#so how did we fuck up so badly to get less than a 50%

[confinesofmy]

i'm planning next week's picnic like if one thing goes wrong i'll be publicly beheaded. i'm locked in to such an absurd degree.

[sergeifyodorov]

would u do a little analysis of how each team has done so far this season … i trust ur opinions so much

EACH team okay... under the cut bc i am not subjecting the masses to 32 nasty little thots cody edition

Bruins: RIP patrice of course but the bruins are steamrolling as ever... i think that if there is any evidence of the universe simply not caring abt good things it is that the bruins slip and stumble and have some of their best players retired and still manage to put up a 50 win season every year. <- salty leafs fan but ANYHWAY the bruins are easily a Playoff Team. simply "there" 5v5, strong power play, they make their money off finishing (pastrnak you filthy animal) and goaltending (swaymark you filthy animals). they have been trending downwards of late so i'm not entirely sure of like their final standings place but with this kind of head start they're staying up.

Sabres: currently in what we the people call a "decade of darkness." might be a "two decades of darkness" if we're going to be honest. the active player with the most playoff points with the sabres is tyler myers. 7 points. yeah the tall one most famous for having a subreddit that posts the gamescore card every time he's on the bottom of the gamescore card. sabres are really hard to fix because their first real step to contention is "hoping devon levi turns out really good." not promising. bad enough that by selling a piece or two celebrini is in sight. maybe that'll help? a third 1OA?

Red Wings: presenting the mid-season Season Ruining Unforced Error Award early by saying: not that they were going to be as good as their first few games of sniping suggested, but signing patrick kane tanked any realistic hope they have of playoffs. is patrick kane good? he's actually alright. maybe this time the surgery worked. is the team made better by having him on it? it surely isn't! a few REALLY BADLY TIMED dylan larkin based misfortunes have made it go from bad to worse. they were in A2 like a month ago and now they're Out. strengths: finishing. weaknesses: everything else, including morale.

Panthers: okay you've probably clocked this by now but ive been Generally Salty so far and that is bc a) im easily tempted to haterhood and b) currently discussing each team in the atlantic which does nothing to make me less Tempted To Haterhood. that being said the panthers are Good and For Real About It. they can do everything except finish chances, which is fine when the other team has way fewer chances than you and your goalie doesn't let any of them in. fuck ALLL the way off. place your bets on these guys having a deep playoff run. cross your fingers for them not having a deep playoff run i can't stand chuckyposting again it's RAN ITS COURSE. (also: machuk is probably still injured and absolutely Not doing as well as he did the last few seasons. maybe because he's just not that kind of guy but it's probably at least mostly the broken chest thing)

Canadiens: they are bad EXCEPT when it comes to overtime + the shootout. also much like the sabres they're going nowhere fast. i expect at least one of their goalies to be gone at the deadline... furthermore i think ppl who are ragging on slaf's slow development are simply expecting all 1OAs to be like an auston or a connor type (pick your connor) where they come in and immediately adapt -- slaf rings very reminiscent of quinton byfield to me, who was picked 2OA in 2020 and is only now starting to break out. give him time he's a baby...

Senators: despite how much literally everyone talks up all their players constantly, they are not good either. like the sabres or the habs... atlantic is 4 teams in the genuine hunt, 3 teams who suck and have sucked forever and will suck forevermore, and the red wings who haven't made up their minds yet. the sens actually Do have a singular Biggest Problem though and that's goaltending, but they're not a good enough team otherwise that getting a quality goaltender is going to make them playoffs worthy, especially not in the very short (this-season) run.

Lightning: the lightning are weird to me because like i think they're still making up their mind as A People what they want to do. kucherov is the best player in the league rn, this is stamkos' ufa season and he hasn't been offered an extension, vasilevskiy is back and vasying his levskiy... i fully believe they have the capability of getting a playoff spot, maybe even A3 if they want. we've all seen them in the playoffs, we know how they can turn ~It~ on at will. as always they're a deeply mid 5v5 team powered by very strong special teams... the goaltending numbers say goaltending is shit but they've been playing in front of the genuinely unplayable jonas johansson most of the season so i think it'll be fine.

Maple Leafs: as the team ive watched the moast i can talk about these guys for evar so for all of our sanities i will be brief: Auston Matthews, Baby, Look At Him, That's Auston, Auston Motherfucking "Sexy Mustached Bitch" Matthews!!!!!!! powered by an extremely strong power play and very good offence, and defence and goaltending that is held together by Morgan Rielly and a dream. possibly the only reason they're in a playoff spot is the fact that martin jones didn't get claimed on waivers three months ago and i am being dead serious about that. for some reason they're at their best when they're down by two. they do really need both their #1 goalie to come back from injury and to make a splash for a genuine nhl-calibre defenceman, but they're stubbornly determined to win games even through nasty flu.

Hurricanes: their usual selves -- analytics darlings, can't buy a goal. this year they can't buy a save either -- Freddie is out with a medical condition, Raanta is straight up not good, and Kochetkov is... well, he's Kochetkov. they're not far out of a spot but they'll need a hot hand if they want to get comfy... which i don't expect, frankly. they're good enough to make the playoffs, but they're not really a team that goes on heaters, so they'll be bubble until the end.

Blue Jackets: genuinely not sure they know what they're doing like... okay. from an outside pov they are obviously Tanking. they're bad in every way that matters except for finishing and the standings show it. but also like... they're at the point in their development cycle where they shouldn't be tanking... or at least are on the verge of Shouldn't Be Tanking. and again, because they don't know what they're doing, they hired mike babcock for this... if they know what they're doing they'll toss kekalainen as soon as they can and, following this year's draft, start Fighting. but let's be real i doubt that. adam fantilli it's your time to shine... sorry sweetheart!

Devils: see Hurricanes. Great on paper, can't buy a save. They've obviously been stunted by Timo, J'accuse, and Nico all being injured at various points, but goaltending is their biggest and most solvable problem. Unlike the Hurricanes, though, the Devils are fully capable of going on a heater, so the gap between them and WC2 isn't as big as it looks (probably.) Luke Hughes is going to be something special.

Rangers: Looks like Lafreniere is finally getting his feet under him -- but the Rangers have always been far more about getting old, known players to get a second wind with them than they've been about prospect development, and Quick and Wheeler are both showing this pretty definitively. Another one of those teams that's run by special teams and finishing/goaltending. Easy playoff spot, likely solid run. Nothing too interesting here.

Islanders: On the other hand, the Isles are interesting because... like... how did they get There? They have a negative goal differential, for heaven's sake! Their special teams are godawful, their defence is a sieve, they blow leads like that's what actually gets you points in this league, and they're somehow second in the Metropolitan??????? Is it Horvat? Barzal? Sorokin? (It's probably Sorokin.) They'll make the playoffs but i doubt they'll succeed in them.

Flyers: This one's also weird. They have the power play and offence of a peewee team in the big leagues, but have become defensively Actually Super Competent and are somehow good because of this? I'm going to theorize -- because you've asked me to but also because I really want to -- that this is due, at least in part, to somewhat of an inverse Kane-on-the-Red-Wings effect from their offseason removal of Provorov and DeAngelo; without them, the team is now not only better defensively on paper but also better as a team in the locker room. They're [uncle voice] playing with heart now! I doubt they're a real contender, but I think they might actually make playoffs.

Penguins: ...this one's also weird. They're good on paper. Like, really good on paper? Defensively "just okay" but offensively great, goaltending is fantastic, special teams are shutdown. They just can't buy a goal and they can't buy a good sequence.

Capitals: This one's weird, too, but in the opposite way -- aside from the power-play, the Caps are actually godawful on paper, especially when it comes to finishing (because when Ovechkin takes such a high percentage of your shots but he isn't scoring, your team REALLY suffers) but somehow they've managed to pinpoint sequencing luck (win close, lose ugly) and are somehow in WC1. Do I think they'll make the playoffs? Absolutely not -- if either the Devils or Canes step up, the Caps are the odd man out -- but it might be fun to see them try. Or hell, I hope they win-close-lose-ugly their way to a goddamn Cup final. Would be funny as fuck for Ovi's second-longest ever playoff run to come at the fresh young age of thirty-eight. Dude looks ragged out there. I'm going to shut up now before I start talking about finding him sexy

Coyotes: Simple on paper: bad at running play, good goaltending and finishing. Essentially what the Canucks are doing at a smaller scale. The Leafs should never have let Kerfoot walk and I mean that unironically. Okay, anyway, the Yotes are a bubble team and won't make higher than WC1 because of the logjam at the top of the Central, but holy fuck do I want them to make WC1 (or a playoff spot in general.) People ask "how can we grow the game" a lot, and when it comes to what the NHL can do directly, the number one biggest thing is win in small markets. Arizona has already created one of the sports' biggest stars -- Auston! -- and it's an absolutely massive TV market and a potential hotbed of new fans and new, great players. Arizona making a playoff spot -- or even better, going on a run -- would be amazing for the NHL. And it would be funny. And I would like that.

Blackhawks: shoutout to dave !!! dave who works for the hawks!!! anyway the hawks are very obviously tanking and good at it. Their only real point of interest is their Sacred Child, and holy fuck is their Sacred Child going to absolutely fucking smash it when he's given a team that's not entirely made up of scrubs. i think his analytics, especially his defensive numbers, are, like, fine? but accounting for his leverage (all situations, especially the difficult ones), his teammates (his best linemate is Anthony Beauvillier, and tito... is a third liner), and the fact that he's all of eighteen, he's definitely on track to be a Real Force. i kinda love him... okay moving on.

Avalanche: All-over good: finishing their biggest obvious strength, but hockeywise they don't have any real weaknesses... although there is some serious Drama brewing in that locker room and i think it might just be getting started. with landeskog gone for at least until the end of this year (and possibly forever) and ej a sabre, there is absolutely no one in there capable of actually emotionally running a team: makar lacking in a leader's magnetism, rantanen an idiot, toews and mackinnon far too high-strung and competitive, and no one else with seniority. they're a good enough team that it's not really affecting them right now, but ... i don't know, i can kind of feel it coming. They'll make the playoffs, but when the pressure is on they'll either step up or completely fall apart.

Stars: See above: all-over good, but saving their biggest obvious weakness. I think most of this is spurred by Otter being out -- Wedgewood is a serviceable backup goaltender, but obviously not capable of being a real starter, and the team is stuttering because of it. I doubt it'll be for long or too much difficulty (they're a good defensive team, so it's not going to affect them a lot, but they might lose a game or two they might have won with Otter, especially if he's out for a while), but it's going to keep them from taking a step on top of the Central. Easy playoff team, probable contender.

Wild: They are bad! Penalty kill is their worst weakness, but they're not great in goal either and the combination is kicking their ass. As much as I respect how well they've done with that giant cap-space penalty from the Parise/Suter buyouts all those years ago, it's... kind of time to throw in the towel. Get Flower those final few wins, because by god are they devoid of much other success. Right at the tail of a competitive arc. RIP. Tank incoming.

Predators: Weirdly good, even though Saros hasn't been his usual self? O'Reilly esp has been an absolutely fantastic addition for the team over the offseason. No huge strengths, no significant weaknesses. Not an amazing offensive team, but it's Nashville so they were never going to be -- the place practically breeds defensive forwards and all-around dmen. I don't expect they'll seriously contend, but they'll make the playoffs (unless someone offers the farm for Saros).

Blues: I genuinely think so little about the Blues .... that whole thing with Jordan Kyrou has been the most I've thought about them for a bit. That and the fact that only three of their games haven't been decided by the first goal? They're not good and they're really boring. Yeehaw.

Jets: THE JETS let's get JUICY. Jets' biggest strengths by far are a) 5v5 defence and b) finishing/goaltending. Even with Kyle Connor out they're sniping and Hellebuyck and Brossoit are both absolutely on it. The Jets have always seemed to have this problem where on paper (take a shot every time I've written "on paper" in this post if you want to die of alcohol poisoning) they seem fantastic, then January onwards they absolutely plummet. And it's not January yet, so that might still happen, but that kind of thing tends to happen because of a dramatic morale shift, and now that Lowry's captain and Wheeler's left for New York... that might not happen? They've banked enough points that unless they're historically bad from here on out they're still a playoff team. If they keep up what they have going so far, they're a contender, but if it's the same Winnipeg with the same problems, then they're not.

Ducks: Taking a step in the right direction with Carlsson and Mintyukov, but still bad! I really hope Carlsson recovers well, he seems like a sweet boy. Also: what on Earth are they doing with Zegras. Is he a defenceman now? Are they making him play defence? Are he and Dixie D'Amelio still dating? I have many questions. I just hope whichever high draft pick they get is an idiot. I feel like they need another dumbass baby on the team.

Flames: The Flames also appear to have no idea what's going on. And frankly, neither do I! They're too good to be obviously tanking, but not near good enough to be a bubble team. They're definitely reluctant to sell, but their best hope to win soon absolutely should be selling. They have one of the worst contracts in the league on their payroll (wow... I hope the guy in charge of my favourite team didn't sign that!) and a bunch of really solid late-round picks and prospects cutting their teeth on the NHL. In short: they aren't going to make the playoffs and should be leaning into that, but they don't seem to have realized this yet.

Oilers: For the sake of not gloating, I'm going to sum this one up with a Marek quote: If you have a goalie, it's 70% of your team. If you don't, it's 100%. They've had finishing trouble, but considering they absolutely run the show at 5v5 AND special teams (they put nearly SIXTY SHOTS on Vasilevskiy the other day) a little finishing shouldn't be quite so dangerous if they didn't have two sieves minding the net. McDavid might hit 150 again and the Oil might still miss the playoffs. If they get in, they're going far, but at this point it'll be tough as fuck to make it in.

Kings: Average penalty kill. No other weaknesses. Kopitar 4 Selke.

Sharks: This is an absolutely glorious tankjob. No other way to put it. This is the pinnacle of tank design. This is the Wayne Gretzky of tankjobs. This is the Casablanca of tankjobs. This is the Saturn V of tankjobs. Nothing has been so beautifully engineered to suck since Sir James Dyson patented his vacuum or Nancy Reagan walked the earth. It's beautiful. It's gorgeous. I am in awe. They deserve Celebrini purely because of how flawless the tank is. I don't care if he has a warm undertone and would look pink in that fantastic teal. The boy needs San Jose.

Kraken: Good defensively at 5v5, bad pretty much everywhere else. I'm going to be honest with you all, last year was kind of a flash in the pan -- Seattle isn't great and they're neither headed upwards nor downwards. Not a bubble team, probably won't pick top ten. They haven't decided whether or not to build up or tank. Beyond the fantastic aesthetics and four-unranked-lines shtick, they don't really have a whole lot of competitive mojo: no star forwards, no goaltending. Wholeheartedly mid.

Canucks: oH BABY!!!!! The 23-24 Canucks made us all learn what PDO is. The 23-24 Canucks are first in the motherfucking league after being one spot out of being in the Bedard lottery. The 23-24 Canucks are on track to have the best shooting and saving percentage in league history. The 23-24 Canucks' leading goalscorer is Brock Boeser, the guy they've almost traded practically every year since they drafted him. The 23-24 Canucks started the season by naming the Wettest Little Man On The Planet captain and they haven't looked back since. I think they're an easy lock for a playoff spot -- but within the playoffs, do I know what they're going to do? I absolutely do not. They could PDO their way to a Cup or they could bow out in four games flat. Either is equally likely. They have thoroughly embraced Good Chaos. Quinn Hughes might win the Hart. Everything's coming up Vancouver.

Golden Knights: Not as good as they were last year. Ultimately still pretty good. Easy playoff spot. Definite contender. Jack Eichel is better than ever and I love him for it, the dickhead.

[nobody-nexus]

Sinful Circus AU Incorrect Quotes

(CW for NSFW humor) (Will contain Ragapom, Abstrabbit, and Bluetooth)

====

Able: Hey, what have you two been up to? Gangle: We were helping Ragatha write her vows, but she kicked us out because Jax was making inappropriate suggestions. Jax: How is “Pomni, I love your sweet ass” inappropriate?

====

Queenie: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have? Kinger: Dorito’s cool ranch. Queenie: Queenie: I'm just gonna assume zero for now. Kinger: I love that song

====

Pomni: There’s no “I” in team, but there is one in pizza Kaufmo: So, you’re not going to share? Pomni: I’m not going to share

====

Zooble: I dare you- Ragatha: Kaufmo is not allowed to accept dares anymore. Zooble: Why not? Kaufmo: "I have no regard for my own or others personal safety", as some would say

====

Able: Today, Influencer said a swear word, so Ragatha said she was going to wash Influencer's mouth out with soap. Influencer replied, “It’s okay, I like the taste of soap”. Turns out, they’ve been putting soap on their lips to blow bubbles

====

Zooble: closes a cabinet a crash is heard behind the cabinet door Kaufmo: What was that? Zooble: The sound of someone else's problem

====

Able: I don’t know how you have your foot in your mouth, your head up your ass, and your nose in my business. But here we are, you fucking wizard

====

Jax: I’m a multitasker! Jax: I can disappoint fifteen people at once

====

Moon: Well, Caine and I finally did it! The rest of the squad: gasps, shocked expressions, etc. Moon: That's right… We kissed!

====

Influencer: Bl@ckm@1l 15 5uch @n ugly w0rd. 1 pr3f3r 3xt0rt10n. Th3 X m@k3s 1t s0und c00l

====

Pomni: Good news! I didn’t screw up! Able: … Pomni: I screwed up less badly than usual! Able: … Pomni: Screwed up with less immediate consequences than usual

====

Ragatha: I asked Pomni out Queenie: Oh, I’m sorry Ragatha: Why? Queenie: Well, I assume she said no Ragatha: No, she said yes Queenie: Really? Then I’m sorry for her

====

Jax: My knee just cracked so loudly that I half expect it to glow in the dark tonight

====

Jax: Zooble, we tried things your way Zooble: No, we didn't Jax: I did it in my head and it didn't work

====

Pomni, gardening: Hey, can you bring me the hoe? Zooble: Yeah, sure A few minutes later Zooble: Here you go Pomni: Zooble: Ragatha: Why am I here?

====

Influencer: 1 th1nk w3 5h0uld h@v3 gl0w 5t1ck ju1c3 1nj3ct3d 1n 0ur b0n35 wh3n w3'r3 b0rn, 50 1f w3 br3ak 0ur b0n35, w3 g3t @ fun l1ttl3 5urpr1s3! Caine: What's the surprise? Zooble: Blood poisoning.

====

Jax: When do I get my own gun? Pomni: I wouldn’t trust you with my kid’s lightsaber

====

Jax, referring to Zooble: I don’t know, they just don’t seem interested Caine: Did you try talking to them? Jax: Jax: Try what?

====

Kaufmo: I wouldn’t wish that upon my worse enemy! Kaufmo: Unless of course. . We’re talking about my enemy, Zooble. Fuck you Zooble, you know what you did!

====

Jax: Wait you like me? For my personality? Zooble: I know, I was surprised too

====

Kaufmo: What’s the status up here? Pomni: Fucked up, about to die, Able’s a nerd. The usual

====

Able: I have been tricked, I have been backstabbed, and I have quite possibly been bamboozled

====

Ragatha: Sometimes I drink milk straight from the container. Influencer: @h y35, th3 c0w'5 udd3r! Ragatha: What? Gangle: WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT????

