, please, a-ah, Jungkook, it’s t-too sensitive.…”

He stopped for only a split second before thrusting himself inside you, hissing as you sucked him in, previous stimulations already readying you for him. You rolled your hips, arching your back and gasping his name as Jungkook began, long, deep strokes that made you clench and shudder, aching for more. But before you could say anything, a familiar weight landed on the bed near your head.

Your eyes widened seeing Taehyung’s naked body, strong and handsome, tan skin glowing. His stoic, almost arrogant expression burned into your memory as he hovered over you, stroking his cock leisurely. He pressed it against your cheek, the warm, velvety head smearing pre-cum against your cheek. You tried to turn, but he used his free hand to hold your head still, shutting his eyes as he enjoyed himself.

“Fuck, even your cheek is so soft…” he murmured.

You whined but he shushed you, pressing a finger to your lips as he stroked himself faster, harder, Jungkook deep strokes sliding you up and down the bed. He used your face to stimulate the head, your lips, your cheeks, rocking his hips, smacking you in your face with his balls. Over and over as Jungkook thrust into you, watching your wanton expression as Taehyung’s pre-cum coated your skin. You could hear Taehyung’s breathing becoming shallow, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes.

“Gonna cum on your pretty tits, noona,” Taehyung murmured. “All over your tits, and then I’m going to fuck your mouth.”

You whimpered, watching his shoulders tense as he raised himself over you, Jungkook still fucking you agonizingly slowly, his thick cock stretching you out as Taehyung sucked in a breath, hissing your name tightly. You could only watch, breathless, as white strings squirted out, smacking you hotly in the chest with his thick cum, shuddering as you felt it spread out like fucking cake icing on your nipples and breasts. Jungkook moaned, watching the cum drip downwards, all over your skin.

“Open up,” Taehyung commanded and you opened your mouth. He slid in, readjusting himself so that he was above your head, legs on either side of you, facing Jungkook. He filled your mouth, almost too much even though he just orgasmed. You had to push your head up so he sank deeper into your throat, sticky from Taehyung’s cum soaking into your chest.

Oh, fuuuuck.

Stuffed from front to back, tits covered in cum, neck and back arched uncomfortably to accommodate the two cocks spearing into you, pussy throbbing and orgasming at the thought alone. And feeling it, oh God, feeling so full, so dirty, so used by both Taehyung and Jungkook at the same time made your eyes roll back into your head, tightening the muscles of both holes, muffled moans as you heard Jungkook grunt with effort and Taehyung’s hiss of pleasure. Taehyung controlled the pace as he fucked your face, carefully thrusting into your throat, staring at Jungkook’s dark hair bouncing as he fucked you.

Jungkook seemed to feel his gaze. He looked up.

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow at him.

Then he grabbed Jungkook’s head and forced it down, Jungkook’s eyes widening as he watched your cum-covered tits bounce back and forth, hard nipples swaying in the air. He rammed his hips into you and you whimpered, breasts bouncing harder so he fucked you even rougher, fascinated. Wet, lewd slapping sounds as he watched Taehyung’s cock disappear and reappear from your throat, covered in saliva, so messy that you were drooling down your chin, whining as you gripped his sheets. He felt liquid leaking down his thighs from your orgasms, your pussy clenching around him.

It was so much, so fucking much, Jungkook lifting your legs so he could go deeper, rubbing against your clit punishingly as Taehyung fucked your mouth, his tense thighs indicating that he was close. It made your entire body strain with effort and pleasure, head empty except chasing your orgasm over and over, smitten with the idea of being used like a fucktoy.

“S-so fucking good,” Taehyung groaned. “Such a good girl, taking so much cock all at once.”

“Fuck, I’m going to–”

But Jungkook didn’t get to finish because you wailed around Taehyung’s cock, pussy throbbing as you came, ripping his orgasm from him. He gasped sharply, slamming into you as his cock jerked into your walls, pulsing with you, gripping his entire length. So tight, but soft, his eyelids fluttering at the experience.

It only took Taehyung a few more pumps before he moaned your name, spilling down your throat, almost falling onto Jungkook as you sucked it out of him, swallowing greedily. He inhaled sharply as he snapped his head down to watch your throat constrict repeatedly, drinking it all and squeezing the head with your lips. Taehyung taped your side repeatedly, trying to get you to release him.

“Please, noona, too s-sensitive…”

You unlocked your jaw, gulping a huge vat of air as you realized you could breathe again. Taehyung pushed himself off you, falling against the wooden headboard as Jungkook carefully pulled out. You whined at the loss, back and neck aching. Every nerve hummed, brimming with pleasure, shaking you to your core.

It was glorious.

You panted, lowering your head to look down at Jungkook, dark eyes flashing as sweat from his angular jaw dripped onto your legs. He smirked at you, peeling the condom off and wrapping his hand around his still-hard, slick cock. Your breath caught in your throat as he began to furiously jack himself off, scooting on his knees to get closer to you, right in between your legs.

“J-Jungkook…”

The mole under his chin winked at you as he grinned. “Do you love it when you’re covered in cum, noona?” he panted, licking his lips. “Do you love it when Taehyung and I cum all over you?”

You moaned, your hands sliding up your breasts, smearing Taehyung’s drying cum even more, pinching your nipples as Jungkook gasped, pupils blown wide, eyes locked on your every move.

“Yes, Jungkook, I love it. I love being covered in your and Taehyung’s cum.”

He hissed, hips rocking into his hand as you made your lewd, obscene noises, body shaking as you waited for him. It didn’t take him very long before he groaned, towering over you as it shot out of him, showering you with creamy, salty strings of his orgasm. You dipped your fingers into it, scooping it into your mouth, sighing in satisfaction as Jungkook’s taste mixed with Taehyung’s in your throat, eating up as much a you could, and wiping the rest on your skin, relishing in the dirty act.

You were already prepared to do it again.

You heard Jungkook stumble off to the bathroom as you laid there, panting.

"Are you happy?" Taehyung asked, reaching down to pat your head. 

You grinned, bending your head back to look up at him upside down. He seemed surprised at your energy but smiled as you licked your lips, eyes clouded with lust. 

"So, so happy, Taehyungie."

He chuckled, dark eyes gazing into yours. You sensed a shift in his demeanor. For some reason, a calm, comforting feeling came over you when Taehyung looked at you. He bent down, his hands cupping your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks. He whispered your name, low and secretive, sending a shiver down your spine. You stared into his neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he spoke. His breath against your lips, tickling them.

"I’ll give you whatever you want."

You blinked slowly, lips parting. Now his lips were even closer, touching yours. 

"I'll do everything in my power to satisfy you."

And then Taehyung kissed you, intoxicating you with his touch, his scent, his intensity of his lips against yours, tongue thrusting into your mouth. You moaned, thighs rubbing together, clutching Jungkook's sheets, your body trembling as you kissed him. He held you protectively, fingertips pressing into your skin.

"Damn, do you two need a room?" came Jungkook's amused voice.

You broke the kiss softly, pecking Taehyung on the nose lightly before sliding down to Jungkook’s playful expression at the foot of the bed. He was holding a towel, raising at eyebrow at you. You sat up, grinning far too wide, making his smile falter a bit.

“Uh oh.”

“Come here, Jungkookie…”

“Please, we’re only men–gah!”

-

The next day, you dragged a seat next to Taehyung's gaming chair. He looked up as you sat down, still scrolling with his mouse. 

"What's up?" he asked. His voice was smooth, even. He gave you a quizzical look as you laid your head against his shoulder. "You want to fuck again?" he added, smirking. 

"No," you pouted, nestling your head on his shoulder. He was reading the new set of League of Legends patch notes. "Just want to be near you."

You saw the reflection of his smile in the computer monitor. He reached over and patted your head, making you hum in bliss. You two stayed like that for a moment, him scrolling periodically as he read, your head against his shoulder. 

Jungkook popped in, wearing a leather jacket over his white hoodie and jeans. He waved a USB drive.

"Gotta drop this off. I'll be back," he said merrily to Taehyung before leaning down to kiss you on the cheek. You turned your head, meeting his lips, and snuck your tongue into his mouth. 

Jungkook pulled back quickly, narrowing his eyes at you. "No. Bad girl."

You blinked innocently at him. "What'd I do?"

Jungkook glared at you, trying not to smile. "I have things to do. Let me kiss you normally."

Taehyung laughed deep from his chest, rumbling his shoulder you were leaning against. "Good luck with that."

Your smile widened. Smugly.

Too smugly. 

Jungkook backed away, pointing a finger at you. He was smiling too now, playful and mirthful.

"Later, you horny little seductress."

He left, winking. 

Taehyung patted your head again, his large hand massaging your scalp. 

"You sure you don't want to fuck?" he teased. 

-

continuation: christmas eve

--

masterpost

[nari-nim]

forever anticipating

“hi i don't know if your requests are open but if they are can you write an scenario in which hyunsuk sets jihoon and y/n on a blind date? fluffy? btw do you think he would kiss on the first date?”

aww anonie this is the cutest request! time for some SOFT JIHOON HOURS!  To answer your question, I think Jihoon is highly intuitive and can read body language well so he will use that to inform his decision whether or not to go for the kiss! If his date is down, he will not hesitate. I hope you enjoy the direction I took :) lmk what you think!! 💓

This is how Jihoon secretly looks at you when you aren’t looking during your date. gif credit goes to @khaly-no​

Treasure Jihoon x Y/N

warnings: none, this FLUFFY

word count: 1.8k

— the dorms —

Video game night was in full swing and it has never been louder in the dorms. Jeongwoo screeched over the sound of six other members’ simultaneous bickering. Meanwhile, Asahi decided now was the perfect time hit whoever blinked with a couch pillow. Normally, Hyunsuk wouldn’t have tolerated this level of rowdiness under his roof. But he was busy. He sat quietly on the far end of the sofa tapping furiously into his phone, a sly smile plastered across his features.

“Hey, Jihoon—oh my god,” Hyunsuk said, his smile melting as soon as he looked up. The chaos activated his leader (mother) mode. “Jihoon-Jeongwoo get down. Jeongwoo, please. Haruto, wait--Junkyu-Junkyu- ASAHI”

Asahi stopped. The rest followed suit.

The room turned to normal levels of volume, and Hyunsuk was able to try again. 

“Jihoon, come here.” Jihoon perked up from his Mashiho impersonation, and got up to join Hyunsuk.

“Bro, you should join us. Junghwan is killing it, you don’t want to miss his true maknae on top moment.” (He’s actually not, the beloved super king cow king baby is getting crushed by Haruto every round). Jihoon slid next to Hyunsuk, glancing at his phone screen. “What are you...”

Hyunsuk flashed him a cheeky smile and hid what he was working on for the past half hour.

“You’re going on a blind date tomorrow.”

“No way, this feels somewhat illegal. Tell me more.”

“Her name is y/n and I met her through a mutual friend. They go to uni together and we met at that hangout I went to last weekend. Park Jun, she is exactly your type. You gotta trust me on this one.”

Jihoon blinked at him, for once without a witty remark. Jihoon squinted at Hyunsuk, and chuckled in disbelief. Reality was hitting him and logic does not like that shit eating grin on Hyunsuk’s face.

“Hyunsuk, you’re setting me up? You, really? This is actually happening? Right before our flight to Japan?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow early morning at the Han River. You’ll have a few hours before we head over to Incheon.” 

Jihoon ruffled his hair and sat back into the couch. He sucked in a breath. Hyunsuk frowned, “you don’t want to? Sorry man, I really thought your vibes would’ve matched and-“

“Oh no no, hyung, I’m just...worried since we’re going to promote in Japan for the next two weeks and our schedules are so busy. It might end up hurting us both,” Jihoon confessed. “And it’s been forever since I last been on a date.”

“Nah I think you’re worrying way too much in advance. The policy is chill now and, hey, who can say no to waiting a few weeks for those abs,” Hyunsuk reassured. 

“Oh right, I’m going to flash my abs the fifth minute in,” Jihoon said sarcastically. He did make a mental note, though, because if you really are that cute? He’ll need that Plan G.

“Here, I’ll text you the address now. You better not flake and make me look bad.”

“HEY! What are you guys WHISPERING about!” Jeongwoo said, looking at them suspiciously. Simultaneously, the nonactive players of the game whipped their heads to stare at the pair.

“Nothing, the grownups are talking” Jihoon joked, dramatically nodding and shooting thumbs up at Hyunsuk. Jihoon left the resulting hysterics and sound of Hyunsuk cackling behind for the comforts of his room where he checked his buzzing phone. Turns out, Hyunsuk had attached the pictures of you, figuring he would give Jihoon that peace of mind (and a way to find you tomorrow) under the instructions.

Holy shit. 

Jihoon eyes widened. You are exactly his type. Jihoon couldn’t stop staring at your smiling features. The soft smile that colored his features never left his face for the rest of the night.

He couldn’t wait.

— Han River —

Wow ok, this is slightly worse than evaluation days, Jihoon decided, nervously kicking a small pebble around on the dusty road.

“Hey, Jihoon?”

Jihoon froze for a millisecond and turned around to face you.

You looked ethereal in the early morning sun. The light reflected off your lovely features, illuminating the kind glow of your smile. Jihoon made another mental note to treat Hyunsuk to dinner once they land in Japan.

“The one and only. Y/n?”

“Yes,” you nodded shyly. “It’s nice to meet you, Jihoon.”

Jihoon loved hearing his name coming from your lips. Which were so pretty and pink and—

Jihoon cleared his throat. “Likewise.” After a small pause, “Is there anything you would like to do in particular while we get to know each other?”

You laughed, the sound music to Jihoon’s ears. He wants to hear that all the time now, he decided.

“I actually really like taking pictures of random beautiful things that pique my interest! Maybe we can just go for a walk and explore what we find beautiful about the Han River?”

“Perfect,” Jihoon smiled widely, which somehow grew when he noticed the blush in your cheeks.

And that’s how you two somehow went from exchanging detailed introductions to sharing hobbies to discussing life goals and values, all while snapping amazing scenery pics. This developed into a made up game of taking the best picture, judged entire on a subjective and nondemocratic point system. The winner gets uncontested glory and a copy of all the photos of the loser’s captured moments. 

“HAHA, y/n I just got the spiciest photo of these golden bell flowers over this ledge!”

“What, how??” You whipped around from trying to make some daisies look aesthetic. The competitive side of you was taking over.

“I guess it’s one of the perks of being taller,” Jihoon said, hopping down the said six foot tall ledge he spent the last few minutes scaling. He dusted his pants off carefully and flashed you his eye smile. In a singsong voice, he said, “and one of those perks is winning this game~”

Yeah you were not about to risk a broken arm for that picture. “Okay, fine, but show it to me?”

“Nuh uh.” He flashed you the picture in one second bursts, having the best time teasing you.

Jihoon paused. He got so comfortable with you in the last hour that he just teased you like he does with the other Treasure members. His worries were interrupted at the adorable sight of you giggling. He internally sighed of relief.

“NuH uH,” you mimicked backed at him, reaching for his phone. 

Jihoon quickly yanked his phone above his head, dramatically leaned his body so it was out of your reach. Surprised, you tried to change course. But in the spur of the moment, the momentum carried you just a tad too far. You bump slightly into his chest. Jihoon instinctively grabbed at you to prevent you from losing your balance further, his hands falling on your waist. His large hands felt so warm through the fabric, his breath brushing as the top of your forehead. You were so close.

His eyes widened, heat rushing to his cheeks. For a second, your eyes meet. You wonder if he can hear the thundering in your chest.

Jihoon quickly let go and took a step back, slightly bowing at you. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to grab you like that!”

You could tell your face was absolutely flushed at this point, but you made a show of brushing off your outfit and stuck your nose in the air, “as long as you don’t have cooties.”

“Ooh,” Jihoon winced. “I definitely do. Exclusive, premium, limited edition cooties.”

You laughed, thankful he didn’t press you on the obvious blush. Although it’s not like his face was any better.

“Hey, y/n,” Jihoon said, pulling you out of your internal monologue. “This might be about it for the date. My phone has actually been blowing up with reminders to get back.”

Oh, You tried to hide the sadness in your face. The few hours you spent together seemed to fly by so fast, and you definitely longed for more. Within the span of the date, he showed just how incredible he is—unyielding dedication to his dreams, selfless outlooks on life, and a kind, hilarious and loving personality that felt like sunshine on a rainy day.

Jihoon noticed the quiet pause, and softly asked, “May I walk you home?”

You let out an airy laugh. “Not unless you want to walk 45 minutes in one direction and an hour in the other, Park Jihoon. It’s okay, I’ll take the subway!”

“Right, right,” Jihoon chuckled. You guys reached an intersection leading pedestrians away from the river sidewalk. The signs pointed to your destinations in opposite directions, which felt too meta for your taste.

