#so i had to have thrown my disposable that had literally nothing in it during that week

[713-4th-ward-g]

.

[sapphic-luminosity]

4.5 years

I’m so tired.

It’s really incredibly tiring living through the ongoing pandemic and feeling like the world around me does not care that it still exists and is dangerous as ever. 

It really does feel like few people care at this point. It’s very hard to be honest, but the threat is such that I can’t really just relax and pretend like it’s not there.

I do follow covid conscious people on social media and it helps to know that there’s many of us out there. And I’m glad to have a number of friends who have remained covid conscious, but like we really are few in number. A lot of friends and family members who used to be cautious have thrown caution to the wind, only maybe masking when, say, going on flights or maybe to crowded spaces if that. I still want to be friends and have relationships with these people but every time I meet with them I’m very aware that there’s increased risk in doing so. Meanwhile plenty of friends who stopped taking covid seriously have simply stopped really talking to me or including me in plans, even online friends. It’s disappointing. It’s isolating. It feels like I’m disposable to many people. But at least I do see some people repeatedly in person consistently wearing masks like I do. And that helps some.

Every couple waves I’ll see more people wearing masks such as the ongoing one. You know what, that’s welcome, I appreciate everyone who starts masking again after having stopped. But masking only during the heights ignores that the spread of the virus still goes on in between. So the next wave comes as people relax and transmission increases again. 

It’s hard feeling mostly housebound. I am a bit of a homebody, but not nearly to this degree. Not having an in person job outside of my home doesn’t help with that but also I’m not sure that I could bear to do one at this point. Being disabled already pre-covid and moving states literally weeks before the shelter in place orders came into effect (not lockdowns, we never had those in the US) meant that I did not have a job when the pandemic struck. I decided to wait it out for weeks months a year until the first vaccines got rolled out and thought about trying to apply again but then in the summer of 2021 Delta came. Then Omicron. And so on. Now we’re up to BA.2.86 and JN.1 as the variants of interest. It’s never stopped. There’s never been a break. The years start comin' and they don't stop comin'.

Working from home was a huge option early in the pandemic for many people outside industries that require people to work in person but gradually companies and organizations have rolled back this accessibility by requiring people return to office. And the economy sucks right now. Applying to jobs sucks even in the best of times with the current system, but now we have confirmed cases of job recruiters putting up phantom jobs, some admitting that 75% of the jobs they’ve posted being fake to make their company look like it’s in better shape or positions where the candidate has already been selected internally and they just want to make it look sorta fair. Not to mention all the scam listings. Job hunting sucks. It’s a lot of energy spent for very few returns and my disability/chronic illness means I just can’t channel endless amounts of energy without paying a far greater price in the future.

It’s not just work either. I haven’t seen a movie in theaters since the Harley Quinn and the Birds of Prey movie in February 2020. Maybe I’ll actually go see one soon, but it’s a real risk, even during a matinee when fewer people might be there, even masked in an N95. (And definitely a much bigger risk if I should want some popcorn or a drink.) I have been to one indoor event (MBMBaM live show) that required masks of everyone in late 2022. It was a risk but masking made it feel a little safer. Nothing like the risks today where so many people seem to have forgotten the danger that they knew in 2020 and 2021 and maybe 2022 and will look at you funny if you even wear a mask much less suggest they might wear one.

We’ve known about covid spreading as an aerosol but I’ve had people I know act like it’s safe to eat inside as long as you’re far away from people regardless of ventilation. Some even still believe the six feet away idea that has been thoroughly debunked. We’ve known about long covid post-viral syndromes since 2020 and that you can still get long covid after vaccines at least since 2021. Research has come out over the last few years about covid having rampant effects on your immune system, heart, brain, pretty much any organ in your body, but people still think of it as just a respiratory illness.

Our government has failed us profoundly. I never had much trust in the government, becoming politically conscious in the early Bush era in the wake of Islamophobia and endless wars against concepts which got widespread support from both dominant parties in the US. Coming out as queer in my early adulthood, I learned about the Reagan response to the HIV/AIDS epidemic (ignoring it for several years because ewwwww gay people!!) which filled in the blanks of knowledge from my childhood where the education was pretty much just scaremongering. It’s truly monstrous how Reagan ignored HIV and yet I’m not sure anyone has really done that much better since him.

I’ve never liked Biden nor do I pretend to. But even so, he campaigned on how thousands of covid deaths in 2020 were unacceptable under a US president when it was Trump in power. Yet under him we’ve seen likely over a million people die and the dismantling of protections that helped prevent covid’s spread or monitoring. We were pushed the idea that you simply had to get vaccinated and then it wouldn’t be a problem anymore. But that’s never been true. He declared that the pandemic was over in September 2022 and in the two years since then I’ve watched more friends who mask consistently get sick than those I knew who got sick from November 2019 to September 2022. (I’m pretty fortunate in that regard, I know many people had lots of friends and relatives get sick and die or become permanently disabled prior to September 2022.) 

Sure, the White House approved 4 more covid tests per household again in response to the current wave (after getting rid of that program months ago), but the tests are notoriously unreliable for a single test unless it gives you a positive and generally you need to use them over multiple days to make sure you don’t have false negatives. Not to mention that we have known about asymptomatic transmission of covid since 2020, but people just seem to have forgotten about that. Testing daily would do so much to help track the disease, especially if our leaders were to encourage everyone to do them. But there’s a serious lack of test availability. The government could give each of us a test per day and help stop a lot of transmission. Where are free masks? Where is the continued funding for vaccines? Where is funding for improved ventilation including air filtration systems for every classroom and other shared public space? Where are protections to make sure that employers have to keep people home and give them sick pay? Any public health response we had has pretty much fallen away into privatized, “you-do-you” individualism. (Anyone remember that “you-do-you” MTA sign from 2 years ago saying masks were optional so wear them however the fuck you want? “You-do-you” feel free to get someone’s immunocompromised grandma mortally ill on the subway.)

There’s only one mention of the pandemic on Harris’ campaign website’s Issues page at the moment, only in passing while talking about automotive industry jobs. The pandemic is in the past, this seems to say. There’s no need to mention it except to compare what she has done under Biden vs. what Trump did. Biden may have stepped down from running after getting covid for at least the third time and possibly suffering lasting health issues including possible covid-accelerated dementia from it but there’s no need to address that. Simply move on and forget. Maybe she can’t even admit that Biden fucked up royally in 2022, she just has to save face for the DNC. Or she’s trying to appeal to anti-vax anti-mask “Never Trump” Republicans who still won’t vote for her. I don’t pretend to understand what she’s thinking of during her campaign’s numerous missteps so far.

We don’t live in 2019 anymore but so many people seem trapped there. They think that we who are covid conscious are unwilling to move on and are trapped in 2020, but I find that often we’re more attuned to the actual situation going on. So many people seem to be unaware of the long term consequences of catching covid, especially multiple times. So many people passively question why everyone seems to be sick all the time or why there are so many more heart attacks and such happening in young people or why there seem to be more dangerous drivers on the road or why there are so many fewer workers these days but never stop to pursue the answer to the most clear solution. Occam’s Razor never had a chance.

The pandemic has changed us all on levels we probably won’t realize for years or decades, but I feel like many people who have moved back to 2019 are worse for it. Worse empathy for those who had any empathy at all beforehand. Worse science literacy, especially amongst medical professionals. (“You’re not going to get sick in a hospital!” “Why would we wear masks in the cancer ward!?”) Worse critical thinking. Worse memory. I know people deal with trauma in different ways but so many people just seem to be so avoidant that any tiny reminder of it makes them want it gone gone gone. Or they seem to just sigh and laugh internally at those of us taking it seriously. “You just have anxiety!” they might say, even when in my humble opinion nothing is more rational than our desire to not get sick. Not to mention all the harassment people have gotten for doing things like masking because using a simple medical device has turned into a moral panic in some spaces. (I know of some people who would mask don’t anymore because of social pressure or outright threats used against them.)

It’s hard to have hope for the future and yet I hang in there. Maybe someday I’ll be able to work in person again. Maybe someday I will be able to be on a plane again and travel outside of the US or go to visit friends in parts of the US I’ve never been to. Maybe someday I will be able to eat inside a restaurant again instead of getting takeout or (rarely) taking a risk by eating outside of one. Maybe someday I’ll be able to casually sip an iced latte in a coffee shop while reading to pass the time again. Maybe someday I will be able to go to concerts or conventions or crowded outdoor festivals or indoor parties or board game nights or even ride the bus without having to ask myself if it’s worth the risk and without having to wear a mask. But with the infection rates we’ve been seeing that feels far off and most people don’t seem to care about making that world a reality.

I hope that there will be some treatment to finally end covid-19 and its numerous lineages that continue to mutate and spread across the world like wildfire. I feel like that’s one of the only hopes. We had a chance to end covid in other ways but our government leaders and greed from corporations failed us. Yet even with that, I know that if a treatment using some kind of super effective antibodies or such is developed, it’ll probably still be kept from many people by corporate greed. But still I hope for the future even if that hope is dim.

Until then I’m largely housebound. And I will forever be changed by this pandemic, largely not for the better. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust people in general again. I’m not sure how I would cope if covid suddenly disappeared from the face of the planet, like with magic. Maybe I would just completely lose it. Maybe I’d bounce back completely in a few months. (Unlikely. I’m still disabled and chronically ill from pre-covid times. My life would still have big challenges.) But I’m pretty sure it won’t disappear suddenly.

And I’m so very tired.

[mariamariquinha]

"You weren't supposed to… You weren't supposed to become so important to me." has a big Carrillo vibe ! Can you do this ? Please ?

OF COURSE! My my, I've been missing him 😭😭😭 Let's go! This has a lot to do with what I've been coming up with for Versos de Placer, by the way!

It was just supposed to be an exchange of information that you knew was risky but necessary. In a way, there was a fragility to your intentions that certainly wasn't there in his, for Carrillo was so decisive and literal about the matter.

He was hunting Escobar. That's why you were there in the first and last place, hiding between alleys and dark places with reticence and fear.

You looked for him first. As a rule, you would report to one of the American agents, which might make more sense, but information was information and Carrillo seemed much more solid than gringo spirits in search of justice as a political interest from where they came from.

That gained his trust, but that's as far as you got. He showed up, you said what you discovered, then you made reports with less information than what you had verbally said. It wasn't a crime - God knows how the guys who hired you, who were in the upper part of the continent, had the inherent and sick vice of hiding the bulk of benefits.

He was hunting Escobar, indeed. But this incessant search shouldn't stop between your sheets. There was no information there, not even any clues, just you and whatever he happened to look for for convenience of circumstances.

At first, the excuse was that your tiny apartment was safer and more private. When you started offering a drink, Carrillo got closer, and when you had sex the first time, he said in so many words that he shouldn't trust you.

Peña also handled things that way because, like you, he was easy to mix with, convincing enough and caring. People, whoever they were, liked it all with a dash of attention. Carrillo was harsh, difficult to handle, and that was the difference - he had you as a support for new clues. The sex came along as a good distraction during it all.

But then he started staying longer. Not until the morning, just enough to make you see him as someone, not something. You didn't drink much, but your cupboard now had a bottle of cheap whiskey.

Your attention began to be conquered by the interest of having him in your social circle, as someone you could count on, and that was as dangerous as being in front of a loaded gun.

So when you had an 'accident', which included your car being thrown over a curb and some superficial cuts to your body, when you knew that was the end of your work - of what you two had built.

"When did you think to tell me?" He asked with concern, eyes fixed on your movements while packing your things.

"It happens. The governmen-"

"I'm not talking about your boss," His voice was harsh. "It was an attempt on your life."

"That I know."

Carrillo was a man of arms, the guy who pulled the trigger and made things happen, and he should have understood that your role there was disposable. You were expendable. That being said, it didn't make sense to see him so angry about something you both were very aware of.

"What is it?" You asked, turning to him with a frown. "I wasn't being a valuable source anymore, they would dismiss me soon."

"Still."

"Still what, Carrillo?"

He considered your question as if you had punched him in the face. When, after long seconds, nothing came out of his mouth, you sighed, ready to go back to your chore.

"You weren't supposed to… You weren't supposed to become so important to me."