====

Able: I know what you're up to. Influencer: R3@lly? B3c@u53 I b@r3ly kn0w!

====

Jax: If the thought of something makes any of you giggle for longer than 15 seconds, you are to assume you’re not allowed to do it

====

Influencer: Th3r3 15 n0 1 1n h@ppyn355… Pomni: There is if you fucking spell it right

====

Caine: There was a motor close to where I am right now. Caine: A motor- a motorcycle? Caine: Oh sorry, a murder Ragatha: That escalated quickly

====

Jax: .. .----. -- / … --- .-. .-. -.-- (translation: I'M SORRY) Gangle: What's that? Jax: Remorse code Gangle: I'm even angrier now

====

Sun: Sleep is the body’s best safety mechanism Kaufmo: How so? Sun: It keeps you from screwing up for 8 hours

====

the Squad cleaning up Caine: Pick up the nearest piece of trash and throw it away! Pomni, to Jax: Aight, which bin do you wanna go in-

====

Moon: Define “dream” Zooble: Dream - the first thing people abandon when they learn how the world works. Gangle: That’s too dark!

====

Pomni: You look good in that hoodie Ragatha: You know where else I'd look good? Pomni, zero hesitation: My bed. Ragatha, at the same time: By your side- wait, what?

====

Gangle: Okay. Hypothetically speaking, how mad would you be if I burned a hot pocket so badly it could probably fall off a ten-story building and be completely fine? Sun: Gangle, what did you do? Gangle: Take a guess

====

Ragatha: What do we say when making bread? Zooble, glumly: That's the dough rising Ragatha: And what do we NOT say? Jax, sadly: That's the yeast fucking

====

Caine: Oh no! The printer broke while printing out Jax's birthday invitations! Gangle: Well, what are they supposed to say? Caine: "Jax's birthday" Gangle: So, what do they say instead? Caine: "Jax’s bi" Gangle: Gangle: Works out either way

====

Jax: Kaufmo, you look deep in thought. What’s wrong? Kaufmo: Did you know you can look at any object and know what it’s like to lick it? Even if you’ve never touched it before? Jax: I’m never asking you anything ever again

====

Pomni: What are you in the mood for? Ragatha: World domination Pomni: That's a bit ambitious Ragatha: You are my world~ Pomni: Aww… Ragatha: Pomni: Ragatha: Pomni: OH.

====

Zooble: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Influencer will and will not eat Queenie: Grass? Yes! Zooble: Moss? Yes!! Queenie: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Zooble: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Queenie: Worms? Sometimes! Zooble: Rocks? Usually, nah Queenie: Twigs? Usually! Zooble: Kinger's cooking? Inconclusive! Moon: How did you… test this? Zooble: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it Moon: … I don’t know how to feel about this Kinger: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

====

Caine: I can't imagine what Influencer is planning. But I can tell you two things. We won't like it and it won't be legal

====

Pomni: angrily presses Ragatha against a wall WHERE'S THE MONEY?! Ragatha: … Ragatha: Are we about to kiss-

====

Sun: If we lose, you’re out of the will Pomni: I was in the will?

====

Ragatha: What is it called when you kill a friend? Influencer: H0m1c1d3! Gangle: .......Murder-

====

Sun: Everyone thinks you suck. Jax: I think you have the wrong number… Sun: Influencer? Jax: Nope. Jax Sun: Well, you probably suck too

====

Able: According to the footage here, you shook the vending machine and when the shake alarm went off, you punched the glass and broke it Zooble: …I was hungry

====

Influencer: @rs0n? 0h! Y0u m3@n "cr1m1 brûl33"!

====

Moon: What the FUCK is this?!? Pomni, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, that’s what

====

Caine: I'm not superstitious… But I am a little stitious

[eco-lite]

Wow so volume 9 was a lot to take in! Here are my unedited thoughts:

* So that pre-prologue was already A LotTM… All of Richard’s loved ones leaving him certainly explains why he was so hesitant to let Seigi get close to him in the beginning. I still have so many questions about what happened with Deborah and Vince, but it seems like we may get some answers in this volume.

“Prologue”

* Proof that everybody in Seigi’s life reads his blog. Very sweet but embarrassing. 😅

“The First Country: Japan”

* Jiro… 😢 Why even introduce this dog if he’s just going to stay with the neighbors? I hope he’ll be okay.

* I’m so happy Seigi has such supportive parents, and that Hiromi is doing better now. I hope their relationship continues to improve.

* Those girls with the matching suitcases were sweet, I wish Seigi had gone to hang out with them. This outting with his college friends seems like my nightmare.

* It’s easy for me to forget about the situation with Seigi’s biological father since I haven’t read volume 6 in a while, but its clearly still a constant fear of Seigi’s that his father will find him again. It’s hard to pretend everything’s okay to your friends when you have a constant worry they don’t know about.

* Not Seigi’s friends thinking Richard is his sugar daddy… To be fair, Seigi is really bad at describing their relationship. But that’s because he doesn’t understand it himself.

* Wtf is wrong with this Idzuka asshole?

* It’s really interesting that Seigi thinks of himself as having a Japanese-speaking version and an English-speaking version of himself, and that these versions would react to things differently in each language. It speaks to how language is a reflection of cultural values. Like how Seigi says he would be more “forceful and aggressive” in an English conversation than a Japanese one since English-speaking cultures typically don’t value politeness and decorum as much as Japanese culture does.

* All of these guys suck, why did they even invite Seigi out? Did they need to put someone down that badly? Get a fucking life.

* Nakata-san is such a nice man. I’m really getting emotional about what a supportive father figure he is to Seigi. I love this interaction: “‘I know it’s been tough for you, but, Seigi, know that I’m always on your side. I’ll support you no matter what you want to do.’ ‘I think you’re being a little too nice to me.’ ‘No, you deserve it. You’re a good, hardworking kid. Too hardworking. You got that from your mom. You deserve an old man spoiling you once in a while.’ ‘You don’t need to treat me like I’m a baby, “old man.”’ ‘You keep rubbing it in, you’ll make me mad.’ ‘Oh, shut up’” (48).

* “When I was with [Nakata-san], I felt like I could talk about anything. Even the things I felt too insecure about to show Richard” (50). Everybody needs a person like this in their life. I’m so happy for Seigi that he does. And him crying in the bathroom because he finally has a happy family life. 🥲🥲🥲

* He prefers the colors of the padparadscha dheukdkaldjdm

* Anddd now Vincent’s in the picture. Here we go!

“The Second Country: Hong Kong +”

* So Seigi is dealing with PTSD on top of everything else now. Cool cool.

* Not Vince fighting invisible opponents in the park. Somehow that seems in character.

* I truly thought Marian was trying to tell Seigi that Vince left her with a baby. Somehow an organ transplant makes less sense to me. Where is this going?

* Wow so that was a lot! Not at all what I was expecting to hear about Vince and Marian’s past. Marian is such a strong person. And Vince is definitely a complicated person. It totally makes sense that an ambitious person would become bitter if they were constantly comparing themself to Richard, but I’m not fully convinced that’s the reason for all of Vince’s behavior towards Richard and Seigi. It’s clearly more complex than that. Not to meantion getting tangled up with Jeffrey. Yikes. Nothing left to do but hear the rest of the story from Vince’s own mouth.

* Wow, Seigi is taking on some of Richard’s Sherlock Holmsian qualities. Nice deduction skills, and thanks for the lesson on corals.

* That was a lot of time spent with Vince, but I still don’t feel like I know anything more about him. Obviously he cares for Marian and obviously he cared (and still cares for) Richard. But in what way? It seems safe to infer that Vince wanted to be someone Richard could rely on for support, but Richard didn’t want that from him, and never opened himself up like he’s done for Seigi. I’m really curious what Richard would say if Seigi ever asked him why he hired him. I know what I think, but would Richard tell Seigi the truth in that situation?

* MONICAAAA

* Ah, I missed Saul, but he’s being as cripticly honest as ever. Not sure how it’s possible for those traits to coexist, but they do in him.

* Seigi, do not compare Richard to religion omg! Can you imagine what he would say if he was here and you said that out loud? Wild.

* “‘Life itself is a tragedy for the greater portion of the world, which lives in want and warfare. In that sorrow, every person needs a reason to live. Chief among them is anger, and I, too, lived off the fury I felt toward God. And then sometimes, religion can brand this suffering as sin—a crime of the divine, so to speak. For where there is crime, there is punishment. This gives us our reason for anger, which is a marvelously rational method of being saved’” (158). Wow, um yeah, I think you hit the nail on the head here Saul. Certain religious people are some of the angriest people I’ve seen. Religion is used as a weapon in so many scenarios. Interesting that Saul says he lived off of fury at God, though. I feel like it’s usually people being fueled with fury at others they believe God thinks are bad.

* I didn’t expect to get so deep into a discussion of religion in a Jeweler Richard novel, but this is really interesting. I wonder what Richard’s past with religion is like. Was his family in England religious when he was growing up? Even if you didn’t grow up religious, you can still have religious trauma though lol. I’d love to hear Richard’s specific reason for instilling his anti-discrimination policy.

* I think I’m a believer in Saul’s religion of beauty. Seigi thinks: “Maybe Saul’s faith in beauty was like never giving up hope for the world” (164). I think mine is like that too.

* Seigi, honey, please go to therapy…

* TANIMOTOOOOOO 💜💜💜

* Ahh, I adore Tanimoto so much. I’m so happy she’s doing well as a junior high science teacher. That fits her so well. And I’m so proud of her for standing up for herself and saying she doesn’t plan on getting married, and being such a good example for any queer students she might have. Wow, I’m so emotional about this. “‘This is the first time I’ve ever considered that I could help people just by being who I am’” (179). You can, Tanimoto. You really, really can.

* I’m truly so proud of both Seigi and Tanimoto’s emotional maturity, and I’m so happy they can be friends like this. This entire scene with Tanimoto made me want to squeeze them both in a giant hug.

“The Third Country: Sri Lanka”

* You can tell his night and day driving voices apart?? Seigi, this has gone too far. 😂

* Richard gets very dramatic when he’s tired lol.

* “‘I get to decide who my role models are, so you don’t have to tell me anything. I won’t copy the parts where you try too hard or care too much, but the rest? Yes, I’ll model myself after you.’ ‘You needn’t copy me. You try far too hard and care far too much on your own.’ ‘Good, we agree’” (198). Abridged, but this whole interaction is gold.

* Richard hugging Jiro so tight because he’s stressed and just wants some comfort. 🥹🥹🥹 Baby. I can totally picture the way Jiro is looking up at Seigi though, like “help, please make this man let go of me.” 😂

* Page 199-200 is everything to me.

* “His smile was as beautiful as ever. If all it took to make him smile like this for me was to peel a few pieces of fruit and make pudding, I’d chase after him all across the globe to make that possible” (202). ☺️

* I hope we get to meet Deborah in the next volume. I need to hear her story straight from her.

* “‘I feel positively rotten and would very much like your help’” (208). RICHARD! This is a huge step for you! I’m so proud! No more pretenses. Seigi is here for him, and it seems like Richard can finally accept that. (But only after a good meal, of course.)

* I got so scared that Richard was a secret smoker, but no, we’re going to drink ginger beer out of a hookah?! What a mad man, I love it.

* Richard’s school staff started hitting on him?! I’m not surprised but I will fucking fight them. Piece of shit! 🤬

* Seigi’s not the only one crying at his vision of a future where he runs the Ginza shop alone and has to welcome Richard’s wife and kids when they visit. Holy shit.

* I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED IF YOU’D NOTICED EARLIER??? SIR???????????

* Page 222-227 had me on the edge of my seat the entire time. That scene was way too good to be true. But I also felt like I was going to throw up the whole time because I’m so hungry and shaking from eMOTIONS.

* OMG. IT’S HAPPENING.

* “‘I’ve heard cute stories of the trouble Japanese students sometimes find themselves in when they study abroad in England and don’t realize they’ve begun dating someone’” (230). Richard, don’t do this to Seigi! Don’t do this to me!

* “I produced a squeaking sound from the back of my throat” (231) fucking SAME!

* You’ve got to be kidding me. Richard, if you’re saying this was all a joke to save you’re feelings from being hurt, I totally get it but I swear to god. Please have more faith in Seigi than that. The tension in that scene built and built until there were flames blazing all around me and suddenly somebody threw a bucket of water on them…

* Okayyyy so that’s not necessarily how I wanted things to turn out by the end of this volume, but it’s not like they’re in a bad place. They’ll continue to love each other as they have been. And now on to the Octavia drama!

I’m so looking forward to volume 10 after that. I’ve heard it’s pretty special. Ugh, how can I wait until March??

[msfbgraves]

Outside of Daniel and Terry who were great as always, this was a truly terrible season, THE worst lol.

Johnny was truly horrible with his "suPpoRt DeVoN aND mIGgy dUriNG thIS DiFficULt time" but never did ANYTHNG to support HIS OWN SON. Like, he did NOTHING FOR ROBBY. Robby is struggling so badly and has no one to turn to and his OWN DAD is like "lOl roBbY wHooO???" Johnny is a terrible character and has been gaslighting himself and everyone else from SEASON 1! FUCK Johnny!

They ruined Chozen in every way by making him into this drunk, boorish loser who randomly hooks up with the enemy (another flat, annoying character and another poorly written female character). Chozen was so OOC I felt like I was watching badly written fanfic come to life. What the FUCK! I am so sorry, Chozen. You deserved so much better.

Kreese was just plain embarrassing, my god. Every time he was on screen I cringed. He should have died in S5 and I stand by that. Everything he did was mortifying and humiliating. He is way too old to be acting the fool. He needs to be in a retirement home having angry dreams.

Robby...LOL. The writers said fuck you! we don't care about you AT ALL lol! and then he got supremely fucked by the narrative in every single way. God. And of course NO SCENES with him and Daniel because flawed as Daniel was, he did so much for Robby--way more than Johnny ever did for him. Daniel and Robby had wonderful chemistry and the writers are so scared of that.

The Sekai Taikai is boring and overlong and just ridiculous in every way. All the new characters are dull, flat, and have incredibly forced and tropy "chemistry" with the OG characters. They are the definition of Shonen Manga Stock Bullies. They're like parodies of character tropes at this point. If someone told me CK6 was satire, I would have believed them.

S6: Let's make Daniel have an emotional breakdown again because why not hahahaha! BTW, Johnny is cool and perfect and a REAL MAN! BE LIKE HIM!!111!1 Johnny is absolutely not wrong ever, but Daniel is evil and flawed and ALWAYS wrong OF COURSE1!111!!

Annoying little brat Devon gets a pep talk from Johnny (another huge LMAO!!!) and gets away scot free with all she's done?? While Kenny still has to deal with the bullying he'll surely face back home?? What the fuck?

Carmen...DEAR GOD. This is the woman who raised a sweet kid by herself in a new country. She learned a new language, escaped from a terrible man, built a career and took really good care of both her mom and her boy. And then she, responsible, smart, kind Carmen--gets knocked up by a deadbeat, drunk loser who has held a grudge over a high school karate tournament for 30+ YEARS, blames everyone (especially poor Daniel who is his personal punching bag) but himself for how shitty his own life is, doesn't have a proper career or a steady job AT 50+ YEARS OLD, is in and out of trouble constantly, behaves like every negative stereotype of Ugly American even while IN the States, gets (Carmen's) son in trouble, does shit all for his own son, and...THIS IS THE MAN CARMEN GETS KNOCKED UP BY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Carmen, who WORKS IN HEALTHCARE and has ACCESS TO BIRTH CONTROL!!!!! You cannot make this shit up!!!!!!!

This show is truly garbage. It was excellent in S1 and S2, I thoroughly enjoyed S3, S4 and S5 were Karate Star Wars and got stupid (but still entertaining) and S5 it should have ended, peaking with the relationship between Terry and Daniel and the death of Kreese. S6 is embarrassing and cringe.

The best parts were TERRY FUCKING SILVER who is played with such devastating charm and skill by Thomas that you can't help but love him. And he's hot as fuck so there's that too!

Daniel is of course hated by the writers, but that doesn't take away from the fact that HE'S BEEN RIGHT FROM THE START OF THIS FUCKING SHOW and he's a good, kind, sweet, hardworking man who happens to have a quick temper, can be prone to hot-headedness, and be (gasp) less than perfect. Of course, for these oh-so-terrible sins, he must be punished and also constantly fucked by the narrative. Jokes on them, because Daniel can be proven to be right and correct 95% of the time, and remains a decent, good man who can admit when he's wrong (UNLIKE CERTAIN BLOND FUCKS).

I'm just here for Terry and Daniel!

Cobra Kai S6 is a fever dream of how a middle aged man with the emotional range of a young teenage boy would WANT the world to work, not how any human being would reasonably behave. Many men have written stories like this over the centuries and have been called geniuses; many women have written their versions - like Twilight - and have been called airheads, but anyway, it's all pure id at this point. I keep saying that TIG meanwhile writes his own part before signing on, because somehow I keep finding nuances in his character, like a compulsion to repeat his trauma with cages and a deep aversion to killing (which is interesting because I really do wonder what he meant to do to Kreese if not kill him).

You do have to give it to them that there are moments of awe inspiring insanity sprinkled throughout.

[woodsfae]

If I Had A Nickel For Every Time I Was Forcibly Re-Traumatized During A Work Training I'd Only Have Two Nickels, But It's Weird That It Happened Twice

#1: MCC, 2017ish

In 2017, I got hired to work as a crewleader for the Montana Conservation Corps (MCC) as a replacement for some dude who washed out of the crewleader training by taking the digeridoo he brought with him and walked into the mountains for three days for some bs white man's appropriative spiritual quest instead of...y'know...attending training.

So I came in late, but still more experienced than anyone but one other crewleader I met, and was immediately put into a week of 8-hour-a-day training out at a classically folksy campground several hours into the middle of a rural, wooded area. Some of the training was great, especially the modules led by the indigenous staff members. I use what I learned in the Racial Justice module lead by two members of the Blackfoot nation and one member of the Little Shell Chippewa nation regularly, and look back on it as a highlight of that week. Not only in regards to the information I was provided, but the way they were taught.

The Wilderness First Responder training, lead by "Wild Bill and Lady Louise," however, was even more folksy, anecdote-laden, and self-congratulatory than you can imagine. I technically learned one thing in that training, which was comprised of at least 50% egotistical, self-aggrandizing personal stories of questionable educational quality. Most of the trainings lay somewhere between these two examples. But not the training on recognizing domestic abuse. That was one was not only extremely bad, but badly mis-handled.

"Michal, what could be wrong about teaching youth crewleaders how to recognize signs of domestic abuse in the vulnerable youth you were entrusted with?" my strawman example commenter cries out. Well. I'll tell you since you asked.

A woman who ran a women's shelter got up and told graphic stories about battered women and children, presumably thinking that horrifying people with the depravity of cishet mankind was enough of a training, without recognizing that the statistics she was quoting at us also applied to us. Part-way through the recitation of all the ways abusive family members can harm people in their household, I recognized that I was having flashbacks about my time as a child in a household that was so ludicrously abusive, many people have told me I must be lying about my own life because they can't believe any parent is that comically, over-the-top evil. And so I sensibly got out of my metal, folding chair -- also sensibly selected towards the back of the seating after I saw the topic in the folded, paper handout we were provided with of the day's proceedings -- and went to go take a little walk around the building to hopefully shake myself out of this little C-PTSD triggered response, and come back once I was feeling less disassociated.