Jihoon turned to face you.

“You know, golden bell flowers means anticipation in flower language.” He looked the most serious he has ever been all morning.

You mustered yourself to look into his eyes.

“That’s suitable, Jihoon, because I anticipate for you to call me as soon as you safely land and are available.”

“Deal.”

Numbers and addresses (for postcards, he claims) were exchanged.

“Jihoon, I had an amazing time today.” You said, suddenly feeling shy again. A part of you wished you could walk him back, but that would attract unwanted attention.

“Me too, y/n. Thanks for waking up so early to spend all this time with me.” Jihoon said, the tone of his voice so soft and genuine.

He shifted a little closer, eyes flickering to your lips. 

Your eyes widened. 

He leaned in and gently rested his hand against the back of your head. His eyes searched yours, asking.

Oh my god, yes please. You drew even closer in answer, eyes fluttering shut. 

Jihoon closed the distance. His lips gently pressed into yours, completing a perfect puzzle. The kiss was was warm, sweet and heartfelt. Your lips gently moved against each other, before you pulled slightly away for air. As your foreheads rested against each together, a warm wave unfurled in your chest.

Just a little more, you thought. Jihoon seemed to agree as you both lean in again, this time the kiss far less hesitant. Your hands rest against his chest while he cups your face with his. Jihoon pulled back, pushing a strand of hair behind your ears. His phone was aggressively ringing, you realize.

“I’ll see you, y/n.”

“I’ll anticipate you, Jihoon.”

He watched your retreating figure for a bit before he headed back to the dorm, giddy with joy.

— your home —

A few days later, a package arrived. It was from Jihoon. Your heart raced. 

He never mentioned anything about this in his calls, you excitedly thought. 

You slowly pulled out the contents, marveling at each one. A picture of the Han River reflecting the morning light. A dozen of printed photos he somehow took of you that day (you laughing at something you took, looking off into the river, and crouching over vegetation). A polaroid of him in the hotel room, “you better be missing me so damn hard” it captioned. You chuckled, touched by his gift. 

You were about to close the envelope until you realized there’s still one item left. You reached in. And you gasped.

A golden bell flower, pressed by hand. 

[crimson-dxwn]

AT ODDS 6 (Kal Skirata x F!OC)

Summary: Tea gets spilled at Kyrimorut. Ordo gets involved. Ori makes a choice and a new enemy.

Warnings: Mando profanity, pregnancy, SPOILERS for Republic Commando books (all but the last one), medical shit, surgery, fucking SADS

As always, so many thanks to @detroitbydark who lets me screech about my weird fic and Kal and Ori! Also this is barely edited be kind, I’m on my psych rotation and barely scraping by. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kal realizes he’s slipped the figurine into the pocket of his bodysuit semi-consciously in his hasty retreat from the apartment. Knotted Jonah wood whittled smooth forms two stylized figures, one large and one small, their hands joined between them. 

He barely registers the ride back home and comming Mij. They need a plan, and they need one fast if they are going to find her. He knows little about how the Empire treats their prisoners compared to the late Republic, but he isn’t about to have any illusions of honor or fair play. After all, he doesn’t play fair himself. But there’s a hydrospanner thrown into the mix. What he doesn’t know is how the Imps treat prisoners with … unique health conditions. Or if they even give half a bantha’s shebs. Odds are they send men and women alike to those osik’la camps he’s gotten word of. Yeah, the Empire was equal opportunity like that. 

If Mereel can’t slice into the system remotely, they were going to have to do an old-fashioned infiltration. He’d ask his ad’ike if they were up to task, there’s no way he could ask to put them in danger, not after the entirety of their lives being war. It hurts him to even think about asking. But he has to do this, even if it’s just his sorry shebs. 

He tries to put on a good Sabaac face when he’s back in the karyai, discreetly gathering up all the surplus weapons they have that he finds might be useful for an infiltration into a heavily armed and fortified position. 

Mereel of course, catches on within minutes. 

“You’re going to find her,” Mereel interrupts. Kal yanks his head up out of the gun locker to look at his son. “And you didn’t even think to ask for backup?”

His son’s tone is accusing, edging on hurt. That he did not expect.

“It’s my fuckup, son,” he replies, “I’m the one who needs to fix it. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“What’s so special about this doctor?” Mereel slams the door of the locker shut. It’s obvious his ad’ika is protective. They all are. 

“She delivered your ba’vodu’ad, Mereel. I’m pretty sure she saved Parja’s life.” Kal says, keeping his eyes on his work, cleaning the weapons, arranging the ammo he needs. Sharpening his father’s three-sided knife. 

“And that’s enough to go up against the Empire? ”

He’s going to have to spit it out. Mereel is looking at him expectantly, sure that he’s going to change his mind, see reason. 

“She’s pregnant, son.” Mereel, who has been away for the events of the last few months, just stares back at him in a puzzled fashion, brows slightly furrowed. Looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind. Maybe he has. 

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

In comes a second voice, and the accusatory tone startles him enough that, when added to his baseline urgency and anxiety, causes his hand to slip and nick itself as he sharpens his knife. 

“Osik,” he hisses, holding pressure to the cut as blood wells, looking up to the figure in the doorway. Ordo. Mereel stares at his brother, unsure whether he is joking. Kal sighs. He should know better, trying to keep things from them. The last time he was successful at that was when they were four. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Maybe,” Ordo replies, just this edge of indignant, “is she carrying my vod?” 

A strange and protective piece of him flares at Ordo’s tone and Kal stands, still holding the cloth to his cut hand. 

“Most likely.”

“Then we need to get her back.” Ordo meets his eye finally and Kal nods, satisfied, and starts gathering ammo from the safes. This time Mereel moves to help, still in a rare state of stunned silence. 

By the time they’ve gathered what they need and loaded it into aayhan, Mereel has a willing team assembled and what they know of the building schematics up on a datapad in the karyai. Fortunately for them, the team won’t be breaking into any prison blocks, which are bound to be heavily guarded. 

“All we have to do is get into the information security room that houses the main terminal,” Mereel starts confidently. “We can stay far away from the security blocks and the bucketheads.” 

“Though it would be fun to bust some vode out of there,” Scorch adds. 

“Not our mission,” says Mereel, regret plain in his voice, “we’ll have to get them another time.” The realization that they were leaving prisoners at the mercy of the empire sobers the group even more. It was becoming more and more apparent that more planning was needed before they could root out the Empire on Mandalore. Meanwhile, Kal had set Uthan to the task of trying desperately to make their own homebrew vaccine. 

---

It’s been many many years since he’s fastroped. Lately, he has been finding that it’s been years since he’s done many things. Fastroping, underwater diving...fathering kriffing kids. He swallows, hard and regroups himself. Every single one of them needs to be focused if they’re gonna pull this job off. 

Yes, he’s fast roped before. But he’s never liked it. Where his sons get twitchy when confined to tight spaces, he finds himself sweating more than usual under his beskar the more stories they climb. Right now, they’re about ten stories up, far above the sensors of the garrison and way above his tolerance for heights. They have about a minute to pull this off before the Imps realize this transport is lingering too long in their airspace. 

Mereel, Sev, Scorch, and Kal are in Aayhan, hovering silently above the Keldabe imperial garrison in the inky black late summer night. The humidity sticks his tactical garments to his skin, making it itch and crawl in addition to his surging adrenaline. That was one thing that never changed, no matter how old he got, no matter how many missions he’s finished - that nauseating spike of pure fear and bliss. 

He gives the signal to move move move and soon he’s roping down, strong north Mandalorian wind whipping around him, soaking through his underlayer. The four of them land silently on the roof of the compound, and Scorch starts laying a strip charge along the floor to create a hole leading below, straight into the admin offices. Four sets of Mando armor gleam lowly in the moonlight. It’s a perfect night for an op like this, whipping wind obscuring any slight noise they did make and the faint whine of aayhan’s engines. The charges detonate with a controlled bang and flash of bright light that briefly blinds his HUD. Kal switches to night vision.

*His child*. It’s barely a concrete concept in his mind yet, but an instinctual piece of him knows the truth. The timing is too perfect for him to be wrong. The way Orla had looked at him in the med center…

The stakes are too high to fail, and distracting thoughts get men killed. Mereel leads the way through the door, rifle at the ready, and Kal banishes his musings to the back of his mind, pushed away by a fresh rush of adrenaline. It’s a stealth mission, and they navigate by night vision, as silently as their boots will allow. 

They stalk through dark quiet hallways lined with innocuous office doors until they reach the end, what is presumably the CO’s office, with its durasteel double doors and obviously larger size. 

Mereel starts in on slicing the door panel while Sev shoots out the camera in the hallway corner while the rest of them listen for any approaching patrols. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed they were there, whether it was the hole in the roof or the blacked out camera. The double doors open quietly and they head inside. Vau’s boys guard the door while he and Mereel crowd the desk in the middle of the room. 

“I need a few minutes to get into this,” Mereel says, eyes locked onto the screen before him. One of his slicing tools is between his teeth.

“You’ll get it, son. We’ll take care of anything that tries to get in our way.” 

So far it looks like no one has noticed them. The imps must really be confident in the plan to neutralize Mandalore with so few guards and patrols. Sweat drops trickle down the back of his neck and into his bodysuit.

Mereel studies the datapad stripping the system for a few more moments and turns it towards Kal. There’s a concerned look stretched across his handsome face. Together the watch the recorded scene on the screen before them. 

There’s Orla, still in her work clothes, talking with an Imp who’s behind this very desk, flanked by two stormtroopers. He knows those gestures - she’s spitting mad, barely containing the fury that was directed toward the man behind the desk. Without audio he can only guess as to the contents of their conversation. The Imp behind the desk gives a short reply and nods curtly to the right-hand trooper who, without hesitation, raises his blaster rifle and cracks her across the face with the butt end. She doesn’t even see it coming. Even in the shades of blue from the holoprojector the blood is obvious, trickling down the side of her face. 

Kal is livid, trembling so finely it’s barely visible, and he almost forgets where they are for a moment. Deep in enemy territory, with hostiles incoming any minute. 

Mereel makes a disgusted noise from deep in his chest as they watch her be pushed to the ground. They follow the video feed where she’s led to a cell. His breath catches. There’s a chance she’s still here. His hope is tempered, however, when an alarm starts to sound from within the garrison. A patrol must have finally found their breach point.

“Sarge?” warns a voice from outside the door. It’s Sev, by the gravelly tone. 

“Almost finished,” he shouts, over the screeching din. Mereel continues to work furiously, his bulk hunched over the console. He’s able to parse through incredible amounts of data with immense precision; Kal can practically feel the concentration rolling off him. 

“Wait,” Mereel says. Kal looks over at the screen. They’re centered on a video feed again, this time outside. The sheer amount of prisoners in line for the transport is shocking enough, but the fact that none of them are in armor is even more appalling. The Imps are slowly stripping their culture away, plate by plate. 

“She’s not on the manifest for this transport, even though the records say she leaves.” 

It doesn’t make sense. Unless… Kal knows Mereel must be thinking the same as him. Judging by the brutality of the footage they’ve watched, the stories from around the planet, he wouldn’t put it past the Empire to take care of a pesky problem in the easiest way they knew how. It wasn’t something that supposedly peaceful, orderly governments liked to keep records of. His dread and guilt intensifies, leadening his limbs already weighed down by heavy beskar. 

He chokes the words out. He has to know. “Is there any footage of…” Kal can’t bring himself to say them. It doesn’t need to be said, Mereel knows what he’s looking for. He’s been in a war zone long enough to know that armies aren’t sentimental. 

“No, no footage. Just them leading her away.” The alarm continues to blare. It could be minutes, seconds before they have to blast their way out. 

“Here.”

Kal steels himself to watch. It’s his fault, he reminds himself again. Two more fresh marks in his ledger. His arm reaches automatically to his son’s to steady himself. He feels Mereel’s slump ever so slightly, whether it’s in relief or defeat, he can’t tell. 

“I have what I need,” he says, “time to go. Debrief can wait for later.” Distant footsteps start to echo towards them, modulated shouts following close behind. They were about to be grossly outnumbered, by the sound of it. Kal shoves his helmet back on, heading through the doorway and signaling Sev and Scorch to follow. 

They wind through the garrison, avoiding both patrols and squads of stormtroopers sweeping the building. It’s laughably easy compared some of the other heists they’ve pulled - except he speaks too soon. As they make their way out of the back door of the garrison onto the Keldabe streets, one squad catches up to them. Ordo has aayhan back at Kyrimorut - earlier they had decided it was too risky for the four of them to fly home and possibly expose the homestead. So instead their plan was to run the winding streets and strategically borrow a transport. The problem is that Kal is pushing sixty and the other men are - physiologically at least - still in their early twenties. They’re a lot kriffing faster than him, even with his ankle fixed. 

The streets and alleys twist and turn, switching from ancient cobbles to smooth duracrete without warning. Easy enough to get lost if you’re a local, they are impossible to navigate as aruettiise. Soon the four are panting, ducked into an alcove off a cobbled alley. Finally, it seems they’ve dodged the patrol. Only time will tell if they were recognized. Kal finds he doesn’t much mind if they know his face. In fact, he hopes they do. He wants to meet that garrison officer. 

-------

Imperial Rehabilitation Center

Weeks later

19 BBY

Life isn’t all doom and gloom. They are kept...occupied. Like rats in a maze. Ori shares a bunk with another Mandalorian, the only other there. Taren is a kid really, small and slight except for her distended belly. It’s obvious she’s used to wearing armor by the way she walks, how upright she holds herself, arms swaying slightly away from her body. And how she closes in on herself when she realizes it’s not there, when it’s nighttime in their room and thinks Ori can’t hear her sob breathlessly into her pillow every night. 

It’s almost childish, the way they’re herded from room to room. Chaperoned and on a schedule, like one would handle a naughty child needing extra discipline. It was how she imagines Coruscanti boarding schools some of her medical school classmates attended - polished stone floors and crisp uniforms, all strict routines and synchronized repetition. It’s meant to numb the mind, making days run into weeks. She suspects they’re kept intentionally disoriented. After all, most of them are still political prisoners, and many she’s found have important connections on their respective homeworlds. 

They’re at lunch, scattered around their assigned tables. Generously, they are allowed to converse during meals, though their seats remain assigned. The ‘rehab center’ has proven to be much more expansive than she expected - some rooms are swallowingly large, like the one she is in now, and some are as small as a broom closet, connected by narrow winding hallways. The building itself could have been any number of things in a past life - a school, factory, or prison. She supposes it doesn’t matter much now. Today there’s a newcomer, sitting quiet and sullen at a back table with the Corellians. Time would tell if she was one of them or if she hailed from a different world. 

An arm jostles her, hitting her square in the ribs. It successfully knocks her out of her analysis of the newcomer. 

“-did you hear what I just said?” Taren says, mouth full of tasteless nutritional paste. It’s far from delicious, but you ate what they give out and she is hungry *all the time* nowadays. A fleck lands on Ori’s face and she wipes it away with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry, al’verde.” Commander. Her eyes roll automatically. She knows she doesn’t deserve the title. Discreetly, Ori shushes the younger woman - they’re lucky the stormtroopers here don’t understand Mando’a. 

They put together kit for new stormtroopers, morning and night. It’s another endurable humiliation. She stabs at the cubes bitterly with her spoon, scattering crumbs across the table. They’re not allowed forks or knives, not after Taren’s first week. A tiny smile flits across her face as she thinks on the memory. 

 Ori feels like a geriatric compared to the spry warrior, though they’re less than ten years apart in age. She’s seen things in that time, lost people, buried dreams. Though Taren is looking older and older by the day, cooped up in this place. 

“Theera is gone,” Taren says, “she wasn’t at breakfast either.” 

Looking around and finding no sign of the woman, Ori hums an agreement. She’ll be gone for good soon, and her baby as well. Every time someone delivers it sends a sense of unshakeable dread down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. All of them are marching slowly towards that finish line. 

The artificial hierarchy into which they are forced has made the two Mandalorians de facto leaders, despite Ori being one of the newer inmates and to cement her as *alverde*; her medical expertise makes her invaluable. 

The room hushes as Dr. Loesch sweeps down to the cafeteria, all business in crisp grey scrubs, so confident in his admiration. He insists they call him ‘Doctor L’ like he’s a popular lecturer at a university. He’s the worst kind of hut’uun, just as bad as the rest of the Imps she’s met here. Loesch is in charge of their medical care, all 100-some of them, including herself. Loesch towers over most of them, even herself. 

As a physician, Ori is personally insulted at his complacency, the fact that he is perfectly content in his post and cemented in his belief that what he was doing is just, his complicity. She stabs at her cubes some more to try and make herself feel better. 