You stopped in your tracks, both hands holding a shirt and eyes away from him, staring at the bed in front of you. He... He didn't say that. He-

"... I know this is not ideal."

"It is not."

"And if there's still a little humanity left in me, I shouldn't be so selfish as to want you to stay as a part of it."

But I am, that's what he meant. I wish I could surrender to your sins, that's what you wanted to say, instead of just look at him with confusion and clenched fists. No, not ideal, but real.

Fucking real.

You crossed the room, went to the table next to the bed and took a pen and paper from the drawer. It was his turn to be confused as you held them out to him in silence.

"I'm going to Cucuta. One hour by plane," Still not looking at him properly, you closed your eyes and sighed, as if you were going to regret that but you couldn't help it. "Address, post office box… Put it there."

"Why are you acting like you don't already know this?"

That made you smile. Truthfully. And then you looked at him for good, seeing the little smirk playing on his face.

"Because I want to believe this shit isn't going to be a fucking mistake."

"Will not," He took hold of your hand, bringing you closer. "At best, this will only be an hour delay to really be a mistake."

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

A/C: I truly miss him 😭 Hope you like it, baby!

[hpysprkl]

Yeah... sadly, this will never happen. I'm not even going to bring up the disproportionate ratio of male to female companions. No one at Bethesda seems willing to write female companions that are actually whole people with compelling flaws and interesting character traits. They write female companions that are blandly pleasant and more or less agreeable, and also usually conventionally attractive (by white North American beauty standards) so they will strongly appeal to a very specific lonely straight white male portion of their demographic.

Now, I will admit they're slightly better at writing female NPCs in general, but still only so good. They've given us a few decent ones over the years, like Moira Brown, Daisy, Glory, or Proctor Ingram. Hell, they even manage to write female children that are way more spirited, nonconformist, and interesting than the adult women in their lives (think FO4's Nat Wright, FO76's Daphne and even P.I.T.A., and Starfield's Cora Coe).

Now, when it comes to female ghouls, the ones we see in game tend to be more or less tough, sassy, and opinionated... and also look like ghouls. None of those traits are things that lonely straight white men (who likely have the most disposable income to spend on games and related merchandise) fantasize about fucking.

I was just articulating this to my husband and 15-yo daughter in the kitchen last night because I'd finally been able to put my finger on why I (queer/demi/female, for reference) had never had any urge to romance any of the female companions in FO4, and why I straight up ditched Sarah Morgan (Starfield) after her second affinity dialogue despite finding her physically appealing.

There's nothing truly compelling about them, and they are designed to be talking blow-up dolls, whereas ghouls are in general are just incredibly interesting characters. They're older, they've seen a lot of shit in their time and are pretty fucked up about it (even when they're not prewar, and yes, I like sad characters, sue me), and they've just generally got way more life experience and complexity and nuance than your average short-lived smoothskin NPC.

Let's take Starfield as an example. You get thrown in with Sarah Morgan, the super pretty thin blonde with the cute British accent (also, why do so many of Bethesda female companions have accents that really stand out? Literally none of the men do. NONE. Don't say Codsworth because his voice isn't unique, it's all the Mr. Handys). All she talks about is how great exploring is and how she's afraid of letting down the people who are counting on her to lead them (o noes, she has the nerve to go out and do what she enjoys instead of micromanaging the League of Extraordinary Spacefarers all day long). She misses her old mentor because she has no one in her life now that she's close to, and she's never ever made time for romance because she's too busy being a Girl Boss™️ and doing Cool Stuff™️ and having people count on her.

Sam Coe, on the other hand, is a single dad who manages to raise the galaxy's smartest, most adorable little girl, bringing her along everywhere he goes. It would be the perfect excuse to shoot down your flirting during his affinity dialogues, because maybe he feels like he has to put his kid first and he's got enough on his plate. But no, Sam doesn't give you some bitchy ice queen shtick where he pushes you away every time you try to get close. He actually goes along with it because hey, he can be a hot dad and a space explorer and a sexual human being all at the same time. He can have his fucked up family drama, and sad boy feelings about the legacy he's expected to live up to, and a complicated af relationship with his ex, and want to find weird artifacts and be a good dad and chuck grenades at everything that moves, and still also want to get his dick wet (but like damn, Space Husband LOVES his grenades. It's adorable).

Sam gets to be a whole person, Sarah doesn't. Like, I can't even begin to describe how much more alive and three-dimensional he feels compared to Space Barbie.

When it comes to Fallout, MacCready gets to be traumatized, and ridiculously cocky and confident (something we see so little of in female NPCs), and desperate to save his kid, and trying to move on from his wife's death, and wanting to get laid and do weird shit with mutfruit; Piper's life goals are to expose the Institute and eventually ride the Sole Survivor. Don't even get me started on the ethics of romancing Curie, who literally didn't even know what it was like to have a human body or sexual desire until the Sole Survivor showed up and magicked her up a hot synth body... Ick. Also, she's more or less the Survivor's granddaughter. Ick ick ick. So much ick.

So that is, in a very tired, over-caffeinated nutshell, why I'm 99.9% sure we won't get a female ghoul companion in Fallout 5. Thank you for coming to my boring feminist Ted Talk.

(I just wanted add that I don't have opinions on Cait because her accent annoyed me too much and I couldn't stand traveling with her, so maybe she's the exception to all of this, but I wouldn't know. And don't tell me Cass or Veronica were great or whatever, because Obsidian wrote them, not Bethy. Obsidian also gave us wonderful female companions like Ellie Fenhill and the precious Parvati Holcomb)

We deserve a female ghoul companion in Fallout 5. Look at all these male ghoul companions we get in the other games, but no girl ghouls...

We don't even get female ghouls as temporary companions. COWARDS, I SAY!!!

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"MEN BEHIND BARS CONFRONTED WITH RIOT AFTERMATH," Montreal Gazette. June 6, 1933. Page 6. ---- Convict Caron Denies From Stand Having Damaged Penitentiary Property ---- QUARTET BEFORE COURT ---- Four Other Inmates Working at Time in Shed Declare They Saw Nothing Happen --- "I could not have been assaulting a guard in his cage and causing property damage in another part of the penitentiary at the same time, could I?" Romeo Caron, a convict who has already entered pleas of guilty to two charges arising out of the penitentiary outbreak in November 7, 1932, and who was on trial in the Court of King's Bench yesterday along with three other inmates charged with having damaged the penitentiary property asked that of Dan P. Gillmor K.C., Crown Prosecutor in the course of givng evidence on his own behalf.

"The four men on trial are Caron, Marcel Belair, Howard MacDonald and Sydney Woods. MacDonald and Woods are two of the cobvicts indicted on a series of charges in connection with the penitentiary riots who have not eithe rpleaded guilty or been found guilty. Woods stood trial on a charge of attempting to murder a guard, Albert Miron, but was acquitted by a jury. MacDonald appeared for the first time yesterday as an accused, his activities so far having been confined to giving evidence for the defence. At the close of the afternoon court sitting the cases for the Crown and the defence were declared closed. This morning addresses to the jury by counsel and the charge of the presiding Judge, Mr. Justice Charles A. Wilson, will be disposed of and the case will be in the jury's hands. A verdict is expected this afternoon.

Romeo Caron who has played the leading role in the legal drama that has been enacted in the Court of King's Bench since the convict trials. began a fortnight ago was up to form again yesterday

On being called to the stand by M. H. Franklin, defence counsel, the diminutive convict, asserted at the outset that he had been man enough to plead guilty to charges of which he was guilty but that he was not fool enough to admit a guilt in connection with something with which he was not acquainted.

Caron it was who assaulted Guard Miron while the latter was in his cage medically treating the eyes of convict Marcel Belair. He admitted that the idea had come to him suddenly that here was his chance of getting Miron and that his attack upon him had been spontaneous and not premeditated."

"Then, Caron," Mr. Gillmor asked him, "none of the other convicts knew of your sudden inspiration to assault Miron?" "Naw," replied the witness, "I don't trust anybody and I wouldn't any of those guys of my plans."

MacDonald and Belair also took to the stand and stuck to statements, which alleged ignorance of the riot that had been shown to have started in the stone shed, in the course of which stones and bush-hammers were thrown out of the windows; stones were hurled at a guard, and at least one convict was heard to shout "Kill them, dead men carry no tales."

Damage, consisting or broken windows, smashed toilet appliances and a broken padlock totalled $39 according to Chief Instructor Provost. Part of these damages, Provost admitted in cross-examination, might have been done previous to the uprising but not much of it, he contended.

Guards Alber Miron and Isaie Galarneau, the ones on duty at the stone shed during the riot, asserted hat the men in the shed had got up at a given moment and that some of them seized hammers and stones and threw them through the windows and the door. Both of them swore that MacDonald had thrown a bush-hammer in the general direction of Galarneau but that fortunately his aim had been poor.

Frederick Beauchamp, a "liter", James Latimer, Bil Brown, and Georges Gratton were called by the defence and testified that they knew nothing that would implicate the four accused. They were all working together in the stone shed, they said, but had not seen MacDonald or either of the other three throw stones and hammers or damage the property in any way. Latimer was ordered to expose his record for the benefit of the jury, he smiled and said: "My record is pretty long. I don' think I remember exactly." Beauchamp was reticent about telling the story of his misdeeds but on being reminded by Mr. Justice Wilson that it was he who had sentenced him he told of his three convictions: one for robbery, one for indecent assault, which also included the lash, and finally, life imprisonment for another assault of the same nature.

Evidence was closed with the testimony of these convicts.

[sugarylawliet]

no good for me (light yagami x reader)

i’m back lol

> warnings: smut, degradation, spit kink, inappropriate use of the death note, VERY toxic relationship, song fic kinda, lyrics are in bold and italics, based off of diet mountain dew by lana del ray

> tag list: @ygm1slt @cradiot28

❛ you’re no good for me, baby you’re no good for me ❜

Nothing on this earth scared you more than the man you were about to see; the pretty boy brunette flaunting good grades and a picturesque family life whose facade of ambitious, respectful young man was a mask almost no one could see through. Some people felt dread at the thought of spiders or snakes, felt fear in their stomach imagining the paranormal, shadow ghosts or criminal stalkers invading their comfort zones. None of these perfectly rational fears scared you the way Light Yagami scared you. There was no fear to be had at the thought of something undesirable creeping its way into your privacy or comfort zone, because Light had manipulated his way into your comfort and trust long ago. He was scarier than a murderer ready to kill at an urge’s call, his blood lust hid in shadows behind his golden boy facade, his words were tools and his touches were negotiations. You couldn’t trust a single thing that came from his mouth, you often questioned your own sanity. Light Yagami had a terrifying grip on you, and it was exactly what he wanted.

Your eyes scan over the text Light had sent you for the millionth time, the words almost ingrained in your head at this point.

Come to my house. We need to talk. 

You were sure he kept his words vague on purpose, yet another tactic to keep you at his disposal out of pure fear. You weren’t exactly sure if you loved Light anymore; what was your definition of love at this point? You loved him, yes, but was it out of obligation? Was it survival instinct?

It was true, in the beginning you had loved Light purely and truly. You believed his ambition was justice, to make the world a better and safer place for you. But as time went on, “Kira doesn’t kill innocents” began racking up more and more exceptions, and as the twisted justifications spilled from his mouth, so did the gaslighting. Over and over, his sweet words convinced you to keep coming back. His empty promises were a drug and you were addicted. 

His text, you were sure, was a reference to this fizzling out of your love for him. He could sense it, and surely he must have found out you were planning on leaving. You weren’t planning on revealing that he’s Kira- that would cause more commotion you were not interested in being a part of- no, you simply wanted to move states, get away and forget about Light Yagami, forget about Kira and Ryuzaki and Ryuk and everything that has overtaken your life. However, if he did find out your plans to skip town, you may just have to reveal that he’s Kira for safety measures.

❛ you’re no good for me, but baby i want you ❜

Hestiently, you opened the door you had been staring at blankly for what felt like hours. Light had been staying in an upscale hotel during the investigation, so maybe the other tenants could hear you if you screamed for help; the overdramatic thought brought you comfort. 