I got as far as the door. Some fucking white, male staff member literally jumped in front of the door to physically block me from leaving and then told me that I was not allowed to leave a training.

I said OK, but I am experiencing a PTSD episode from the subject material and need a moment to compose myself.

This did not persuade him to stop, and may I reiterate, physically blocking the door for me to leave.

I reasoned with him with the type of calmness under duress only acquired by getting PTSD: Sir. I was abused as a child. This is distressing subject matter for me to hear. I am disassociating because of my PTSD, because I was abused much as this presenter is currently describing. I need to go outside and attempt to stop disassociating.

He said that if I left he would mark me as having not completed this training, which was required to continue being employed by MCC.

As I only had about $100 in my bank account, and rent due in a week for which I was relying on my impending, Americorps stipend (as I recall, around $700 a month) to cover, I returned to my seat and continued violently disassociating.

The next module was choose-your-own-but-a-free-period-is-not-allowed, and so I picked one that looked interesting, and was also lead by an indigenous woman. There was some kind of team building exercise, that I cannot clearly recall, due to said violent disassociation. It was something to do with balancing pipes, I think. The trainer noticed I could not physically make the pipes do the thing and drew me aside.

That last module triggered my PTSD badly, I told her, and: I am struggling to stop disassociating.

She sent me to go spend as much time as I needed to gather myself. Still badly effected by the previous, white male staffmember threatening my employment, I only went behind a nearby camp vehicle, sat, and tried to pull myself together. She came to check on me again, and confided that she was also triggered by the presentation, having had domestic abuse in her history. Her kindness and openness made me cry, and the solidarity helped me regain a little footing. I said I was planning to complain about the lack of trigger warnings and for not allowing for a recovery break, and she said she would, too.

In my next free period, I went around and talked to the new acquaintances I had made so far in training, most of whom had un-ideal childhoods. There are plenty of seasonal workers who have great, stable backgrounds. They tend to be on summer break from college, or are between a bachelor's and a grad program. But a lot of the time seasonal workers are people who have unstable personal histories, who have seasonal jobs and no safety nets because they were poor, or queer, otherwise discriminated against, or any combination thereof. People who take $700 a month, physically demanding temporary jobs are either extremely privileged, or extremely disadvantaged. As a member of the latter group, I can assure you we sniff each other out in a matter of hours, and sometimes seconds.

Well, to cut a long story slightly less long, I wrote a letter of personal complaint, persuaded a half a dozen other people to personally complain, a few from the privileged, non-triggered contingent, merely on the moral merits of the argument. MCC gave a formal apology -- two, actually -- and an offer to for anyone who was upset to talk to a staff member. One of the people who gave an apology on behalf of the organization was the indigenous woman who told me the presentation was triggering for her which, if it wasn't fully her decision, is extremely fucked up. I did speak to some of the staff members. But I do not think it endeared me to anyone in the organization for later reasons that can only be told in separate tales. Because for some fucking reason (being flat broke and owing rent), I did not quit and continued to work for MCC through the rest of the season.

#2: In 2024 I was hired at [redacted]. Let's call it the climate change nonprofit (CC). My training at CC went fine until it didn't. Then, I joined a training for how to form a persuasive argument that adapts to the scenario. We learned some stuff. We watched a video. Then a "trigger warning: self harm" slide come on the screen and one of the trainers said we ought to leave the training if we thought we needed to, now or partway through the video, and they would simply let us know when it was done, wait for us to rejoin, and continue the training.

Having come from, as previously stated, a comically-extremely abusive background, which did come along with a free serving of self-harming, I thought about it, then braced myself for unknown levels of self harm education. Mostly I was confused as to why a climate change video came with a self harm trigger warning.

It was mistagged. What it actually was, was a speech by a white, queer man, who opened by describing a death by suicide, due to homophobic revenge porn lifestreaming. And then the speaker's experience of being called a f*g at age seven by a teacher. And more homophobia. And then a call to action to not be in the closet but to be out so you can help people who aren't out, by being openly gay. Then a breakdown by a professor in a class as to why this was an effective emotional appeal (I beg to differ. It half made me want to go back in the closet, so effectively did it call back to my childhood being called a Demon-Possessed-Lesbian-Whore by my own mother, before I'd even processed what gender meant as an abstract concept).

Needless to say, I was fucking triggered. I froze, and did not leave the training. A bit later we were given 10 minutes to write an elevator pitch based on the information of how to make an elevator pitch, and a scenario in which to set it.

Fueled by the power of two-decades-of-using-writing-as-a-trauma-processing-tool and also my oldest superpower, spite, I wrote an elevator pitch with the emotional hook of "I enjoy not having an asthma attack from wildfire smoke," and pivoted it to "we have the state constitutional right to clean air will you join us in electing politicians who won't amend the state constitution to remove that right." It went well.

And then, because I am constitutionally incapable of biting my tongue when someone does something fucked up, I wrote an extremely civil email with extremely academically formal language objecting to the lack of correct trigger warnings, and using a such a traumatically unrelated topic as suicidal ideation due to intense homophobic violence to climate change to teach us how to write a persuasive pitch to get people to volunteer for climate causes. By talking about how long it takes a queer person to fall 500 feet to their death of despair. Because that's emotionally equivalent to whomever decided that including those videos in the training was a great idea.

My supervisors at CC both expressed their regret as to the inaccurate tagging and explicit homophobic violence. I personally checked in with the other openly queer person in my training group and they said they were messed up by it too. They didn't seem keen on also sending feedback, but I recognize I have a Personality Type that is out of the norm (stubborn as hell and twice as obstinate. About injustice, anyways).

What. Even. Is. My. Life. I asked my partner if he'd ever had a similar experience with a work training being on an innapropriately-insensitive-about-societal-violence topic and he, knowing both sets of events and agreeing they're fucked up, was like "?Absolutely NOT." So I'm pretty sure this isn't a normal experience.

It's weird that it happened twice, right?

If anyone at [redacted] organization sees this and recognizes the scenario, please note that this is anonymized so there's no way anyone could connect this to your -- I'm sure generally lovely -- nonprofit, and also I need this job a lot. Due to said disadvantaged background featuring comically-absurd levels of childhood abuse.

[evilelitest2]

@theculturedmarxist Um....Russia also hasn't fought a war with a peer compactor in 30 years. Like the least wars Russia has fought include

A brutal colonialist nationalist war with Chechnya (lost), a renegand province without an army

A second even more brutal nationalist war with Cechnya (won), again a renegade province without an army

A brutal imperialist war against part of Moldovia (won, but ocme on, its Moldavia)

An incompetent corrupted and humiliatingly badly run invasion of....Georgia....a country with a smaller population than the state of Georgia (Won, but very winter war)

A series of small scale Central Asian skirmishes (won mostly)

Assisted Assad's regime in Syria, mostly via air support (still ungoing)

Seizing Crimea from a vastly inferior Ukraine (won)

A full blown invasion of Ukraine which has gone...badly.

Russia hasn't fought a peer rival since...honestly WWII, though if you count the Cold War than 1991. And unlike NATO, Russia's ultra conservative super masculine military structure is deeply dysfunctional. They have lost about 50% of there military capacity in this war already, and in the last few days Ukraine seized about 30 miles of territory. Russia could still win, they (were) the second most powerful military force in the world and 4 times there population, a better economy (until yesterday) and far more resources, but the fact that Ukraine, a much smaller nation who have never fought a war before 2014 has managed to drive them back to the eastern provinces is massively humiliatingly. Like US in Afghanistan level humiliatingly, its a joke. Russia by all rights should have won by March 2022, the fact that its August 2023 and Ukraine is still retaking territory is just a fucking joke. And NATO isn't even in the war directly, if Russia is having this much trouble against fucking Ukraine (who wasn't even rated in the top 20 militaries in the world), you think they can take on the nations who actually have fully trained armies?

Edit: I went back to look at your takes on the Russia-Ukraine conflict back in Jan-Feb of 2022, and wow, its like rewatching those CNN pundits saying that America would be out of Iraq in 13 months tops.

Like this bit here

were you are like "its American propaganda that Russia is going to invade Ukraine"

Or here, in March of 2022, where you predict that Ukraine is going to collapse imminently unless NATO sets up no Fly Zones

"From what I’ve heard Zelensky is getting ready to capitulate and give Russia whatever it wants." wow friend, you really need to check where you get your sources from because....wow, that...did not age well

Or here, where you are like "I don't think Russia's military would do atrocities, they are so professional" which shows you have not been paying attention to Russia's military for at least 30 years friend

Or here, where you predict that Ukraine is going to fail and NATO is in panic mode

I mean Ukraine just had a small breakthrough less than 15 hours ago as of time of writing but like...maybe you should stop making predictions mate, you are really bad at it.

This one isn't wrong its just...bad logic. Because Russia (also an Imperial power, and has been for centuries) is often participating in the same crimes as the US, they teamed up a lot during the War on Terror days. But like, we have numbers for how many people died to drone strikes under Obama, it is not comparable to Russia in Syria friend

This one is fascinating because it says so much about how you think. You really seem to think that the US is just kinda...unique in how stupid and sadistic its leaders are (but saying "I know more than you")while linking to Greyzone, a news organization funded by the Russian goverment is just...chefs kiss man

I shouldn't be surprised though, you regularly reblogg the Greyzone, a deeply reactionary russia funded news network that pretends to be leftists while hating trans people and going down into conspiracy theories (when you aren't coming to defense of Fox News, very leftist of you) Its like dealing with bloody TERFS, supposed leftists who spend all of there time agreeing with the far right and trying to justify human rights violations

here is you really showing your progressive bone fides (might want to apologize for that bit friend)

Or like this, which like....dude read a book, for fuck's sake, there is a reason why the West German Gay scene was so much more powerful

@sapper-in-the-wire America's actions in the middle east was an unrelenting series of brutal war crimes, but it is weird that you aren't upset by Russia doing...even more. Like the US caused, directly or indirectly, around a million civilians deaths (using the highest credible estimates I can find), over the course of an 8 year war+11 more years. of smaller conflict. The lower estimates are around 600,000 losses (to be clear, Bush and his cronies should be tried in the Hague) Russia has been in Ukraine for about a year and a half, we we are already seeing somewhere around 130,000 civilian causalities, including reports of mass rape, torture, and deliberate massacres and in fact this has been a pattern since 1991 the Russian army as well as Wagner have a horrific human rights record.

Edit (again) oh dear god, you are a Joe Rogan Fan, and maybe an antivaxxer. Abandon all hope ye who enter here. I'll say some nice things at the end i guess

Your pro Trans, which makes you regularly siding with Russia really fucking weird. Russian military advertisements actively say that the war is to prevent the "infection" of trans "degeneracy" from coming to Russia, its worse than the US (its even worse than the UK). There is a reason why so much Russian state media praises Desantos and Visa Versa

I do feel sorry about your rent situation, send me a message if you need any help (that isn't a power move, genuinely send me a message).

Also you really need to stop getting your news from right wing sources, like Jesus Christ half of your biden takes come from the Right. Stalin isn't somebody to emulate, stop getting your news from fucking youtube, actually study the history of a region for its own sake not just to use it as a token in an imaginary ideological conflict. YOur like 19, your are still seeing the world in this fucking high school perspective, its more complicated than that, get out of the conspiracy place and the ideological rigidity

PPS> You have almost never posted about the Wagner Group and that is super telling

[girlreviews]

Review #359: Radio City, Big Star

When I got to see Big Star in Memphis in 2022, they went ahead and played all three of their records more or less from start to finish. It was to mark the 50th anniversary of #1 Record. Time loses all meaning lately and death is all around us, but the point is, Radio City turned 50 in February 2024.

When I first fell in love with Big Star (see review #474) it wasn’t even possible to find their records. Anywhere. The only format available at that time was a reissue double album that had both #1 Record and Radio City on it. That was fine with me, and I found it at McKays when visiting my cousin before moving here. But I never super separated the two albums since I always heard them together. Based on ranking, and general popular opinion, Radio City is better than #1 Record. I really don’t know about that, but I do know that the tracks on it that are really good, are really fucking good, and that’s what gives it’s older sister a run for her money.

It opens with O, My Soul, which is… Well, what can I say. The drums really steal the show on this track. When I got to see Jody Stephens play this song, I damn near lost my tiny mind. He also messed up, so they started over, which meant that I got to hear it twice. I had waited long enough so I like to think that was just for me. This song can’t decide if it wants to be some kind of garage band banger or if it’s too lazy and just wants to take a nap. And you know what? That fucking speaks to me.

When I was turning 17, which is how old you have to be in England to learn to drive, I was offered driving lessons or a guitar from my parents. First of all, I wanted the guitar so badly, it wasn’t even a question. I also knew it was annoy the shit out of them that I would pick it over driving lessons. Driving lessons meant driving, which meant a car, which meant freedom. Except that I knew that it didn’t really. If it came from them, the lessons, the car, the anything, I’d really have no freedom and it would all be an illusion. So my wise teenage ass took the guitar, and remained so painfully committed to public transportation that we could do whatever we wanted (with a lot more effort), for real. I used to really lament that decision as all of my friends got their licenses and cars and I was stuck on the damn bus, but I knew what I was doing. I used to listen to O, My Soul to remind myself of why I did it, and to build up my confidence:

“I can’t get a license

To drive in my car

But I don’t really need it

If I’m a big star”

Love when a band references themselves, for starters. I kept this tradition up, though. I listen to this song any time I have a big meeting that I need to crush, an interview for a job, or just anything that I need to hype myself up (you’re really a nice girl, and I think you’re the most, and when we’re together, I feel like a boss). Yeah I sing it to myself about myself, what about it? It’s my very own Eye of the Tiger. I learned to drive when I was 24 years old, in London, with my lessons and car entirely self-funded. I have no regrets.

Mod Lang sounds like a T. Rex song. I’m into that. I hear The Byrds in this record, especially in September Gurls, which really is a Big Star classic and is a pretty compelling reason for this album to rank higher than its successor. It’s had more influence on pop culture than I had ever realized — for example. Katy Perry’s California Gurls was titled with that spelling because her producer was a Big Star fan and wanted to pay homage. It’s a really beautiful song, about Alex Chilton’s complicated love life. The three women he was involved with, or formerly involved with, that the song is about, all had birthdays in September. Chilton was very into astrology, as it turns out. That seems about right for him.

I have always had a real soft spot for Morpha Too. It’s so strange and simple. It feels like being dizzy and trying to walk a few paces. The harmonies are really striking and it just seems like a song that never really got finished. That’s how it sounds to me. I love it exactly how it is.

The record ends with I’m In Love With A Girl, which rivals Thirteen but is cute, rather than poignant. I had a man sing this to me once, on a roof. He stole my guitar and just had at it. It kind of makes my skin crawl to think of it (think Ken singing Matchbox 20 to Barbie). But, we all know how I feel about letting those kinds of things spoil songs for me, especially Big Star. Wilco’s Pat Sansone was in charge of this track at the 50th anniversary show and he was perfect, sang “gorl” and everything. All was right with the world. I was there, he wasn’t. The best part of this song is one single line repeated that serves as a bridge of sorts:

“All that a man should do

Is try, oooooh, oooooh

All that a man should do

Is try

Ooooh ooooooh”

Listen to it. It’s a beautiful sweet song. Please do not serenade any women with it on their (or any) guitar. Don’t be that guy. All you have to do is try, and trying doesn’t involve that.

[meglyfer]

I just saw some very upsetting shit and I gotta talk about it

(Vent) (Kinda long because I'm complaining about like three different things at once)

You guys don't get to talk about history of my country if you have absolutely no idea about it The dictatorship of 1976 was something led by POLITICAL IDIOLOGY, NOT RACE. BOTH THE SOLDIERS doing atrocities AND THE VICTIMS of said atrocities were white, black, morenos, any colour in between I'm forgetting, and it takes LESS THAN TEN MINUTES of Google search to know this. Not only you can check what were the reasons behind the coup, but also, if you look up for pictures of the victims, you'll see how a lot of them were WHITE (This is because the most affected province was Buenos Aires, province which also recieved the most amount of Europeans immigrants) Don't you ever again dare talk about Argentinian history without doing even the most minimal research about it. I don't want you to speak the name of my country when you have clearly NO IDEA what you're talking about

Also, while I'm at it, would you guys quit it with the "Argentina is a n4zi paradise" crap? We are literally the third country with the biggest Jewish population "bUt, BuT, wHaT aBoUt PeRóN fOrGiVinG n4zI sOlDiErS" PERÓN WAS JUST ONE MAN WHO DIED 50 YEARS AGO HE DOES NOT SPEAK FOR ALL OF US, AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT'S BEEN 52 YEARS SINCE HE'S BEEN PRESIDENT, I AM PRETTY SURE THE POPULATION WOULD HAVE CHANGED ITS MIND IN ALL THAT TIME "bUt PeOpLe vOtEd fOr HiM" AND SAID PEOPLE REALISED HE WAS A N4ZI AFTER HE BECAME PRESIDENT, DUMBASS

IF YOU GUYS WANNA HATE ON ARGENTINIANS SO BADLY, THEN EITHER FIND A GOOD REASON FOR IT, OR JUST DO IT, BUT DON'T MAKE UP SHITTY EXCUSES TO JUSTIFY YOUR HATE WHEN YOUR STUPID ARGUMENTS CAN BE DEBUNKED IN LESS THAN A MINUTE, AND THE ONLY THING YOU'RE DOING IS HURTING THE IMAGE OF US TO EVERYONE ELSE'S EYES I SURE AS HELL DON'T LIKE BEING CALLED A N4ZI FOR WHAT A MAN, THAT I DON'T EVEN AGREE WITH, AND DIED EVEN BEFORE MY MOM WAS BORN, DID SAID OR THINK IN HIS TIME ALIVE AND I DO NOT LIKE BEING CALLED RACIST FOR FALSE INFORMATION ABOUT ONE OF MOST PAINFUL CHAPTERS OF MY COUNTRY'S HISTORY EITHER

OH, OH, AND ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT IT NO, YOU STUPID FUCK, JUST BECUASE WE ARE WHITE DOESN'T MEAN WE ARE GRINGOS, OR EUROPEAN, OR ANY SHIT LIKE THAT. WE ARE STILL LATINOS DESPITE OUR SKIN TONE, BECAUSE, GUESS WHAT, YOUR SKIN TONE DOESN'T DEFINE WHETHER IF YOU ARE LATINO OR NOT I KNOW, SOMETHING COMPLETELY MINDBLOWING FOR YOUR INSIGNIFICANT BRAIN AMERICANS APPARENTLY HAVE I was born, raised and lived my whole life in Argentina, a lationamerican country. My parents, grandparents and grandgrandparents were too. We face the same struggles as other latinoamerican countries, like poverty, corruption, insecurity, and a million other things. We share part of out history and culture with them, while also having our own. Not to mention that we meet the most important requirement to be part of LATAM, which is the geografical location of the country I am so fucking tired of brain dead people saying that we Argentinians are not latinos because we are white. I am so sorry for not having the exact same skin tone that you expect from your stereotypical Mexican character in Hollywood movies who is there to make fun of Mexican people, but just because I don't match your biased expectations it doesn't mean that I am less latino than someone from Perú, for example (Mando amor a toda la banda peruana, los quiero 😘) I thought we had made it clear that LATAM is a place with very diverse culture and people. We have people of all shapes and colours, metaphorically and literally speaking, why are you surprised some of us are white??? Not to mention that the vision of "All Argentinians are white" comes from just viewing BUENOS AIRES. CLEARLY YOU HAVEN'T MET A SINGLE PERSON THAT ISN'T FROM CAPITAL FEDERAL, THERE ARE WAY MORE PEOPLE OF COLOUR ONCE YOU LEAVE THAT PLACE

Summary: I fucking hate people who talk shit about my country and people when they barely even know how our flag looks like 😋

VIVA ARGENTINA CARAJO 💥💥💥 LPM, NO PUEDO PONER EL EMOJI DE LA BANDERA ARGENTINA EN LA COMPU YA FUE, LE MANDO UNA IMAGEN ENTERA

[reidyoulikeabook]

24 + 50 from the touch prompt list plz

Ship: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Word count: 1.6k

Prompts: #24 - whispering in the others ear, lips touching the skin

#50 - putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up.