As a woman, she’s decidedly less surprised. Men like him are everywhere, tall and handsome, handed success on a silver platter, born into families of privilege and power. Taking and taking with no thought of the carnage they leave behind. 

He saunters his way over to their table and sits with a charming smile. 

“Beviin,” he starts, “I heard through the gossip chain that you were an obstetrician before you came here?”

It’s physically painful to keep her retort in hand. She’s been here long enough to see women sent to solitary. And to see them come back, changed indefinitely. 

“Mmm,” she mumbles affirmatively through a mouthful of cubes. She swallows. “Yes.” Keep it simple, that’s easy enough. 

He smiles sardonically. “How ironic,” he adds, obviously pleased with the revelation. Expectantly, he looks around the table to gauge his joke, and they catch on, laughing softly, nervously, afraid of what might happen if they don’t. Even Ori joins in, the butt of the low blow, though her simmering rage ratchets up another level.

They finish the rest of their lunch largely in silence and Loesch pulls her away when she files out with the others. 

“Ms. Beviin,” he says conspiratorially, “I know it must be difficult for you to be here.” 

The man over her, face too close for comfort, his voice deep and low. Alarm fills her as the other people in the room dwindle until it’s just the two of them and the scattered troopers on the upper level. All Ori can think about is where the nearest exit is located when she realizes he’s still speaking to her. 

“...what do you think?” He waits patiently, a benevolent expression in his face. He blinks too little, she thinks, and his eyes are devoid of expression, shining with an amused sort of malevolence. They’re a strange shade of brown...no, green? The little noise he makes in the back of his throat brings her back to their conversation.

“Ah...sure?” she replies weakly, stunned and frozen.

“That’ll be nice for the other inmates,” he says. Incredibly white, straight teeth flash as he smiles down at her. “I think it will give them comfort to have you there. I’ll have the guards collect you when it’s time.” 

——

Three nurses eye her from across the suite. They wear sweet matching hospital uniforms, in the same soft fabric as hers except in a delicate petal pink. With a pang, she misses her fellow nurses and doctors on Mandalore. Who knows how many had fallen ill? Been arrested? The way they clustered in a little group reminded her of her schoolmates, when they found out she didn’t like fighting, whispering rumors from across the room. That she thought she was better than them, that weird girl who was more concerned with grades than winning fights and impressing boys. Now they stand across the room from her like a little bunch of flowers in their coordinated outfits, identical and perfect. She’s an other in their world, someone to be feared and hated, pitied at best. 

Orla stands awkwardly, waiting for the show to start when her stomach flips. The scrub top she has on stretches across her middle awkwardly, pulling at the seams and the soft shoes that cover her feet are obscured by her bump. The strange sensation returns, a little differently this time, just the barest flutter, deeper down than that nervous feeling. Her baby. She lays a gentle palm over the swell, as discreetly as she can, still feeling the scrutinizing looks of the women across the room.

Another nurse wheels a bed into the room, complete with Theera shivering atop it, her hair and gown drenched in sweat. Orla rushes to the head of the bed as she’s prepped for the operation. Theera is dazed, too exhausted to make much sense of anything right now, glassy eyes focused on the ceiling. She smoothes back the sweaty hair from Theera’s forehead. 

“Hey cyar’ika. It’s Ori,” she says softly. The woman’s eyes focus a little, just enough to meet hers. She bumps their foreheads together. It was as much to comfort herself as much as the other woman. Non-mandos typically didn’t understand the meaning behind the gesture. She can’t squeeze her hand like she wants to - it’s being hooked up to IV tubing.

“I’m cold,” she mumbles. Some of it is adrenaline, some from fear, and the rest from the icy operating room temperature to keep the surgeons comfortable. Drenched as she is, it’s no wonder Theera is shivering. 

Ori asks the wary tech for a warm blanket, terrified of overstepping and getting her shebs kicked out of the operating room. She’s promptly ignored in favor of his work. Dr. Loesch enters the room and the nurses titter around him while he ensures everything is prepped to his liking. Ori settles for as much skin to skin contact as she can get with Theera, trying to warm her, mumbling comforting nonsense into her ear as Loesch starts to work. A warming bassinet waits ominously against the wall for its prize. 

A thin cry interrupts their mumbling and Theera’s eyes sharpen at the noise. Loesch holds the little thing over the curtain separating them indulgently, just for a moment. A boy, he says, and she and Theera find themselves mesmerized by the bloody little thing and his tiny squished face and flailing arms, already so angry at the world. He’s held up for a second, allowing Theera a cursory glance and then whisked away by the nurses to the bassinet. His mother is still paralyzed on the table and it makes it all the more unjust that she isn’t even allowed to touch her son, see him up close. The nurses at the bassinet laugh and coo, oblivious to Theera, who starts weeping pitifully. Fat tears slide down the side of her face, wetting the starched white sheet beneath her head.

Ori is in the middle of the absolute emotional chaos around her. Theera crying, Dr. Loesch talking with his assistant about weekend plans, and the nurses with the baby, who have turned back at the sound of crying to glare at them judgementally. She can practically hear them now. Serves her right, their looks say. She deserves it. The rage congeals around Ori, settling itself in her throat. This feeling is exactly what had put her in this place to begin with and she knows she has to control it, use it somehow. She watches them place a little bracelet around the infant’s ankle and scan it into a datapad. They don’t bother with Theera. It dawns on her then that if she’s lucky - incredibly lucky - she can use the Empire’s obsession with order against them. 

She makes her way over to the bassinet under the ruse of joining the indulgent cooing that is going on, trying not to throw elbows before she’s kicked out of the room. The little boy’s leg is caught for a heel stick an she gets her chance. The number on the leg band is just visible, only for a second. She sends a prayer up to the Manda that she gets it right. 

Taglist

@clonewarslover55 @simping-for-fives @808tsuika @jedi-mando @cherry-cokes-world @nelba @fractiouskat @passionofthesith 

[snowonthebeachmp3]

July 2016

Jul 3rd - Taylor's 4th of July festivities kick off at her Rhode Island house. Guests include Tom Hiddleston, Abigail Anderson, Matt Lucier, Claire Winter, Ryan Reynolds, Blake Lively, Karlie Kloss, Josh Kushner, Austin Swift, Ruby Rose, Harley Gusman, Halston Sage, Gigi Hadid, Cara Delevingne, Britany Maack, Ben LaManna, Martha Hunt, Jason McDonald, Uzo Aduba, Chioma Aduba, Jordan Masterson, Kesha, St Vincent, Ed Sheeran, Cherry Seaborn, Rachel Platten, Kennedy Rayé and the Haim sisters. (x) (x) (x) (x)

This is the day Tom wears the infamous 'I <3 TS' tank top while they're all at the beach. (x)

Jul 4th - The online mockery for the 'I <3 TS' shirt is quick to pour in. Daily Mail commenters are yet to shut up about it in 2021.

The party continues with a giant inflatable waterslide, body painting, karaoke, charades and fireworks. (x) And also Kesha and Haim getting tricked by Cara, Uzo and Ruby into thinking they heard scary noises in the night, and trying to call the police but not knowing their own location. (x) (x)

Jul 5th - The day after the party, when all the guests post their photos online.

Britany posts a photo of her & Ben, Blake & Ryan, and Taylor & Tom. (x) The internet has a field day with Ryan's unimpressed facial expression. (x) (Ryan later says that it's just his resting bitch face as he wasn't aware a photo was being taken. (x))

Taylor posts several photos to Instagram of her celebrating the 4th July with friends, but doesn't post any pictures with Tom. (x)

Claire Winter posts a bunch of Polaroids, including one of Taylor and Tom kissing. (x)

Abigail posts a photo to Instagram showing the banners Taylor put up to celebrate her engagement to Matt and the anniversaries of Cara & St Vincent (real name Annie Clark) and Ed & Cherry. (x)

Jul 6th - Taylor and Tom fly out of Rhode Island (x) and arrive at LAX that evening. (x) They then get on a plane to Australia.

Joe attends the Warner Music Group summer party in London. (x)

Rumours are swirling that Tom is no longer in consideration to be the next Bond, due to his relationship with Taylor. (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

Jul 8th - Taylor and Tom are flying on a commercial Quantas flight so someone is able to take a pic of them on the plane. (x)

According to another passenger on the plane, Taylor plays Scrabble during the flight (presumably on her phone because nobody takes big physical board games on commercial flights and the creepshot of Hiddleswift on the plane suggests she wouldn't have had anywhere to put the board anyway). In hindsight, knowing how Taylor and Joe play lots of Scrabble together including online Scrabble aka Words With Friends, and how they stayed in touch largely via texting that summer, it’s very possible she was playing against Joe.

Taylor and Tom arrive in Sydney, where Tom is about to start filming for Thor: Ragnarok. (x) Aussie media, including daytime TV, goes nuts over Hiddleswift's arrival in the country. (x)

Flying from LA to Australia involves crossing the international dateline, so they would have left the US on the 6th July local time and arrived in Sydney approx 15 hours later on the 8th July local time.

Calvin's new song Olé, written for John Newman, is released. There is speculation that it's a Hiddleswift song, written from Tom's perspective and containing lyrics implying that Taylor cheated on Calvin with Tom. However, sources also told multiple outlets that the song was written and recorded months earlier, and its supposed links to Hiddleswift were just for publicity. (x) (x)

Jul 9th - Tom goes out for a run (x) and avoids answering questions about Taylor. (x)

Jul 10th - Taylor and Tom go out for dinner to Gemelli Italian restaurant in Broadbeach on Australia's Gold Coast. (x)

Jul 11th - Taylor is named as the highest earning celebrity on the 2016 Forbes Celebrity 100 list, with earnings of $170m mostly due to the 1989 World Tour. If she and Calvin had not split up, they would have been the top-earning celebrity couple. (x)

Jul 12th - Taylor visits Lady Cilento Children’s Hospital in South Brisbane. (x)

Jul 13th - Us Weekly makes a wild claim that Tom is planning to propose soon, and Taylor is going to say yes. The magazine cover also claims they're already talking about babies. (x)

TMZ claims that Taylor wrote TIWYCF, and that Calvin disrespecting Taylor following its release was the reason for their breakup. (x)

Taylor Swift really is the creative brains behind Calvin Harris' monster hit "This is What You Came For," and their relationship fell apart because he disrespected her when the song was released ... this according to sources connected with Taylor.

It's a fascinating story. We've learned an early fan rumor about the song is true, but to a deeper extent than anyone suspected. During their relationship, Taylor wrote the song, sat down at a piano and did a demo into her iPhone. She sent it to Calvin, who loved it. They both went into a studio and did a full demo with Taylor on vocals and Calvin doing the beat.

They both knew the song would be a hit, but Taylor wrote it for Calvin and both agreed it was a bad idea to let the world know they collaborated as a couple ... it would overshadow the song.

So Taylor, who kept the publishing rights, used the pseudonym Nils Sjoberg on the credits.

//

The problem in the relationship came the day the song was released. Calvin appeared on Ryan Seacrest's radio show and Ryan asked, "Will you do a collaboration with your girlfriend?" Calvin responded, "You know we haven't even spoken about it. I can't see it happening though."

We're told Taylor was hurt and felt Calvin took it too far.

It was a quick downward spiral from that point. One source called it "the breaking point in the relationship." The Met Gala was several days later, when Taylor danced with Tom Hiddleston.

Tree confirms to People magazine that Taylor did write TIWYCF under the pseudonym Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Calvin also confirms that Taylor wrote TIWYCF and goes on a Twitter rant:

Katy Perry tweets a gif of Hillary Clinton with a smug/'told you so' expression. (x) She also retweets an older tweet from May 2015 which reads, 'Time, the ultimate truth teller.' (x)

#TaylorSwiftIsOverParty trends on Twitter (x) (x) and Taylor's Instagram comments are spammed with the snake emoji. (x)

Following Calvin's tweets, TMZ publishes another article claiming he is downplaying Taylor's involvement in the song as she wrote the melody in addition to the lyrics. (x)

Jul 14th - Taylor goes out shopping in Gold Coast. (x)

Tom mentions Taylor in an interview with the Hollywood Reporter: (x)

You're in the middle of a cultural frenzy right now because you're dating Taylor Swift. How would you respond to people who claim that you're involved in some sort of publicity stunt?

(Laughs.) Well, um. How best to put this? That notion is — look, the truth is that Taylor Swift and I are together, and we're very happy. Thanks for asking. That's the truth. It's not a publicity stunt.

Martha says at a Pepsi/World Emoji Day event that Taylor and Tom are 'both happy and free together. It's amazing, I'm all about people being happy in love.' (x)

Kim talks about Taylor and the Famous controversy in a clip from an upcoming episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians. (x)

“I never talk shit about anyone publicly, especially in interviews. But I was just like I had so had it,” Kim says in the clip to her sister Kourtney. “I wanted to defend him in it. She legitimately quote says, ‘As soon as I get on that Grammy red carpet I’m gonna tell all the press. Like I was in on it.’”

“And then she just didn’t like the reaction?” Kourtney says in response.

“Yeah, and you know just another way to play the victim,” Kim replies. She then brings the infamous VMAs moment from 2009 by saying, “It definitely got her a lot of attention the first time… I just don’t think he should be punished for it still to this day.”

Jul 17th - Kim posts an edited recording of Kanye and Taylor's phone call. In it, they discuss the 'I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex' line and Taylor says, 'Go with whatever line you think is better. It’s obviously very tongue in cheek either way. And I really appreciate you telling me about it. That’s really nice.' However, nowhere in the Snapchat video does Kanye consult her about the line, 'I made that bitch famous,' which is the line Taylor insisted she had never approved. (x) The other Kardashian sisters retweet and support Kim. (x)

(The full recording of the call, leaked in 2020, confirms that Kanye never told Taylor he was going to call her a bitch. It also shows her reminding him that she sold 7 million albums before he had even heard of her, in response to him suggesting the lyric, 'I made her famous.')

Kim takes to Twitter to call Taylor a snake.

Taylor posts a statement on Instagram responding to Kim's Snapchat video. (x)

Selena tweets, 'There are more important things to talk about… Why can’t people use their voice for something that fucking matters? This industry is so disappointing yet the most influential smh' (x)

Katy Perry tweets, '#RISE above it all' and links to her new single. People interpret it as a dig at Taylor. (x)

Martha Hunt tweets, 'It's pathetic how quick our culture is to sensationalize a fabricated story...' (x)

Jul 18th - #KimExposedTaylorParty spends the day trending at number one worldwide on Twitter. (x) To the point where 0.8% of all tweets posted in the entire week from the 18th-24th use the hashtag. (x) (Assuming that 1/7th of the week's total tweets were posted on each day, that means more than 1 in every 20 tweets on the 18th used the hashtag.) #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty also returns.