You walk in the room, closing the door behind you. You’re met with the sight of Light’s back as he sits in the rolling chair across the room. In the absence of any words, without even seeing his face, you know he’s mad. Every slight change of Light’s emotions could strangle a whole room by tension alone; his aura manipulated the feeling in the air, which served as a helpful alarm to know when he is upset. And man, is he upset.

You open your mouth to greet him, but he cuts you off, spinning around in his chair to face you, “Don��t talk.” You nod and close your mouth. Why do you even listen to what he says?

“I knew I couldn’t trust you. From the very beginning I knew you would run that pretty little mouth of yours. I know you’re planning on leaving. And then what? Telling the first news outlet you see that I’m Kira?”

“No Light,”

“I said don’t talk.” He stands up from his chair, “If you tell everyone, you’ll also have to tell on yourself. Imagine what everyone would think of you if they knew...You knew I was Kira and you still dated me, you defended me, you kept my secret, you even got on your knees for me. Are you gonna tell that to the media? That you let Kira fuck you?”

You purse your lips, restraining yourself from talking back. You knew it would only make things worse, but you couldn’t stand the way he talked down on you and expected you to take it. 

“Come here.” He motioned to his desk and you followed, sitting on his lap per his instruction. He placed the death note open on the desk, handing you the pen. With one hand gripping yours and the other on your hip, he began to guide your hand, the pen spilling out the first letter of your name on the pages.

❛ do you think we’ll be in love forever? ❜

“N-No, Light, you can’t do this, please.” You begged, your heart rate quickening as you realize what he was doing. It can’t end like this, it just can’t.

“Shhh, just write. That’s it, baby. This is what bad girls get, you see?” His death grip tightened on your hand as he spelled out your name, the last letters leering closer and closer before you could register the implications of what he was doing. This was it, this was really it.

Light lets his free hand wander up to your jawline, pulling your face closer to yours and enveloping you in a kiss as he wrote the last letter of your name. You shake your head with a whine, however he disregards your concerns and runs his hand on your upper thigh. 

“What’s the matter, Y/n? Don’t wanna spend your last moments with me?~” His nose kisses your neck, and the soft, sensual gestures almost make you forget your life was quite literally slipping away at every second that ticked by. 40 seconds. You had 40 seconds to do something.

You jump off of Light’s lap, reality rushing to your lungs as you felt your world closing in. Your pants become heavier, harsh air ripping through your throat as if they were the last breaths you would ever take because, well- they were.

Your head felt buzzing and dizzy as you fell to your knees, crawling towards Light who had spun around in his chair so his back was facing you; completely apathetic. After all you’ve been through together, after all you’ve done for him, nothing. Nothing at all. 

You crawl closer, grasping towards the notebook Light held in his hands, your weakness limiting your reach as anxiety stole your clearness of mind. He only  chuckles at your meek attempts to save your own life. Your head was racing as your nervousness blacked out everything in the room except for the little black notebook your boyfriend had a death grip on; ‘I’m running out of time, I’m going to die, I need the death note, I need to cross my name out, I need it I need it I need it I-’

“Goodbye, Y/N. You were fun to play with for a while.” Light kisses your nose with an arrogant smirk, peeling your hands off from his lap and wrists before checking his watch, signaling your last few seconds. 

You quit your pitiful attempts to grab the notebook and instead push yourself further and further away from Light until your back hit the wall, lacing your fingers tightly in your hair as you cried your last moments away. 

“5, 4, 3 2...” Light spoke.

“No no no no no, please god,” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut in preparation for the pangs you would soon feel in your chest.

“1...”

And

Nothing.

You breathe. You let the air flood your lungs; it shouldn’t be possible. You dare to open your eyes, revealing the same scene. You, pathetically on the floor with tears down your face, Light before you in his chair with his head thrown back in a maniacal laugh. 

He tossed the death note down to you, like a dog being thrown a bone. You frantically grab it and flip to the newest page, your name scratched out with two thick lines. 

You were alive- no, he let you live.

❛ hit me my darling tonight, i don’t know why but i like it

“Well?” Light asks expectingly, standing up from his chair and kicking it to the side of the room. You look up at him questioningly, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as tears still brimmed your eyes from the just-curved anxiety attack.

“No ‘thank you’? I spared your life even after you betrayed me- lied to me. You’re so ungrateful.”

“I, I-” You found it difficult to shape your words with your hitching breath. You inhale deeply, eyes closed, calming down, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Light.”

Why were you even apologizing?

“I’m so sorry, please, just take me back. I’m sorry.” The words spilled from your mouth so quickly simply because they felt right. You needed to apologize, you did wrong, you need to be good. You wanted him back more than anything so you can be good.

❛ scary, my god, you’re divine ❜

“That’s right,” Light smiled, his voice softening unnaturally, “Now, how about you come over here and show me just how sorry you are.”

You hesitate for a second before crawling over to him. You sit obediently with your legs beneath your thighs on the floor in front of him.

“Mm, that’s my babygirl.” He pets your head affectionately, coherencing a smile from you. Despite everything he’s done, he always knew how to reel you back in. You needed the approval. You needed his approval.

You look up at him with puppydog eyes, to which he cocks his head to the side. “You know what I want.”

Nodding, you slowly unzipper his khaki pants and pull out his cock. You run your hand up and down, pumping it slowly. 

“Don’t be a fucking tease” Light scoffs, raking his fingers through your hair and forcing your mouth down onto him. That sweet, caring demeanor was gone in barley a second- of course it was. What were you expecting? It was a thinly veiled facade and you fell for it everytime without exception. 

Light groans, pushing your head further onto him as you try not to gag. You feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat as he thrusts into your mouth faster. “God, Y/N, you take my cock so well. Hah, if only the media could see you now. Poor little Y/N wants to run away from big bad Kira, meanwhile here she is on her knees for him, sucking him off like the dirty slut she is.”

He lets out a deep sigh before pulling out of your mouth. “Be useful for once and get on the bed.” He commands, bringing you to your feet with his strong grip on your hair and pushing you in the direction of the bed. You obey, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for his next instruction.

Light slinks over to you, standing over your figure as his delicate fingers dance up your inner thigh. He takes off your skirt and slowly rubs your clit through the fabric of your panties.

“Mmm, Light, more...” You buck your hips up to meet his touch, his movements were agonizingly slow and you needed more friction.

“More?” At once he removes his hand from between your legs and grabs your face, your jaw in between the tight hold of his thumb and forefingers. “You want more, huh? You don’t get to make demands of me. You really think i’m gonna give you what you want after that stunt you pulled? Hah, I’m not letting you off that easy.”

You let out a whine, bucking your hips again asking to be touched.

“Aww, poor baby...” Light cooed, “Open up.” You obeyed, opening your mouth before Light brought your face closer to his, spitting in your mouth. “Now swallow.”

You do, earning a smirk from Light. “Mm, good girl. Good girls get rewarded.”

He pulls your panties aside before dipping two slender fingers inside you; wasting no time, he pumps them in and out frantically.

“Oh god Light, fuck,”

“You’re so wet for me Y/N, you like this, don’t you? I knew you would, such a dirty whore. You like when I treat you like this? You like being treated for the slut you are? God, you probably got wet when I almost killed you. It makes me hard, having you under my thumb like this, under my control...”

“Fuck Light, it feels so good, I’m close...”

Quickly, he removes his fingers from you once again, earning a cry from you at the loss of heat. “Please Light, I need you so bad,” You beg.

“What did I say? You’re still not forgiven for that stunt you pulled. Don’t whine.” He wraps his hand around your throat, pushing you down onto your back.

He fully pulls his boxers down, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Please, please light, god, I need it so badly. I want you.”

“Hmm, yeah? You’re so desperate for my cock? I’m not convinced.”

“Please, Light, I’ll never be bad again, I’ll never mess up again. I need your cock so badly, I need you to use me. Do anything you want.”

“Mm, that’s more like it,” Light remarks before pushing into you, earning a loud moan. HIs thrusts were slow, no doubt teasing you.

“Oh, Light, please, faster...”

“More demands? God, you’re such a needy slut. Fine.” His grip on your throat tightens, pushing you further into the bed as he snaps his hips into you without mercy. His pace is relentless, quickly finding your g-spot.

“Fuck, Light. It... it feels- fuck,”

“Hah, stupid slut, what’s wrong? Cat’s got your tongue? Or is it me fucking you so hard you can’t even think straight, can’t form sentences?”

His words only egg on your approaching orgasam, “Hmmph, it- it feels so good. I’m gonna...”

With that, Light pulls you up slightly by your neck before slamming you roughly back into the bed, thrusting into you with speed. “Cum, show me how sorry you are.”

You obey, releasing with a loud moan of his name. He finishes soon after, roughly letting go of your throat. “Clean yourself up. You look like a fucking mess.”

You slip your panties and skirt back on as Light sits apathetically at his desk, his focus buried in paperwork. You heart skinks to your stomach. 

Once you finish dressing, Light allows you to leave, informing you of the Kira case work he had to finish and opening the door for you. 

“And Y/N,” He catches your attention before you step into the hallway of the hotel, “Let this be a lesson. Don’t ever try to leave me again. You’re mine.” He grabs your jaw and kisses you tenderly- but you weren’t stupid. You knew the motivation behind it, and let you still kissed his soft lips back and let yourself melt into him. 

“Goodbye,” He remarks after pulling away, “Behave yourself.”. The door slams in your face. 

You can still feel his cum dripping from your heat daring to spill out of your panties. The hallway was empty, allowing reality to rush to you at once. Your senses only seem clear when you were alone- with Light, you didn’t see with your own eyes or hear with your own ears.

You let your back touch the door of Light’s hotel room, slowly sliding down until you were sitting on the carpeted floor. Your life was broken pieces and you cut yourself picking up the glass shards, relishing in the fact that your boyfriend liked the way the blood looked on your pricked fingers.

❛  hurt me and tell me you’re mine, i don’t know why but i like it. ❜

[ogravensimp]

Dad!Constantine AU: Rhiannon

first one shot in my Dad!Constantine AU but there is plenty more of this to come so enjoy and make sure to tell me what you think :D

"John? What's that? Is it a tool to help us practice today? John? Is tha-”

Constantine couldn't help but chuckle at the string of questions coming from behind him. He began to think about how less than a few months ago the little girl would barely say a word a day…now he can’t get her to ever shut up.

He turned around and looked down at the tiny figure that sat cross-legged on his rug, who only looked back up at him with confusion in her huge purple eyes. Unlike the ancient power that was leaking out of her, the child in front of him looked exactly as harmless as you'd expect a 7-year old to look.

With her dark-plum hair unevenly clipped short to reach her chin and choppy bangs to cover the red gem on her forehead, it really gave you the illusion that she was a normal human child. And John liked to pretend that the terrible haircut helped achieve a more ‘innocent’ look and in fact, better hid her demonic origins…but that was probably just his only defence against his conscience that nagged at him for not going to a professional.

But hey, she was the one that begged him to cut off her originally waist-length hair and he gave it his best shot with the tools at his disposal—which happened to only be a pair of kitchen scissors, an old magazine for reference and a faded ruler for 'accuracy', but at least Raven seemed happy enough.

He felt his lip tug as he remembered how she had childishly bobbed her head left and right in the mirror afterwards; enjoying the liberation of short hair.

It seemed Azarath’s refusal to cut her hair off was the only thing the kid seemed to dislike about the place.

In fact, she had thrown a near fit when John recommended they ditch the tattered white Azarathian robes he had found her in when he pulled her from the depths of hell. He looked at her current outfit and noted that she seemed to have grown quite comfortable with the human clothes given to her.

She currently donned a large purple knit sweater and a pair of baggy jeans with flowers sewn on the legs. They were probably in style twenty years ago and weren't even her size but John had limited knowledge on where to find children's clothes(or about children in general) and assumed she'd just 'grow into them someday' when he had chosen them from a local thrift store.

Again, as long as Raven liked them.

"This, my little angel, is a music record," he held up the square packaging to her and made a show of sliding out the large disk inside, "This plays music. They allow music up in that Azarath place of yours or just prayers?"