A/N: I tend to keep my non-series related posts to my sideblog @switchspencer so check out over there for general discussion of NSFW stuff, but this was for my 1k celebration so ... here we are. The warnings are the very first thing under the cut! I wrote this in literally 20 mins and haven’t proofread so ... oops?

18+, minors dni.

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, soft/medium!dom Spencer (it’s definitely not hard dom but i don’t know what i’d class it as), use of 'good girl', hand over mouth while having sex, (i don't know what the official term for that is), sucking on fingers, swearing, sex when you’ve just woken up, but that's everything!

You tend to keep to yourselves on cases. But last night you couldn’t help sneaking into his room after it was dark and everyone else had fallen asleep, using the spare keycard he’d given you for emergencies and tucking yourself up next to him. He was already asleep when you got there, his only acknowledgement being a grunt and to throw his arm over your hip when you clambered in next to him.

It’s early when you wake up. The light streaming through the terrible motel blinds. Annoyingly it still does him justice. It was your dream that woke you up. Far earlier than your alarm would have, but you feel quite motivated to stay awake, considering.

His mouth kissing up to the apex of your thigh, hands on your hips holding you in place on the counter. Your fingers tangled in his hair. Yanking on it to pull him up to you. A moan rumbling through his throat, an incredibly smug smirk as he continued to tease you, slowly bringing his kisses closer and closer and closer to where you wanted them and then.

You were awake. Pressing your thighs together. It’s almost a bit embarrassing, the effect he can have on you. Without even layiny a finger on you.

Your movements are, apparently, less than subtle, and you feel him move. Rolling over, his tight grip on you meaning that you’re pulled with him. You make it easier on him, and end up with your head pressed against his neck. Heart thrumming in your chest. You’re practically buzzing with want, and you’re sure he has some kind of detector for sensing when you’re horny because without you saying anything, his hand moves towards your ass, grabbing it.

Letting out a squeaky exhale, you feel the bob of his Adam’s apple as he chuckles, voice deep and rough with sleep, “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“I know.”

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking. He uses his hands as leverage to bring you towards him, his hips rolling against yours and letting you feel how he’s hard already. Without even meaning to, you let out a breathy gasp, automatically moving to seek out the friction you so badly want.

He tsks you, “I thought we agreed no sex on cases.”

“We did,” You acknowledge, adopting your most seductive tone, “But I had a dream about you.”

Previously, his eyes hadn’t been properly open, only squinting at you. That though? That sentence seems to be the magic trick, they’re open properly, and he’s shuffling so that you’re face to face. Unfortunately that means his crotch is removed from yours, and you bite your lip to contain your protest at the loss of contact.

“Tell me about it,” He says, as simple as if he’s asking the weather forecast, but his eyes are a different story: hardly any pupil remains visible, and you don’t think that’s just down to the dim lighting.

You feel a bit embarrassed, and he senses it, dropping his hand from your ass and moving it around to the apex of your thigh, running his fingers lazily over you through your pyjama shorts. Unintentionally, you wiggle, searching for more. And he stops, “Tell me what your dream was about, and I might.”

“We were in the kitchen,” You start, voice becoming more breathy as you continue, his fingers inching past the drawstring of your pants and dipping inside your pyjama shorts, “At home. Y-you were kissing up my thighs.”

He hums. As if amused. His fingers finally breach the last barrier, and he runs his fingers over your core, grinning, “You’re wet.”

“Yes.”

That’s all he needs. He shifts, letting you fall to your back, and leans up. With one deft movement, he tugs off his flannel pyjama pants and boxers, leaving himself exposed to you. You follow his leave, shedding your own undergarments as quickly as possible. It’s lucky they’re soft, or else you’d probably get some kind of rope burn. Your eagerness has him feeling cocky, and you can’t have him getting too sure of himself. So, you reach out, taking his length in your hand, admiring how his eyes squeeze shut, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

His hand catches your wrist, eyes burning into yours, “M’close.”

That’s hot.

You’d ask if it was already, but then you recall how he was already hard when he woke up. Maybe he was having a similar dream. The thought makes you wetter, if that’s even possible. He dips his fingers at your entrance, collecting the wetness there, and then pressing two fingers inside you. There’s a burning sensation as he stretches you out, but it’s quickly replaced by pleasure when his thumb nudges against your clit.

Even though your mouth is clamped shut, you can’t help but let out a litany of small gasps, tiny moans that breach past the fortress of your mouth and teeth. He leans down to kiss you, hard, missing the usual softness that comes with morning wake-up kisses. This is all tongues, teeth, urgency. He nips at your lower lip and you let his tongue inside your mouth, laving over it with yours, hungry for more, more more. You can’t bare not to have him inside you for a moment longer, so you grab at his hips, pulling him towards you.

“Do you want me?” He murmurs.

“Please,” You do. You want him so badly, and you sound frankly quite pathetic admitting it, but you can’t bring yourself to care one jot, “Please.”

“Okay,” He murmurs, trailing wet kisses along the column of your throat, until he reaches the spot under the shell of your ear that tickles, his lips brushing against it featherlight as he whispers, “I think you need some help staying quiet.”

Nodding, you look up at him. He takes a long hard look at you, desperate and wanting for him, your mouth kiss swollen.

And just like that, he’s pressing into you. One hand supporting your hip, and the other coming to clamp down over your mouth as he presses inside of you. It’s a good call on his part, his hand helps to absorb some of the surprised squeal that escapes you. He starts to move, slowly, surely, bringing his hand from your hips to your clit. But keeping the other firmly over your mouth.

You gasp against it. Writhing under him. The feeling is a lot, all at once, the burn and stretch and weight of his digits on your most sensitive spot. He’s buried to the hilt, thrusting slowly, and your breaths are hot and wanton against his hand.

He’s starting to work up a little bit of a sweat already. His chest gleans with it, just the tiniest, bit, and you whine again.

His mouth returns to your neck, peppering it with kisses that won’t leave marks and let the team know what you’ve been up to, once again coming to the spot that makes your toes curl. His lips rub teasingly over it, not quite giving you what you want, and he whispers, voice rough and raspy, “You’re such a good girl. Taking me like this.”

If you could, you’d say thank you. But you can’t, not quite, instead choosing to focus on the sheer pleasure pulsing through your body. His thrusts are measured, perfectly in time with the movement of his hand, and if you’re honest you were close when you woke up.

One of your arms loops around his back to bring you closer, press him more into you, allow him deeper inside. He thrusts, harder, getting the idea, and your legs clench around him. He moans, directly into your ear, a quiet ‘fuck’ breathily leaving his mouth. You’re close, so close, and you don’t trust that even his hand will be able to keep you quiet. The idea comes to you quickly.

You bring your other hand to where his covers yours, and he looks confused for a moment, until you grab a hold of it. Bringing his fingers inside your mouth. You suck on them, as if they’re his dick, and it’s this simple action of keeping your mouth filled that ensures you don’t wake up your teammates as your orgasm hits you. Hard.

Not out of nowhere, certainly, but hard. Spencer looks beautiful, all sleepy, there’s a stream of constant moans against your ear, and his rhythm hasn’t faltered once. It courses through you, a stream of pleasure and warmth, and you suck on his index finger hard. Clenching around him. Your moans die in your throat, but your fingernails sink deep into his back, undoubtedly leaving several crescent moon marks that he’ll admire in the mirror later. The idea of that, the ownership of him, is what helps you to milk out the last few moments of it.

The sight of you, falling apart beneath him, cumming on his cock, is all he needs to bring himself over the edge. For the first time, his thrusts become sloppy.

“Fuck. You feel so good,” He groans against your ear, “Fuck, ____.”

It’s with a rasp of your name that he empties himself inside of you, thrusting more and more shallowly as he works himself through his orgasm, his fingers still inside of your mouth.

When he’s finally finished, you collapse next to each other. Overcome by the post-orgasm daze.

“That was really hot,” You tell him.

“Yeah?” He asks, suddenly all shy again, rolling over on his side to face you.

“Yeah,” You nod, pecking him on the lips, “If that’s what case sex gets me, I think we should do that more often.”

[lackeyhenchman]

I keep struggling with how to balance relevant/brief/useful on this one, god. So many factors played into it, but a lot of it is so personal and not very relatable!

I’m sure that turning 30 during whatever Covid did to us hasn’t hurt. Everyone is freaking out, pivoting, re-evaluating, and I have very little ambiguity left about who I am or my place in the world or how I'm perceived. Also: my skin is clearer so I feel sexy and like I can do anything. The social crutches I was using became unstable, so now I HAVE to try new things. The vibe is “if I ever want to do this, I better learn it now”.

Other thoughts:

I got tired of the weird, superficial, heartbreaking relationships I kept getting into by avoiding connection. I realized I was waiting for something deeper to happen, with no plan on how to get it started. I hit the point where I'd rather go down swinging than keep waiting.

Lots of safe opportunities to practice that have easy exit scripts. Internet presence. Every 50+ woman in my life follows me around the room when I visit. My friend who makes wild life choices got me behind the scenes at a furry convention, which as we know is full of the nicest people on the planet. As long as I keep tabs on when my smile starts turning into a threat display, I know when to gracefully retreat.

Being an adult with an adult life ("adulting") opened up a gajillion new mundane things to talk about. VITAMINS. GUTTERS. PAYING BILLS ELECTRONICALLY

Being naturally curious/nosy makes it easy to use questions to keep the conversation up in the air like a hackey-sack. If someone says they do something I barely know anything about? EVEN BETTER. There's a thrill to uncovering what makes someone special and getting to say "oh my godddddddd that's awesomeeeeeuhhh"

It makes people feel good. Sometimes I'm surprised by how easy it is to make someone feel heard. Lots of people are grappling for security right now, and it doesn't seem to take much as I thought it would to provide them some relief. They're more scared of you than you are of them, etc. Plus it's fun to fucking WILD OUT over their good news!

Unfortunately I also really like screwing with people. And unfortunately it really hits the best when you drop something weird 2/3rds into a normal conversation.

(this one is obnoxious, but) I decided to start believing people when they say nice things about me. OF COURSE you're more eager to socialize when you think your presence is contributing something. People also seem to like me more the less I pre-emptively act like they wouldn't like me. Weird how that works.

Thinking WWxD?-- My husband is great at sharing his interests and caring about yours. My family is super non-reactive and easy to get along with. I've met a few people who can get you to admit to murder just by projecting a lack of judgment. (I'm dubious on the last one's ethics/long-term viability, but worth mentioning.)

One of my crutches was the knowledge that I scare people. My rationalization for never learning how to initiate was that I didn't want to "corner" people. But this is also lazy and avoidant, and it leads to very few rewarding interactions. When you stop fooling yourself into thinking you're "just really really patient", you suddenly begin having way more interesting experiences.

People can treat you really badly when they're scared of you. Their anxiety about you also eats them alive when left in isolation. Want to avoid this.

It's fun to build a muscle! Failures are good and normal. It's okay to suck, and it's okay to make mistakes with people who love me OR who I'll never see again, and frankly I don't suck as much as I thought I did, and when I'm finally good at it I'll get all the chicks etc.

Most importantly, failure is still insulating me from a lot of the hard work. Turns out normal people don't instantly hire you as their therapist the second you show interest in them! I ain't that special! Also I still suck at this! Oh my god it's so good to suck

It would not be cool to go through your WHOLE life with an inherent need to socialize. But it would be very useful.

I spent way too long thinking that socialization was a thing you did to make other people happy, but for me it was usually tiring and got in the way of doing cool stuff by myself that nobody else cared about. Now that I’ve figured out how to enjoy it I’m in deep trouble, haha… my understanding is that people get addicted to this sort of indulgence

[bananonbinary]

Time for a Salty Meta Post about Martin!

people who’ve followed this blog for a bit know that spending six hours combing through text for some goddamn sources is my specialty, so i compiled every time jon ever talked about martin’s work in season 1. which for the record, he stopped complaining about all the way back in episode 26, where he was angry that martin of all people got hurt.

things jon gets mad at martin for:

not being able to find records that don’t exist

not being able to find someone based only on a first name

the Dog

not wearing trousers in his off-hours

being the one that got caught up in the jane prentiss thing

mag 004 and mag 012 both have jon taking potshots at martin over research that was proven accurate by outside sources

things jon has never once complained about:

martin not understanding the filing system and just putting stuff away at random

martin being clumsy, constantly ruining things, spilling tea everywhere everyday, etc

martin turning in incompetent, poorly-edited, or badly formatted reports

martin not understanding the terminology used, skills expected, etc., and generally being extremely new to the field

please for the love of god stop making martin the silly bumbling idiot who can’t do anything right just because he doesn’t have a formal education. there’s zero evidence for it in the text, and it’s really weird to act like a 4 year degree would outweigh the *10 years* of job experience he has, not just in academia, but in the institute itself by season one. my boy has worked there longer than ANY of the rest of the main cast. screw you guys.

tl;dr: martin is never once shown to be bad at his job, jon pretty much only ever gets mad at him for the really stupid first impression and also not finding stuff that no one else was able to find either. after martin got hurt, jon talks about his research basically the same way he talks about tim’s or sasha’s work.

fucking proof under the cut:

(i didnt include the s1 finale or martin’s statement bc that’s just...two entire episodes of them talking to each other, but there isn’t really any notable Martin Complaints in either of them imo)

I swear, if he’s brought another dog in here, I’m going to peel him.

[pre-launch trailer]

.

Well, technically three, but I don’t count Martin as he’s unlikely to contribute anything but delays.

[...] Alongside this Tim, Sasha and, yes, I suppose, Martin will be doing some supplementary investigation to see what details may be missing from what we have.

[MAG001 Anglerfish]

.

Martin couldn’t find any records of Ex Altiora as a title in existent catalogues of esoteric or similar literature, so I assigned Sasha to double-check. Still nothing.

[MAG004 Pageturner]

.

I had Martin conduct a follow-up interview with Mr. Woodward last week, but it was unenlightening. Apparently there have been no further bags at number 93 and in the intervening years he has largely discounted many of the stranger aspects of his experience. I wasn’t expecting much, as time generally makes people inclined to forget what they would rather not believe, but at least it got Martin out of the Institute for an afternoon, which is always a welcome relief.

[MAG005 Thrown Away]

.

Martin was unable to find the exact date the original house was built but the earliest records he could find list it as being bought by Walter Fielding in 1891.

[...]

We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

[MAG008 Burned Out]

.

According to Martin, who was here when they took this statement, it was at this point in writing that Mr. Herbert announced he needed some sleep before continuing. He was shown to the break room where he went to sleep on the couch. He did not awaken; unfortunately succumbing to the lung cancer right there. Martin says the staff had been aware of how serious Mr. Herbert’s condition was, and had advised him to seek medical aid prior to giving his statement, but were told rather bluntly by the old man that he would not wait another second to state his case. I can’t decide whether this lends more or less credibility to his tale.

[MAG010 Vampire Killer]

.

“Veepalach” might also be a mishearing of the Polish word “wypalać”, according to Martin, which means to cauterize or brand. Admittedly, if Martin speaks Polish in the same way he “speaks Latin,” then he might be talking nonsense again, but I’ve looked it up and it appears to check out.

[MAG012 First Aid]

.

I sent Martin to look into this ‘Angela’ character - not that I want him to get chopped up, of course, but someone had to. Apparently, he spent three days looking into every woman named Angela in Bexley over the age of 50. He could not find anyone that matches the admittedly vague description given here, though he informs me that he had some very pleasant chats about jigsaws. Useless ass.

[MAG014 Piecemeal]

.

Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s “a bit claustrophobic”

[MAG015 Lost John’s Cave]

.

There simply aren’t enough details given in this statement to actually investigate, short of Martin confirming that Mr. Vittery did indeed live at the addresses he provided.

[MAG016 Arachnophobia]

.

Oh, he’s off sick this week. Stomach problems, I think.

Blessed relief if you ask me.

[...]

I asked Martin to try and hunt down Mr. Adekoya himself for a follow-up, but have been informed that he passed away in 2006. 

[MAG017 The Boneturner’s Tale]

.

MARTIN

Well, I need to tell someone what happened, and you can vouch for the soundness of my mind, can’t you?

ARCHIVIST

…

That is beside the point.

[MAG022 Colony]

.

Martin! Good lord man, if you’re going to be staying in the Archives, at least have the decency to put some trousers on!

[MAG023 Schwartzwald]

.

Martin found one other thing while combing through police reports for the Hither Green area. About a month after this statement was given, on May 15th, 2015, police were called out to once again investigate the chapel.

[MAG025 Growing Dark]

.

I know, but it would have to have been Martin, wouldn’t it? I mean, anything goes wrong around here, it always seems to happen to him. Anyway, we’re getting off topic. Why didn’t you report this?

[MAG026 A Distortion]

.

Martin made contact with the son, Marcus McKenzie, but he declined to talk to us, saying that he’d “already made his statement.”

[MAG027 A Sturdy Lock]

.

Tim and Martin had a bit more luck investigating Tom Haan, though only really enough to confirm that he seems to have completely vanished following his departure from Aver Meats on the 12th of July.

[MAG030 Killing Floor]

.

Martin’s research would seem to indicate the place employed a reasonable number of international staff they preferred to keep off the books

[...]

TIM

Ah well, that’s actually what he was asking, huh! Um, apparently Martin, uh, took delivery of a couple of items last week addressed to you. Did he not mention it?

ARCHIVIST

No, he… Oh, yes, actually. I completely forgot. He said he put it in my desk drawer, hold on.

[MAG036 Taken Ill]

[rae-gar-targaryen]

Lil personal post ahead, but I just wanted to share --

My journey through the law hasn't been an easy one. In undergrad, I met with a professor I didn't know because he was the "pre-law advisor" at my school to ask him what I needed to do to get ready for a career in the law. How to study for the LSAT. How to pick a law school.

This guy, who didn't know me at all, judged me quickly. He told me that he thought I wouldn't get into a law school. And that if "by some miracle" I was admitted, I wouldn't survive the first year. And that i wouldn’t make it to graduation. I have no idea why he thought that of me. It was horrible to hear something like that before you have even gone out into the world to make a career for yourself. But nevertheless, I tried. I left that meeting in tears, but mostly pissed off that some man thought he could discourage me from achieving something I wanted for myself. 