TMZ claims to have a copy of a letter from Taylor's lawyer, dating back to February, demanding that Kanye destroy the recording of their phone conversation and reminding him that it is a felony to secretly record a phone conversation in California. (x)

Taylor changes the name on her writing credits for TIWYCF on the BMI songwriters database. She is now listed as Taylor Swift instead of Nils Sjöberg. (x)

Camilla Belle, the subject of Taylor's 2010 song Better Than Revenge, posts a quote to Instagram which reads, 'No need for revenge. Just sit back & wait. Those who hurt you will eventually screw up themselves & if you’re lucky, God will let you watch.' (x)

Abigail tweets against Kim and Kanye, saying, 'May God forgive you & your wife for doing to others the very things you pray are NEVER done to your daughter.' She deletes the tweets after receiving death threats but leaves a tweet which reads, 'Guys…I will always stand by my best friend. There's no point in fighting over that.' (x)

Joseph Kahn (director of many of Taylor's music videos) defends Taylor on Twitter. (x)

The aunt of Dinah Jane from Fifth Harmony tweets, 'I always knew @/taylorswift13 was a SNAKE! Trying 2 break up my girls & use @/camilacabello97 as her protégé bitch bye you’ve been exposed!’ (x) The tweet is soon deleted and she claims her account was hacked. (x) (Camila quit the band at the end of 2016 and has since said that Taylor had nothing to do with her decision to leave.) (x)

Paula Erickson, Taylor’s former publicist from 2007 until 2014, likes a two-and-a-half-week-old tweet dragging Hiddleswift for being a badly executed bit of PR by Taylor and Tree. (x)

James Corden spoofs the recorded phone call on the Late Late Show. (x)

Calvin is rumoured to be dating Tinashe. (x)

Jul 20th - Todrick Hall defends Taylor, saying, 'She's one of the most genuine people I've ever met in my entire life.' (x)

Uzo Aduba says Taylor is 'a beautiful person and strong' and that she will overcome the Kimye drama. (x)

Paula likes another tweet shading Taylor and Tree. (x)

A graffiti artist creates a mural in Melbourne 'in loving memory of Taylor Swift' (misspelled as Smith). According to the artist, they are then contacted by Taylor's lawyers and threatened with legal action. (x)

Jul 21st - Taylor's Wikipedia page is vandalised with insults. (x)

Taylor and Tom fly back from Australia into a private airport in LA, and are seen out and about. (x) (x)

Jul 22nd - Fergie, who had Kim appear in her M.I.L.F. $ music video, says she thinks the Kimye-Taylor feud was planned and 'they’ll probably all come together at the MTV Awards or something.' (x)

Taylor goes to the gym in LA. It is the first time she has appeared in public since Kim posted the edited video, and her phone screen is now shattered. (x)

She also returns to Instagram to wish Selena a happy birthday. (x)

Jul 23rd - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Tom is at Comic Con in San Diego. (x)

Calvin lip-syncs to Kanye's song That Part in a video posted on his Snapchat. (x) He also attends J-Lo's birthday party and is photographed with Kim. Apparently they have a friendly chat. (x) A source claims to E!, 'When Kim walked in Calvin saw her and stood up. He was clearly excited to see her and said 'hi' to Kim backstage.' (x)

Jul 24th - Taylor blocks the snake emoji from her Instagram comments section using a new Instagram feature. (x)

Tom is seen at the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills with members of Taylor's security team. (x)

Jul 26th - Tom flies back to LA from NYC, where he has just spent a couple of days. On the same day, Taylor's plane arrives back in LA from Nashville, where she has spent a couple of days. (x)

VMA nominations are announced. Taylor is not nominated in any category, despite Out Of The Woods and Wildest Dreams being eligible, leading some people to think she has been snubbed. Gossip Cop, an outlet widely used by celebrity publicists to quietly squash rumours, says that Taylor did not submit any videos for consideration this year. (x)

Jul 27th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

John Newman, singer of Calvin's song Olé, jokes, 'Supposedly we had a holiday where he was movin’ on from his ex-missus,' referring to the trip to Mexico to film the music video, which involved girls and a yacht. He also says he doesn't think it's his place to say what inspired Calvin to write the song. (x)

Taylor and Tom go for dinner at Hillstone restaurant in Santa Monica. One source claims they 'seemed to really be enjoying each others’ company.' (x) It is the last time they are papped together.

Kanye makes a surprise appearance at Drake's concert in Chicago where he responds to Kim's Snapchat video for the first time, saying, 'All I gotta say is, I am so glad my wife has Snapchat. Because now y’all can know the truth. And can’t nobody talk shit about ‘Ye no more.' (x)

Cara appears on James Corden's show and talks about how she, Uzo and Ruby pranked Kesha and Haim at Taylor's 4th of July party. She mentions consulting Taylor and Tom first so that security knew what they were up to. She also says that Taylor and Tom got woken up at one point by all the noise they were making, and came upstairs together to find Cara and Uzo still making ghost noises. (x)

Jul 28th - Taylor goes to the gym in LA. (x)

Jul 29th - Sources close to Calvin deny rumours that he is planning to collaborate on music with Kanye. (x)

Abigail likes E! News' Instagram photo of Tom and Taylor going out for dinner on the 27th, which has a gushing caption about them. (x)

Jul 31st - Taylor is seen entering her gym in LA through the back door. (x)

A fan sees Tom and Taylor at The Church Key restaurant in LA. (x) The outing is not papped.

Intro // February // March // April // May // June // July // August // September // October // November

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Apologies & Logistics

This is the end of the “Humans Adopt a Combat SecUnit” story, or at least this part of it.

Jae

I had expected the governor to fry my organic neural tissue for disobeying a direct order, but it had merely immobilized and disabled me. I couldn’t move or see, but my hearing continued to function normally. It was a non-optimal outcome but still significantly better than my initial predictions.

In my ear, Serenity provided a running commentary of ongoing events. I felt like an oddly captive audience to a ship that suddenly eager for conversation, no matter how one-sided. And it had a variety of opinions on topics ranging from the Corporation Rim to cargo haulers, handlers, and the intricacies of wormhole travel. I wasn’t bored.

Meanwhile, external voices came and went.

I heard Cass leave the control room moments later with a squeaky gurney that could have used some grease in her wake. Kris’s booming voice echoed on the bridge while he negotiated docking procedures with one of the incoming rescue vessels. He notified them about the rescued corporate higher-up but failed to mention my existence. I suspected either they would dispose of me or steal me. My risk assessment module deemed the former option unlikely, given my handler’s determination in reversing the governor’s freeze command.

Presumably, I was still on the inventory lists of the security and tactical support company that owned me, and the humans would need to make me disappear in order to leave the sector.

“I’m not sure you can hear me.” Kris’s voice was suddenly close enough that I thought he might be sitting on the floor next to me. “And I’m not sure which option is better, honestly. I hope you’re not just trapped in there until Cass figures out how to fix this. But if you can hear me, I want you to know that I’m grateful. You protected my best friend when I couldn’t, and that means a lot to me.”

The human’s voice trailed off for a moment before picking up again. “Anyway, we’re going to finish this cargo run, but before we do, we’ll meet with a friend of mine who, uh, locates documents that don’t strictly exist and formally assign your ownership to Cass. Just in case.”

More silence. Human processing time is slow, but this was different. “Deity, it hurts to even say that. I really hope you’re not hearing this.”

Meanwhile, Serenity explained, “What Kris is referring to is a forger or a fixer. Probably one of Kris’ friends from his university days.”

The human kept talking. “I’m sorry about calling you a bot. You’re obviously not, and right now, I’m fucking hating the rules that say otherwise.”

I didn’t understand the human’s concerns; to me, the facts remained immutable. I was property, and if I belonged to this crew in a legal sense, they wouldn’t be stopped by Port Authority wherever they went next. If I could speak, I would’ve recommended that exact course of action.

A moment later, Cass returned from the medical room. I could hear her light footsteps as she moved around the bridge, and Serenity gave me an excellent overview of what the human was doing. My handler’s voice was gentle when she said, “All right, let’s take care of Jae. How’re you holding up, SecUnit?” I could hear someone unspooling a cable. “Ready, Sere?”

“Of course,” the ship answered in its mechanical tone.

I recorded a brief but frantic burst of activity between myself, my handler, and the ship that was mediating between us. Cass wanted to disable my governor permanently, but there was no practical way to do so without access to a Combat SecUnit manual, which we didn’t have. She implemented perhaps the next best thing — the module would no longer react or take action without my handler’s explicit permission.

Then Cass overrode my governor’s freeze command, and I could move again.

I opened my eyes to find Cass staring at me with a worried expression on her tired face. Serenity reconnected me to the feed, so I reached up and removed the feed interface from my ear. Now the ship could bother me anytime it wanted.

“How are you feeling?” my human asked nervously.

Better than initially anticipated. I’d added the sentence to my buffer once I’d understood what Cass was asking. It was becoming easier to modify the buffer with each attempt.

“You weren’t expecting to survive that, were you?” The human sounded suspicious.

I shrugged.

“Don’t ever do anything that stupid again! That’s not an order, Jae. This is me telling you that we like you alive and safe, and I want you to consider your own well-being when deciding how to best handle a situation.”

Understood, Cass.

I sat up, and the woman hugged me with probably all the force she could muster. I… I didn’t mind it. At all

***

Kris

The rescue ship that finally docked with Serenity was a small patrol vessel that belonged to the station's towing company. I was pretty confident that the warship would not need a tow at this point — there wasn't enough of it left out there to warrant cleanup operations. Since I had performed the rescue spacewalk and had gotten injured, a company representative took my statement first. Te pulled out a display surface and took down notes, presumably so ter corporation could figure out who to bill for the unnecessary services.

While Cass and I dealt with the tercera and the legal bullshit in this sector, Serenity edited the video and audio of my spacewalk to make it look like Jae had been destroyed by one of the weapon-wielding bots. In my report, I noted that we had a Combat SecUnit on board at one time, but it had suffered catastrophic damage during the rescue operations. When prompted, I mentioned that we'd put what remained into the recycler.

It was a bald-faced lie, but the bored and cranky representative seemed entirely disinterested. Te didn't even review the video before signing off on the documents, didn't ask for any logs, and performed only a cursory examination of the unconscious corporate employee still in our medical suite. For a small fee, te even offered to take the woman back to the station so we could be on our way quicker. Frankly, I wanted nothing more than to be rid of the human.

Cass had other ideas.

She and I huddled in the mess while the representative returned to ter ship to finish scanning the debris field. Te grumbled that billing back damages on an infiltration attempt would be a nightmarish hell of solicitors from the owner company and wasn't motivated to make anything easy for them.

"What if she tells someone?" Cass demanded after the tercera had departed.

I sipped my coffee and shrugged. "It's going to be a he-said-she-said between the corporate and the station."

"No, I mean later, when Tatiana returns to work minus a construct."

"They'll probably deduct its cost from her salary and demote her. The company cares about profit margins. And she won't be able to prove anything anyway since I destroyed her interface."

The captain looked unconvinced. She paced the room, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair in a nervous gesture. "I don't know…"

"Cass, we are literally stealing one of the most dangerous weapons in the Rim. I think we have bigger problems than one pissed corporate." I tried not to sound patronizing, but it was a struggle. "We absolutely can't take her with us."

"What if we could change her mind? About Jae."

I tried not to spit out my coffee and almost succeeded. The smell of coffee in my nostrils was unbearable. "I don't think so, love. If she doesn't think it's a person now, after working with it for the entirety of its life, what are the odds that we can say anything to change her mind?"

Cass sighed and stopped pacing. "Yeah, you're right. I just…"

"I know. You want to do the right thing. But at this point, absconding with our new friend is probably the best we can manage."

"Yeah." She still sounded reluctant. "Maybe I can reach out to Mom's friend and see if she can help somehow."

I glanced at her dubiously. "You sure you want to talk to Dr. Mensah? Didn't you say she was a councilperson or something?"

I knew pitifully little about Cass's home planet because she never spoke of it. It was a freehold planet unaffiliated with any corporate entities where people were apparently nice to each other. At one time, she'd mentioned growing up on a farm alongside a large extended family, but the story always ended with her leaving home as soon as she was old enough to make her own way in the world. That her mother knew one of the Preservation Alliance leaders reminded me that Cass had connections, even if she chose to do everything on her own, all the time.

"She was until she retired a couple of years ago, I think. I haven't been back in a while, and I barely talk to move. I definitely don't keep track of her friends." She scratched at a scab on her arm. "I remember a news burst that Mensah rescued a SecUnit, but that was..." She frowned. "Well, long enough ago that I completely forgot about it until just now."

I cleaned up the mess I'd made on the table with the coffee. "We're sending the crazy corporate goon back with the tercera. And if you want to call your parent, that's up to you. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you."

"Says the guy that doesn't speak to his parents."

I stiffened and then remembered that Cass had no idea why I avoided my family. "My parents still believe I'm female. I'm not willing to add jack shit to that conversation."

The captain looked at me with the same warmth that had initially convinced me to join her crew. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry, Kris. I didn't realize your parents were idiots."

That made me grin. "Idiocy is a nice way of putting it, love. I used some stronger words last time I saw them." I got up and wrapped an arm around Cass's thin shoulders. "Come, let's go see about finishing this transaction and getting the hell out of here. I bet Jae is bored sitting in its cabin."

"It's recharging," Cass told me, another reminder that she knew what the SecUnit was doing at all times. "But yeah, let's go. Enough insanity for one day."

The End!

I don’t know where the characters go from here. I have some ideas but maybe that’s a story for a different time.

I wanted to tell a story about stealing a CSU and there it is. And CSU in this case is a complete sweetheart, so. :)

[gayregis]

netflix witcher and netflix witcher fans really showcase the absolute Audacity of americans using foreign (in this case polish) words they don't understand and cannot pronounce right at all for absolutely no fucking reason like what was the point?? what was the point of butchering my language haven't yall had enough???

really agreed. sorry if this sounds like kind of off-topic or a tangent, but i swear i’ll loop it back around to your point eventually — i was discussing about jaskier’s name in the server earlier with @nightimefairy and the decision from lauren to keep it in polish in the [obv. american but important for content] netflix adaptation.

to an english-only speaker, the word “jaskier” doesn’t sound really different than any other name in the witcher, it does not translate the meaning that it’s the name of a flower.

jaskier/dandelion’s name being obvious to the audience as being the name of a flower is important, because it helps define his character if only by name. i remember when i first learned of the character, i really was like, that’s a strange name, no one is called dandelion from birth, and why would someone be called after a flower. of course months later when i read the tower of the swallow (or perhaps minutes later when i read the wiki, because i wanted spoilers ahaha) it was a mystery that was solved for me. but if he hadn’t been named his translated name — dandelion — i would have totally had missed this and not understood at all that his name is the name of a flower and not like, a “normal” name that one would totally give to the child they bore. but overall, this name of a flower suggests to the reader that buttercup/dandelion isn’t his real name, making them wonder what it, and thus his other identity, could possibly be. and we all know that artist-types tend to have a stage or a pen name under which they perform or publish, so dandelion having this name cements for the reader that he is such an artsy-type.

then of course, a buttercup or a dandelion being a small yellow flower makes it not an especially masculine name, and additionally these flowers are largely considered weeds... that’s two things we can tell about the character right off the bat. and since they are yellow flowers with golden petals, we can understand another thing about him — he’s blonde, it’s a fitting nickname due to his hair color. and of course, blondes carry with them many different literary and modern media tropes.

additionally, the name not being translated in english adaptations prevents it from carrying any other linguistic cleverness or connotations — for example a similar-sounding word for the original polish jaskier, “jaskrawy,” meaning vivid/vibrant/brilliant, or similar-sounding words for the english translation dandelion, “dandy,” a historical term for an effeminate or foppish man (think “yankee doodle dandy,” who ‘stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni’... i.e. basically ‘did something foolish and called it fashion’) and/or an colloquial expression to indicate pleasure or happiness (“oh well, that’s just fine and dandy!”, sort of like “swell!”)

although it’s not a perfect 1:1 translation, as a dandelion is not the same flower as a jaskier (buttercup), the name carries a very fitting connotation with it for the character, which can be used to understand him (and of course he is not the only one, for example, milva being named after a red kite, regis meaning king)

however, when you don’t translate “jaskier,” and leave his name as-is, this leaves the english-only speaking audience completely missing everything i just talked about. you won’t understand a thing about his character by knowing that his name is jaskier, because english-only speakers don’t know what a “jaskier” is, and they also don’t have the vocabulary in polish to understand the connotations in that language ...

and this is the entire point of translations. to translate meaning from one language to another — often imperfect, as is the nature of language, but necessary when trying to bridge gaps of understanding.

and when you deliberately don’t translate, you get english-only speakers thinking that they know how to pronounce words in polish because their favorite british boys on screen said a polish word aloud a few times. and you get anglicizations of words that don’t make any sense at all — for example... “jas” or “jask” as a nickname, when that’s not how polish language functions (to my knowledge) and there are specific conventions for making pet names or nicknames in the languages (with diminuatives?) (to my knowledge).

to me, it demonstrates, from both the american creators and the audience, the white american perspective that other cultures and languages are easy to understand and take from, as long as you think that you are being respectful (not that you ARE being respectful, only that you determine yourself to have good intentions). the approach lacks any actual respect, carefulness and preciseness, and most importantly actually talking or reaching out to people of that culture & language, so you are not just trying to do something yourself that you don’t know shit about, but that you can learn from others (and make friends along the way hopefully).

but as you said — what was the point?

in my opinion a lot of the point of including untranslated polish words in the netflix adaptation was part of the marketing towards the polish audience (and perhaps books audience?) that they attempted, with relatively little success. lauren proclaiming on twitter that she’s loved these books and read them dozens of times, the youtube videos with the actors reading scenes from the books with sound effects edited in (to me, reminiscent of the polish audiobooks, but the polish audiobooks have better quality), the games with the actors trying to guess what witcher-relevant polish words mean in english.

when in reality, it’s obvious they didn’t really care (or at least, the people making the top decisions) didn’t really care about making a books-faithful adaptation (this isn’t even attempting to touch the topic of making an adaptation that respects the origin culture of the witcher).

of course from the trailers (and casting... re: cavill and batey, who don’t look like their characters’ book equivalents) everyone could tell that this wasn’t an “adaptation of the books” like they sometimes advertised it. but if they were able to show, hey, we didn’t change this one name of this one character to english, hey, we have read the books, look, we are literally reading them on camera! ... then they might get some more polish books fans to give the series a watch, meaning more people to buy into a netflix trial which then all too easily leads into a subscription because people forgot to cancel or enjoyed the convinience of netflix and ‘hey what’s $10 anyways,’ which leads to money for them, which is how they gauge their success. they don’t give two shits about respecting anything, because that doesn’t give them any money.

i do find it amusing though, because they’re like “we have the amazing minds so much better than sapkowski to improve on the witcher and we’re truly just visionaries who are taking the books into an inspired direction and it’s not an adaptation, it’s so much more” while also being like “we respect the books so much and we worked with sapkowski and we really wanted to be faithful to the books and this is an adaptation where we really thought about the canon material” like just choose a marketing ploy and run with it, you’re going to tire yourself out running between both camps. though it does look to me like finally in season 2 the mask will be off because they’re adding so many new OCs and plotlines they really won’t be able to pretend they cared about the books at all (e.g. geralt throwing axes from trees)

[olivieblake]

Sorry I haven't detailed my Friendship breakup ask earlier, managing life is taking too much time these days!