"In Azarath? No, not really," John noticed whenever that cult of her's was brought up, she'd always lower her tone and look down at her fingers as if apprehensive of speaking wrong of them—John didn't know why though, they sounded like a bunch of wankers to him, "Azar said that music is a distraction that would only disrupt my mind by causing me to feel...feelings."

John felt the melancholy in the air as she spoke. It was rare she shared anything; for a kid, she was pretty secretive and John couldn't help but push to know more about his new ward, "And that's a no go, ey?"

"Only for me." She seemed almost smaller now, trying to hide deeper in her baggy clothes—maybe that's why she never pushed for more accurately sized clothes, "The others would sometimes gather to sing mantras in the courtyard as that’s the only type of music allowed but during those times Azar would always put me in the highest tower so I never really heard anything but muffles.”

John sighed.

Sometimes he didn't know if those quacks in Azarath wanted to actually raise Raven or terminate her but the more he learnt, the more he found the answer leaning towards the latter.

He crossed the living room in one large step and kneeled to be face to face with the little girl who stared up at him, nervous, "Listen, angel, I don't know much about Azarathian chants but I do know...", this time he allowed the girl to touch the record—though gently, "Fleetwood Mac. The best band in the world."

"What makes them so special?", Raven asked softly as she marvelled at the disc in her hand; holding it like it was a precious treasure.

John smiled— something he found himself doing a lot of since the arrival of this certain hellspawn. Plucking the records from the girl's small hands, he stood up and reapproached the player he was standing by, "Let me tell you a little secret in the magical community, love."

He placed the record on the player before dropping the pin and quickly turning, excited to see the reaction on the girl's face. Raven just looked confused, her mini caterpillar eyebrows scrunching up on her forehead as the guitar intro began.

"Rhiannon rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her?"

He plopped onto the floor next to Raven and turned to her, "You hear her? Like a voice from heaven, innit?"

The little girl just nodded, probably unsure of the right answer.

"Takes to the sky like a bird in flight And who will be her lover?"

"Her name is Stevie Nicks and she's...one of us," He made a gesture of pointing between both of them to symbolise his point, his smile growing as her amethyst eyes twinkled in interest, " The 'White Witch' we call her but non-supernatural's don't know nothing about that, all they hear is the music but we, we can truly hear her."

"All your life you've never seen Woman taken by the wind

Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win?"

Taking her tiny palms in his, he instructed, “Now I want you to focus on your inner soul.”

She obediently followed instructions, letting her eyes fall closed and she instantly shifts to focus mode with an expression as still as a statue.

"She is like a cat in the dark And then she is to darkness

She rules her life like a fine skylark And when the sky is starless"

Through her delicate skin, he could feel her once-raging magic begin to ease from the form of a ceaselessly pouring tsunami to simple irregular waves in a vast ocean.

"Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? Will you ever win?"

See, with Stevie Nicks being a witch herself, it only makes sense that some of her magic got laced inro all her music. Magic that had the properties to almost soothe one's magical core and opened up internal gates that were causing a blockage in one's being.

Similar to meditation. Just a whole lot more fun.

John simply didn’t believe in all that meditation stuff that Raven so pliably relied on and if he was going to take her in, it was his duty to teach her the many other ways she can control her abilities.

"Rhiannon Rhiannon Rhiannon Rhiannon"

"I can feel it...I can feel what she's saying." Raven's voice was so soft that John almost didn't catch what was spoken.

Suddenly there was an intense spike in the calm aura that's once surrounded them. He felt the hands in his grasp tense as her once still expression drastically changed.

"She rings like a bell through the night And wouldn't you love to love her?"

Her small face was soon blown in full panic. Sweating like bullets, her already drained of life skin seemed even paler and the strength she used to struggle suppressed what a child of her stature should be able of achieving but John made sure to hold tight.

"She rules her life like a bird in flight And who will be her lover? All your life you've never seen Woman taken by the wind"

"John I don't like this! I...I can feel too much... make it stop!", Her eyelids shuddered as she seemed to be forcing them to stay shut.

Continuing to wiggle in his grasp, the magic concentration in the room got thicker and thicker making it harder to breathe but this was exactly what needed to happen and John knew this. So even though her hurting voice made his heart shatter, he had no choice but to steel his resolve in the face of her cries and just hope it will pay off, “John!? John, please….DAD!”

John didn’t know what hurt more, the way her demonic magic was stabbing him like shards of glass in his skin or the pain in her voice as she called him the title he never in his life thought he’d be referred as.

"Would you stay if she promised you heaven? Will you ever win? Will you ever win?"

“This is all your magic, angel, you got to feel your magic. Can't just lock it up, this is all you,”, he gritted his teeth while he was explaining, and filled with some unknown determination, he spat out a phrase he normally tried to avoid, “you have to trust me.”

Raven’s eyes flew open at that, revealing the orbs of amethyst that were wetting with tears. Her little mind struggled to wrap around the statement John had just said and for a moment she just stared at him. It felt like the longest moment of John’s life because he knew her empathic abilities could see the nervous wreck he truly is and he worried that would dissuade her.

For a second there was no action.

"Rhiannon Rhiannon Rhiannon"

Until, much to John’s surprise, she nodded, “ok…I trust you.”

And John could literally feel the truth in her words as she stopped struggling in his hands and started to return back to the focused zone she had been in before.

This time though, her eyes were open and staring straight at him but John found himself not minding.

“Good.” John took on the role of closing his eyes as he began to concentrate.

"Taken by taken by the sky" "Taken by taken by the sky" "Taken by taken by the sky"

He wasn’t going to just burden a 7-year-old with whatever destructive sorcery that was sealed in her small body, it was his job as her teacher and her…dad to try and guide the freed magic back to her core.

But for that, he needs to concentrate real hard.

The moment John could feel air moving in his lungs again, he knew he had succeeded. Opening his eyes up, he was met with the same pools of purple still staring.

“So, how’d you feel?”

"Dreams unwind Love's a state of mind Dreams unwind Love's a state of mind"

That was when Raven finally broke eye contact and instead looked down at her fingers, not in nervousness but this time in amazement, as if she could see the magic in her fingertips, “I don’t know…tingly.”

This time Constantine let a deep genuine laugh escape his throat at her childish choice of words, “That’s good, means your magic is finally spreading. If you ask me that’s a better option than keeping it all sealed up.”

Raven tilted her head to the side, once again confused.

Constantine didn’t blame her though, her little head was probably going through something similar to a whirlwind at this point.

After all, in her first few years of life, she had lived a life of nothing but restriction and then he spawns from nowhere finds and brings her from hell, seals her oh-so scary father in said hell and then begins to dismantle everything she’s ever been thought to believe in, in the first place.

Must be a lot for a 7-year-old to bear.

Luckily though, Raven is 7 and they aren’t known for dwelling on things for too long.

“Do you have any more songs like that?” She asked, now focused on the player that stood in silence now that the record had reached its end.

John smirked at that, “Oh plenty more of where that came from and we aren’t gonna stop at just Fleetwood, we got some Zeplin, Rolling Stones and…”

Raven just nodded, again, not knowing the right answer and simply letting herself be ‘educated’ on all things that John Constantine had to offer.

In her opinion, this was far more fun than her old teachings.

yes I got the Stevie Nicks is a witch from ahs coven, so expect a lot more supernatural TV crossovers in this AU cause they're now my obsession

[chaseatinydream]

pirate king (9) || atz

You’re not dead.

That’s the only thought that drifts in your mind as you lie face up on the forecastle deck, eagle spread like a dead starfish. You watch the sun as it rises over the horizon absentmindedly, even as activity rages beneath you on the main deck.

The gun crews are busy cleaning out the cannons, preparing them for another battle as fast as possible. You don’t see Seonghwa, but you know he’s below decks, leading a team of pirates in checking up on the shot plugs that they used during battle to stop water from gushing in when the ship was hit by cannon fire. You would have been helping San treat the wounded, but one look at your blank, white face and he instructed you to calm down on the forecastle deck instead.

So that’s what you’re doing.

You watch white puffs of clouds drifting past in the clear blue sky. It’s so calm, so peaceful, you find it difficult to believe that you had just been in a sea battle the day before. Only the slight acrid smell of gunpowder that lingers in the air and the occasional holes in the ground from cannon fire reminds you that yesterday was nothing but a dream.

You could have died yesterday.

You’ve just come into this world, with no memories of your previous self, barely at the beginning of the road to recovering your past, so many questions still unanswered, and it could have all ended for you in that one battle.

The erratic beating of your heart pulls you out of your dazed panic.

You try to suck in deep breaths, forcing yourself to calm down as you grip the necklace under your shirt tightly. The cuts on your body from the splinters sting and you’re aching from the bruises, but you know other pirates had it far worse.

Then you remember what you did to Jongho’s arm and you wince.

“He’s going to kill me.” You groan, burying your face in your hands. Even after the battle had been won, the young battlemaster had given you a dark glare before storming off to clear the decks of the remaining soldiers.

“Who’s going to kill you?”

You jerk up in shock, spinning around only to see a dark shape dangling upside down from the foremast’s rigging like some sort of giant spider, scaring the living daylights out of you. You yelp in terror and jump back, your foot slipping straight into one of the holes caused by the enemy cannons.

“Ow!” A howl of pain leaves your lips as the sharp edges leave scratches on your calf.

“Woah, careful there!” The dark shape drops from the rigging and hurries over to help you out from your mess. It's Yunho, you realise, covered from head to toe in soot and to your horror, dried blood.

“Yunho-hyung, you need to get to Master San right away! You're going to bleed out-”

He laughs easily, waving your concern away. “No worries! It's not my blood! You should watch out for the holes in the deck till Seonghwa-hyung repairs them.”

You nod, eyes darkening slightly as they rake over the state of the ship. “The Treasure took quite a beating, didn’t she?”

The tall man eyes you curiously as he coils up the rope he was using earlier. “Maybe it’s because you’re new, but these kind of things are pretty common, actually. No worries, Hongjoong-hyung said we’re getting to Tortuga in little less than an hour. We’ll be docking there to finish repairs and replenish stocks.”

At that, you purse your lips. You’re going to reach Tortuga soon, the second time you’re stepping on land after having been on the sea for most of your life since your awakening. The last time didn’t exactly go well for you. “Won’t the Royal Navy be there?”

Yunho shakes his head as he plops next to you, grabbing a rag from his belt and wiping most of the dirt and grime from his face. “Aish, I really want a bath. No, Tortuga is a pirate stronghold, actually. The Royal Navy has little to no power there, so we should be safe… If we pay the town enough money, that is.”

You snort at his last sentence as you lie back on the deck again. The sun is turning the entire sky a beautiful shade of pink-orange, and you turn to see Yunho’s face bathed in the same lovely colour.

He grins at you. “So, who’s going to kill you?”

At that, you shrink into yourself, a little sheepish. You thought you’d distracted him, but it evidently hadn’t worked. “Ah… Well, I was supposed to get to the sickbay during the fight yesterday but I got thrown to the midship area… and Jongho-hyung rescued me.”

Yunho nods proudly, a wide grin curving on his lips as he takes a seat beside you. “Of course he did. He’s a great fighter and he has strong protective instincts. You’re probably safer with him than in the sickbay.”

You wince. “Yeah… But during the battle, I accidentally misfired the musket and killed a soldier fighting with Jongho-hyung-”

The lookout’s eyes go wide with surprise. “So you saved Jongho? That’s amazing!”

“No no no-” You try to protest, but then someone coughs politely behind the two of you.

Both you and Yunho sit up to look at your visitor, only to see the ship’s resident healer standing there.

“Master!” You greet him cheerfully and he nods, studying you carefully for a second.

“Don’t you have work to get to, Yunho-ah?” San says over his shoulder as he checks your complexion and your pulse point for any erratic beating. The lookout pouts adorably, but can’t keep the grin off his face for long.

“Killjoy.” He laughs, before turning back to the foremast. “Catch you later, stowaway.”

San snorts as he watches Yunho go, scaling the rigging easily like a spider does its web. “And not a kind word to me.” Then he turns to you, expression blank as usual but you can read the care in his eyes. “You seem better now, apprentice. I want you to come with me to check an injury for a moment.”