I took the LSAT twice, because I did poorly the first time. I was scared of the test and didn’t give it the attention it deserved. But when I did it the second time, with a little more bravery, time, and attention, I did INCREDIBLY well. 

I didn’t think I would get accepted anywhere, really. That little voice of doubt that we all have sometimes that tells us we aren’t as good as the others in the room was really loud. But I put my best foot forward. I labored over my personal statement for months before submitting my applications. I applied to literally a dozen law schools around the country, unsure of who would take me, or where I wanted to land. 

I got in to ALL TWELVE SCHOOLS. (obviously, when I e-mailed my professors who wrote recommendation letters for me to tell them this news, I cc’d the professor who told me I would never succeed.) 

My first year was a nightmare -- everything is on a curve and you only have one exam for the entire semester that dictates your grade for that class. I struggled to feel like I was staying afloat. I didn’t want to lose my scholarship (I almost did.) I thought about quitting -- A LOT. I would call my mom in tears and ask her if she thought I was doing the right thing. Was I good enough? Was I smart enough? Was I brave enough? And by the time I graduated, the Bar exam loomed large. 

The first time I took the bar exam upon graduating, I failed. Big fucking time. It was fucking crushing. To fail after studying for smoething, not only for the three years in school, but also for dedicated months of study leading up to the exam. To be told by your state that you aren’t fit to practice. To fail, while every single one of my friends passed. It was hard -- in my brain, it created a sense of inequity between myself and the people I cared about. I thought they would think I was dumber for it. Not as good. Not worthy of being their friend or their colleague. 

Because when we were in law school, no one talked to us about failure. Everyone talked about how to get ready for the Bar exam. How to make sure you’re exercising, eating well, take this prep course, you’ll be fine -- but the truth of the matter is is that in California, more than half of the thousands of people who sit for this exam fail it. (Literally, the pass rate hardly ever breaks 50% on any given exam). 

And I fucking failed. 

I got let go from my job because I failed. I was broke. I had student loans. I had to take this test again. It seemed like the universe was telling me all of the things that I was afraid of were real -- that I didn’t deserve any of it, and I wasn’t good enough. 

I wanted SO BADLY to give up then. 

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. It’s just not in my nature to give up. Just like the professor who told me I’d never make it, I got pissed the fuck off. 

I went back to my homestate and passed the bar exam there, just to prove I could do it (and to give myself a back up). I got a higher paying job, which I HATED because it wasn’t in the area of law I wanted to work and the culture was just so toxic. I LABORED at that job just to be made to feel like I was less than because my license was a different state’s license. (Literally, one attorney told me I wasn’t really a lawyer because the bar exam he took was “harder” than the one I took). 

So, cut to now -- I found out that I FINALLY passed the California bar. After being told time and again I wasn’t good enough. After struggling to stay afloat mentally and financially. After feeling like I wasn’t cut out to live my life in the way I had wanted for myself for so long. I have the job of my dreams and the license I toiled for. 

And I’m here to say -- if you’re still reading this ... there’s something to be said for tenacity. To be a little fearless when the world wants you to be afraid. To bet on YOURSELF because you KNOW in your heart you have what it takes. And you do. 

Be tenacious. Be bold. Be who you are meant to. Some things are hard-won. But the struggle doesn’t mean you’re not worthy. It means you’re a fighter. 

And, literally, if I can do it -- YOU CAN TOO. Bet on yourself. 

[360iris]

Moment’s Silence (Remus Lupin x Reader)

Warnings: 50% smut, 50% fluff?? Daddy kink, finger sucking. Dominate Remus. Spit kink... Light fingering and deep throating, 

Word count: 1,268

Summary: After Remus spends the entire day working in his office, you finally earn some time with Daddy.

A/N: Was a struggle completing this one! I’ll give writing a wlw fic a try next because it’s tough doing anything else right now.

It would have been the perfect cuddle day if Remus hadn’t spent the entirety of it, in his office. He’d emerge once every few hours to refill his mug and give you a soft kiss on the cheek.

However there were only so many movies you could binge watch by yourself before becoming needy for your boyfriend.

The only thing keeping you from slipping into his study and disturbing his work, was the hope of being rewarded for your patience. Blatant disobedience wouldn’t get you far with the man anyway.

Remus loved when you demonstrated patience as his submissive and being a good girl had its own perks. More kisses from Daddy, warm cuddle sessions and him making you come as many times as you wanted in one night.

You could wait a little longer if it meant less begging for the things you wanted.

You had just finished the third LOTR movie by the time he emerged from his office, hitting the light switch behind him as he exited. 

He was done working for the day.

Feeling giddy anticipation, you hold back from reacting just yet. Allowing him to make the first move was always the best.

“Hi love, did you enjoy your movie marathon?” He asks walking to join you in the living room. 

Inhaling, you let out a small “Not as much as I’ll enjoy tonight, Daddy.”

“Oh yeah? What’s so special about tonight dear?” He asks, making it to the couch you’ve spent the entire day on. 

He leans his face down towards you expectantly and you eagerly lace your arms around his neck. Peppering small kisses across his cheeks. He chuckles at the contact and settles onto the couch. Pulling you by your waist on top of his lap.

“You’re here now.” You whisper, leaning your forehead against his, taking the time to inhale his scent. Kneading your fingers into his shoulders and grasping at the flannel he’s wearing. Wanting to fully appreciate him being there with you.

“Oh doll, you’re gonna make me blush.” He chuckles, voice no higher than your own. One hand grasping your hip to press you flush with his lap and the other taking hold of the side of your face.

 You smile at him tenderly as his thumb glided over your cheek, doing a quick pass over your lips. He had purposely neglected to kiss you on the lips today. Another one of his small games. How desperate could he get his babygirl?

You both stayed quiet for a minute, just enjoying the other’s touch. “Are you gonna kiss me, Daddy?” You mumble, tracing the mustache he’s been growing. It strangely added to his sex appeal and you adored it.

He smirks and you dart your tongue out to wet your lips. Staring at his mouth before flickering back up to his eyes. 

“I’ve definitely kissed you today, darling.” He laughed again, to which you let out a tiny whine at, rolling your hips against him in protest.

 “Those were just on the cheek! I wanna real kiss from you, Daddy.”

“A real kiss, hm?” He asks. 

“Mmhmm! On the lips.” You reply, rubbing your core against him harder, taking in a sharp gasp. “Please? Wanna feel you.”

He lazily rubs circles into the sides of your hips, scrunching his face like he has to think about it. Making a big show of his hemming and hawing before barking out a laugh again.

“Alright, dear. Come here then.” He grins and your lips are on his instantly. A few giggles escape from him, clearly amused with your eagerness. 

Eventually, he decides to take you a bit more seriously. Deepening the kiss despite his inability to stop smiling through it. 

Reaching between your legs, he moans at the realization that you’re not wearing any panties under your XL tee. Lightly nipping at your bottom lip before pulling his head back.

“My baby’s been sittin’ around all day without any undies on? Couldn’t wait for me to get a hold of you, huh?” He questions, easily slipping a finger into your entrance. 

When all he gets back as a response is an airy whimper, he pushes a second finger inside of you. Your pleasure is cut short as he swiftly removes the digits from your heat. Before you can even think of groaning in disagreement, the same hand grabs a hold of your face. 

Your own arousal being smeared over your cheeks as he holds them in a vice grip.

“You answer when prompted, princess.” He says brows raised, expectant of a reply and voice even.

“I’ve been waiting all day for your cock, Daddy! S’all I could think about.” You quickly admit and he grins, seemingly pleased.

“S’ all you could think about?” He mocks dryly, eyes not leaving your face. 

“Mmhmm!” 

“Then how about you get on your knees and come say hi to it, dear?” He replies, releasing you before leaning back against the couch.

Sliding from his lap, you get in position in front of him. Looking widely up at him, nervous to touch him without being directed. However he’s staring back at you with raised brows.

“Go on, doll! I thought you were waiting all day for this?” He says impatiently, appearing as if he was getting bored.

After relieving him of his trousers and briefs, you set to work. Licking a long strip up your right hand before taking him into your grasp. Twisting your grip on his tip loosely and sucking along the base of his dick. 

Glancing up, to your dismay, you notice his eyes are closed as though he’s simply relaxing. Your face heats up in irritation. He was purposefully trying to rile you up.

In response you decide to deepthroat him, as far as you could manage, in one quick go. Eyes trained on him as his length is engulfed down your throat. His head effectively darts up to look at you, lips parted in a moan.

“Fuck! Want my attention that badly?” He coughs, brushing your hair back. You moan around him in agreement. Bobbing your head quickly, you feel his tip hit the back of your trachea. Trying to push through the temptation to gag, your pace is relentless.

Taking advantage of the saliva dripping from your lips, you palm his balls leisurely. You have him moaning uncontrollably in minutes. Being brought too close to the edge for his comfort, he hastily pulls you off of his cock panting.

“Fuck.” He breathes out, a pleased smile on his lips.

After making your way back into his lap, he dots kisses all along your face. You giggle, grabbing one of his significantly large hands. Bringing it to your mouth, you hold his gaze as you gingerly suck on two of his digits. 

Eyes hooded as he takes in your appearance. “Want my fingers, hm?” He asks quietly and you respond with a nod. Giving him a few more good sucks before withdrawing, mouth still open. Looking at him in wait of something. He chuckles when the realization hits him.

Tonguing his gums as he grasps your chin firmly, one brow arched in amusement at your pleased expression. Lips still parted and tongue flat, you lace your fingers around his wrist to anchor yourself right as he spits into your mouth. 

You hum in delight, closing your jaw to swallow before reopening to show him it was all gone and he laughs.

“Good girl.” He sings in your praise, lifting you up with him as he moves away from the couch.

“How about we move to the bedroom, love?” 

[otasnox]

idk there's a lot of stuff i miss. ultimately? i think i'm better off now then i was then. but man, i was fucking HAPPY back then. i'm sure as hell not now!

idk. i miss dave's cabin in alaska, his dogs, the smell of his cigarettes while i watched snow fall. i miss sitting in a shitty manhattan apartment, only temporarily, and kissing him. was that our first kiss? i can't remember. i miss waking up in the same bed as him. i miss the nomad, i miss sunny. god, i miss sunny.

does she know how much i love her? probably not. i had a lot on my mind back then but god, that doesn't excuse me being a mediocre father. (the only reason i'm not saying i'm a bad father is because the bar is so, so low in source. the bar is on the floor and some of those dads (my dad and dave's dad) started fucking digging. jesus christ.

i wish i could say sorry to a lot of people. i wish i could tell emma sorry. i wish i could tell sunny sorry. i wish i could tell my mom sorry. i don't even fucking remember my mom, what do i have to apologize for? but i feel guilty anyway. i wish i could tell raiden sorry. i wish i could tell just about everyone at shadow moses i was sorry. i wish so so badly i could tell olga how fucking sorry i am, how sorry me and dave were.

did we do right by her? do you think she was proud of how her daughter grew up? probably, but no thanks to me and dave. i think i remember trying (and succeeding, thank god) to be better to her after mgs4, but my memory's fuzzy right now. i couldn't give you examples.

is it weird to miss all that? it never really happened. it's a fucking video game. but god, to me it feels so, so real. it's so weird to recall these things so vividly. i wouldn't change it for the world, though, because if i couldn't find my identity in fictional characters, who would i even be?

i never did end up having a smoke with dave, i don't think. we might've had drinks a couple times? i don't remember. i was never much of an alcohol person (then OR now). i think i remember smoking weed, or maybe it was edible gummies, something weed-related, with him. that was fun, even if i barely remember it. maybe we can do that again in this life. i'd like that.

i miss a lot of big things but i miss a lot of small things, to. i miss kissing him. i miss hugging him, i miss cuddling him. hell, i miss talking to him. i love my girlfriend now, but we're obviously different fucking people than we were in source. sometimes i just long for something that's only a distant memory, you know? i miss eating with him. sometimes we had takeout, sometimes instant ramen. neither of us were fantastic chefs, but i think both of us could follow a recipe just fine. i used to watch great british bakeoff with sunny, did i ever say? and dave said he wasn't interested, and then he would stand behind the couch and watch it anyway. it's such a him thing to do.

i think i only miss source this much lately because of how fucking lonely i am now. i think i genuinely have like less than ten people i would call close friends (all online), no idea how many online friends i have in total-- less than 50, i'd wager, considering i have slightly more than that in followers on my (priv) twitter (and a good chunk of those are old accounts) & less than 5 friends i met on tumblr that i can name off the top of my head. i have three friends in real life, one of which i haven't talked to in a year. other two i haven't seen since october. i have plenty of acquaintances-to-friends (i'm quick to call people friends but i always feel awkward in case they wouldn't say we're friends) in various discord servers i talk in.

i love all my friends so, so dearly, please don't get me wrong, but going so long without like real-life contact other than my mom and my two siblings? i think it's making me a little crazy. who else have i hugged in the past month? my grandparents, i think (when they left after new years). my aunt & maybe my uncle, i don't remember. my two cousins. (all of those were before new year, now that i think about it...) it's to the point where some of the only physical contact i've had outside of my immediate family has been doctor's appointments and physical therapy. like, it's BAD. i always feel a little happier after a doctor's appointment literally just because it feels so nice to have physical fucking contact with someone. it's fucking pathetic!

and i've seriously only spoken out loud to two friends this month (the two friends i normally call with), and my drums teacher...? i guess he's a friend, but he's a mentor, so i don't know if i would classify that as a friend...? i don't know. i like him, though, he's fun. i've spoken to my aunt, i guess, if she counts? but she's family, i don't know. i miss going to school, isn't that fucking pathetic? i was a junior for THREE YEARS, i get why i dropped out. i don't even miss the work i did, i just miss fucking being around other people! it's so bad

i don't know. i hope i get my fucking GED soon so i can enroll in community college because i need something to do and i need to talk to people or else i'm gonna do something fucking stupid (probably cut myself)

oh well! i should probably sleep soon.

missing source

[alkhale]

change the channel (Ko-Fi Request) Kenma Kozume/Camgirl!Omega!Reader

hello! Id love a kenma x reader fic (maybe a/b/o) ?? Also, thank you so so much for writing so many amazing fanfics :) every time I read a new chapter from any of your stories, it makes my day <3 

OFC COURSE YOU CAN!!!! And thank you so much for your support and for your donation! AND THANK YOU!! I know this one is long overdue, but I hope you enjoy!

I’m also killing two birds with this one, it’s substituting for Typetober Day 16: back and forth (using change the channel instead)

title: change the channel

pairing: Kenma Kozume/Omega!Reader

rating: T/very slight M

summary:

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

link to AO3 for easier reading: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446191

Omegachion has signed on!

The monitor screen flickers to life. 

An empty room appears. A plush, pink cushioned desk chair is in view. Along the cream, soft colored walls are a series of posters that usual garner less attention. A bookshelf is tucked to the side, complete with a set of potted plants hanging in clean pots—clearly loved. Within the stack of books sits shelves stuffed full with what looks to be discs and an assortment of other items.

The website's main frame appears—SecondGlanceStreaming.com. The design is sleek and black—clean and unassuming. A password is prompted, followed by a series of typed keys and then a click.

On the side of the screen a chatroom appears, coupled with a monitored security system in place established by the website. A cherry icon pops to life. Once the chatroom opens, the entire website flickers with light.

Omegalovers has signed on.

Rockyroadncream has signed on.

Omegasarekings has signed on.

Cumqueen324 has signed on.

Mrknottt has signed on.

Msbyjackalboi23 has signed on.

Openwideandsmile has signed on.

Sunnydayandnight has signed on.

Marshmellowtime has signed on.

Thecoolestalpha has signed on.

Bettagetbeta has signed on.

KingKodzuken has signed on.

Kodzu00 has signed on.

The chatrooms explodes with messages. A series of greetings are quickly issued by long-time fans and watchers of the streams, asking how your day was and how you’re feeling. A few more perverse, slimy messages are mixed in-between, demanding for the crude and obscene. A few others snipe back, telling the users to get their hands out of their pants while a series of other users greet each other instead, talking about the excitement over tonight's stream.

You hang back a bit, one arm crossed under your chest, puffed up with the fleecy soft fabric of your jacket while the other hand holds a jelly drink, sipping it in silence. You watch the chatroom explode, quickly gaining more and more users as others signed on to your stream. You check the time on your phone, sighing before you finish off your drink and toss it into the trash can.

You place the fuzzy bunny mask over your eyes, checking how you look in the mirror. You swipe your mouth with your thumb, applying your lip gloss and then smiling cutely at your reflection.

“Alright,” you say. “The goal tonight is 7,000 cherries… you got this!”

You clap your hands over your face and beam. Showtime.

You slide into the monitor’s view, the webcam flickering to life. The chat comes back with more force, messages spamming into the box and a series of cherries already floating into the screen. You beam, laughing as you wave to your viewers and blow them all kisses. “Hello! Hello everyone! I love to see so many of you are so punctual… Needy omegas like me… we love reliable people, you know?”

You hold back a snicker as the chat increases with your words. People shooting messages back at you as you let out a cute giggle. Tonight’s outfit is nothing but a cotton candy pink fleece zip-up that falls to the top of your thighs, also exposing your bare, smooth collarbones. It’s a special occasion, so you’re going the extra mile.

“How are we all doing tonight?” you ask sweetly, holding your chin up with your hands as you watch the chatroom, skimming over the responses. “Aw, Bettagetbeta, I’m sorry to hear that! I hope things get better for you… do you need a hug?”

Cherry icons pop up over your screen. 50. 30. 10. You smile, opening your arms to the camera. “There! I’ll make all your problems go away, okay?”

You bat your eyes under the mask, showing them your bare wrists and giving them a little rub with your thumbs. “You can scent me if you’d like… would that make you feel better?”

Bettagetbeta has gifted you 30 cherries!

Bigboialpha has gifted you 350 cherries!

“Bigboialpha!” you squeak, covering your mouth with your hands. “That’s too sweet of you! Did you want to scent me that badly?”

Your chatroom shakes from the force of scrambled messages. You smile, shyly running a finger up and down the slightly swollen scent glands of your wrist. You’ve timed this just right—and just as you thought, your viewers notice too, instantly spamming the boxes with more fervent messages, begging to scent you, begging to be with you, wrap you up in their smells—

(God, you make me want to vomit.)

“If you’re extra good,” you say sweetly, “you could… maybe even…”

You tease show off more of your bare shoulder, showing a pink bra strap. You slightly expose the side of your neck, bringing your fingers up dangerously close to your most sensitive scent glands. Cherry icons flash across the screen and you hold back an excited grin, feet tapping anxiously underneath your desk.

There’s a new flurry of disgusting messages, of big, handsome alphas promising to do all kinds of things to you if you’d let them. You roll your eyes under your mask, holding back curling your lip in disgust as they prattle on about how they’d take care of you, make you feel so, so good and—

“All right, all right, that’s enough teasing, right?” you say. “Everyone, thank you so much for signing on again tonight! If you’re new to my streams, welcome! We’re so happy to have you. I’m lucky to have you. It’s a special night tonight, you know why?”

Gonna come for us on screen?

Face reveal! Face reveal!

Omegachion i would do anything for u

Pls let me touch u

Take off ur jacket

Stfu and let her talk u horn dogs

Fking disgusting dont ruin the stream

Open ur legs, baby girl

“Because!” you say, throwing your arms into the air. You spin once in your chair, showing off the room and stopping right in front of the screen again. “I just got it in the mail today…”

You bring up the sleek red box that’d been waiting to the side of your desk. You beam, showing it off to your viewers. “Tadah! Do you know what this is? It’s a gift from our generous website hosts—a gift for reaching the Gold Status on streaming! Everyone, thank you so much! I couldn’t have done this without you!”