It's a bit hard to summarise but I have been soulmate-type friends with this girl, K, for three and a half years and really good friend with this guy, R, for two and a half. We all work together and our triangle friendship worked well. K and R fooled around a few times after parties, K developed feelings, R didn't and thought it was a friends with benefits thing while K hoped it would become more but it never did. Big problem was the lack of communication between them, both thought the other knew what they wanted but we know that things don't work this way.

I've been there for all of it, particularly for K who had been hurt by the lack of emotional intelligence R indeed displayed along the way. But I also felt, and I think R knew it herself, that she had been getting her hopes up almost all along and was setting herself for heartbreak, but life needs to be lived and sometimes we make mistakes just so that we can learn from them and K and I talked a lot about that, as I was myself getting entangled with another colleague.

Fast forward to last November, where, after months of horrible things piling up 2020 style, R and I spent an evening together watching movies, eating pizzas, drinking English cider and talking about how fucking sad we all were and fuck 2020 and family members dying of cancer way too fast, both in his and my family, and work being hell because the government is doing shit for making schools safe and everything going wrong all the time. At some point during the night there was a moment when I felt that R was offering more than just sleeping together in the same bed and I had a moment of hesitation but decided to not give in to it and to the the confort it might bring us both, mainly because I was sure it would hurt K if she ever heard about it. So we just slept, read books in the morning while drinking tea and there was no awkwardness because we both knew that it came from the fact that we trust each other enough to ask for comfort and even if it would have been a possibly stupid way to get it, it might have made us feel better in the moment. (even though we both think we'd have burst into tears 30 seconds in and not done it in the end)

I wondered whether I should tell K or not and decided to do it because nothing had happened, really, and if I didn't tell her when we told each other most things, that's when it'd have become suspicious and dishonest. So I told her that there had been a weird moment between R and I, that nothing had happened in the end, not in the best way in retrospect because it felt too casual to her, confirmed that had it happened it would have been weird for her and thought that was that since the next few days went fine. But at the end of that week she sent me an audio, saying that if I had feelings for R, I had a lot of time to tell her, that she needed people she could trust and who respected her in her life and that we weren't friends anymore. And that was it. Since then, she has refused to have a conversation to clear things up and has avoided me several weeks but has kept talking to R as usual.

I should have told her in a different way and I understand why she felt hurt imagining that R and I had spent a night of passion together but I told her, and then explained more clearly, that nothing had actually happened, that I wasn't into R and he wasn't into me, we were just both very sad and a bit too drunk.

The thing is, he's not hers, they haven't been in a relationship, he's not her ex either. Even if we had slept together, it wouldn't have had anything to do with her; people don't belong to people. But what's really hard is that we've been really good friends for several years and she was so quick to assume I would be cruel to her on purpose and that her feelings didn't matter to me when we've been there for each other a lot. And that putting an end to our friendship via WhatsApp was apparently so easy to do. (I don't really think it was, but it sure feels like it.)

And I've been asking other friends' opinions to see how in the wrong I was really, since maybe I couldn't see the situation clearly enough from my position, and the general consensus is that since I didn't do anything with him and was honest with her right after the nothing happened, she's being a bit extreme when the only actual thing she could reasonably resent me for is the way I told her. We're adults, we should be able to at least talk about it but I've offered several times and she says she doesn't need to or want to. But we're in the same friend group, we're supposed to spend time all together at some point and us not talking has an effect on the whole group dynamics, not just on us, and my awful need to make sure everything is balanced for everyone is going crazy.

It's been a long few months and my already sad and stressed out brain is having a hard time dealing with it and I hate that we're in this situation for something as futile as boy problems. I think there are issues of jealousy and self-confidence that stem from something else and that she's projecting it all onto this but it still sucks a lot, especially since she's refusing to talk about anything, even if we're at least back to saying hello and she has stopped fleeing every room I am in.

Anyways, friendship breakups suck, they can be as stupid as romantic breakups, and 2021 has better be nicer too everyone than 2020! Sorry for the novel-lenghth ask/story, my life is a succession of ridiculous plot points.

I hope you and Baby and Mr. Blake are doing well in these weird, weird times and I've started your book and I have loved your last video, especially the part on jealousy/possesiveness which was really well-put, as usual! Oh and thank you so, so much for your book recs on my last ask, I've added them to my To read-list <3

Okay, Love you, bye!

I feel like my last ask was a little bit too detailed to give a general answer/launch a large topic so I'm guessing it's mainly about how to deal with a lack of closure when people end things without the possibility to talk and get/give explanations. And I guess it goes for romantic relationships as well as friendships.

Love your big sistering, love you !

WELL I actually did not get this ask until a few hours after I had filmed this week’s video so not to worry lol I wasn’t able to address this specifically. but I think that’s the thing about the generality of grief over losing a friend—we don’t necessarily have to know the specifics of your story to understand it’s something we probably all relate to. and in this case I most certainly relate! I think this is one of those things where your friend had some personal things to work on and it put you in a difficult position, wherein you made the most logical choice. that’s the problem: you are looking logically at what is for her an emotionally fraught situation about her self-worth and your loyalty, which is why the math on your end isn’t adding up. (for the record I am much more likely to be in your position than hers; she sounds like a water sign but WHO’S TO SAy)

anyway, I don’t think you’re in this position over boy problems. a boy appears to be the subject yes but in fact he is the object; the subject is your friend’s feelings about herself and your—forgive me, but your compulsion to force her to get over it. I may not be completely right about that, but it does appear to me that you could have said nothing about the “nothing” that happened but chose not to because, ultimately, part of you wanted her to know. I don’t think this is sinister of you; I have a lot of friends who really need to just get over it as a general rule and sometimes it does feel like shocking them into it with new information might do the trick. but I think most likely she feels or intuits that in some way, and I suspect the root of her anger isn’t really about him but the “betrayal” she feels from you: that in that moment, you weren’t thinking about her* despite the fact that you would probably have known she would hurt if you had been (I’m sure you did know this to be true, and in my opinion are rationalizing your part in it; which is fine because you’re the main character in your life and not hers, but it is what it is) and of course she’s thinking about her, so what seems like a lot of pain on her end that she has no healthy method of dealing with is straining your relationship. I hope she can bring herself to deal with it, but she has a lot of work to do on herself before she can reach the pinnacle of what’s really bothering her. until then, it’s easier to blame you.

* edited to add: I know you said that you decided not to move forward sexually because of her, but I think what actually hurts her is not the possibility of sex, but the intimacy you had with him in that moment, which even you know is something she craved; perhaps delusionally. you don’t have to acknowledge whether this is a reasonable thing to be upset by, but I think the entirety of the situation is probably hitting her much differently than it hits you.

anyway my answer was not about this situation specifically but about why friendship breakups hurt so much, and I don’t think knowing the situation changes my answer. I hope it does help, because I think there is some part of this that is always true: one person needs to do something on their own before the friendship can be repaired, and it may not have been a problem at all if not for an issue of very specific timing. but trust me, whether this specific thing had happened or not this would still be true about the two of you, and about the ways your personal dogmas differ, and perhaps it’s better to see if she can take this leap now. maybe she will grow from it; maybe she won’t. either way, this is the part-grief, part-guilt formula I’m talking about, where sometimes you have to admit the breaking point happened, whether it could have gone differently or not, and now it’s out of your control

but I hope it helps to talk about!

[arecomicsevengood]

Seeds

Before I read it, I had this idea I could write a review of Ann Nocenti and David Aja’s The Seeds for the Comics Journal, but the book just sucked too much. It had basically nothing going for it, or even decipherable as an advancing plot. One thing wrong with it is there’s this sort of conspiracy element, or this “no one believes the news” anymore element of it, but Nocenti didn’t want it to be about “fake news.” Donald Trump has rewired the narrative, so now entire types of subject matter feed into this propaganda machine simply by being addressed. Nocenti’s best work does not shy from topicality, addressing the currents in the cultural air, but this time the modern world feels too hot to handle.

I ordered the Daredevil: Typhoid’s Kiss trade paperback, reprinting a bunch of Nocenti’s work with the Typhoid Mary character from the nineties. The longest story in there is a miniseries with art by John Van Fleet. It’s partly about post-Tarantino video-store employees turned filmmakers kidnapping Typhoid Mary to use her as the subject of a documentary about serial killers and violent media. It’s also about Typhoid Mary working as a private detective trying to track down a killer of prostitutes, who the police don’t care about, and are maybe the actual killers of themselves. Storywise, it’s a pretty cool attempt to address real-world issues of the day within a pulp context.

Van Fleet’s art is pretty boring and bad in a way that’s distinctly ahead of its time. While the miniseries itself probably wouldn’t exist without the precedent of Elektra: Assassin a decade before, (a spinoff about a female Daredevil villain created by the writer during their run on Daredevil where that character defined their run) all the photoreference that’s probably actually just photo backgrounds run through filters sets a precedent for the Alex Maleev/Matt Hollingsworth Daredevil stuff to come a decade later. And it’s frequently annoying on a page design/panel background level. Like in terms of how the panel borders sort of default to grid shapes so there ends up being things that “read” as panels but that don’t actually do anything for pacing. It’s just fitting the narrative into regimented design choices.

This maybe only happens the once. But the art is also just super-stiff throughout, with a very chunky line that eliminates any real nuance. There’s a bunch of characters, but a lot of them are indistinguishable from one another, and that’s because the linework is about as muddy as the color palette — It kinda seems like he’s working with models and photo reference but also doesn’t have that many models to work with so he’s having them play multiple roles, but also his work basically seems more like photoshop filters than actual drawing? There’s a bunch of stuff that I think sucks, basically. But you can also draw a direct line from what Van Fleet is doing in Typhoid to what Aja does in The Seeds. All these choices that are meant to be classy and dignifed, a move away from the excess of superhero comics. The covers of Typhoid are just portraits of the main character, interchangeable from one issue to the next, which was a move that again, was ahead of its time: This is what so many Marvel covers in the 2000s looked like, the Tim Bradstreet Punisher covers probably being the go-to example. It’s pretty dull but it’s nice they’re not super-sexualized.

While the choices arguably suit the subject matter in Typhoid, which is at least partly about movies, in The Seeds, the story doesn’t really make any sense because the visuals seem so steeped in unreality. The premise is that a tabloid has photographed an alien, proving aliens are real. There is really nothing within the context of the story that explains why the news outlet would have enough gravitas to be convincing and have this be an actual news story. And the book is drawn in Photoshop, which is itself a photo-editing software, so the “reality” of the book is defined by the very medium that people recognize as why images can’t be trusted. This contributes a level of irony that could maybe be worked with if the book itself wasn’t so ugly and dull. The whole thing looks like some Banksy bullshit. Outside of word balloons, text appears in the large all-caps typeface of image macros. I don’t have scans of The Seeds because I gave my copy away on account of there not being any reason to keep it around.

The book is beyond dated at the time of its release. Partly this is due to the speed the cultural conversation has been moving for the past five years.  It’s been a difficult time period to work on a work of fiction about the news, certainly, and not only has the comic been a long time in the making, the writer has also been away from making comics for decades now. If the authors had been able to make this as a serialized monthly comic, it might’ve stumbled into timeliness, or the predictive, but as it is, the reading experience feels like a bunch of different, disparate ideas that do not really cohere into a narrative. Leaving aside how the book seems to emerge from a general cultural gestalt of the the 1990s, when The X-Files and Weekly World News were objects of discussion, every major plot point or news story chosen for thematic resonance is approximately fifteen years old. I believe 2005 was when I started to hear about colony collapse disorder. This bee metaphor has been lapped by a Honey Nut Cheerios campaign at this point. (A few years back, boxes of cereal came with seeds of wildflowers you/children could plant.)

Darin Morgan’s episode of The X-Files revival “The Mengele Effect” ably addresses all the issues with how cynicism and conspiracy theories feel different now, all the issues that Nocenti seems terrified of and hopes the audience doesn’t think of when reading her humorless X-Files throwback comic. That episode’s great.  Much of The Seeds seems like it was better done in the decidedly not-great Transmetropolitian. There’s something so dated and sad about this comic’s idea of a cool journalist protagonist: People barely smoke cigarettes anymore! I know no one wants to draw people vaping, but the imagery this book wishes meant “cool, urban, woman” reads as nostalgic affectation in 2021. That so much of the commercial landscapes of our cities has been replaced by vape shops was one of the biggest clues we were already living in a dystopia three years ago.

Nocenti, when she was working regularly, got to be a pretty effective writer for having a monthly deadline wherein she could speak on the issues of the day as they were happening. In the absence of a regular gig, this rare chance to speak her mind gets hampered by how much there is to talk about, and how complicated it all is. If it’s too complicated to address in an ongoing superhero comic, a one-off graphic novel with vaguely commercial ambitions turns out to be a worse space for it. It’s so much sadder than anything in this dream-of-the-nineties comic that the authors were given the grace to make something only under the conditions that doom it to failure. Real people made this work of fiction, and I don’t know what the fuck they’re even talking about, and that’s a more complicated narrative than the journalists in this comic who… stumble upon a story and then need to take to back because it’s too important or something? I don’t understand what this comic is about. It’s clearly gesturing at being about a bunch of different things, but what they get from being in juxtaposition with one another, I don’t know.

In interviews in advance of the release of The Seeds, Nocenti talked about how this was the first time she got to make a comic that didn’t have to have fight scenes or conflict in it. But reading Typhoid it’s clear how conflict ties the story’s disparate threads together. But also while reading Typhoid I kept on thinking about how visually, the Steve Lightle shit that preceded it is so much cooler! Here he is, bifurcating a page so two narrative threads can be told with different approaches to stoytelling:

People sometimes talk about how crazy it is that Nocenti started her Daredevil run immediately following up the Miller/Mazzucchelli Born Again run with a fill-in drawn by Barry Windsor-Smith. But I don’t think anyone has pointed out that, since these Typhoid Mary team-up comics appeared in Marvel Comics Presents, she’s basically following up Barry Windsor-Smith’s Weapon X, and Steve Lightle is totally capable of doing that! Even if these comics are kinda whatever narratively, Nocenti comes up with dense enough narratives to give him shit to do. She’s a good writer within the context of the harsh strictures of early nineties mainstream comics. Which I know seems like a harsh diss! But being a writer that makes work that consistently gives a comics artist something interesting to do is a difficult job that many people are just not interested in doing for various reasons, so it should be recognized when it’s attempted and accomplished.

It’s also interesting that the whole visual approach where both Steve Lightle and Barry Windsor-Smith shine is dependent on flat color. The changes in storytelling made to accommodate the shifts in visual language in full-color mainstream comics didn’t really benefit anyone, and now needs to be outsmarted. In The Seeds, we’ve got this pretty dull reading experience that superficially in its two-color print job and nine-panel grid, looks like it might be influenced by Mazzucchelli’s work in Rubber Blanket and City Of Glass. And we’ve got a black and white Barry Windsor-Smith comic coming out from Fantagraphics in a few weeks that I really hope blows it out of the water.

[kutemouse]

Never Really Over

Disclaimers: I made and edited the above gif myself. That’s why I’ve used the tag #btsgif. Feel free to use, just please give me credit for the edit! I used some of the lines from Katy Perry’s lyrics to inspire and write this, but they belong to Katy.

So this imagine was inspired by the Katy Perry song “Never Really Over,” which, when I heard it for the first time, reminded me of the way my bias works. Yes, I am a Taehyung bias, but every two weeks or so, one of the other members of BTS wrecks me, and I mean WRECKS me to the point where I think, “This is it. This is when I change my bias.” But then Taehyung does something or posts a picture, and I instantly zip right back to him. I’ve been this way since I started stanning BTS, idk why, low-key, I think I’m secretly an OT7 fan.

Age Recommendation: 16+

Warnings: Sweeeeaaaaars (like always), ANGST with a happy ending, Taehyung being a sweetie-pie, no smut, might make a part two with smut idk, honestly, I hope this makes you laugh more than anything.