“Ok.” You agree immediately, trailing after him to the sickbay. After the fight yesterday, you’ve realised that you need to acquire as many useful skills as you possibly can so you won’t be a burden to your ship mates during battles. And honestly, healing seems to be the most useful thing you could do for now.

San’s nimble fingers open the latch with ease and the two of you descend to the sickbay. Then you see who it is sitting at the table and you want to run for your life.

It’s Jongho.

You do a complete turn and make to escape before the young battlemaster can notice you, but San grabs you by the arm and hauls you into the room after him. Your master sits himself at the table, and you hover awkwardly next to him, unsure where to look at. Jongho’s eyes immediately pin you to the ground where you stand.

“I want him to learn how to treat a gunshot wound, that’s why he’s here with me.” San explains to Jongho as he pulls out several clean rags, a pair of bronze tweezers and a roll of bandage. The young battlemaster sighs, clearly unwilling, but he nods anyway.

“Whatever you say, hyung.”

San sets to pulling out a spool of thread and a thin needle, from his satchel. “Apprentice, fetch me the lamp and get me the bottle of rum from the shelf.”

You give your master a concerned look as you move towards the shelf hesitantly. “Master, this really isn’t the time to be drinking-”

“I’m using it to clean the wound, idiot. I’m out of marigold. And I abhor the taste of alcohol.” San tuts as he unwraps a sloppily done bandage around Jongho’s upper arm. The wound is a laceration from your stray musket bullet, and from what you can see, it’s still bleeding even though it’s been a few hours since the injury. “Jongho-ah, you know you shouldn’t be helping with the clearing up if you’re injured.”

“They needed someone to move the wreckage from the mizzenmast.” The maknae grunts in way of explanation. You swallow the guilt building up in your throat and move to get the lantern hanging from the low ceiling.

“How did you get this, though?” San continues, tossing the bloodied bandage to the ground. “You usually escape most fights unscathed, or most of your wounds are from close range combat. It’s rare to see you with a musket wound.”

You freeze. You can literally feel Jongho eyeballing the back of your head. But when he finally answers, he simply mutters, “Got sloppy for a moment.”

San coughs. Your master obviously doesn’t believe him but refrains from pressing him, taking the bottle of rum from you and wiping his arms down with them.

“So, apprentice, I’m cleaning my hands with alcohol. It helps to get rid of harmful organisms living on the surface of our bodies.” San works quickly, eyebrows furrowing into concentration as he slides into his ‘healing zone’, where nothing matters to him except the patient, him and occasionally maybe you. “Before you start treating a wound, make sure you clean everything you’re using thoroughly or the wound might get infected.”

“Yes, Master.” You move closer to watch him at his craft. San’s motions are practiced and methodical, as if he’s done it for years, over and over again. When he’s satisfied that everything is spotless, he moves to Jongho’s arm.

“Cloth.” He speaks, and you pass him the clean rags on the table. San soaks them in rum with a pair of tweezers while you cough at the powerful smell of alcohol. You still don’t understand how the rest of your shipmates can just down bottles of it without dying from alcohol poisoning.

Your master ignores you and leans forward, gently dabbing at Jongho’s wound. Apart from a flinch and a muttered curse, the younger battlemaster doesn’t seem to be in much discomfort, even as blood continues to stain the rags red.

“Help me hold down a cloth on his arm.” San instructs firmly as he disposes the last of the dirty rags in a basket. You stare at your master in horror.

“What?”

“You’re not deaf, apprentice. Put pressure on the wound and help me slow the bleeding while I heat the needle.” The healer shoves a cloth into your hands and moves to the lamp, leaving you in awkward silence with Jongho.

You gulp and move towards the maknae, trying not to touch him, but it’s impossible. Laying the cloth over his wound, you press down on it lightly, not wanting to hurt him and trying desperately to ignore his face right next to yours.

“That’s not going to do anything.” Jongho snorts in your ear and you squeak, almost dropping the rag. His large hand covers yours and presses down on it firmly, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

You freeze completely, but the frantic pounds of your heart are otherwise.

“Move to the side, apprentice. I want you to watch this carefully.” San returns with a sterilized and threaded needle, seating himself before Jongho and thankfully sparing you the close contact with the battlemaster. “I’m going to start suturing the wound.”

You breathe in and out quickly, trying to calm your racing heart as you move to make space for your master. Your hand slips from the maknae’s grasp. The slim man crouches in front of Jongho, eyes narrowed in intense focus. With quick, deft movements, he holds the needle with the tweezers and pulls the needle through Jongho’s skin, leaving a row of neat stitches in its wake.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” The words slip out of your mouth worriedly as you glance at Jongho. The battlemaster merely turns away.

San replies in his place as he continues stitching the wound. “I usually put a painkiller made of lavender on the area before I start, but Jongho’s a tough boy, so it’s no problem for him.”

“I am a man. I’m nineteen already.” Jongho grunts in exasperation, but the healer ignores him.

“You’re going to be nineteen.” San corrects him with a grin, finishing of the stitches and snipping the thread with a pair of scissors. The maknae gives him an irritated glare.

“I hate you, hyung.” He grumbles. But before San can reply with another wiseass comment, the sound of Mingi’s voice comes echoing into the sickbay.

“We’ve arrived at Tortuga!”

[ly0nstea]

Tabletop Game Questions

"Page 64 of the core rulebook it is literally the first thing they say about her in her bio, and yes, unfortunately it seems that the studio is heading in that direction" Does the RPG take place during canon, or after it? Because didn't it take until her Sozin's Comet breakdown for Azula to become humanized in the eyes of Zuko (he could have thrown her in jail but instead got her medical treatment as far as he knew) and the audience?

Also, I don't have the link on me but I remember reading on reddit that the tabletop creators did not want anyone to play as the villains, especially 100 year war era FN, since they did not people to act like IRL imperialists, colonizers, and genociders. Even though certain groups, like the Red Lotus, don't neatly fit into those categories. So maybe they described Azula in such a fashion to prevent anyone from playing a campaign from her POV/side? 

In addition, what is up with them outright calling Azula a monster and then saying there is no truly evil people in the world (if possible could you also post a link and/or photo showing them saying that)? Cause not only does it go against the ethos established in the franchise as a whole, doesn't that make the Gaang look stupid for not only failing to remove Azula's bending after Sozin's Comet but also allowing her to escape their custody, form a terrorist cell made up her asylum inmates (that she broke out without anyone finding out), and then failing to capture said cell?

Finally, does the game talk about the comics and if so do they talk about the Fire Warriors (and their possible final fate)?

Also, on a sidenote, isn't weird that this game contradicts what the cookbook implies about Azula's character/her final fate despite both works being approved by Bryke?

Anyway, I think I have asked enough questions for now and so I want to say thank you for reading my questions and taking the time to answer them!

The RPG can take place during either, Roku, Kyoshi, 100 year war (i.e. just before aang wakes up), aangs era (after the end of the comics) or korras era (after the end of her comics) That specific part was her character bio during the 100 year war, before she had even been assigned to bring zuko back so azula hadnt even yet faced combat, but it is set after ursa disapeared, so azula is probably 10-13 during that era.

The game does outright say you arent supposed to play as villains or as canon characters (though it does say if you really wanna you can) Either way, it doesnt make sense to paint her so badly because of that, because in her (and every other) description in the kickstarter page it says her npc can teach the players new techniques so clearly there is room to ally with her in the game?

-Page 67

-Page 104

The game does mention the fire warriors, it says they are "at [Azula's] disposal" implying they're nothing more than pawns and she doesnt care for them, other than that it just says they have reduced numbers, azula isnt necessarily standing with them anymore, and theyre reckless.

[lovelyirony]

my cherries and wine, rosemary and thyme (And All Of My Peaches)

@peachy-keener to the best of the best ;), and @angxlsgrxce, the extension of the prompt that she filled! the prompt was not taken quite literally: set during fall...but i think that it makes the best of it 

Harley had grown up going to his grandparents’ house on his Dad’s side for years. He had grown up chasing his cousins around, Grams chastising him for being skinny as a bean pole. 

“You’re just like your Papa,” she’d say, stirring the cider at the stove as Harley “helped.” (Ate most of the cranberries.) 

“Good,” he’d say, mouth stained a brilliant purple. 

“Not good,” Dad would say, swinging his son into his arms and peppering him with kisses all over his cheek. “That means I have two insomniacs.” 

“But you also have a Pepper at your disposal,” Papa said, coming in from behind. “Hey Mama, thanks for letting our little bambino steal berries from you.” 

“It’s why I buy extra,” she says with a wink. 

As Harley grew up, he’d seen near-about-everything that happened. He’d heard all the stories, but his favorite was about the year Tony finally got to visit. 

“They thought we wouldn’t know,” Grandpa said, cutting up the ham with a laugh. “My damn fool son thought that I wouldn’t notice when he was gone on somebody.” 

“Language, dad,” he would say, and Harley would grin up at his dad. 

“He doesn’t need a lesson in what not to say,” Grandpa would say. “And you’re ruining the story. Anyways, here they are, cuddled up in a blanket...” 

Harley wants that. He wants to find someone he loves so much to bring home. He wants to dance with them in the kitchen when they’re supposed to be on clean-up, crooning to scratchy old records that made it past college dorm rooms. 

He wants to look across the table and smile fondly, and hold hands with whoever it is. 

His parents tell him it’ll be soon. 

“Before you know it, my mad scientist,” Dad says, grinning. “You’ll find someone that you’ll take their breath away.” 

“And hopefully it’s not because they’re asthmatic,” Papa quips. 

Harley giggles. 

“Goodnight bambino,” Tony tells his son. “Get good rest and wake up happy tomorrow.” 

“I promise,” Harley says sleepily. “Mostly.” 

Tony and Rhodey leave his room, and they smile at each other. 

“It’ll be too soon,” Rhodey says to his husband. “And then he will grow up.” 

“And we will be there for all of it,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Besides, I can’t wait to see who Harley finds.” 

Harley meets a boy from Queens who talks a bit more than necessary, accidentally slapped him in the face while emphasizing his point about Jurassic Park during lunch, and has the most brilliant smile he’s ever seen. 

He can’t believe he knows him. 

Also, that they work together. Kind of. It’s an internship, but they also take most of the time to discuss conspiracy theories and challenge Ned with different programming games. 

“What do you think about adding some extra web spots on the sides?” Peter asks him. 

Harley is staring. A lot. 

Peter is wearing a good shirt. Funny pun. He is the funniest. And the cutest. He has these laughter lines by his eyes that always come up when he’s laughing really hard, and it’s so cute, and--

“Uh...Harley? You okay?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Um. Yeah. I’m all good. You were saying about side-lining your webslingers? Why?” 

“No, moving some to the side,” Peter says. “Like this.” 

Harley frowns at the diagram. 

“No, you splay out your hands too much when you’re Spidey. Web gets caught, you end up getting thrown at a ninety-degree angle or something. Skip it.” 

“How do I never think about the most obvious things,” Peter mutters. 

Harley has it on the tip of his tongue to mention that he is completely gone on him, and everyone knows it. Including his parents, which he isn’t exactly a fan of. 

Especially since Rhodey has been behind Peter at his work desk, mock-batting his eyelashes and throwing hearts up on any single display screen that Friday has control of. (She essentially staged a coup, and Jarvis let her.) 

“Dad,” Harley hisses out. “Stop.” 

“Stop what?” Peter asks, grin on his face. “What are you guys doing?” 

“Oh, nothing much,” Dad says. “But, that does remind me that I need to be doing something, and that is discussing Thanksgiving. We’re leaving for Grams’ early, around eight.” 

“Then cider!” Harley says, grinning. He turns towards Peter. “What about you, what plans you got?” 

“Oh, I think I’m going to attempt to make myself a mean turkey sandwich while May’s out,” Peter says. “Had to be on-duty for this year, but she gets Christmas off this year.” 

“What?” Harley says. “You’re not going over to Ned’s or anything?” 

“Ned’s visiting with Betty’s family, and MJ...I don’t know what she’s doing, but it’s something with family. She’s been sending me depressing poetry for half-an-hour.” 

Harley snorts. 

“Well that sucks, Peter. Sorry to hear that.” 

“It’ll be okay!” Peter says. “Just means I get to watch Star Wars with no complaints from you or Ned about my choices.” 