The chatroom pops with congratulations. There’s some demanding comments, ordering for a consolation prize. You skim through them all, smiling a bit at the paragraphs of kind words and thanks. They’re the viewers you wish you could treat with a little more care, give them something a little more for all they do.

“Want to see what the gift was?” you ask. You pop open the lid and show off the gift—a dark red, leather collar coupled with a golden dog tag. It’s a stylish thing, slim fitted and clearly of great quality, there’s a thickened edge to the leather, coupled with a lock and key.

It’s an omega collar.

You smile through your teeth. The stench of the perfume from the box makes you want to wretch, but you hold it for the camera as your viewers beg you to put it on. “Oh, I don’t know… should I?”

You play with it, showing it off to them against the column of your neck. They’re feverish and desperate. 

“I don’t deserve something this nice,” you say, shaking your head.

Tease

Don’t cover up that beautiful neck

Dont blueball us

I only want to see u in my collar

“That’s right,” you say innocently. “I don’t want to cover up what belongs to you guys…” you show off your neck to them again, touching with your fingertips your own bonding gland, unmarked and bare. The chatroom is almost unrecognizable, going off into a feeding frenzy.

You turn back to the screen, smiling.

(You’re like babies.)

You drop the box out of view of the camera into your trashcan, kicking it under the table with more force than necessary. You ought to burn the fucking thing but leather probably doesn’t burn well. 

I can’t believe I’m already at 4,000 cherries. You feel excitement replace the disgust, toes curling against your hardwood floor. You got this, amp it up a little bit.

“Since I couldn’t have made it this far without all of you,” you say, touching a hand to your chest and playing with your zipper. “I wanted to do something special—not just this stream! But a nice little event, how does that sound?”

You click your mouse, opening up a new box and icon for your viewers. “Can everyone see the royalty program alright? Yeah? Perfect! If you look, you’ll see the cute little banner we had set up and everything.”

You hold up your phone, smiling beside it. “For these set prices, I’ll be doing a series of special events, just for all of you guys for all the support you’ve given me!”

You point.

“50 cherries and you get a sweet text with a picture from me,” you say. “Each picture will be different, and none of them alike! Keep it between us though, okay? Hehe, I mean it! For 100 cherries, I’ll do a one minute call and for 300 cherries, a three minute call, just with you! For 500, we’ll do a private web-chat session and finally, the big one…”

You smile, “For 1,500 cherries, I’ll be doing a special, in-person meet and greet! How does that sound?”

The reactions are instantaneous.

Cherries already start popping up all over your screen, users filling out the roles and eagerly thanking you for everything while others spit at the prices. You ignore those comments, secretly marking certain users to be blocked. You know the last one is outrageous, how could it not be? Did they think you’d want to meet with any of them? You’d discussed this with several other streamers and they’d all done similar things—this deterred creeps and kept you safe. Usually no one ended up doing the meet and greet. It was too expensive. 

It was foolproof.

I can’t wait to hear your voice

Will it be nudes

I want nudes

Thank you so much for doing this!

“I should be the one thanking you guys!” you squeal. Your eyes dart to the corner of your screen, watching the cherries roll in. Your heartbeat accelerates and you do the quick math in your head. “Oh my goodness! Sitwhereveryoulike, thank you so much for the Cherries! And you too, theprettiestalpha! Thank you!”

As it should be. You grin at the screen, prattling on with sweet words and thanks. You teasingly unzip a little more of your jacket, greedily watching the cherries pop-up all over the screen, trying to make conversation where you can and—

A single chat bubble pops up in the corner. You almost miss the question, but you’re almost certain your eyes don’t betray you. If you hadn’t seen the title so many times, you would’ve blown right past it.

(But you’re a true fan, down to your core, you could never miss a mention of—)

Is your username based on Water Emblem?

“Hello, Kodzu00!” you say quickly, trying to stifle your surprise. “Yes, it is! You must be new to the streams.”

You gesture behind you, smiling shyly at the poster of Varth on the back of your wall. “I’m actually a bit of a fan! I know the series is old and everyone’s excited for the new reboots, but I grew up with the old one.”

Ah, stop right there, don’t keep talking about it. You’re going to lose viewers! Your fingers fly back to your zipper, teasingly dragging it down another inch. You could talk about Water Emblem for hours, but you can’t—this is a stream after all. “Bigboialpha! I guess we’ll be having that private webchat after all… mhm! I’m looking forward to it—huh? What I’ll be wearing? Well…”

You cutely run your fingers up and down the column of your neck, bringing their attention back to your scent glands. “Would you… pick for me?”

You almost gag at the comment suggestions. You watch more cherries roll in—shit, another 500? I might make my goal after all! No, you would make your goal. You have to. The sooner you rake in the dough from these streams, the sooner you could—

For the meet and greet, would it be in person?

You blink, startled by the question. You quickly glance back to the username. Kudzu00 again? “Uh, yes! Yes, it would be~ I’d pick a nice location for us and we’d meet. Wouldn’t that be nice everyone?”

For how long?

Who even is this lol

Damn big bucks

Show us the tits already

Pls sit on my face

Your outfit is so cute today!

You swallow nervously. Calm down. What are you even freaking out for? No one in their right mind was ever going to drop that much money to meet with some stranger from the internet—no one.

“Fifteen minutes,” you say cheerfully, keeping one eye on the chat. Have I seen this user before? “There’s a lot we could do—ah, I mean talk about in fifteen minutes, right?”

Kodzu00 is typing…

The chat bubble disappears. You eye it for a few more seconds before shrugging your shoulders. Shake it off. You needed to keep this celebration stream going. You slyly bring your bare knees up and watch the chat go a little more wild, quick questions being shot about whether or not you’re wearing anything under that jacket. You keep the conversations going, sweetly asking the users about what they’d like to do, what kind of pictures and if—

A bright icon flashes on your screen. You glance over.

Kodzu00 has gifted you 3,000 cherries!

You freeze.

On your monitor the chat continues to fire off. A few people notice the notification. You blink, once, twice, before taking a second glance at the numbers.

3,000.

3,000 cherries?

3,000….

The calculation is quick in your head. You’re terribly good with money, sadly. The final statement minus the small deduction for processing appears in your mind’s eye and you balk.

HOLY FUCK.

Lol i think u broke her

God damn

Congratulations, Omegachion!

“K-K-Kodzu00!” you say, head spinning. “Thank you so much! Oh—oh my goodness! Thank you so much for your donation!” What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck— “I can’t believe you’d be so generous! Thank you so much! I’m so excited to meet you! Our first meet and greet!”

WHAT THE FUCK?

You quickly try to hold your composure, continuing with the stream. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Finish the show! You laugh, trying not to look at the history of the notification and focusing on your show instead. You thank every piece of good sense inside you for using a mask, hiding the sweat rolling down your face as you teasingly stand up for your audience, bending down a bit.

“Now, how about we end the night with a little… cuddle, hmm?” you say shakily, unzipping your jacket the rest of the way to show off the lacy, soft pink color of your bra. The chat bubbles pop up by the dozens, but you never see even a lick of Kodzu00 again. What the hell? “C’mon, you know how badly I wish you were here to scent me… wrap me up in that smell of yours…”

(Give them what they all want.)

What feels like hours finally passes in a span of minutes and you quickly say goodbye to your watchers, blowing them a kiss and zipping your jacket backup as you finally sign off. You sit there, staring at the screen of your loading page, dumbfounded.

Limply, your finger finds its way to your mouse. You give it a click.

The final total for your earnings tonight appears in a tacky, almost shady colored box. You stare at it in silence.

9,750 Cherries.

Nine…. Nine thousand…

Almost 1,000,000 yen? 

“Yes!” you screech, grabbing your head with your hands as you fly up from your chair. You kick the stupid, plush pink thing aside. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

This is insane! You almost want to cry in disbelief. This is—this is it! This is what I needed! I’m so close! I’m so close! You know the other streams won’t rake in nearly as much, but this is the final push you needed—if you kept up this kind of participation for another few months, your fees would be nothing! You’d be able to even afford a little extra and get something nice, replace your bathtub and treat yourself to an expensive dinner and all thanks to this stupid job and—

The grand, generous donation of Kodzu00—

You freeze. Your pure, unrestrained elation plummets. Reality clocks you sideways in the face and you slap yourself for being so dumb—how could I even forget? Your eyes dart back to the screen and you pull up the donation history, staring in dark silence at the simple, blaring donation of cherries, already transferred to your account and not even pending and—

Your joy is quickly replaced with something much more dire. You gape at the amount. The award title beside it appears. You stare.

And stare.

A thirty minute meet and greet.

You’d be meeting in person with this person for at least half and hour and—

What the hell?

You power off your screens, flying to your room and kicking the streaming room door shut behind you. You lunge for your bed, scrambling for your laptop, covered in Water Emblem stickers. You pop it open, quickly pulling up your admin account for the streaming sight and accessing your private passwords. You pull up the user history for all your past streams, typing in the username Kodzu00—

Nothing?

You stare at the blank history. The only entry is tonight’s stream. The very first time this user has ever showed up.

Alarm bells start ringing in your head. You pull up your emergency tab, a self-made list of all your red-flag boxes to check in cases like this for your safety. You click on Kodzu00’s account, searching through their profile.

MADE THIS MORNING? You gape in disbelief, staring at the entirely blank profile. It’s even void of an icon for a profile pic. The account was literally made today, just for this stream, and this god damn stranger just gifted you basically 300,000 yen—

This is insane! All your alarm bells nearly fall off their stands. You search for any kind of information, scrambling and double-checking your banned users lists for any potential matches. Was it some creep trying to meet you from before? A stalker? Were they under a different name and made the separate account just to do this to you so they wouldn’t get caught? What’s their deal?

(What’s your selling point for this whole thing?)

You pause, fingers halting over your keyboard.

You’ve had rich donations before. Users with too much time and money on their hands—users you’re gladly willing to take from in the pursuit of a better life for yourself. Your crowd ranges anyway; from nervous, shy little dorks to kind, quiet people looking for company to disgusting, wretched lechers and stupid alphas who like nothing more than little, docile omegas to rub their garbage scent over—

You stare at Kodzu00’s user profile, feeling something bitter and dark and ugly bubble up in the pits of your stomach.

Any person, male or female, who’d be willing to drop that much money to meet with a streamer like you, notorious for what you do, for what you market—can’t be a good person by any means.

They only want one thing.

You grind your teeth, knowing you’ve got no choice but to reap what you sowed. This was the path to quick cash you chose, so you can’t back down now. You’ll just have to do everything in your power to make sure you remain successful.

You close your laptop screen, ripping your stupid mask off your face and tossing it to the side.

You weren’t backing down.

--- (change the channel) ----

You started streaming in high school.

The middle of your last year, to be exact.

It started off simple enough, to be honest. Nothing eventful, nothing worth writing biographies or harrowing documentaries off of. It was another story amidst the thousands in Tokyo’s Metropolitan streets.

By all legal health records and means, you are an omega.

(What does that mean?)

Within Tokyo’s urban and suburban streets, it means a collection of different ideals and social norms. It means nothing to plenty, it means everything to others—to your youthful eyes growing up, it’d just meant you were a little different from some of your other peers, but not isolated, no, never isolated—there were other omegas, after all, despite the smaller population.

You get along with people fine. You make friends fine, have a few crushes, get average enough grades and have a particular fondness for social media—you just live your life on top of having to deal with certain physiological functions others around you may not experience the same.

You think by all means until your last year of high school, that it really does mean nothing. Society is so modern now, people don’t even blink, right? There’s none of those second gender stereotypes or outrageous cult worships—you’re just another person trying to live their life to the fullest.

“A doctor? Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

You smiled at your teacher in the faculty office. See? Normal—

You stopped.

“See, that’s a great dream,” the teacher said, pointing to your paper. He tapped it, scratching his rough stubble. “But it’s not very realistic with your current standing, you know?”

“You mean my grades? I can work extra hard. They’ve been more than above passing, and what really matters is the entrance exams and testing—”

“Not just that,” he said. He pulled up your student file. He gave you a second look, up and down, and he seemed to find pity in your hopefully confused expression. “Listen, (L/n), here’s the thing—a doctor… is a pretty important position, you know? Very important.”

You nodded like you didn’t already know that. Like you hadn’t been spending the last years of your educational life aspiring toward that goal, that dream.

“They need to be physically… available,” your teacher said. “They have to work outrageous shift hours, they have to work hard on top of that, and then they have to take special medication to regulate their pheromones if they need to, and then the schooling on top of all that is hard work.”

You waited for your teacher to explain why any of those things was supposed to get in the way of your one and only dream of saving lives.

“I’ll make this easy for you to understand, kid,” you teacher said. He taps his nametag, pointing to his little alpha symbol.

“Omegas just don’t become doctors.”

Your dainty, prettily crafted world of normalcy and mundane content shattered around you in one violent, screeching halt.

You smiled at your teacher, nails digging painfully into your thighs.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just not a typical job preference,” your teacher said. “Look, you’re not the only one, I promise. There are a few omega doctors, sure, we need them anyway to make things easier or make sense of stuff alpha based doctors or betas might not understand, but the demand isn’t high and the placement is extremely competitive. Trust me, kid. I know.”

You kind of wanted to spit at your teacher that no, this pot-bellied, alpha gym teacher couldn’t possibly know more than you do about trying to break into the medical industry as an omega. But the thing is—what are the statistics? You hardly see any. Every website you’d researched thus far has always been welcoming, nowhere on their platforms or pamphlets saying anything about omegas being doctors or not and—

You froze.

“Everyone is welcome!” the videos all said. “Everyone is encouraged to try!”

“This is the real truth,” your teacher said. “They’ll all tell you you can do it because they’re not allowed to discriminate or turn anyone away. They’ll let you do whatever you want, but when it really comes down to the acceptances or not? You’ll just get turned away and you’ll have wasted all that time for nothing.

“Omegas aren’t considered suitable candidates for doctors,” your teacher said. “That market tends to go to betas, believe it or not. A nice little mediator.”

Your teacher tossed your career planning forms onto a stack of dozens. You stared at it, smiling continuously with your fingers digging harder into your thighs. He sighed, waving a hand.

“You should shoot for a hospital receptionist,” your teacher said. “It’s the next best thing, right? Or you could teach biology at a school instead. You might even be able to get by as a school nurse—”

“I’m going to apply to medical school.”

Your teacher stopped, looking at you.

You smiled back at him.

(Being an omega was supposed to stop you?)

What a load of shit.

“I don’t really care about anything else,” you said. “I’ve wanted to become a doctor my whole life. If people say I can’t do it because of something they can’t even see, then I’m still going to do it. They can’t stop me.”

Your teacher stared at you for a few minutes. He leaned back in his chair, considering his next words before he finally said—

“You got the money?”

You stopped.

Your family is pitifully lower middle class. Your parents make enough to pay the bills, afford a vacation every now and then, and just get by fair enough without being too stressed—but small issues, like your own medical costs for heat suppressants or a flat tire can easily set your family back several paychecks.

No, you don’t have money for medical school. You’d already known that looking at all the pamphlets. But there were scholarships and stipends and loans—

“If you want to waste your time with this pipe dream, it’s not my job to stop you,” he said, pointing to your career form. “It’s not really ethical either, so don’t come back and file any lawsuits against me. But your medical schools don’t offer many scholarships, and the ones they do aren’t going to go to that one, average ranking omega they’d rather not even have to worry about.”

Your teacher shrugged.

“Go ahead and be a doctor, kid, but you’re going to need money to do it.”

(This is the reality. People are not equal. Being an omega means—)

Means what?

-- ---- (change the channel) ----

You remember laying in your bed that night, scrolling mindlessly through random social media outlets. You’d spent the last several hours searching extensively for any and all scholarships you might even remotely be able to apply for, but none of them seemed willing to help an omega into their waiting hospital wings—your best bet was going to be taking out a loan. Several. That’s on top of cram school costs, textbooks, entrance fees and whether or not I can pass the exam—

No, you would. You had too. You weren’t about to let some stupid, invisible consensus a group of people somewhere or another had decided on stop you.

“Thank you again for the generous donations! You guys are too good to me!”

You’d paused, staring at your bright screen. One of the streamers you followed from time to time—he was an omega, cute and docile and in all honesty, probably the picture perfect cookie cutter definition of one. He always posted great tips on fashion or about cute cafes he enjoyed, and always seemed to be proud of the fact that he was an omega despite how cringingly he played into the stereotypes—

You glanced at his caption, freezing in disbelief.

Designer bags littered his floor. He showed off his pretty watch, batting his lashes at the camera, talking about how the donations from last night’s stream helped him live a good, cushiony life, making him feel like he was being taken care of even without an alpha by his side.

You’d stalked his account almost religiously for the next few weeks, watching his streams, watching the way he… flaunted his nature as an omega. Your parents had always told you you were fine the way you were, but being an omega had never been something to be proud of—you’d just preferred to act like a beta more than anything else. What was the point? To some extent, your teacher was right, there were no benefits to being an omega except—

“Thank you again for all your donations!”

You pulled up your laptop, searching extensively for every little obscure article you could find on the nature of streaming services. You’d never taken social media outlets that seriously, always looked at influencers and vloggers with a grain of salt—you were aspiring to be a full-time heart surgeon after all, but if there was actually something...reasonable behind the way all these people would act, proudly showing off the fact that they were omegas in exchange for something monetary…

(Did people enjoy this?)

Yeah you can make money from it, lol.

You stared at the internet thread, blinking in disbelief.

One user amongst thousands in the thread had responded to your question.

Ppl always keep saying that omegas are this and that. Society likes to paint a pretty picture of what we call equality. Ads and those videos u watch in school and stuff, they all tell u you can be whatever u want to be if u try, but that’s not rlly the truth. The only thing they were honest about was that you’d have to work hard for what you want in life.

You scrolled down.

You have to do the research on ur own and find respectable sites. I can give u recommendations, but u have to kind of get yourself prepared for what you’re signing up for too. Everyone likes to go on television and talk about how all three genders are the same, but we’re not. It’s not even just whether ur female or male anymore, everyone always finds something to pick at, don’t they?

U might get hate for it but whatever, those people who sit on a nicer chair than you and don’t pay your bills don’t get to criticize you for what you want to do and how u do it.

They always tell us we can’t do things because we’re omegas. That we have to be a certain way because we’re omegas and we’re only good for one thing.

So just give them what they want.

And suck them dry.

You remember clearly, that night, pulling up the user’s account and shooting them the message that would change your life.

What sites do you recommend for beginners?

Youcanruletheworld is typing…

----- (change the channel) -----

You triple check all your items, rearranging them on your bed in front of you.

Your outfit is cute, matching your streamer personality but remaining modest enough to keep you protected from unwanted attention. You’ll be wearing a face mask on top of it, just for the extra mile too. You’d already reached out to this Kodzu00 and sent them the notification for where to meet and when, and what you’d look like so they’d be able to find you. Wisely, as always, you picked a neutral location—an extremely popular cafe two hours away from your house just to be safe.