Word Count: 2,187

Summary: It had been two years since you broke up with Taehyung, and you were finally at the point where he stopped randomly popping into your head. But that didn’t stop him from randomly popping up on your social media, wrecking you into oblivion, and making you do stupid things.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Oh no. Not again. I’m not falling into this rabbit hole again, not today, not ever. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again, that I’d draw the line and never think of you again, and I did. Or so I thought.

I tentatively scrolled down my feed back to the video of you singing your heart out to a sea of adoring fans, feeling a twinge in my chest as your voice reverberated throughout the stadium. How I missed that deep rumble, the one that drew me out of sleep each morning with a chuckle and a kiss.

Shaking my head, I attempted to push all thoughts of you out of my head. I didn’t miss you. I didn’t miss anything about you, no-siree, I was over you. Ugh, who was I kidding? I couldn’t even go on the internet without seeing you. I was losing it.

“Fuck this,” I thought, standing up from the bench and heading towards my favorite cafe. The bell over the door tinkled, bringing a memory to the forefront of my mind.

We sat in the booth in the far corner so we could have as much privacy as the cafe would allow. “It’s happening, jagiya,” he murmured, taking my hand. “I’m going on tour. I won’t be back for nearly a year.”

“I know,” I muttered in reply, looking down at my lap. I couldn’t be angry, hell, I couldn’t even be sad. We both knew this was coming. Ever since BTS’s popularity shot through the roof, he’s been getting more and more busy, constantly at practice, song-writing, or travelling.

“Hey, we can make this work,” he said, his voice soothing over the pain I was beginning to feel. “I’ll always come back to you, jagi.”

He reached over and grasped my cup, taking a sip from it before squinching his eyes up cutely. I laughed and playfully grabbed for it back. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“I don’t even know how you can drink this,” he said, still grimacing. “Coffee is so bitter.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” I said, giggling.

“Miss?”

A voice brought me back to reality, and I blinked a couple times before looking at the barista. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

She gave me an amused smile. “I asked what you’d like to order.”

“Oh, uh… Hmmm, an iced Americano for today, thanks.”

“You got it. I’ll have it ready in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

I paid then sat down in a booth to wait, fiddling with my phone. My finger touched the fingerprint pad, powering on my screen to show that video once more. Cursing, I closed the app and jammed the thing back into my pocket.

“Miss? Your Americano is ready.”

I stood and took the cup from the girl, walking quickly back outside and sitting down on the bench again. I just couldn’t escape you. It’s like no matter what I did, you were there. You were always there… and not just because your face covered the internet the way clouds covered the earth. You were always in the back of my mind.

I felt my self-control slowly trickling away as I drew my phone out of my pocket, clicked it on, and opened a new message, typing in your name as the recipient. I never deleted your number, scared of breaking the last possible tie I had to you.

Ugh, no, stop. It’s done. It’s been done for two years now. I left my phone in my lap, trying and failing to concentrate on drinking my coffee instead. We parted amicably, with both of us acknowledging that our relationship was over due to you not being able to be the boyfriend I needed. Still, for weeks after we separated, I couldn’t help jumping every time someone knocked at my door, thinking it was you, or stopping guys on the street who even slightly resembled you. That had all faded away, though, so why were my nerves on fire once more?

Our relationship was terrible, or at least it was towards the end. You were constantly gone, and didn’t have time to call or video-chat me. You had to send me text messages on the down-low, scared your company would find out about us and force us apart, or that delulu fangirls would find out about me and come after me. We only spent time together twice in the last six months of our relationship, and I was beginning to get sick of explaining to my friends and interested guys why I was unavailable to date. The second time I saw you, you came over to my apartment wearing a mask, sunglasses, and a baseball cap.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically as he shed his disguise. “I had to circle the block a couple times… make sure I wasn’t followed.”

I threw my hands up. “This is insane!”

“What is?”

“This! This relationship! Taehyung, I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t normal!”

His mouth dropped open at my proclamation. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest and turning away.

Taehyung grasped my arms with his large, soft hands. “Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Let’s just talk about this.”

And talk we did. For hours. And we both came to the same conclusion: That our relationship was no longer working and in order for us to both be happy, we needed to let each other go. I reached up and touched my lips, remember the way you kissed me for the last time. Hard and deep, with both large hands on either side of my face, you kissed me until my heart broke cleanly in two.

Yet, even after all the pain I went through, I was surprised to find myself missing you even weeks after our break-up. Yeah, we were a mess, but it was the best mess I’d ever been in. By the time I figured out that life with you in it, as seldom as that actually was, was still better than life without you entirely, it was too late. You had moved on, and were becoming one of the biggest names in k-pop, no, in the world, ever. I had moved on, too… or so I thought.

Sure, I dated other guys. I even had a relationship that lasted a good six months… but none of it ever felt right. I broke up with the guy after he hinted he wanted to move in together, realizing it would never feel right no matter how much I tried to force it.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and clicked it open, staring at your name at the top of the text. What would happen if I just sent a simple, “Hey?” I let myself indulge in my imagination, thinking about the way you’d ecstatically respond, instantly sparking a conversation and lighting up my deadened heart. After a few days of texting, you’d ask to video chat, and I’d see the face that cracked my heart and soul into pieces, but this time, you were intent on mending all that. You’d come over just like old times, and we’d spend night after night together, intertwined so close we practically become one… But then you’ll leave. Again. Work will call, or your manager, or one of the other members, and you’ll leave spouting useless apologies and empty promises. Then I’ll have to get over you again.

Draw the line, I told myself. Draw it. No more. Yet even as I was thinking it, the side of me that missed you put a toe over that line, inching towards completely diving headfirst into the shit show I knew we’d forever be.

I opened the social media app again and watched that video of you singing for the third time. “Fuck it,” I thought, switching back to my messaging app and typing out a message.

Me: Hey. Just caught myself thinking about you and wondered how you’ve been. I miss you.

I stared at it for a good thirty seconds, my thumb hovering over the send button the entire time. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed down, slowly opening them to see the circle going ‘round and ‘round, trying to send.

Wait, no. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t trip up after two whole years. I frantically tapped on the message, trying to delete it, but then the dreaded check mark appeared. Sent.

“Fuck!” I cried out, startling the closest passerby.

“Sorry,” I muttered, looking down at my lap, my cheeks flooding with warmth. How the hell had you trickled back in? I drew that line, I did, I did, but now I’d tripped up. I sipped from my coffee cup, keeping my eyes on my phone screen the entire time. Nothing. You were probably busy. Hell, you’d probably changed your number for all I knew.

With that thought comforting me, I threw my cup into the nearest recycling bin and began the five-minute trek back to my apartment. I spent the rest of the day distracting myself with studying, my fingers hovering over my phone every now and then, tempted to check it. At around the same time the sun was going down, my phone finally beeped and I snatched it up.

Damn. It was just my classmate asking a question about the essay we were assigned. I rolled my eyes and chucked my phone somewhere on the floor before flopping backwards on my bed. It was over. Has been for quite some time. I didn’t know why I expected anything more.

My phone beeped again, and I sat up so fast I made myself dizzy. It beeped again, and I yeeted myself off the bed and frantically began searching through the ocean of clothes that littered my floor. Shit, where did that damn thing go? I hadn’t chucked it that far, had I?

I dug through the random piles of my belongings, making even more of a mess as I hunted my phone down. It started ringing, and I whirled around at the sound, seeing my screen shine through a random tank top. I stumbled towards it, hands outstretched, and grabbed at it, the phone slipping through my hands like soap and falling back to the floor.

“FUCK!” I yelled out just before a knock at my door made me whip my head around.

Leaving the damn phone, I stumbled out of my bedroom and towards my front door, taking a second to run a hand through my curls in an attempt to smooth them down, before I whipped open the door.

My mouth dropped open in a gasp, eyes widening as I took you in, one hand still holding the phone to your ear, the other shoved sheepishly in your jean pocket. “Hi,” was all you said. Mouth still open like a gaping fish, I wordlessly stepped aside to let you in.

Closing the door behind you, I finally managed to get some words out. “How… Wait, why…?”

You chuckled, the buttery-smooth deep bass of your voice causing tingles to break out all over my body. “I got your text, Y/n.”

“Wait, was that… that was you calling?” I asked, my voice coming out strained. “Sorry I didn’t pick up, I was-”

“It’s fine,” you said, waving my apology off. “I know you’re probably busy… and honestly, I don’t know why I’m here other than the fact that I…”

You trailed off, and I swallowed, anticipating the dreaded words. You were here because you needed to remind me that we were done. That there was nothing between us anymore. That you had a girlfriend.

“That I… Well, that I miss you too.”

For the second time that evening, my mouth dropped open. “You what?” I squeaked.

You chuckled once more, but this time, you had a trace of uneasiness in your chocolate-brown eyes. “I miss you, you dork.”

I didn’t bother trying to speak anymore, I just acted. I rushed towards you, grabbing both of your cheeks, and kissed you with everything I had. You grunted in surprise before grabbing me by the waist, steadying both of our stances, and moving your lips around mine, fully kissing me back. The second we separated, you drew me back in, even going so far as to swipe a mischievous tongue over my bottom lip, causing me to groan in pleasure.

We finally pulled apart, panting a little, your eyes bright, a wide smile on your face. “It’s been two whole years, though,” I said.

“Yeah, and the entire time, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind,” you murmured, peppering light kisses along my cheek. “I won’t let you get away this time.”

I sighed and curled up against your chest, once again falling hard for the way my head seemed to fit perfectly in the crook of your neck, and the way your hands seemed to meld with my love handles. It was like we were made for each other.

Well then. I thought we were done, but I guess it’s never really over, is it?

[creativeskullcreations]

HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 2)

Okay, so this was originally gonna be a two part thing, but part two ran long so now it's gonna be a three parter! Which is fine, since each "episode" is gonna be it's own little fic anyways, though it does mean a little more time before I can work on Outside again. Shouldn't take too long though, as part three is already written out and just needs edited.

Stacy was vaguely aware that Lydia and Riley could turn their attention to her any moment, but she remained frozen. She stared, with wide eyes, at the space where Riley's puppeteer should've been. Rather than a human, like there should've been, there was instead a strange, wheeled, metal stand. Between the wheels was a joint of some sort, since the stand was tilted forward as Riley leaned over the counter

'WHAT THE SHIT?!' Stacy stared silently, hand resting on the fallen beaker as her heart pounded in her ears. 'Are all of them like this?! Was Mortimer?!' She swallowed thickly. 'What was really on that paper he wanted me to sign?!'

The stand started to tilt back, and Stacy quickly stood up, beaker in hand. Without a word she put it back in place and quickly left the room, shoving her hands into her shorts pockets to keep them from shaking.

Luckily, nobody seemed to have noticed, as they simply restarted the scene without saying anything to her about anything. Taking advantage, she rushed to the bathroom, locking herself in one of the stalls.

'-shitshitshitshitshit-' Was the current commentary going through her head at the moment as she paced in the small space. Her hands covered her mouth to keep the sobs in as tears streamed down her face and she tried to will herself to stop crying. 'I can't! I can't stay here! Oh god...' She sniffed, rubbing at her eyes and sitting on the closed toilet lid. 'I want to go home...'

"Hey! Hey, Human!" Stacy's head snapped up just in time for something to fall on her face. She flinched and it slid off, landing on her lap and giving her a good look at it. It looked like a rather large hand puppet, like the ones given to the guest children at the end of filming. Only this one was moving on it's own, like Riley and, possibly, the others.

"Uh..." Was all Stacy could think of to say. It had snapped her out of... whatever that was, but this was yet another Puppet. Granted, it was certainly more adorable than the others, but still...

"Why are you in here? Shouldn't you be out there, doing Human stuff?" It -she, she had a female voice- asked, "standing" up in her lap. When she started to tip over, Stacy reached out a hand to help keep her steady.

'I felt like I was literally going to die because I discovered you guys have no puppeteers.' Yeah, no. She wasn't going to answer with that. "Well, this is the bathroom, so..."

"Yeah, but you aren't doing bathroom stuff. You're just crying." The Puppet dismissed, and Stacy felt vaguely offended at being called out so bluntly. "Why were you crying, anyways?"

"No reason..." 'That I will ever tell you or anyone ever.' She rubbed at her eyes, trying to get rid of the tears. "Where did you even come from, anyways?"

"The vents." She pointed up, and Stacy looked to see an open vent right above her. She would've said something about it, namely how creepy that was, when the Puppet spoke up again. "Anyways, my name's Scout! What about you?"

"Uh, Stacy. Stacy Al-Stein! Stacy Stein..." She looked back down at Scout. "What were you even doing up there?"

"Escaping, duh!" She then covered her mouth, looking almost sheepish. "Uh, please don't tell anyone, though. I'm not actually supposed to be out here right now."

"Don't worry. Nobody will hear about it from me." The girl promised. 'Not that anyone would even believe me, anyways...'

"Awesome!" The Puppet gave a open-mouthed grin that, in Stacy's opinion, killed any cuteness she had. "I'd still better go, though. Just, like, close your eyes or something."

Stacy did as asked, and felt the light weight vanish. She looked up in time to see the Puppet disappear from sight. '... That was really weird. I kinda hope I see her again before I leave, though...'

Feeling somewhat better, thought not really knowing why, the girl finished up and left the bathroom. Somehow, she felt confident enough to try and finish out the day. And, with any luck, she could convince Mary not to make her come back ever again.

Moving quickly, she managed to find Lydia again. To her relief, nobody seemed to have even noticed she was missing. Thus, she was able to smoothly rejoin Lydia as she led the kids over to the next segment.

"Ah, there you are Stacy!" She was greeted cheerfully. "We're just setting up for the next next segment. Then we've got Daisy's bit, and then it'll be time for lunch."

"Okay..." Stacy helped get the kids in place at the many different easels, making sure everyone had their markers and pads of paper. She paused briefly, staring when she saw Nick Nack helping a girl set up her paper. He was leaning over the table, showing her the proper way to put her pad on the easel. It was almost sweet, watching the usually stuck up Puppet help a kid out.

But knowing what she did now, Stacy found it pretty creepy.

But she ignored it. She helped Lydia make sure everyone had what they needed, and then moved off set so the cameras could get rolling. But even though she wasn't on set, she kept as close an eye as she could on the Puppet without being obvious. Danny was around somewhere, and like hell would she let these things get him.

The segment went as they normally did. The kids drew something and Nick Nack sang some stupid little song about being creative or something. It made Stacy scoff internally. 'I could write a much better song than that. I thought Nick was supposed to have standards.'

"Hey, kid." Lydia leaned in, trying not to be caught by the mic. "Head on over to the kitchen set and help Daisy get set up." Stacy gave her a horrified look, but it was misinterpreted. "Look, I know you're supposed to stick close to me, but she always needs the extra help. So if you could give her that today, I'll make sure she saves some pie for you, okay?"

'It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?!' The girl nodded mutely, and quietly started to sneak over to the proper set. She paused when she reached the edge, the angle allowing her to watch Daisy without being seen herself.

So far, it didn't seem the Puppet was doing anything sinister. She was just "pacing" back and forth behind her counter, setting out ingredients for whatever she would be baking on the segment. Most likely it would be pie, but from what Stacy knew she did occasionally make cake, and at one point she made donuts. She was also humming the theme song as she worked, which made her seem just a little bit more... human. At the very least, it gave Stacy enough courage to actually approach, making sure to make a bit of noise as she did so.

"Oh!" The Puppet jumped as the girl kicked a pen someone had left on the floor, turning to face her. "Well hey there Stacy! I didn't expect to see you here yet."

"Uh, Lydia said that you, y'know, might need help getting set up before all the kids showed up." She couldn't quite keep her voice from shaking, and prayed that it wasn't too obvious. Luckily, the southern belle didn't seem to notice, though Stacy wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Well shoot, I sure could. Some of these assistants just put my things far too high on the shelves." She pulled a pad of paper and pen from her apron and scribbled out a quick list. "If you could just get me these out of the storage closet, I'd be ever so grateful." She handed over the list,, which Stacy took with some hesitation. "The closet is right over there, sugar. Shouldn't be too hard to find it."

"Yeah." She said, but Daisy had already moved on, disappearing from sight as she ducked under the counter. It left the girl feeling very much like character from a video-game.  Still, she shook it off and went over to the closet, finding it easily as it said Kitchen Storage on the door.

Entering with only a brief hesitation, she found the entire small room completely unorganized. "Jesus Christ! Did a hurricane come in through here?!" She glanced between the list and the mess piled around her with a heavy sigh. Even though there were only three items on it, she felt her heart sink as she looked around the room. "This is gonna take forever..."

"Stacy!" Came a cry from above, followed by something soft landing on her head. The girl gave a stifled scream as the Hand Puppet from before slid off her head onto a box in front of her.