"I will find a way to have you avoid watching the prequels, they all suck.” 

“Sure they do,” Peter says. “That’s why everyone still watches them.” 

“It’s because everyone likes to make fun of them, not because they’re quality.” 

Peter laughs. 

“Maybe you’re right. But I gotta get going, Aunt May is trying to cook again.” 

Rhodey winces. 

“You want me to call Vietnamese food to-go ahead of time?” 

“I’ll see if I can help her any.” 

Harley waves goodbye, telling him to text when he got home. 

“I’m Spidey, I know how to get home safely,” Peter says, smiling anyways. “But I will. Anyway. Just to humor you.” 

“You have run into a telephone pole as Spidey before, you truly still think I have faith in you?” 

“I think a little bit of faith. Maybe a tad.” 

Harley rolls his eyes. 

“Go home before May successfully burns down the apartment complex this time.” 

“Will do!” 

Peter smiles one last time before exiting. 

“You, my dear son, are in love,” Rhodey announces. 

“Dad!” Rhodey snickers. 

“You did not learn subtlety from me, you learned it from your Papa, which is to say: you have learned no subtlety. It’s not my fault you’re entertaining.” 

“Ugh.” 

- 

But Harley keeps thinking about Peter. 

He knows that Peter is going to hate being alone, no matter how much he would actually watch the prequels. Peter hates being alone anyways. He’s always at least with someone, can’t stand being by himself. 

And on a holiday? One that’s usually spent with family of some kind? 

Well...it shouldn’t be that way. 

So at dinner, as Dad and Papa are talking about some sort of update on a phone, and Harley says it. 

“Can I invite Peter to Thanksgiving?” 

Dad and Papa stop. 

“I’m sure he’d love that,” Papa says softly, grinning. “I’m assuming it’s because he told you that May is on duty for that day?” 

“Yeah. I don’t think...I don’t want him to spend it alone.” 

His parents share a look, a look that they’ve shared a million times, one filled with soft understanding and so much love. 

“I’ll let Grams know we have an extra guest,” Tony says. “After all, it is my turn.” 

Dad snorts. 

“Sure it is, honey. Alright, Harley, call him up.” 

Harley grins, practically giddy. He’s excited to share this with Peter, to have him in this life. 

(And yeah, he’s hoping that it’s like the stories that Dad tells him at night, the ones over iced water and quiet reassurances late at night.) 

He presses the contact information, smiles as Peter answers on the second ring. 

“Harley, did I forget something?” 

“I don’t think so, no. But I wanted to ask you something.” 

“W-what did you want to ask me?” Peter asks. His voice sounds faint, almost nervous. 

“You sound weird. You okay?” 

“Yes. I am more than okay. I am perfection.” 

“Okay loser, don’t tell me. But I wanted to invite you to Thanksgiving with us.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. No one should be alone.” 

“I mean, I don’t want to trouble you. I can be fine on my own.” 

“Peter, you are a terrible liar. You hate being alone. Besides, you’ve never had Grams’s cider before, and that clearly needs to be fixed.” 

“You don’t have to twist my arm,” Peter says, laughing. “What do I need to bring?” 

“A blanket and maybe a sleeping bag if you got one. If not, no big deal, we just usually stay the night since it can be a bit of a drive.” 

“You sure you still want me coming?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Um...it’s family time?” 

“You’re close to me, Peter,” Harley says. “And I want you around all the time. I’m just glad you wanna come. You’re gonna love Grams.” 

“Okay. What time should I swing around Stark Tower?” 

“Uh...lemme ask.” 

Harley hops off his bed, phone at his shoulder. 

“Papa, what time do you want Peter over for the ride?” 

“Seven-thirty!” Tony says. “Unless you two want to canoodle before you’re stuck in the car with us geezers or something.” 

“Stop!” Harley hisses, glaring at his father as he snickers. “Uh, Peter, did you hear any of that?” 

“Something your Papa said made you yell, but nothing else?” 

“Okay, get here by seven-thirty in the morning, if that’s okay.” 

“I’ll set my alarms.” 

“Alarms?” 

“Well, I don’t wake up that easily.” 

“And here I thought Spidey-Sense was real.” 

“Hey!” 

- 

Harley decides he’s made either the worst decision of his life or the best, and it all depends on if Papa catches him staring so blatantly at Peter. 

He’s cute when he’s sleepy. He leans against the kitchen counter, and he’s still in an over-sized sweater with a scarf lazily wrapped around his neck. Harley really wants to fix it, just reach out. It’d be so easy, so cute 

“Harley I swear to god, please get your bag in the car before it becomes like the worst-family-picture-event,” Papa says. 

Peter seems to perk up at that. 

Of course. 

“What would the worst family picture be?” 

Rhodey already has his phone out. 

“Harley forgot his bag, which had all of his clothes. Only a Wal-Mart was open, and...” 

Head-to-toe sports neon. It was bad. Harley was frowning with his brows lowered in an obviously-frustrated expression while Tony and Rhodey sandwiched him, obviously bemused by the happenings of the holiday. 

Peter laughs. 

“Aw, you were so cute when you were little,” he says, smiling. “Really cute.” 

“Even in neon?” 

“Well, you’re cute in anything. Even neon.” 

Harley nearly spills his coffee. 

The ride there is mostly quiet. Tony hums along to the music, smiling slowly at some as Dad explains how Papa was the worst dancer on earth. 

“Not as bad as Peter,” Harley pipes up. 

“Harley.” 

“Oh come on, it’s cute,” he teases. “The way your arms flail like spaghetti is endearing.” 

“See if you get a sandwich from Delmar again.” 

“Oh the tragedy,” Harley moans. “No sandwich from Delmar!” 

Peter laughs. 

“You two get some sleep, Mama isn’t gonna stop bothering you two,” Tony decides moments later. “Come on.” 

Getting to sleep is...not easy. Especially when you’re supposed to. But Peter smiles. 

“Share a playlist with me?” 

“Sure.” 

Peter’s music taste is amazing. Seriously. Harley usually sticks with what Papa plays, although occasionally he’ll foray into some of what MJ plays. 

Peter’s music is relaxing. It’s light, easy. There are undercurrents of a deeper meaning, and what the memories make it be. 

The current song reminds him of the end of the summer that year, when they had an end-of-summer-picnic and he fell into the pond, and Peter couldn’t stop laughing and took about a million pictures of Harley actually in the water. 

"You remembering that time I fell?” Harley says, grinning at Peter. 

“I’m remembering how good my photos turned out,” Peter says, although he smiles. “You made a fantastic model. You always do.” 

Harley turns red. 

“Um, thanks. I always have a great photographer, wouldn’t you know it?” 

This time, Peter turns red. 

“I’m gonna try to take a nap,” he says. “Mind if I use your blanket?” 

“Not at all.” 

And Peter settles against his shoulder. 

It’s uncomfortable, but hell if Harley minds it. He smells good, and he’s so soft. He probably needs sleep. Knowing Peter, he probably stayed up half the night with homework, or something that had been a project for SI. 

Rhodey catches his son’s eyes in the rearview mirror. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles and nods. 

After all, there’ll be more than enough questioning when they get to Mama’s. 

- 

Harley gently jostles Peter awake as they pull into the driveway. It looks like some cousins are already there, and Mama is already halfway out the door, most likely intent on attacking her son-in-law in kisses and hugs, and seeing how tall Harley has grown. (One inch, but now he’s taller than Tony.) 

“My baby!” she declares, attacking Harley in kisses. 

“Grams,” Harley whines. “I need to help Peter out of the car.” 

“Oh let me see him,” she says, grinning widely. 

“Don’t make him scared of us.” 

“Why would we be scary?” 

“I’m not mentioning the incident of 2011.” 

“That was one time!” 

And then Peter is out the car, grinning. His cheeks are flushed from warmth, and he’s already helping take out the luggage and the dishes from the car. 

“You must be Mrs. Rhodes, it’s good to meet you.” 

“Call me Grams, young man,” she says, eyes sparkling as she turns to Tony. “He reminds me of you at this age.” 

“I was not nearly so scrawny,” Tony says with a wink. “I was charming and devastatingly handsome.” 

“Oh yes, because nothing says devastatingly handsome like train tracks for a mouth,” Rhodey deadpans. 

“And yet what did we do in your room? As I recall, you--” 

“Tony!” Grams admonishes. “Not in front of the kids, and not in front of me.” 

Tony smiles sheepishly. 

“What can I say? I have wormed my way into your heart.” 

“Unfortunately,” Rhodey says. “Peter, watch out for Tony. He can get away with anything, he’s Mama’s favorite. Even though I’m her son.” 

“Well when you fix a finicky Ford in freezing weather, tell me immediately.” 

“Still?” 

“Still!” 

Harley drags Peter, holding his hand. 

“Come on, you have to meet everyone still.” 

- 

Peter is just a bit overwhelmed, but mostly laughing as Harley takes him around the house. 

He meets Grams and Grandpa and hears all about Harley’s embarrassing stories, and he thinks it is rather nice, the dusting of red that Harley gets on his cheekbones. 

It’s a bit odd. Usually, he and May just watch Seinfeld reruns on the couch, or sometimes May has a friend’s apartment that they go to. 

They’ve given up on ever fixing an Official Thanksgiving Dinner after Ben, and maybe it’s too bittersweet a memory, or maybe it’s because when Ben died, there went the last of the talented Parkers in the kitchen. 

So Peter is surprised when Harley leads him to the kitchen to help him prepare the potatoes. 

“I make the best roasted potatoes,” Harley says. “It’s from the family cookbook, but I always add a little extra.” 

He leans in conspiratorially, and Peter catches a whiff of his cologne. 

“It’s extra onion. Don’t tell Papa-Tony-he’s been trying to get it for forever.” 

“I shall promise,” Peter says solemnly, saluting. “Scout’s honor.” 

“Were you ever in the program?” 

“For a year. I dropped out after I accidentally almost became a missing persons case.” 

“Please tell me it was because you chased a butterfly.” 

“How did you-?” Peter splutters. “How did you guess?!” 

“It’s a you thing, and I know you,” Harley says, poking his shoulder. “Now come on, help me peel potatoes before Grams makes you set dishes with Aunt Lola. She’s nice, but...talks a lot.” 

“I gathered.” 

It’s peaceful, almost. Peter works easily, handing peeled potatoes to Harley, and when they’re all done, helping chop them. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says quietly. 

“You don’t need to thank me,” Harley says. “I, um. I wanted you here.” 

“You...you did?” 

“You’re the best person in my life,” Harley says softly. “And I, well, I--” 

“Harley!” comes a yell. 

He seems frustrated to Peter’s eyes. 

“What, Dad?” 

“Come here and help me with an air mattress for your cousin Vince!” 

“Why can’t he help?” 

“He’s supervising your Aunt Jeannie at the store!” 

“Why does she need supervision?” 

“She watched Chopped!” 

Peter laughs as Harley huffs. 

“Well, we’ll come back to it,” he says softly. “Don’t worry.” 

Peter finishes with the potatoes, and moves onto the onions. He looks at the stained page in front of him, and sees a small addition in Harley’s unmistakable engineer-block-writing about more onions. 

He smiles. 

He wonders if when he grows up, they’ll have a-- 

OH. 

Well. It’s not exactly a surprising thought. He’s been in love with Harley since freshman year of high school, after their second week of gym when Harley dramatically decided to pass out and shorten the class by about twenty minutes.

When Harley looked back and grinned at Peter, right at him, it was then and there that he fell.  

(MJ called him “the most love-struck boy in the world”.) 

- 

Harley bounds down the stairs, grinning as he sees Peter at the table, helping Grams with the cider. 

“You’re trusting someone to help you after all this time?” 

“You finally bringing someone after all this time?” 

“Grams, I’m still young.” 

Her eyes sparkle as she pushes some cranberries towards Harley. 

“Picked out some extra. And I remember when your Dad was your age, don’t think I don’t have the guts to tell the stories.” 

She gets up from the table. 

“You know the recipe by heart, love. Help your guy with it.” 

Harley slides into her seat, grinning softly at her. 

“Thanks Grams.” 

“I’ll come and see your results in a bit.” She smiles fondly. 