Safety alarm—check. Pepper spray, check. Pheromone repellent, check. Emergency contact button, check. Location synced devices and emergency heat suppressant pills on top of—

You stare at the last item. It comes special with the standard emergency omega safety kit—you almost spit at the name—it’s a quick, easy attachable lock-on collar to protect your bonding glands in the case of an unruly and disgusting attack.

You want to call it ridiculous.

(Behind your eyes you see the comments scrolling over the glowing screen. You see the leering words and the lecherous promises and the disgusting sentences that rattle your brain and make you stand a minute longer in the shower, fingernails digging into your skin—)

You don’t say anything, zipping the bag closed and taking all your items with you.

---- (change the channel) -----

Thirty minutes, it’s just thirty minutes, you can do this. You aggressively slurp on your straw, furiously dogging the cafe patrons with your eyes, keeping them narrowed and peeled for anyone who ought to fit the bill over what you were expecting to meet today. Thirty minutes.

The black iced coffee with an added two shots isn’t doing anything to calm your nerves, but it’s doing everything you need to keep yourself pumped and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The cafe is busy, just as always, with people swarming left and right, in and out—this creep won’t be able to do any of their normal creep tendencies in a place like this.

You bite your straw, tapping your feet under the table.

Alright, Kodzu00, do your worst. I’m leaving here after the thirty and I’m taking the cash with me—

“Excuse me,” you stop, mouth hovering and open over your near chewed through straw, “are you… uh… Omegachion?”

Hearing your streamer username in real life makes you both want to gag and sigh in happiness. The username was arguably the only way for you to feel remotely sane logging into the streaming service every time for your scheduled program because Water Emblem got you through anything, including all the cram sessions to get into medical school.

Your eyes swing rapidly to your right, moving your head so fast you take your straw with you. 

Ice coffee drips onto the table.

The young man standing in front of you is… is, truthfully, not what you expected. Okay, sure, weirdos on the internet come in all shapes and sizes, but to your own bias, you’ve crafted a bit of a face for the specific types of users who flood your streams. He narrowly passes even an inch of those ideas, with the slightly messy hair, the baggy clothes that look like all he does is stay in front of his computer all day and the dark lines under his eyes, but other than that—

He’s a lean young man, from what you can barely tell, underneath the baggy black sweatshirts and the sleek black joggers, lined in white with a logo you don’t recognize. There’s a dark cap on top of his head as well, and he’s sporting a simple black face mask, just like you—the most color the damn guy has is the bleached blonde tips still growing out past his roots, spilling a bit past his shoulders while the rest is gathered back into a bun.

In an instant you quickly size him up—the guy’s probably only a few inches taller than you and he can’t be that much older or younger, somewhere probably around your age.

You pluck out your straw. He squints faintly at you, holding his phone, glancing back at his screen and then back to you and shifting, albeit uncertainly. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

“You’re,” you start, “uh, you’re Kodzu00?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s… me.”

You stare.

He stares right back.

(His golden eyes are almost like slits, you realize, a bit stunned, they drip gold and heather.)

He has pretty eyes.

“It’s,” he says, awkward, not sounding friendly at all, “...nice to meet you…”

And then reality comes back, this time with a spinning roundhouse right to your face.

This is the guy who just dropped money to come and meet you here today.

This guy.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Kodzu00 stands there in front of you, looking as though he wished he could melt right through the floor and disappear. He slowly starts to make his way into the chair opposite of you, pulling it out and taking a seat, setting his phone down beside him like it’s a lifeline and—

Your eyes bulge at the sight of his watch. You know how much that watch costs.

Your alarm bells start firing off again. For a brief moment, unease colors your scent, lightly flooding the area until you instantly reel it back in. Kodzu00 glances up at you for a second but you keep your face calm and friendly, quickly slipping back into your streamer personality, your best mask and first line of defense against whatever the hell this weirdo wants with you and time is ticking—

Before you can even utter a single word, Kodzu00 pulls down his mask.

(He’s… well, he’s not bad looking either, in a… weird kind of way.)

“Look, I need to clear the air first and get this on the table,” he says it a bit quickly, despite the low, almost uncaring inclination to his tone. You blink at him. The tips of his ears are staining pink beneath the fading streaks of blonde and he continues, “I’m not here for your streams.”

You blink.

You stare at him, dumbfounded and hopelessly confused.

“I’ve never even seen them before until last night,” he says just as quickly, looking embarrassed to even utter those words. “Let’s get that straight, okay? So I’m not… here for… that.”

That.

“That?” you say like a robot.

He looks more and more uncomfortable, but he presses on, whispering quickly over the table, “Yeah. I’m not here for… that. So… you can… uh… just be normal, I guess.”

You stare at Kodzu00, the man who’s just payed off nearly the last of your student loans in debt, who’s only here in front of you today because he got in touch with you through one of those very streams which very much markets that, which is meant to appeal to all the what-nots who just want to see an omega bat her eyelashes and act like an omega, to feel comforted or have their egos stroked and—

“I don’t watch any streams like that,” he adds for good measure. “I don’t. One of my viewers reached out to me because… well… because they watched your streams and noticed something and mentioned it to me, so I wanted to check it out myself.”

Oh my god. You sit there in the middle of the bustling cafe. Am I about to die? This is it, isn’t it. Kodzu00 is actually some kind of crazy internet stalker or person and you’re about to get stabbed right across the cafe table and this will be the end, you’ll never even get to save anyone’s life or help anyone and their bad hearts or do anything beyond your stupid streams and that’s all you’ll be remembered for.

“Kodzu00 is just a name I made for that night,” he says quickly. “Online I run a gaming channel under the user Kodzuken—you can just call me Kenma though. Kenma Kozume.”

“Uh,” you say. “Kucina. You can call me Kucina.” You are not giving your real name out to this stranger who can potentially threaten your entire standing in your medical career and out you for the unethical nature of how you’ve been procuring money to pay your school fees—

Kenma briefly pauses, eyes flickering up to you. He looks a bit pleased with your choice of alias but quickly glances back to his phone. You feel, strangely, a little… a little happy too.

Wait, wait, wait. No, this guy is a weirdo and don’t forget that he’s a complete stranger online claiming to be a game streamer and—

“The only reason I’m here today is for this,” he says, pulling out his phone. You instantly grow wary, inching back a bit from the table. There’s a bit of excitement finally creeping into his otherwise mundane voice, and it’s giving you the spooks. Kenma taps, quickly navigating his screen before he pulls up one blurred, pixelated image and turns his screen to show it to you.

“Why is this a screenshot of my room?” you say roughly, narrowing your eyes at him. You point to the screen shot of your streaming room and your face caught mid-speech, making you look dumb. “What are you trying to—”

“It’s not that,” he says, sounding a bit stressed out by this whole ordeal. He looks visibly uncomfortable with the image of you, only in your bright pink bra and you raise an eyebrow at him, suspicious as he zooms in and quickly moves the screen to—

“This,” he says, fervent, almost reverent actually, “is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Carefully, still suspicious, you lean over the table and look closer at his phone screen. You follow his finger, quickly recognizing your bookshelf, your posters, and then right beside Kenma’s fingertip is—

You blink.

You know exactly what he’s pointing to.

You also know exactly what it looks like in perfect detail despite the blurry picture. It’s a large box, big enough to hold against your chest, sleek white and blue, with silver lettering line in a kind of glowing, aqua teal—the cover art for the product had been top of the line, complete with an engraved metal clasp that opened up to reveal an entire, glossy artbook, coupled with a cd of the game’s soundtrack and also—

“Water Emblem’s Special Anniversary Edition?”

“Yes!” he almost shouts. You jump. Kenma quickly gestures to his screen, to your room and your game and points at it with fervor. His eyes are actually shiny, you stare at him, a little in awe. “Do you know what this is?”

“Of course I do!” you say, offended. “I own the game. It’s Water Emblem: Light Dragon! Personally my favorite game in the entire franchise and the game that really got the series into the world market—it’s part of what started its entire cult following. This is the special edition that came out years ago, wow, I can’t believe it’s been so long! I remember waiting in line for it and—”

“That’s exactly it!” Kenma says, throwing his hands up into hair, grabbing it beneath his cap. You blink at him, getting a little excited. “This game—this particular edition re-launched for one night of sales only in the creator’s hometown and here in Tokyo! It came with a companion edition and most people were only able to get one or the other because it was sold on opposite ends of Japan!”

“Yeah!” you say. “I know! I stayed with relatives in the summer and timed it out so I could grab it! They only sold so little copies… that was the best night of my life, I couldn’t believe it, even though the game didn’t seem to do that well at first until later…”

“Because no one respected the greatness of the game back then,” Kenma says bitterly. You nod. “Now everyone knows but the rest of the editions have all either been trashed or are kept by collectors somewhere else, I’ve been searching for years for a copy that was at least still playable, even without the extra goods—”

“But the goods are the best part!” you shout in disbelief. Kenma looks at you like your crazy. “The art book, the soundtrack, the interview with the creator—they all play their part in bringing the game to life!”

“This is what I wanted to discuss with you,” Kenma says seriously, lacing his fingers nervously together and staring you down across the table. You suddenly feel uneasy, unnerved by the piercing, golden gaze.

“You own what might very well be one of the last, in-tact, best kept qualities of this edition in Japan,” Kenma says. “When this edition and its counterpart launched, the second issue, the black one—it came with a playable DLC code that can only be activated when you have its partner code and it unlocks an entirely new, almost never played secret storyline that’s supposed to reveal another part of the story—”

“I heard about that,” you say in disbelief. “But I thought it was just an online rumour because no one ever proved it or could figure out the code…”

“Because no one could figure it out,” Kenma says, getting the loudest you’ve heard him since. You stare at him with wide, round eyes. “But recently because of the work I’ve been doing, I was able to meet with the creator—”

“YOU MET WITH THE CREATOR OF—”

Kenma furiously motions for you to shush. You clasp your hands over your mouth, watching him with round, adoring eyes, sparkling in disbelief. This guy right here in front of you got to meet your hero—the envy and awe collide altogether, rumbling up and—

(Your heart starts to do something a little funny in your chest.)

Who even is this guy?

“He gave me a hint and I was able to find the code in the other edition,” Kenma says, quickly pushing his phone to you to show a picture and you blink, eyes shiny. “Which I currently own because I was able to secure one when it came out in Tokyo. But your edition is the last part I need to unlock the unplayable path.”

This guy… you lean back in your chair, unable to stop the excited tap of your feet. This guy—he loves Water Emblem. He’s crazy for it! I don’t know anyone except people online who like it this much and he’s…

“That’s why,” Kenma coughs suddenly, becoming smaller in his seat. You stare at him with a raised brow. “I needed… to get in touch… with you.”

You blink, remembering the whole reason the two of you were even meeting in the first place.

Your cheeks grow hot, bright red in a flash of rare embarrassment. Kenma’s ears are just as red, but he pretends it’s not even happening, continuing on.

“Why didn’t you just… message me,” you squeak out, feeling more and more mortified that this man has literally paid you thousands just to be here and… it’s not even… a scam. It’s about your favorite thing ever. Water Emblem! “Instead of… my streams…”

“That was the only way I knew how to contact you,” Kenma says, looking a bit defensive. “I told you, I’ve never seen your streams before. One of my viewers told me and you keep everything private, so this felt like my only chance.”

You open your mouth, feeling more and more uncomfortable but Kenma sweeps in, “Keep the money. It… works out better this way anyway.”

You stare at him in confusion.

Kenma taps his phone again, right back at your picture. He stares at you with wide, piercing eyes, leaning across the table and quickly saying, reverent and eager—

“I want to buy your game from you.”

Today, sitting here beside you in your bag, are fully equipped items to try and protect you from the creepy, deranged, rich stranger you’d been about to meet. Today, you were fully expecting to unleash a fury building up inside of you over an injustice you can’t tackle on your own in your society on some poor, unsuspecting alpha—

Here, sitting in front of you, is a self-claimed internet game streamer, who wants to buy your… special edition… game?

“You want…” you say, slowly, making sure you don’t have this wrong, “...my game?”

He nods.

You open your mouth. It closes. You open it again, raise a finger, and then press your lips together, staring at him.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “What?”

“This might be my only chance ever to play the game,” Kenma continues, pulling up another tab and clicking away at his phone. He tucks a strand of blonde behind his ear and the action is almost endearing to you until the reality of his words slowly starts to creep into the forefront. “I’ve never found another edition like yours, and it seems like it’s in perfect condition too. I’d be willing to buy it at complete full, current market price—”

“Market price?” you say in disbelief. “How much is my game going for?”

Kenma looks at you in blatant disbelief. You raise a critical brow at him.

Wordlessly he turns his phone back over to you and you glance down—

You almost fall out of your chair. Kenma doesn’t look impressed, hunkering back down and taking his phone as you spin, head swirling at the numbers and figures, math flying around in your head at the sudden realization that all that money could literally be yours, that the game you love so much is worth that much, that all that money, all that money you’ve been trying so desperately to scrape for could just—just fall into your lap—

You could pay off all your loans with that kind of money. You could… you could stop streaming with that kind of money, finally wash your hands of it and get back on track and hardly have to worry as you work toward the job of your dreams and… 

“I want to buy your game.”

Your heart quiets. The fancy dreams stop. You sit there in the chair, head buzzing with the reality of what he’s asking of you.

He wants to buy your game.

Your game.

And you think then, about a moment far away from this one. About a time when the books and papers crowding around you made you feel like drowning, about lonely summers and arguments bouncing off the rooms around you, and a time where there was nothing else but that loading screen and that game to take you away from all of it…

(The game that you’ve kept all these years, loved all these years, because it…)

“I’d be willing to pay whatever works best for you,” Kenma continues, the excitement is low in his quiet voice and his eyes sparkle as he shows you his phone. “I can even pay upfront in cash, have a fund drawn up or—”

“I’m really sorry.”

It’s the first time in a long time you’ve ever felt the need to apologize to anyone. Not when the whole world has been treating you like the sorry sack for so long.

Kenma glances up. His expression is calm, unreadable, but you get the feeling he can see right through you so you stare at the tabletop instead.

“I don’t know…” you start. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to sell that game to you.”

(He doesn’t seem like a bad guy.)

Anyone that talks about Water Emblem with as much love in his voice as he does can’t be, not at all by your books. His methods of getting to you here today might’ve been outrageous and roundabout, but you’re not really doing things the normal way either, so who are you to judge?

But that game…

You risk a glance up. You stop, staring in surprise when Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit outraged or tense or anything. He looks just a bit disappointed, but the only thing you really see is understanding and something like a bit of grudging envy, a warmth in his gaze you don’t think is particularly meant for you but still comes through regardless.

“I was,” Kenma admits, a bit quiet. “Worried that would be the case.”

“Do you want,” you start quickly. Kenma looks at you. “Do you want to, uh, see it, at least? Take a look… see if it’s even in the condition you want?”

(You just… you can’t sell it, but you don’t want this conversation to end. It’s been so long since you’ve talked with anyone about this game, it’s felt so long since you talked to anyone in general and…)

Maybe, just maybe.

(You feel a little desperate.)

“Uh,” Kenma says, awkward. “Is that… fine?”

“Well, sure!” you say, hoping you don’t sound too eager. “Of course it isn’t a problem! I mean, I know we just met, but you seem pretty legit and I can just check you out later—plus, I’m perfectly capable of handling myself, even against an—”

You stop, sniffing the air. Kenma doesn’t look bothered, but he rubs the back of his neck.

And you realize, suddenly, you haven’t smelled a single damn thing because Kenma Kozume is—

A beta.

(Oh.)

---- (change the channel) ----

The entire way back to your apartment, Kodzu00, or as you now know him, Kenma Kozume, complains.

He does it quietly, but he still complains.

“We could just take a taxi,” Kenma says, quiet and unhappy when you start making your way toward the train station. “I can pay for it…”

“It’s easy to remember an address but tough to remember a bunch of stations and stops,” you say, ignoring his offer. Kenma follows, unhappy but he still follows. It’s kind of cute.

He walks with a bit of a hunch, you notice. Like he’s doing everything he can to remain out of everyone’s vision, but he watches, careful and observant because he avoids people before they have the chance to bump into him, glancing this way and that and picking things out with particular ease.

Kenma doesn’t look very confident, but he’s comfortable. You stand there beside him on the train, calmly holding onto the railing while he taps away at his phone beside you, sighing every now and then. He’s different, you realize, very different, from what you’ve become accustomed to when it comes to the kinds of people you let surround you for the sake of money.

You almost want to say it’s because he’s a beta, but you feel that’s a disservice in all its entirety. Maybe Kenma will turn out to be a snob of some kind. The guy’s strangely loaded.

You sneak searches on your phone, paling at the articles about him that come up, about stocks and investments and companies and you realize in seconds, this guy is completely and utterly the real deal.

But despite everything, Kenma still does as you ask. He lets you lead as you navigate the string of trains to get back home, doesn’t ask any questions, only comments on the occasional thing, and the entire affair is two hours, but he doesn’t even blink.

Either he really, really wants this game, you think, or he’s just weird.

Quiet, weird, but fairly quaint, and you’re a little alarmed by how much you… like that.

(You’re a weird guy.)

A rude, burly man makes a pass at you on the last train home, breathing down your neck and letting his greasy fingers try to slide against yours on the same railing handle. Kenma makes a face, eyes narrowed into slits in disgust and he quickly looks at you, blinking at your unbothered, nonchalant expression.

His scent wafts over you, thick and uninviting. Alpha. You rub your nose, inhaling your own familiar scent. Kenma looks more and more uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, starting to lean your way and scanning for open seats when you calmly turn to the man directly behind you, meeting him dead in the eye.

“Get,” you say calmly, digging your fingernails into his skin, threatening to draw blood—the man stiffens, he pales, surprised, startled by your confrontation— “The fuck away from me before I scream.”

He scurries back, shouldering past people in seconds. A few people shoot him disgusted looks, glancing your way in pity—but you ignore all of them too. They didn’t care seconds ago when they knew what he was doing, if you hadn’t done anything, they wouldn’t have either.

That’s just how it goes.

“Sorry,” you say, even though you probably shouldn’t. You look at Kenma, lips curling a bit. “I was expecting to meet a guy like that today instead of you. I think all that pent up anger and anxiety needed to go somewhere.”

Kenma opens his mouth, closes it, stays quiet for what feels like minutes and then he starts up again.

“You don’t really act the same way you do on your streams, do you?”

“Of course not,” you say. “If I acted like that in real life—no offense to anyone who does though—I’d probably lose my shit.”

Kenma sniffs. He doesn’t say anything after that, and you quaintly let your shoulder brush against his ever other jostle of the train.

(It’s been awhile since you’ve been around anyone. It feels nice.)

---- (change the channel) -----

Kenma balks for a bit at the front door of your apartment, but you quickly usher him inside, kicking your shoes off into the entryway and flying inside. He toes off his own shoes, eyes scanning briefly around the entryway, around your home—it’s neat, he realizes, even if he wasn’t sure what to expect. You keep it clean enough, but there’s bits and pieces where your life slips through, making it feel lived in. You keep plants in the corner, healthy and well but you’ve got a few dishes still sitting in the sink.

He guesses he wasn’t really sure what he was expecting to begin with. 

Kenma pauses for a second, rubbing his nose. He looks uncomfortable, eyes flickering around your apartment and back to you, but you’re already steps ahead of him, too excited to pass a chance like this up.