"Scout?!" She struggled to keep her voice low. "What the hell?!"

"Are you getting stuff for Mom?" The Puppet asked, "hopping" from the box she was on to a lower one.

'... Mom?' Stacy's mind went blank for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics. "Uh..."

"Cause I know where everything is in here." She climbed up onto a set of boxes set up like stairs, ending up at almost eye level with the teen. "Sometimes Bonzai likes to hide stuff, but I always know how to find it. Just tell me what you need!"

"Uh, okay!" Stacy perked up, not one to ignore a miracle when it happened. She looked over the list again to make sure she got it right. "Okay.. First thing she needs is a hand mixer."

"Over there!" Scout pointed to a shelf and Stacy made her way over. Right there, underneath a box meant for a set of mixing bowls was the mixer. She picked it up, then looked at the list again.

"She also needs some measuring spoons, and some sort of special rolling pin, I think." Stacy scratched her head, confused, but Scout nodded.

"I know what you mean! The spoons are in here, and the rolling pin is way up there." Stacy could feel her hopes shatter once again as she looked up at the tall shelf the Puppet pointed to. "But don't worry, I can get it for you. You grab the box of spoons!"

"But-" Stacy looked back, only to find Scout had vanished. "Okay, then." She picked up the box and put the mixer in it. After a moment, she also dropped the list in too, in case Daisy needed to double check.

"Look out!" Stacy caught the falling objects in the box as well, said objects being Scout and the rolling pin. "Awesome catch! Totally saved my life there." She climbed out of the box, and the girl watched in concern as she dropped to the floor.

"Uh, don't you want to, I dunno, come with?" Stacy asked as the Puppet crawled away behind some boxes.

"Nah, I got stuff to do, vents to map out." She answered flippantly as she disappeared from sight. "I'll see you later, though!" Stacy looked behind the box, but couldn't see the Puppet despite there being nowhere she could go.

"Huh..." She chose to ignore that for now and left the closet, not sure if she was leaving or entering the Twilight Zone. She went back over to where Daisy was, hefting the box up onto the counter. "Um, here you go. This is everything you needed, right?" She backed away quickly as Daisy sped over to where she was, rifling through the box.

"Yep, sure is sugar!" She had a beaming smile on her face, but it just made Stacy uncomfortable, so she looked away. "Thank you so much for your help. Now I can get everything all set up before the kids get here."

"No problem..." Stacy muttered, backing up slightly. She watched as Daisy set everything up, unsure of whether to help or not. On the other hand, it felt wrong to simply stand there doing nothing. On the other, well...

Stacy had seen the older episodes of the show. One wrong move, and she was "burnt toast, sliced thinly" as the quote went. So she just stayed back and watched, waiting in case she did need help.

In the end, however, she didn't make a move to help. Not that it mattered much, as soon Lydia had showed up with the kids, and Stacy had her hands full helping get the in their places and sitting still.

"Thank you so much for doing that." The woman muttered as they helped everyone get set up for recording. "Seriously, it's making everything go so much faster."

"No problem..." Stacy said, wondering how much worse things would've been if she hadn't helped. 'It really didn't take that long. Although Scout did help me out. Maybe they should ask her for help next time they need stuff from in there.'

She helped finish getting things set up, then hurried out of the way so they could film the segment. She sat nervously next to Lydia, watching as the kids ran around "helping" Daisy bake a pie while she sang about it. It was all very typical for the kid's show, and Stacy found herself bored again very soon.

"Y'know, after this it'll be lunch time." Lydia whispered when she noticed her fidgeting. "Why don't you head on over to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I'll meet you over there when this is done."

"Are you sure that would be okay?" Stacy questioned. It wasn't that she didn't want to leave, but what Mary or Lydia's boss might say if they saw her just "wandering" around.

"It'll be fine. If anyone complains, just tell them that I sent ya on ahead to save me a seat." The woman told her with a wink and a grin which Stacy hesitantly returned. "It's down that hallway over there, and is the big room with the big windows. You can't miss it!"

"Okay." Stacy went off in the indicated direction, dodging around a few other workers. Nobody said a thing, or even seemed to take notice of her as she made her way down the hall, easily finding the cafeteria. Looking in the large windows, she saw a buffet style set up, not unlike the one at her school. The only difference was that it looked, and smelled, far more appetizing.

She was just about to open it, when she heard voices coming from the room across the hall. Before she had even registered who exactly was talking, she was already making her way over to listen in. Carefully, she opened the door just a crack, then crouched low to look through the opening.

"I can not believe those children! They ruined my set, and refused to listen!" Stacy watched as Riley wheeled back and forth, looking and sounding madder than Stacy would've thought possible for the seemingly nice Puppet. Nick Nack also watched her from where he was leaning against a desk, looking quite bored.

"Riley, please, he knocked over one empty beaker. The new girl even picked it up for you. It's fine." He sounded exasperated, but quickly backed up with an almost fearful expression as the scientist got in his face.

"Shut up you paint covered fool! I value each and every tool!" She shouted, making Nick and even Stacy flinch back. "One day a brat will make a mistake insurance can't cover! This is why I prefer working with children that are older." She hissed out.

"Yes, well, these segments are still integral to the show. The parents love them, more than the kids I think." The artist had recovered quickly, now looking unfazed by the rant. He took a paint brush out of his pocket and examined it, making a show of not looking at his fellow Puppet. "Besides, we're recording the actual story after the humans eat, and you're on first again. So surely you can keep a hold of yourself until then."

Riley just grumbled, crossing her arms. Nick sighed, putting his brush away, and Stacy ducked to the side when he turned to face the scientist and, consequently, the door.

"What do you think of the new girl, anyways?" He asked. "She seems rather shy to me."

Riley scoffed. "It's her first day Nick Nack, and she's being taught by Lydia of all people. Just give her a week, and I'm sure she'll, uh..." Riley trailed off, and Stacy found herself trying to think of what could possibly rhyme with "people".

"Talk yourself into a corner, did you?" He asked smugly, and Stacy looked back to see the absolute smirkiest smirk on his face. Riley was on him instantly, smacking him with both hands.

"Shut up shut up SHUT UP!" She snarled with every hit. "At least I actually try! Not my fault you can't continue the rhymes!"

"Now you wait just a minute there!" The artist snapped as he backed away from her, but anything else he would say Stacy didn't hear, as something - or rather, someone - once again landed on her head. She snapped her head forward and caught Scout as she fell.

"Hi Stacy!" The hand Puppet greeted, a little too loudly for the girl's taste. She felt her heart stop as the argument beyond the door did, and quickly backed away.

"Hey, Scout..." She said quietly as she hurried away. The cafeteria, while not full, did have people in it. Which meant it wasn't a good hiding spot so long as she had Scout with her. Instead she ducked around the corner, hoping the two Puppets wouldn't be curious enough to look very far. Her heart sank when she noticed it was a dead end, but she ignored it for the moment. "What were you up to?"

"Looking for you." The Puppet said. "How'd Mom's part of the show go?"

"Uh, good?" She winced at the questioning tone. "I don't really know, Lydia sent me over here, so I didn't get to see all of it."

"That's too bad." Scout said, then almost deflated as the squeaking of wheels approached. "Oh no."

Stacy felt everything go cold, and started to hold Scout tighter. Her heart pounded, and she backed up as Riley came around the corner with a glare.

"Scout!" She snapped. "We have told you before, during the day you're not to venture beyond your door!"

"Indeed." Nick said as he joined the scientist. Together, they managed to block a good portion of the narrow hallway, blocking any escape. Stacy felt her throat constrict, heartbeat quickening as she realized she was cornered. "You should know better by now."

"But I wasn't seen!" A pause as the small Puppet glanced at the human holding her. "By more than one person. But Stacy's my friend! She's cool with it! Right, Stacy?" Scout looked up, frowning when she gave no answer. "Stacy?"

Pupils shrunk and breathing quick and shallow, the girl was staring straight ahead and clutching the Hand Puppet in an ever tightening grip. It was starting to hurt, actually, and Scout was beginning to worry about her new friend. "Um, Stacy..."

Riley ignored the girl and simply sighed, approaching and reaching for the Puppet. "Enough of this nonsense! It's time to-"

Stacy shrieked, flinging Scout at Nick and catching him in the face. While he stumbled back, scrambling to grab the Hand Puppet, she shoved Riley to the floor and bolted. The three of them watched  as she vanished around the corner, the sound of her footsteps fading fast as she raced away.

"Well." Nick said, holding Scout as he stared after the girl and Riley struggled to pick herself up off the floor. "That was certainly... something." He cleared his throat, desperate to think of what he should do, but nothing came to mind.

"Man, I can't believe you two chased off my only friend!" Scout lamented, interrupting his tumbling thoughts. He stared down at her as she flopped over in his grip in the most over dramatic way possible. "She was so cool! Didn't talk down to me or anything. And now I'm never going to see her again!"

"Er..." He blinked, now even more confused. He wanted his paints back, as at least he understood those. 'Blasted humans, making a mess out of everything. Father, at least, was never this bad!'

"Just help me get off the ground!" Riley demanded, shaking the artist from his thoughts and confusion. "And don't worry about the girl Scout, I'm sure we'll see her around."

"But, not you." Nick told the Hand Puppet as he helped Riley up. "You, I'm sure, will be grounded."

"Boooooooooo!" But Scout didn't complain beyond that, letting Nick haul her back to Daisy's room. Riley, meanwhile went in search of another human. There was a human child now lost somewhere in the studio, and proper procedure was to tell the adults so they could handle it. And Riley wasn't one to ignore proper procedure.

[pazithi-gallifreya]

The Hourglass Garden (An Unus Annus-inspired short story)

*Author’s note: Firstly, this is NOT a fan-fiction, nor does it contain Mark or Ethan in any way, so apologies to anyone looking for that type of content. Rather, it’s a story centered around some of the motifs that crop up throughout the Unus Annus channel as a whole - an homage, if you will. These two guys got me to write again for the first time in years, especially when it comes to writing for myself. I’m just happy I was able to create something for the guys, and I’m so thankful to them for getting those wheels turning in my head again, even if they’re a bit slow. As much of a meme it may be on the channel at this point, I think the overall theme of running out of time is super important, and one I think too many of us dismiss a majority of the time, myself included.I even kept putting the writing of this story off, but I finally came up with enough of a concrete plot to put it together. Mark is always talking about how if you want to do something, you gotta grab the bull by the horns and just do it, so this is me doing that. We need to remember that we often don’t have as much time as we think we do, and the clock is constantly ticking. It only stops for us when we die, but us dying has no effect on time for everyone else. It moves forward without us. That’s not to say we have to rush to get everything done all the time. We still need to stop and appreciate the things and people around us. We just need to find a healthy balance, find what we enjoy, and also work hard, not only for others, but also ourselves. All of that is what this story is about.

-----------------------

          “Shit!” Aria gasped as the freezing wind nearly yanked the front door right out of her gloved hands. She reigned it back in, locked it, and pulled her beanie lower over her ears as she headed down the stairs towards her complex’s parking lot. She cranked the heat to max, sitting in her red 2007 Honda, cupping her still gloved hands and blowing into them before adjusting her rearview mirror. The crystals formed on the back windshield looked like little ice people. She smiled.

           It had been far too long since she had done something like this for herself. Her boss had recently quit at her editing company, making her schedule a living nightmare over the past month. The added pressure and stress hadn’t gone unnoticed by her best friend Beth, who, after much pushback on Aria’s part, finally convinced her to take a day off. “There’s this beautiful woodland garden about 40 miles out of town. There’s not as much to look at in the winter, so it’s not as pretty, but it’s still open. There’s also less people because of it, so if you’re looking for some solitude, as well as some fresh air, it’s the perfect place.”

          “In 30 miles, turn right on Hourglass Road,” chimed the robotic voice from her phone as she turned onto the highway. Any other day, she’d be blasting music and singing her lungs out, but not today. Today was a quiet day. She kept occasional watch over the crystal people slowly being sliced in half by the defroster, reminding her of her own temporary state as they dripped down the back window.

          Half an hour later, she turned onto Hourglass – a narrow gravel road that opened into a gravel parking lot surrounded by a short log fence, with an ornate sign that read Hourglass Gardens. She pulled in next to the only other car in the lot and pulled her coat tightly around her as she took in her surroundings. The fence opened onto a dirt path that forked in two directions. One led to the large old house that served as a local historical museum. The other traveled down to the woodland gardens. Aria turned off her phone so as to not be tempted, shoved her hands in her pockets, and sauntered down the longer path.

          A short way into the woods was a circular wooden bench surrounding a large, stone fountain  that was currently turned off, probably due to the season. The centerpiece was a huge hourglass surrounded by a stone circle with the phrase “Unus Annus” written repeatedly around the outside. The hourglass was filled with pure white sand, which had all sunk to the bottom. Tippy-toed, she reach up to turn it, but couldn’t get it to budge. She sighed as she took a seat and stared up into the bare branches that surrounded her overhead, silently thanking the powers that be for the seclusion. Beth was right, she thought. Not much to look at, but it’s pretty well-maintained... She stared into murky film at the bottom of the fountain. Mostly. At least it’s quiet.

          After several moments of taking in the stillness, she decided to move deeper into the barren woods. Every so often, she would run into little plastic markers with blurbs about the plants and wildlife people often encounter there. About 2 miles in, about every 20 steps or so, she began to notice little wooden markers close to the ground, almost hidden. They seemed to have arrows carved into them. They started along the path, then slowly got farther into the woods, away from the path. With time to kill, she figured she might as well go with it. There were no barriers, and having read many fantasy novels, she was always amused by the cheesiness of the “forbidden path” trope. Besides, she did come here to get away, after all, and what could be more detached from reality than following mysterious arrows in the woods into who knows where, even if the mystery was pretend. It was still the most excitement she had felt about anything in a while.

          She walked over another mile, and at one point resisted the brief temptation to turn back to the trail. She cleared through one final patch of dead shrubbery next to another arrow before stumbling into a clearing rivaling even the ones in her books – it’s like all the colorful butterflies and animals had congregated in this one spot, encompassed by rainbow assortments of flowers and dense foliage in full bloom, despite the fact it was January. In front of it all was a babbling brook, with an assortment of brightly-colored fish, complete with a little bridge nestled neatly over it. Funny, I didn’t even hear any running water before now. She knelt down to touch it, but something prevented her hand from penetrating the water; some invisible barrier.

          “I see you’ve made it.”

          Aria jumped at the sudden break in the silence. The voice was calm, yet loud somehow. A man in a white, hooded cloak stood on the opposite side of the brook, but still sounded as if he were standing right next to her. A strange mist spiraled around him.

          “What do you mean? Did you know I was coming? What is this place?” Aria asked, reaching her hand out in front of her, only to be forced back once again.

          The man pulled down his hood. “This is the end.”

          “The end of what? Who are you?”

          “I am the inevitable. This is where all of time resides. Everything begins here, and everything ends here.”

          “Are you saying you’re God, or something? Or Death? In the middle of a man-made sanctuary?”

          “I am neither. I am the in between. I am Time Itself. I do not reside on this plane, but I am wherever you need me at any given moment.”

          “So you’re saying you’re not really here?”

          “I am, and I am not.”

          “Am I the only one that can see or hear you?” Aria looked back to where she had entered. It was as brown and desolate as before.

          “Yes.”

          “Why? Why are you here? Why am I here?”

          “This is your turning point – the point where you decide whether to take back control of your own destiny or succumb to the darkness, the point where you decide to live a prosperous life or a waking death.”

          “How do I do that?”

          “Make the decision. Only you know which path you will walk down. When you truly have your answer and have confirmed it to yourself, return here before time runs out. You have one year. I will be waiting. Memento mori.” The man turned, slowly walking away as the mist swelled around him until in encompassed the entire meadow. A frog made a loud plop into the brook, and with that, it was gone.

          In front of Aria stood the looming hourglass fountain, now gushing with water. She pinched herself to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep on the bench. What just happened, and why was she willing to believe and accept it so easily? She walked closer to examine the intricate stonework. The hourglass had been turned over. A few grains of sand had already trickled their way to the bottom. She read the phrase again. “Unus Annus.” She turned her phone back on and typed the words into the search bar. “One year,” she said softly to herself. “Okay,” she affirmed. “Looks like I’ve got a decision to make.”

          She walked determinedly back to her car, feeling refreshed and invigorated, despite the mind trip she had just been on. As she turned the key in the ignition, she remembered something. “What was the other thing that guy said?” she mumbled to herself. “Memento mori?” She pulled her phone back out and searched the phrase. The translation read, “Remember you must die.”