Peter and Harley are alone. 

“So.” 

“So.” 

Harley turns red. 

“So, um. Is it okay if I’m awkward for a minute? And I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, but I think it’ll be okay.” 

“You’re always awkward,” Peter says softly. He’s stopped cutting up the oranges, knife laid to the side. 

“Well. Um. Yeah.” 

“Harley,” Peter starts out. “You can tell me anything. I promise you that it will be okay.” 

Harley looks at him. And really looks at him. 

“Can I...can I dance with you?” 

Peter’s eyes widen. 

“Really?” 

It’s getting late, the night already dark for hours. The family is quieting down, and most have retired to their respective rooms. 

“Yeah, really.” 

Harley drops a record on the old player, smiling as the familiar croonings of Bing Crosby lift over the house. It’s a favorite of his dads: Only Forever. 

Peter stills as he hears the lyrics: 

Do I want to be with you as the years come and go? Only forever, if you care to know...

“You mean...?” 

“I mean it all, darling. I mean it all.” 

Peter smiles and there’s almost a tear in his eye as he leans his head on Harley’s shoulder. 

“I love you, Harley Keener.” 

They sway like that for a moment, and all is well. Harley breathes out, and he listens to Peter’s heartbeat slow down. It’s a good moment. 

-

For their wedding album, Tony surprises them with a picture of their first dance. The real one.

Harley absolutely does not cry and if anyone says that they saw him, they are lying liars who have received uninformed news. 

(No matter what his husband tells them.) 

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH4 PT8

aaaand we back in the angst. Don’t worry about sitting pretty in it tho. expect those fluffy moments to hit soon B)

Warnings: Angst, heated arguments, talk of death; explosions; and harsh flashbacks, big swear for the swear jar, mad twists, Adri being an OG, the thickening of some epic plot, and a cliffhanger leaving you begging for more >:D

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, two, three, four, five, six, and seven can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

And an additional note in a previous part of chapter four part three here! (I promise these notes are important)

Chapter four:

Part eight:

Victor leaned back, clearly thrown off guard by my words. I sat up straight and pulled my hands from Victor’s. “I need to get back to work.” I said, moving to stand. Victor, coming to his senses, quickly stood and pushed me back down.

“No, you’re not.” He boomed, standing over me, giving me no space to try and stand again, “And we are going to the police after work.”

“No, I’m not!” I said with the same determination before. I pushed Victor roughly away from me. He stumbled back enough to give me space to get back onto my feet. I threw my plate of food onto the coffee table half-hazardly as I glared at Victor with determination, “That guy is mine! I will be the one who takes him down. So no, I’m not going to the police. And neither are you.”

“Is that a threat?” Victor growled and he walked back up to me. He towered over me, obviously trying to intimidate me. I merely looked up at him, a cocky grin slinking onto my face. 

“Nope!” I chimed, folding my arms proudly, “It’s your word against mine, Victor, and all you know is what I’ve told you. Sure you can go to the police with speculation, but you have no evidence to support your claim. I’d know. I also have no evidence.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” Victor rolled his eyes, “Ike, this is way over your head!! Do you have one good reason to keep this to yourself?!”

“Yes.”

“Oh really?! What is it then?!”

“… it is my business. Not your own."

"Ike-"

"Now if you'll excuse me," I moved to walk away but Victor stopped me. He grabbed my arms and held me steady in front of him, forcing me to face him. I looked up and glared at him.

"One reason, Ikamara." Victor's tone had changed dramatically. I relaxed my glare, "Tell me one reason we shouldn't go to the police and I'll drop it." I froze. Every part of me screamed to keep pushing Victor away, to protect him from getting too close and knowing too much. But, after one last look in his pleading eyes, I knew that he wouldn’t let me get away with pushing him off any longer.

I closed my eyes and sighed, "... he killed my friend.”

Victor's fingers twitched around my arms. 

I twisted myself from his grip as I recalled the events of that horrible day. “... We were following a lead into a warehouse. There was a secret room… a bomb… an explosion… I had to bring him back to life… with my own bare hands." My voice cracked. That image of Gavin’s lifeless body held form in front of my eyes, "It’s only a matter of time until it happens again… and…” I paused. Then, without hesitation, I looked unfalteringly up at Victor, locking eyes with him, “It’s not going to be you. Not if I can help it.” Victor looked down at me, eyes flooded with those familiar undecipherable emotions. 

Before he could say anything, my eyes flickered next to him, where they landed on a fourteen year old boy staring at his phone. My face suddenly felt like it had been set on fire. It was then that I became very aware how very not alone Victor and I were.

I jumped back from Victor and looked around the room, preparing rounds of lies and explanations in my head… 

but I stopped.

No one was moving. They were all posed in one motion, all looking over at Bart, who hadn’t moved an inch from his position on the floor. Not even Lola had wavered from where I had seen her last, with her small hand posed over Bart's knee. 

No one was moving. No one was breathing. Everyone was frozen. 

Almost like they were stuck in time.

I looked back at Victor in disbelief. He was watching me, eyebrow arched and hands in his pants pockets. He looked as calm and stoic as ever… 

… As if he knew exactly what was happening. 

My disbelief sunk into curiosity was I studied him, questions posed on my tongue. Victor merely sighed as a small smirk pushed up his cheeks. “Dummy.” He muttered, moving to sit back down on the floor. I opened my mouth. 

Just then the room snapped back to life. Bart groaned as he reached over and rubbed the baby Lola’s head. She giggled and fell onto his knee, slobbering on his suit pants. “Ah that’s probably how that anonymous tip got out.” Bart lamented, as if he was continuing where he had left off, “The reporters coming here is my fault.”

“Oh, Bartholomew.” Chris sighed, making me snap my head to face him, “You’ve got to learn how to keep your mouth shut! It’s gonna be the death of you! Or more, in this case, Ikie!... Ike?” Chris finally looked up at me. His perfect smile wavered slightly, “Something wrong?” I hesitated. Had they not heard a word of what Victor and I talked about? I literally said I was being targeted! Did… no one care?

I stole a quick glance at Victor. He was sitting casually at the end of the coffee table, eating his food once again as if nothing happened. I narrowed my eyes.

“... No.” I said, straightening my expression and posture, “I… Bart, what did you mean by anonymous tip?” Bart looked up at me through the gaps in his fingers.

“Hm? Oh I called our inside in the media.” Bart replied, sitting up, “She said that she got a call telling her about what happened. All the way down to the place your office was. It was because of my big mouth, Ike. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I waved Bart off limply, slightly lost in thought, “Did she say whether or not this person was male or female?”

“No. She said that they used a voice modulator.” Bart said, intrigue and blind curiosity dripping from his tongue, “One that made their voice seem lower and more mechanic. Whoever it was, they really didn’t want to be found out.” I hummed and furrowed my brows. 

Who would modulate their voice for an anonymous tip?

“Evie, dear.” Maria said from behind me, making me turn to face her, "Are you sure everything is alright? You look worried.”

“Yeah.” I said slowly, “I need to get back to work. Thank you for the meal.”

“But, you’ve still got some food left!” Sam chuckled gesturing to my half empty plate.

“I’ll heat it up during my next break.” I moved past the couch and away from the group, “Besides, I have a lot I need to do before I go home today.”

“Wait, Ike!” Bart quickly scooped up Lola and stood up from the floor, “I wanted to talk to you about that. I don’t think you should take your bike home today.”

“What?” I snapped my head around.

“At least not until this whole thing blows over.” He said, throwing his free hand up defensively as he walked over to me, “I don’t want anything happening to you while on the road. That thing is a death wish as it is. Then you throw in some reckless reporters-”

“And someone will aggressively write a story about my driving? ” I arched my eyebrow, “I’ve been driving that bike for years, Bart. I’ll be alright.”

“You could still get hurt!” Maria spoke up from the couch, “You never know what these people would do to get a story.”

“Maria, I’ll be fine.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to my desk, “I can take care of myse-”

“Oh. my. GOSH!!” Adri shouted from her place on the couch, causing everyone to jump. She glared at me sinisterly. “You drive a two wheel drive that has had more accidents than the average vehicle! Not only that but you just got out of the hospital! Do you really want to go back in?!?” Everyone in the room was frozen in place, speechless because of Adri’s sudden outburst. Adri, reading the room, breathed a loaded sigh, “All they are asking you to do is get another ride.” She continued, arching her eyebrow and glaring at me, “That’s all! Is that really too much to fucking ask?”

“Swear jar.” Ashton spoke up for the first time that day. Adri whipped her head around and glared at him. I hesitated, looking around the room. Nearly everyone���s eyes were on me, waiting for my answer. I could read the same emotion on each of their faces. 

It was an emotion I was tired of seeing.

I sighed. “I need to ride the bike home-but,” I said quickly before anyone could interrupt me, “I'll get someone to pick me up and drop me off at work starting tomorrow. Minor, would you-”

“I’ll take you.” A cool voice came from the coffee table, making all of us turn to face it. Victor stood up, empty plate in hand and determination on his face. I looked at him in disbelief. 

“N-no. You’ve done enough alre-”

“It wouldn’t be out of my way.” Victor said simply, walking to the trash can beside his desk to dispose of his plate, “I drive by your complex on the way home anyway.” I opened my mouth to argue more but Victor held up a hand, “If you are really concerned about the trouble, I’ll add the gas money to your investment fund.” I shut my mouth and glared at him. There it is again. The investment.

“Yes!” Bart pointed at Victor happily, “Let’s do that!”

“Bart-” I started, trying to regain control of the situation.

“It’s settled then!” Maria said, standing from the couch and clapping her hands, “Ike will ride with Victor from now on!”

“Hold on!” I tried again, but was interrupted once again.

“Wait does this mean Victor has to pick me up from school too?!” Sam asked with both excitement and worry.

“I’ll send a driver to pick you up.” Victor said, walking back to his desk.

“Sweet! My own personal driver!” Sam beamed, looking at me for approval. I arched my eyebrow. Sam’s smile plummeted. “...I-I mean,” He quickly said, throwing his hands up, “Not that you aren’t a better personal driver! I mean one outside of the family! I-I bet this driver has nothing on you, Ike!... Evie?” Sam smiled at me innocently. I rolled my eyes and looked over to Victor. He was also looking at Sam with a complacent expression. Sensing my stare, he turned to face me.

“There’s no getting out of this, is there?” I asked dully.

“No.” Victor, Bart, Maria, Adri, and Sam said at once. I sighed and turned back to my desk, where I sat in the chair and ran my face through my hands. 

“I still don’t like the idea of you going out alone tonight.” Bart said uneasily. I pulled my hands down my face and looked over to him.

“I can go with her!” Adri said, raising her hand from the couch. Maria glared at her.

“You have school.” She said in her menacing motherly tone.

“Didn’t you hear?” Adri said, flashing a devious grin, “Today is a half day! I was going to hang out with friends after school but I’ll just spend the night with my favorite sister instead!” Bart and Maria glared at their newest foster daughter in silence.

“...I’m too worried for Ike’s safety to double check that.” Bart finally said, keeping his squinty eyes on Adri. Maria turned to me.

“Would you be ok with Adri spending the night?” She asked sweetly. I looked back at Adri. She grinned at me and winked. I hesitated. She obviously had something planned. But what? What could I have for her? Maybe she planned on ditching me to hang out with her friends? But then why would she be so persistent in getting me a ride home? And why was she so angry before? What caused her attitude to change so quickly like that… There really was only one way to find out.

“Sure.” I said, turning to face my computer, “but I warn you, Adri, my life at home isn’t very exciting.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Adri chimed.

“I’ll follow Ike home and be sure she is safe.” Victor said, standing from his place at his desk. He put his hands in his pockets and looked over to me. I looked away disgruntledly. 

“Can I come?!” Sam asked hopefully, looking between Bart and Maria.

“You have soccer practice today, mister.” Maria scrubbed his head roughly. Sam whined but didn’t say anymore. Maria smiled and looked over to Victor. “I’ll give you a copy of the kids’ schedules. Be sure to send me the bill.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor waved his hand dismissively, “I’ve got it handled.” I rolled my eyes. He sure was wasting a lot of money just to prove a point.