“It’s in my streaming room,” you say, “come on.”

Kenma follows warily behind you.

You almost kick the door to your room open in your haste, unable to stop the ecstatic beating of your heart as you scramble toward the back. Kenma pauses a minute, sniffing the air again. He glances behind him, back toward where your bedroom is left ajar and then to your streaming room. He looks a bit thoughtful for a moment, but quietly keeps it to himself, slipping inside and lightly closing the door politely after him.

(He’s not one to snoop, but he’s here, it’s not like he can’t look.)

Kenma tries very, very carefully not to consider the fact that he had seen you on that screen only a few nights before, and tries even harder not to remember what you’d been doing and how you’d look. He hyper focuses instead on the stand-out merch that becomes very, very clear to him.

He’s almost amazed your users haven’t said anything more about this—maybe it’s because of your camera angle.

Poster after poster of Water Emblem decorates the entire side of your wall. Kenma finds himself instantly drifting up to it, spotting your shelf in record time. He scans the collection of game titles, eyes growing brighter and brighter as he ghosts a finger over the well-kept discs and the old games…

“You play a lot,” Kenma says, quiet, glancing your way.

“I used to be a bit of a shut-in because I had to study,” you say, squatting down beside your other shelf and moving a few books aside. He finds himself watching the way you tuck your hair behind your ear and smile. “They were great breaks for me and helped keep me company. I’m not as social as people think, so it’s nice.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at you, trying to reconcile the image he’d had of you from your stream with what he’d been witnessing all day today—how different it all was.

(If he’s honest, he’d been expecting to deal with someone different.)

“Do you do PC games too?” he asks. What are you doing?

“I’m not as familiar with them compared to console games,” you admit. “After exams I might try though. Got any to recommend?”

Kenma does. Plenty. He could go on but he doesn’t even know where to start, turning from your games to try to look at you again and think about how strange this entire meeting is, how different from what he’d been expecting. It reminds him of his meeting with Hinata, sudden and vibrant and impossible to categorize, left—

Pleasantly surprised.

“What happened to your chair?”

“What, the pink one?” you glance over your shoulder, noticing where Kenma’s looking toward your streaming station. “I shove it into the closet when I’m not using it. Sometimes the color hurts my eyes.”

Kenma looks at you like you’re crazy.

“...You keep two chairs?”

“Well, the chair’s mostly for looks anyway,” you say. “Some people like that kind of simple stuff. It’s a nice contrast, you know? Sweet and spicy, I guess? My boss said something like that. My ratings are good so I don’t complain.”

Kenma considers your words. He looks at your station, almost engulfed with stacks and stacks of what he can easily recognize as textbooks. Biology, medical tech, chemistry—all of it nearly crushing the fuzzy bunny mask you’d been wearing on the stream.

Kenma takes it all into his head and he looks again at your small back.

“...Do you even like your job?”

“It’s not my job,” you say. “My job is studying and working at the athletics complex to try to help figure out ways to help people stay in shape, take care of themselves and be better. This is just… part-time.”

You pause, staring at your shelves. It feels weird to be saying this outloud, but it’s nice too. It’s refreshing. You think you can take advantage of it anyway, what if you never even meet this guy again? You hardly know him, he probably doesn’t care.

“And I guess,” you say, a bit quieter. “Sometimes it’s kind of rewarding… sometimes people are nice, you know?”

Kenma says nothing, watching your back. You rub your neck and then finally beam, pulling free the reason for all of this.

You cradle the box in your hands. It’s weighty. You run your fingers over it and stand up, turning proudly to Kenma, beaming from ear to ear and—

You almost jump back in surprise, near squeaking. Your ears almost flash red in embarrassment at how close Kenma is all of a sudden, sneaking up right behind you with shiny, adoring eyes as he stares at the box in your hands, looking at it in awe and disbelief.

“Can I see it?” he asks reverently.

Your heart swells in happiness and you eagerly nod, handing it over to him.

Kenma receives the gift with care. He runs his fingers over it, carefully, as though afraid to even leave a single print behind before he pops the metal engraved latch and opens it up.

You and Kenma sigh together in unison, swooning at the sight.

“It’s amazing,” Kenma says.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe I’m seeing it in person.”

“I know!”

“You took great care of it.”

“I—” you flush at the praise, wilting a bit. “I-uh, thanks…”

“Can I see you play it?” Kenma says suddenly, looking almost desperate. You freeze. He looks up at you, expression completely different from his near lifeless one. His face is vibrant and full of excitement, thrumming just under the surface of his nonchalance. “The loading screen even? I—I have to see what it looks like logged in and—”

“I...actually can’t,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Kenma looks confused.

“I… I sold the console for it,” you say, feeling more and more guilty to finally have to admit one of your biggest regrets. Kenma pauses, expression quieting as he looks at you. You stare at the floor, trying not to look at the computer and web camera sitting in the corner. “I needed to buy some stuff… so I had to sell it in. I still kept a lot of the games, thinking I’d buy another one when I got the chance…”

You ruffle the back of your head, trying to quell the stifling scent of embarrassment that tries to escape you. You rub your wrists. Kenma’s eyes are briefly drawn to the action before he looks at you, still holding your game. You bow your head a little. “Um, if you want though, you can take it to your place and see—it absolutely will still work. I can just, take something to make sure you don’t run off or I can just—”

“Do you want to come over and use mine?”

You pause, looking at Kenma, dumbfounded.

Kenma stares right back at you. You can’t read a single inch of his face.

“We can use my place,” Kenma says, calm, unbothered. Your eyes grow round. “I really… really want to see the game in action… it’ll probably be more fun to see you play it anyway first.”

“Is that,” you start, uncharacteristically shy. “...okay?”

Kenma wordlessly nods.

(Your heart does something a little funny. You just write it off as an exaggeration. You’re such a sad sack.)

“Um!” Kenma looks up. You flush, hating how embarrassed you feel, hating how much of your bravado is missing, but you almost stutter out, “I-It’s (L/n) by the way… (L/n) (Y/n)...”

“... okay,” Kenma says. “It’s nice to meet you, (L/n).”

--- (change the chanel) ---

“You know, Kenma,” Kuroo said once, leaning back on the train ride home as Kenma tapped away at the buttons on his console. “For all you say and stuff, you’re pretty good at putting all the pieces together, aren’t you?”

--- (change the chanel) ---

One month.

Non-stop, several days a week, for hours on end—that’s how long the two of you play the game together.

You nearly miss streams, spend hours at Kenma’s house, laughing when you come to find him half-asleep in his sheets, barely rolling out to come greet you and instead just buzzing you in. You think it’s insane—how quickly this… this thing builds. You think you ought to be dreaming, but you don’t really want it to end.

(You’ve gone too long without anyone to laugh like this with.)

 You pull late-nighters that are terrible for your complexion, eat take-out like you’re cramming for exams all over again, laughing while Kenma quietly watches and scrolling through Water Emblem merchandise and fan bases and—

You spend time with him. With Kenma. You spend hours and days and what feels like endless forever and fun. It’s so sickeningly amazing you almost don’t believe it’s real. Sometimes you two argue, getting into heated spats over calls on how to move your characters, critiquing each other’s moves and then laughing when the other fails, sometimes it’s outright cheers from you while Kenma nods in satisfaction when you clear another mission and proceed forward and—

You haven’t even been alive that long, but compared to everything else, it almost feels like the best moment of your life.

“I did an entire episode on why moving this character is better than the rest,” Kenma mutters one day beside you. “I’m telling you, we need to deploy them. They’re wasted as an adjutant.”

You pause beside Kenma, blinking at his massive screen. You stare at your hands, and then you look at Kenma, blinking again in realization.

And in all this sudden time you’ve spent with him, you realize you’ve never seen one of his streams.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Uh, hey everyone, thanks for stopping by again.”

You snort. Kenma doesn’t look the slightest bit at ease, his small face-view camera appearing in the corner of your screen as the old stream starts. It’s only of his earliest ones, the one where he replayed Water Emblem for his channel.

“I like this game a lot… it’s the one I always wanted to do a stream for… so I hope you enjoy it too.”

Is that it, dude? You laugh, shaking your head and kicking your legs out as Kenma gets the loading screen started and adjusts his chair. His camera shakes a bit and everything about the video attests to its age and its novelty. It makes you smile. He must’ve come a long way from these videos to the freaking multi-millionaire he was now.

(He worked hard.)

At first the show starts off rather quiet, maybe a bit awkward. Kenma hardly talks, quietly playing through the beginning sequences of the game and only commenting once or twice on the music or graphics. It’s kind of nice, peaceful, just watching someone go through the familiar motions until the real first part of the game starts and then—

“I never get tired of this part.”

You pause at his voice, glancing to the corner of the screen. Kenma’s eyes glow. He smiles, low, small and quiet, and he leans so far forward, almost out of his seat as he starts to play, quietly talking, describing the things he’s doing, the parts of the game he’s in love with and—

You roll over onto your side, watching the stream. Everytime Kenma mutters something under his breath you laugh, when he flubs you grimace, when he succeeds—you cheer, kicking your heels into the air. It’s really like playing the game all over again—even if the comments say he hardly shows any emotion, you can see it.

Kenma Kozume loves this game.

He loves what he does.

The thought makes you pause, staring quietly at the screen.

The dark corner of your room looks a little bigger. The quietness is a little louder. You lay there in your bed, watching Kenma thank everyone for watching with a sigh, giving the game a second glance, like he’s thinking of playing more even though he said he’d stop and—

Your alarm nearly startles you out of bed. You quickly glance over, shooting up in realization.

“My stream,” you murmur, dropping your phone and hurrying to your video room. “Gotta do… my stream…”

Your eyes glance back to your phone. You stare at the dark screen.

“Do you even like what you do?”

You shake your head, closing the door behind you.

--- (change the chanel) ---

“Thanks again everyone for coming! Your favorite omega is going to be lonely without you~”

The screen clicks, turning off.

You sit there in your plush, bright pink chair. Your open jacket hangs on either side of you, revealing your bikini for the beach theme you were going with today. The video room is near silent, save for the soft, quiet hum of your computer running while your monitor blinks, turning to a save screen.

Your game sits in your lap, carefully cradled by your hands. Off to the side is a thorough stack of medical textbooks you still owe money on. You were planning on studying for your test tomorrow after the stream tonight.

You run your fingers over the amazing edges of the collector’s box. You thumb every part of it, retracing the familiar memories, even the small little dent in the corner when you dropped it the first night you got it and almost cried.

You hold it there in your hands. It feels so, so warm, even though you think that shouldn’t really be possible.

There, in the darkness of your video room you sit. Quiet in the near-silence, head lowered, gently running your fingers over it, again and again.

Kenma’s lulling voice is the only thing you hear, playing over his stream, and you shut your eyes, bringing your knees and the box up to your chest. It jabs your ribs, sits uncomfortable, but you don’t really care.

“Do you even like what you do?”

(What I’m doing now, at least… yeah, I do. I really do.)

--- (change the chanel) ---

(L/n) is typing...

Hey, can we talk? 

It’s nothing important, let’s just meet up for dinner if you’re free!

Is that fine?

Kenma is typing...

Yes.

Location sent.

Let’s go here. I’ll make reservations.

Okay! :)

(Y/n) is typing…

(Y/n) stopped typing.

--- (change the chanel) ---

The place Kenma picks is some ridiculously nice looking Japanese Restaurant. It’s dimly lit and elegant and fancier than anything you’re used to, and you’re not really sure why he picks it until he orders for both of you and then the wagyu comes out and you know.

Seeing the steak, knowing you’ll get a good meal—it kind of makes this whole thing a lot easier.

Kenma sits comfortably on the floor right across from you. It’s a small, private room he’s rented out for the both of you. He’s dressed in the usual—baggy sweatshirts and athletic but comfortable joggers, and his hair is pulled back a little more neatly tonight as he pours tea for you and then for himself.

“This smells so good,” you say, mouth watering as you pick up the smooth, fancy wooden chopsticks. “Mind if I start?”

“Go ahead,” Kenma says. He leans back, picking up his spoon to dig into his own soup first. “What did you want to talk about?”

“The game,” you say around a mouthful of wagyu. It melts like butter on your tongue. “I’m going to give it to you.”

Kenma freezes, looking up at you in shock. His spoon clutters back into his bowl.

“What?” Kenma says.

“I’ve thought about it,” you say. “You were right. I don’t even have the console to play it anymore. It kinda just sits, collecting dust. It’s not fair when that game is literally everything.”

Your hands still a bit. You stare at the sizzling hot plate.

“I think you have a lot of fun with your streams,” you say, softer. “I think… I think Water Emblem would be well off in your hands. I think… I think it’s what it deserves, you know?”

Kenma is silent, frozen like a statue in front of you. You continue, lightly tracing a thumb over your other wrist, as though in comfort. Moments like this, you do wish for the chance to scent or be scented by someone again—just something familiar, something warm and nice. Your family is miles away and you just...

“I’ve had too much fun playing it again thanks to you,” you say, warm, full of happiness. Yeah, this is what feels right. “And you never once asked for the money from that night back, even though it should’ve just gone into paying for the game… that’s why I want to just give it to you. You’ve already done too much for me, and it’s more than paid for the game.”

“Hold on,” Kenma says. “I—hold on, one second.” He rushes for his phone, fumbling. You shake your head. “No, hold on—”

“I’ve still got my streams to do,” you say with an awkward laugh. “I can’t spend all my time playing video games again. Once exams come up and then—”

“No,” Kenma tries, looking a bit frustrated. He curses at his phone, “Give me a second to explain before you—”

“I’m doing this,” you say resolutely, standing up from your seat. Kenma balks. “There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Besides, I guess I got to meet you. That’s not so bad. Now stop making this weird and let me just do something cool for once in my life—”

“I want you to do a streaming series with me!”

You stop, staring at Kenma. He holds out his phone, showing the screen to you—but your eyes are on him, round and disbelieving and then—

Your entire face flushes bright red, cherry like a tomato.

“Y-Y-You w-w-w-want to d-d-do a s-stream with me—”

“Not one of yours!” Kenma blurts. You blink. He curses, ruffling his hair roughly before he gestures again with more vigor to his phone, “This—just look at this.”

You glance to Kenma’s phone.

“...you’re doing a new stream series,” you say, eyes widening in awe. “It’s going to be on the secret, never played route for Water Emblem—see! That’s perfect! If you’re going to do that, you need my half of the game and—”

“I want to do it with you.”

You freeze, mouth falling open.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you came over to play,” Kenma says, quietly setting his phone down on the table—he takes on the tone that means business, the calm, lulling one he your hear him use on the phone sometimes to make sure deals are delivered and he gets what he wants. “It’d be a great idea, and it’d be… fun. I’ve been letting you play because I wanted to see if the style would be compatible and I think it’ll be more than fine.”

Kenma taps his phone again.

“Of course, you’d be compensated,” he turns it to you, “we’d split the profits 50/50 from each streaming episode. Considering my normal projected view count and ad revenue, you can expect at least this much.”

You look at the numbers.

Your mouth stays open, knees sinking to the floor.

“If you’re willing,” Kenma says quietly, “to take a break from your streams to do this series with me… I think it would be mutually beneficial.”

Can things really, really work out, just like that?

“Besides,” Kenma says, even quieter. You close your mouth, looking at him in disbelief, in awe, in reverence, and he meets your gaze with his golden one.

“The secret route is meant for dual players,” Kenma says. “Water Emblem is known for being a single player, but what makes it special is it needs two for this route�� it… it would be a disservice to the story to do it any other way.”

You can’t help it.

Your scent and pheromones you struggle and try so, so hard to always keep under lock and key explode forth, nearly flooding the entire room. Kenma stiffens, going ramrod straight and grabbing onto the top of his pants as your happiness engulfs the two of you. You’re sure it probably alarms everyone in the hall or anywhere near. Your happiness crashes and lulls and your entire face crumples in disbelief—

“Is it really…” you start, like a whisper, “really okay?”

Kenma shifts in his seat. He pulls at the hood of his sweater, opening his mouth before he quickly closes it. He mutely nods, resolute, and you stand up, lunging across the table to grab his hands. Kenma’s face flushes a bright red, his body stiffening in alarm.

“Kenma!” you say. “Kenma! Kenma, you’re a godsend! A guardian angel! My guardian angel! You don’t understand what this means for me—you don’t know what you’re doing for me—”

“(L/n),” Kenma says, he sounds strained. You pause, looking at him with round eyes. “I’m… excited… but I need you…”

Kenma lets out a slow, ragged breath. “Please… tone it down… just a little…”

You tilt your head in confusion. Your eyes drop down, noticing the sweat beading at the corner of Kenma’s temple, at the hard, rigid look in his hazy, warmly golden eyes and…

A soft scent teases your nose. You pause, blinking in disbelief. No way. You’re crazy, right?

“Um, Kenma,” you say, a little nervous. There’s no way, right? “You’re… you’re a… beta, right?”

Even betas could be sensitive to pheromones. You were being too careless right now, you must’ve just been too much and—

Kenma rigidly shakes his head.

You blink, feeling very, very, very small.

“Alpha,” Kenma exhales, holding his hand to his nose, scrunching in on himself while he peers up blearily at you, eyes swimming with something you’ve never seen once in his gaze before. He sticks his wrist out to you. 

“Uh,” you say, hating how nervous you sound. “C-Can… I?”

Kenma wordlessly holds his hand out to you, keeping it in the air. You tentatively step closer for a moment, sniffing lightly. His smell. 

Kenma’s scent is so quiet, it’s no wonder you… you never noticed. It’s become so familiar, always felt so calming and subtle and soothing, but if you look for it the way an omega would, pheromones in tune and acute—you do catch it, just the faint hint of something sharp, the familiar, light tang of alpha and—

You quickly pull back. You open your mouth, close it, open it again, and then close it.

“I’m so sorry—”

“You’re fine,” Kenma says, quick and quiet. You mutely nod, mortified. Kenma motions for you to relax as he stands, grabbing his wallet. “I’m going to take care of the bill. Get… fresh air. I’ll be back—”

“You should let me—”

“You can get the next one,” Kenma says. Something in his words makes you strangely complied to listen, ridiculously docile, and you blink in surprise when you sink back to your knees and Kenma’s eyes seem a little warm, a little—

(Pleased?)

“I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you say jovially. Kenma nods, leaving you. You can’t believe it. This is it—this is—

The start of something great.

You hold your head in your hands, unable to contain your happiness.

Oh my god.

You stop, blinking again in realization.

BUT I’VE BEEN SUCH AN IDIOT, HE’S BEEN A—THIS WHOLE TIME—HOW RUDE MUST I HAVE—

You fall back into the cushion, kicking your feet up in disbelief.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid—I better apologize over and over—”

--- (change the chanel) ---

Kenma quietly steps out of the private room, sliding the door shut behind him.

He stands there, silent, basking in the faint afterglow, of the leaking, intoxicating feel of your happiness wrapping thickly around him, clinging to his skin.

Kenma lifts his hand up to his nose. He sniffs, once.

Your scent floods him.

Kenma’s tongue lightly drags up the inside of his wrist. He closes his eyes, briefly catching it—the soft, sweet taste of you against his lips, on his tongue. Kenma waits there, inhaling softly before his eyes slide open, thin, golden slits.

This would be the start of a fairly interesting partnership.

Omegachion has signed off!

Thanks for watching!