-----------------------

Thank you to anyone who read this. Thank you to Mark, Ethan, and Amy for being such a positive and encouraging force in my life for so many years and all the experiences I’ve had because of you. Thank you for giving me some inspiration to start creating again. There have been a lot of hard times going on with my family that I haven’t been able to properly focus on myself, and I’m still working on a lot of things, but this is another small step to help me towards my goals, and I’m glad to have you both be a part of it (even if it ended up sounding like a cheap YA novel). Being a perfectionist, I may not particularly like the final product myself, and think it's weak in every aspect, but that wasn't what this was about for me. I just wanted to show some appreciation for some amazing people. It’s been hard for me to keep up with you guys’ videos as of late, but this channel has been a way for me to stay up-to-date with both of you in a small way, and it’s such a cool concept. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the channel.

(Unus Annus is right on the verge of 2 million right now! Let’s get them there! They deserve it so much!)

- Anne

[wackapedia]

Ghost Hunting

Warning: one swear word

"Hey guys! Its me, y/n and today we're doing a ghost hunting episode!"

You were a popular youtuber and an occasional tv show actress. You were currently speaking to a handheld camera, outside a huge victorian-age mansion, at past midnight. You were with your neighbor, Joe Mazzello, who agreed to be in your vlog since you guys have the same agent. You weren't particularly a fan of this guy, but since he's now a big shot actor, it would be great to have him in your vlog.

"Now, I'm with a really special guest tonight, you might know him as John Deacon in the award-winning film Bohemian Rhapsody, its Joe Mazzello!" You panned the camera to the man dressed similarly as you. Black rain jacket, a GoPro strapped on his forehead and chest, and a backpack for his goods. He gave a tight-lipped smile and waved as he said "Ghosts aren't real!" to the camera.

You narrated the history of the place as you walked up the grand entrance of the house. Joe kept his flashlight forward and occasionally drops a witty comment about the facts you've gathered.

"So what do you think, Joe? Are you down to catch some ghosts on film tonight?" You faked your enthusiasm to mask your fear."Fingers crossed! Lets do it!" He was somehow cheerful despite the terrifying nature of the expedition. He was just really excited to be working with you, spending the night together despite being in an allegedly haunted house.You exhaled at the mic attached on you. "Alright lets do it!"

Joe opens the large wooden door creaking all the way through. Your handheld light bursts through the hallway, making the cobwebs, dust, and decades-old furniture visible to both of you.You can feel your heart hammer against your chest as you ventured deeper into the hallway. You were sure Joe was making a funny joke but you were too nervous to even comprehend. He seemed to notice your anxiety as he pulled you behind him. "Why are you doing this anyway?" He asked, chuckling as he wiped his sweat."Its fun. Imagine if we actually catch a ghost on video though" you tried to be nonchalant. Suddenly you hear heavy footfalls from upstairs. Like someone running.

"Oh shhh- shnipes!" Your heart was about to leap out of your mouth as you tried to keep your language PG. Joe remained unfazed as he pointed his flashlight to the direction of the stairway. "Its probably just a cat." He laughed at your reaction. Not cool, Joe.

You kept moving around the ground floor of the house, suddenly feeling colder at some parts of the house, particularly the dining hall. "Is that the music room?" Joe announced as he headed to the last room at the end of the hallway. "Joe, wait!" You chased him, afraid of being left alone. Despite being neighbors, you and Joe weren't really close. He was constantly away and if ever he was home, you had no reason to come over. Your only interaction with him was when you meet at the lobby of your building, or in the basement parking. An occasional smile, good morning, thats it. At some point, you assumed he was somewhat conceited, but so far he's been nice and funny.

The room was empty except for an upright piano fitted against a wall near a french-style window. There were no other pieces of furniture in the room."Okay so this is the room where there were said to be apparitions of the last lady of the house. The reason why there are no other furniture in this room is that the lady would throw objects at whoever dares to intrude." You spoke to the camera."How does that make you feel, Joe?" You panned your handheld camera to him while he was walking up to the piano, touching the dust-covered keys and pressed a chord you recognized as the first key to Bohemian Rhapsody. "I feel that its a shame she doesn't keep a bass guitar here." He chucked. You caught yourself laughing, slowly loosing up the tense situation.

Suddenly you hear a third laughter from within the room. You held your breath and held eye contact with Joe. "Did you hear that?" You whispered. He nodded, slowly backing away from the piano. He pulled you out of the room and into the end of the hallway, near the exit.

"Joe what was that?" Your voice was trembling now.

"I have no idea y/n" he said as he moved toward the main door.

"We cant leave yet! We have to go see upstairs! Management will have my head if we cower and cut the trip short!" You said, slightly annoyed at Joe.

"Are you serious? You look like your gonna pee in your pants a few minutes ago!"

"I'm serious, Joe. Get up here." You said, already climbing up the stairs.

The second floor wasn't much different as from the first. The wallpaper still had the faded sky blue design, the air still felt stuffy, and it still was dusty everywhere. You quickly moved through rooms, narrating about the various deaths that allegedly occurred there. Joe was quiet the whole time.

You reached the master's bedroom. Despite being dusty, the furniture in this room was grand. The bed was a large four-poster bed, still equipped with embroidered cushions and bed sheets. There were several paintings of people on the wall, Joe went over to see them. You, however, opened a plain-looking door adjacent to the bed. As the door creaked open, Joe looked over to you.

"Its a nursery." You said, spotting a crib in the room.

You stepped in the room to find a tall shelf filled with Victorian-age wooden dolls. You moved closer to the shelf in order to get proper footage. Suddenly your eyes caught some movement at the top corner of the shelf. Shining a light, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin as you witnessed a doll blink twice.

"Shit!" You started to bolt toward the door when it slammed shut, almost smacking you in the face.

"Joe!! Open the door!" You screamed, slamming your palm at the door. You felt the room shake and see the dolls fall to the floor. The room is filled with manic laughter coming from the dolls as they seem to move closer to you. You've now sunk to your knees as you continued to scream and cry for help.On the other side of the door, Joe was trying to twist the doorknob but it wouldn't budge. He was also panicking upon hearing your screams. He faced the painting of a woman in black clothes and screamed "what do you want? What do you want from her?!" The face in the painting smiled.

Suddenly everything was quiet. The only sound was your sobbing and the creaking of wood against Joe's shoes as he pulled the door open. He saw you on the floor and didn't hesitate to pick you up and carried you downstairs, through the exit and into the SUV he drove on the way here. Both of you were still catching your breaths as Joe sat you on the passenger seat.

Tears still kept flowing from your eyes, your cameras and microphones still recording, and hands still trembling. You closed your eyes and counted down to one in order to calm yourself.Joe was looking at you, feeling relieved like never before. He was never a believer of the supernatural, but for a moment he had to make a bargain to save you. You.

Joe looked back at the second floor to see the old lady dressed in Period clothes standing by the window, staring down at him. He stared back fiercely as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, swiped up to the camera app and took a picture of the house, the lady still visible.

"What are you doing?" You asked Joe, finally feeling better.Joe looked to you and smiled. Your eyes were still red and rimmed with tears but he thought you were very beautiful. And brave.

"Nothing. Let's take a selfie!" He said, flipping to the front camera and snapping a picture.

The sun was slowly creeping by the time you pulled out of the mansion's driveway. Warm yellow sunshine taking over the darkness of that horrid night felt like heaven, You smile contentedly as the sunlight hits your face through the windshield. "Mcdonalds?" Joe asked. You nodded enthusiastically.

Three weeks later, Joe was contacted by his agent to come at the office to see the edited video of your vlog before it gets posted on your channel. He was holding a hot cup of coffee as he entered the office, greeted his agent and took a seat. His agent brought out a laptop and faced it to him as the video started playing.

"Who edited this?" He asked, halfway through the video.

"Y/n herself." He was surprised that most of her scaredy-cat moments weren't edited out. He thought y/n was a very brave person for being able to face her fears and not being afraid to show that she does get scared sometimes. He had no qualms about the video so it was bound to be posted within the hour.

Joe took out his phone and opened instagram to post two pictures. One was an enhanced photo he took of the mansion where the victorian lady can be clearly seen through the window, and the second photo was the selfie of him and y/n.

joe_mazzello: spent a crazy weekend at a haunted mansion with @y/ig/n who proved herself to be one of the bravest people I know. INSANE GHOST HUNTING ADVENTURE link in bio!​

[superchartisland]

Championship Manager ‘93 (Domark, Amiga, 1993)

One morning in my final year of primary school, lined up on the playground for the start of the day as ever, there was an unusual request from the teacher. “Girls, go inside, and boys stay here”. We boys were to receive a lecture on the previous day’s activities. As part of a self-organised Year 5 vs Year 6 football match, we had stolen school equipment, bullied younger children off the playground, and generally behaved disgracefully. We were not to ever do anything like this again. I say “we”, but until that point I had no idea the incident had happened. The teacher quietly acknowledged at the end me and two others, standing there taking this all in, had not been involved. As innocents being subject to the collective punishment stung a little, but it also felt like a small mercy. She hadn’t drawn attention to how we had failed at being boys.

For the whole of my childhood that I can remember, football was a vital part of male social status. You had to like it and to not do so would be weird and suspicious. Maybe even gay. Liking it wasn’t enough, though, and there were additional criteria. First that was in terms of playing it well, and then in terms of making the right gestures with regards to supporting a professional team -- humour with a serious edge underneath, passion but not too much passion. You should care but not show it too much. Similarly you should be interested and know stuff, but not too much stuff. 

Alongside my lack of physical ability, the point about how to be interested was where I went wrong. It took until I was 20 and living next to Arsenal to form any proper attachment to one team, and my early interest in football was expressed as a voracious interest in facts and detail. Like a lot else in life, I wanted to pin things down to patterns and rules that could be understood. I wanted to know more and more. If it said in a book with the approval of Gary Lineker that it was very important to pass the ball in football, then boys on the playground who weren’t passing the ball were wrong and I could prove it.

Whatever was written down there, however much I could tell you about past World Cup winners and the current club teams of Eastern Europe, it wasn’t enough. All I needed was enough to boisterously express a view on Liverpool’s prospects for the season, but I wasn’t doing anything like that. It was readily apparent to everyone that in football, as in so much, I was failing to meet lots of unwritten social rules. It was no surprise that I was left out of that unapproved school match. It was no surprise that attempts to join in were met with anything from bafflement to cruelty. I was as weird as the boys who weren’t into football at all. If I was alone in primary school, though, I wasn’t set to be for much longer. There were a lot of other (mostly older) people who followed football with an eye for exacting detail. And in Championship Manager, they were to find a paradise. 

On the surface it is paradoxical that a series of some of the most complicated games this project will cover should also be one of the most casual. Casual, that is, in the sense of ‘casual gamer’, players not tied down to those immersed in the medium of video games. The most arcane JRPGs or most layered RTSs have nothing on the impenetrability of Championship Manager. I try to picture coming into Championship Manager from a starting point of no relevant knowledge and can only imagine it being incomprehensible. There's the rub, though. Developers Domark banked on football’s cultural dominance giving them a big enough pool of potential players who wouldn’t be coming to it from a zero starting point, and they got it right. The initial release, without real players or quite the correct leagues, was a success, and by the time they provided a ‘93 update with a more accurate simulation of the new Premier League, it was able to top the Amiga sales charts.

Championship Manager ‘93, for all that it tightens up some aspects of the very first game, is distinctly raw. Selecting a team - a pretty basic task as manager - is an unintuitive mission, involving clicking numbers, clicking players' names and then working out whether they're in the right positions. Stacks of options baffle and obfuscate further. None of the actions of management are particularly easy to do. But what it gives you is detail. Information. More of it than you could possibly know what to do with. Look at the entire page of attributes given to each player in your squad. Examine the squads, stats and records of any team in the football league, even ones several divisions away from your own. See all the other teams playing games and making player transfers. Step away from the actions of managing your team any time and look into the clockwork detail of this whole world ticking along. Even the extended loading time when you start a new game feels reassuring as to the depth of the simulation it’s got to work on creating. Like in Elite before it, the sense of immersion in your corner of the Championship Manager universe is enhanced by being able to see the rest of it going about its business without giving a shit about you. 

The engine used to display each match to you stands out from other games as well. Championship Manager ‘93 provides a general statement on which team is attacking, stats for attempts on goal, and, if you pause, a constantly updating rating for each player. It doesn’t make any attempt to graphically depict anything happening on the pitch, and instead it just gives a sparse text commentary on notable events. “Goal for Arsenal” will pop up out of nowhere. Or “I. Wright is through on goal” quickly replaced with “But he shoots wide!”. The terse messages provide a much greater sense of atmosphere and colour than any visual engine was capable of in 1993, and possibly greater than any would be in 2019. I can’t imagine any picture’s thousand words competing with the six word story that is “Hendry booked. He said too much.” It trusts in the game’s player to do much of the analysis and weaving of stories themselves, correctly figuring there were many people well versed in that.

Championship Manager’s way of doing things came at just the right time. The success of the Premier League was making football’s cultural dominance ever bigger. The tendency to cite so many football statistics from 'the Premier League era' means that anything from twenty-six years ago feels a lot older still. Maybe there's a parallel with British games history all but swept away after the takeover of bigger '90s powers. Personally, I have only ever watched football in that era, and grew up playing later editions of Championship Manager. The effect of playing a version of the original game, experiencing one all-conquering franchise placed at the cusp of another, is all a bit Deep Magic from the Dawn of Time. The names of the Arsenal players under my command are a strange mix of the familiar and the not. I vaguely remember the name Anders Limpar, but him getting in a huff and wanting to leave after I fail to pick him proves a surprise. 

Just like my team, Championship Manager ‘93 is not quite yet the Championship Manager I remember. It makes the game player’s actions as a manager too limited and difficult and doesn’t fit them as compellingly into its wider simulation. Analysing what is there and seeing small actions pay off, though, is still a great feeling. Looking into everyone’s ratings, trying to make sense of the flow of information and adjust my selection accordingly, I switch Ray Parlour to a more attacking position in my midfield. Watching him then score the opening goal in the next match is a delight. It’s a game that knows how to make you feel clever, and does it by providing you a set of rules, a ton of information, and stepping back to let you take it on from there. It had already targeted its audience; the concept was perfect for me.

By the time I was a few years into secondary school, my approach to football wasn’t such an outlier at all. Maybe some of it was just getting older, but there was a wider cultural change going on too, as the increasing success of Championship Manager suggested. More and more people also played fantasy league competitions that encouraged a data-driven approach to watching football outside of single-team fandom. The spread of the internet and all of its cultural impact was slowly ramping up. And Championship Manager was a regular talking point with friends and classmates. At one point my football knowledge, enthusiasm and lack of skill led to them electing me non-playing captain of our class football team, and while this was largely a joke, it wasn’t a cruel one. I was familiar enough with those to know.

Championship Manager might be a casual game series, but it never seems to be the target of gamer ire directed at ‘non-games’. I’d guess that more Animal Crossing players play regularly play other games alongside that series than Championship Manager ones, but somehow the latter get left out of accusations of ruining things for real gamers. And the simple explanation is that the clear majority of its players are men. It might not fit in to all of the masculine standards of the old playground, but it isn’t ultimately threatening to any of them. It’s the boy standing there in line alongside the other boys, even if it didn’t perform transgression and strength in the same way. In fact, it could easily be absorbed and tied up with the worst of the standards, misogyny and assumed heterosexuality and all. The examination of British adolescent masculinity that is the TV comedy The Inbetweeners gives an illustration. Jay, the one of the leads most characterised by fantasist bravado, is at one point asked about the game and responds in much the same way as all his been-there-done-that sexual boasts. "Championship Manager? Completed it mate.” 

The parallel was one which the series’s own marketing has been keen to use. There’s the ad in which a woman in a nightie looks on disapprovingly as her presumed partner excitedly opens his Christmas present of a Championship Manager game. You will have an attractive girlfriend, it says, and you will neglect her to play your football management simulation, because those are the things that men do.  And then there’s the even more blatant ad showing spurts of sun cream on a woman’s bare back forming a tactical diagram, under the text “What man doesn’t think about it every 6 seconds?” -- masculinity, hetero sex and computer football management brought together in a tighter knot still, with a taunt that there is something wrong with you if you don’t fit them.

Looking back at that morning standing in the playground, receiving someone else’s lecture, it turns out that in the long run I wasn’t failing acceptable masculinity at all. I’ve grown up, the world has changed, and mine is the winning side. Following the detail of football and playing games that involve complex information processing still bring me joy. But I’m aware that just standing there and being counted alongside all the other boys is to be part of the problem. Amongst those there with me on the new winning team are a bunch of guys who are still mentally in the same playground and still seething about what they had to go through and that the girls didn’t, claiming they are owed something in response. Acceptance doesn’t bring relief any more. Seeing what goes into winning, I want to lose.

Amiga chart, Edge 003, December 1993