“Then it’s settled!” Bart clapped, “Adri will go home with Evie today and Victor will follow. Then he will take her to and from work until everything is cleared up! Great! Now! Let’s finish eating in my office and let Ike and Victor get back to work. Say goodbye to Ike kids!” Bart jogged happily to the coffee table and started packing the food back into the bags. Everyone complied to his demands and scattered thank yous and goodbyes came from various voices in the room. I stood up as Sam came running up to me. He jumped up and gave me a big hug.

“Don’t worry.” He whispered in my ear, “I told Adri I called dibs on the next sleepover.”

“Noted.” I said as I ruffled his hair. Sam laughed and pulled away from me, just in time for Chris to replace him. He lifted me up in the air and rocked me back and forth, all while squeezing the life out of me.

“Be safe, Ikie!” He said in between the swings. 

“You too.” I coughed, giving him a few pats on the back, for it was all I could do in that situation. Chris dropped me and walked away. I just barely had time to breathe as Adri approached me.

“Sister!” She said, holding her arms out wide. I winced slightly but that didn’t stop Adri from wrapping her arms around my neck. She pulled me close to her, letting her head rest next to my ear. I hugged her back, patting her lightly on the shoulder.

"I can't wait for tonight!” Adri whispered into my ear as she rubbed my back slightly, “Especially since you're gonna tell me all about that pretty little target on your back.”

All my blood pooled to my feet.

“H-how…” I stammered.

“What, you think your little conversation with Victor was left unheard?” Adri chimed, “‘Do you really think it will stop the man who will do anything to see me dead?!’ ‘He sent a bomb through my ceiling!’ ‘It’s my word against yours!’ Really, Ike, it’s like you’re trying not to hide it. Though it does surprise me that I was seemingly the last person to know.” I tightened my arms around Adri’s body.

“This stays between us.” I spoke seriously and coldly, “Understand? Not a word to Bart and Maria.”

“Geez, alright!” Adri gasped as she tapped my back, “I promise I won’t say anything!” I eased my grip and pulled away from Adri. She keeled over, rubbing her stomach and breathing deeply. I ignored her show as I looked over to Bart and Maria.

They were talking merrily to Victor as if there was absolutely nothing to worry about. I furrowed my eyebrows. I had said I was being targeted when I was with Victor so, why aren’t they talking about it? Why aren’t they worried? If Adri heard the conversation then shouldn’t they have as well? Just what happened when Victor and I were talking?

“Hey,” Adri patted my head, forcing my attention to her, “You can’t keep your thoughts to yourself anymore. You’ve gotta tell me what you are thinking or I will just be someone with valuable information! You wouldn’t want that just walking around willy nilly, right?” Adri grinned mischievously.

“Well” My voice fell an octave as I folded my arms and arched my brows, “there is another way I could make sure that information doesn’t leak…” Adri’s grin quickly fell from her face. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry, kid.” I said, patting Adri on her shoulder, “After all, I’m your favorite sister.”

“How can you make that sound so menacing and kind at the same time?” Adri chuckled nervously. I winked at her before ushering her forward, leaving room for the rest of our family to say their goodbyes.

>>>

Once everyone had left, Victor and I sat quietly at our desks. I tapped my pen on my desk, lost in thought.

“So,” Victor said without looking up from his computer, “You’re an evolver.”

My pen fell from my hand.

I tried to speak but my words had gotten lodged in my throat. How could he have known?! Was it the way I pushed him to the ground?! I didn’t use that much power. Maybe I miss judge my evol more than I’d like to admit.

“I had my assumptions but,” Victor continued in between my silence, “I wasn’t completely certain. But now, it’s quite clear why you insist on taking care of yourself.”

“H-how?” I managed to stutter, turning to look at Victor. Victor scoffed as he turned to me

“Are you that slow? You really didn’t notice anything strange during our conversation earlier?”

My eyes widened, “So I wasn’t imagining that!... That was you?” Victor gave me a look that I received far too often. 

“What do you think?”

“So you’re an evolver too? Wait, so your evol is to freeze people in place?”

“Dummy.” Victor sighed as he turned back to his work, “I can control time.”

“Can people still hear us when you do that?”

“No.”

“...what?”

“Do you really think I would start that kind of a conversation in front of your parents?” Victor retorted, turning back to me, “Let alone your siblings?”

“Wait.” I shook my head and held up my hands, “You’re saying no one else could have heard our conversation?”

“No.” Victor turned back to his computer, “Not unless they were also evolvers.”

“... what?”

“They had to have been an evolver to have heard our conversation.”

My heart stopped.

Victor, noticing my change in attitude, turned back to me. “What is it?” He asked, seriousness easing back into his tone. I opened my mouth.

 A knock came from the door. “Sorry, ignore me.” Adri came into the room, looking down at her phone, “Maria forgot her diaper bag so I… came… to” Adri looked up from her phone to see Victor and me staring at her, “... Unless you guys have some sort of emotional connection to it. Then I can tell her it wasn’t there-”

“N-no.” I cleared my throat and gestured to the sitting area, “Go ahead.” After a moment of confused silence, Adri did as I said and continued walking into the room. I started mindlessly tapping my pen on the desk as I watched Adri, thinking over everything Victor had just said.

“...Oh, and Adri?”

“Hm?” Adri hummed.

“I’m excited to have you over tonight.”

“Oh really?” Adri sang, picking up the bag and turning to look at me.

“Yeah.” I nodded and stopped tapping my pen, “I get the feeling we have a lot of bonding to do.”

(Next)

[jj-scottsbee]

Broken

Prompt: You had known the Maximoff twins since you were young. You went through Stryker’s experiments with them and survived. Everything fell apart only a few years after.

Warnings: language, a little violence 

“You have nowhere to run kid.” Captain America said breathlessly, behind you as you stared over the edge of the skyscraper. You stood on the ledge contemplating the options you didn’t have. You were a rouge HYDRA agent, hunted by both HYDRA and now, the Avengers. You had broken into one of the many hidden weapon vaults of the fallen organization known as S.H.E.I.L.D. As expected you had been caught by the team, cornered on a roof.  “Trust me, I’ve been running my whole life.” You chuckled over your shoulder, the toes of your shoes hanging over the concrete edge of the building. You contemplated the very few options you had, you could stay and fight or somehow manage to jump and swing yourself into one of the many windows of the building.  “You got nowhere to go.” Came another voice from behind you. You tensed, you had taken too long to think, you gave the rest of the team the chance to catch up to you on the roof. Weapons and powers of all sorts, all aimed at your head. You slowly turned around, your eyes surveying the opponents that stood between you and the door. You looked for the weakest link of the team, but before you could find them your eyes met those of a familiar person. Your defensive demeanor slipped for only a second as you met Pietro’s eyes and then his sister’s, Wanda.  “Y/n...” Pietro whispered sadness and surprise evident in his voice, your heart broke just as it had the last time you had been able to stare into his blue orbs. The heartbreak the siblings had caused you years ago, resurfacing. In a fit of rage, you lunged at them. Immediately you were stopped by a small arrow, shot by Clint. It held a tranquilizer on it, making you fall to your knees before you could reach the twins.  “You left.” You growled weakly before consciousness left you completely and you fell to the floor. ~ ~ “How do you know her?” Steve questioned, his arms crossed as he stared down at your unconscious form lying in the middle of the cell. “She was with us during the experiments,” Pietro said gravely, “She had survived just like us. She was given the same serum as your friend was, but she was never brainwashed. She didn’t need to be, she stood by our side through everything. No matter how many foul things we did and agreed to, she stood by us.” “So she’s HYDRA.” Bruce assumed as he joined the three teammates. Wanda was quick to shake her head. “No, she wanted out. But she didn’t want to leave us.” Wanda’s heart hurt as she studied you. She took in all the scars that scattered your face, scars that you hadn’t had when they had last seen you. She noticed you didn’t sleep the same, you no longer slept with a look of freedom and serenity in the face. Instead, your face was contorted into what seemed like pain and anger. You had changed so much, but so little at the same time. “Instead we left her,” Pietro spoke with hate in his voice, but the hate was not aimed at you. He stormed out of the room, angry with himself, angry about what he had done to you, what he had let HYDRA do to you. Bruce and Steve stared at his back as he walked out, concern and confusion written on their faces. “Pietro loved her, he still loves her. We all survived together, knowing each other since we were young. She was given the same serum you were, except she also seemed to adapt the ability of healing. It fit her so well, she was like a sister to me,” Wanda took in a shaky breath. “HYDRA deemed her too emotional for our line of work. We were ordered to dispose of her. We did what he had to do, but when they went back for her body she was no longer there. She was deemed a rogue agent and hunted by HYDRA, I assume she still is.” Steve listened, pity for you filling his heart. You were so young, to have been through so much. You endured so much, because of the loyalty you held towards the Maximoffs. He was quick to share the new information with the rest of the team, as they tried to decide what to do with you. Steve wanted to take pity on you, turn you down a different road. Tony thought you should be thrown in a locked cell, the key thrown into the ocean. Your eyes slowly opened, squinting as it took them a bit to adjust to the bright light of the cell. The room spun slightly as you forced your eyes to open completely, the light burning your eyes. You pushed yourself up off the ground, sitting up letting you head adjust to the movement. You looked down at yourself, you were clothed in baggy grey sweatpants and a tight long-sleeve top. Your feet, covered in simple black socks.  “How long have you been there.” You whispered, feeling his eyes on you. You knew the feeling of his gaze, you always had, time had not changed that. You didn’t bother turning your head to look at Pietro, his presence had always been easy for you to sense.  “Not long enough,” He said quietly, as he sat facing you just outside the thick glass that covered the whole front wall of your cell. He held back any emotions that he was currently feeling,  “Leave.” You flared, still not moving your eyes from the floor beneath you. You wished to cry, you wished to know why he had done such a thing to you, how he could have left you so easily, how he hurt you so easily. You wouldn’t let yourself show him weakness, the last time you had done that you were stabbed. Literally, stabbed.  “Y/n please, we only wish to talk.” Came Wanda’s soft voice as she entered the room. Anger grew in you, as the two people who had promised to protect, begged for you to talk to them. They had done nothing to protect you, they had done nothing to even help when you needed them most.  “YOU FUCKING LEFT.” You screamed, “You want me to fucking talk, huh?! Why did you leave me? Why was there a dagger plunged into my stomach, why did Wanda break into my mind and rip it to shreds? I should have died and you couldn’t even do me the favor of ending all my pain.” You ran at the glass, trying to get in Wanda’s face as much as you could through the glass. “You left me and they found me. LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO ME.” You pointed to your face, one half covered in ugly gouges, scars that HYDRA had inflicted on you once they found you. Wanda stared at you in slight disbelief, they couldn’t have done that. You had managed to get away, HYDRA hadn’t been able to find your body.  “Y/n, we did what we thought we had to do. It may have not hurt us physically, but we were just as hurt as you.” Pietro tried to defend, Wanda looked at him slightly annoyed.  “I don’t care how bad it hurts. You broke me first.” You growled, anger covering your face. You lifted your chin, to show that your actions were justified.

[fnafslinky]

Fazbear Frights 1-9 review.

Into The Pit:

Slow and meandering during the first half but picks up speed after Spring Bonnie shows up. Good message and good idea, but the execution could be better. 6/10

To Be Beautiful:

This story is so full of fluff, you can cut out like 60% of it and lose nothing. I know it's going for a fairy tale thing with the repetition and all, but fairy tales do that because it's made for children. Repetition is to train a child's brain to remember better. These books are aimed at teenagers, so this narrative device is not needed. On top of that, it has unfortunate implications of "Not like other girls" memes that we don't need to revisit. Only saved by its creepy af ending. 3/10

Count The Ways:

Legitimately my favorite story out of FNAF and one of my favorites of all time. It fixed the previous story's Not Like Other Girls problems by having the goth main character hate the pretty blonde and being called out for not even knowing her and being shallow. It is actually surprising to have these two stories be back to back.

The narrative device of switching back and forth between the MC facing her death and how she got up to that point means it keeps your interest throughout that the previous two stories had problems with. It makes for great drama and tension.

The main reason I love this story in particular is because of this exchange near the end:

“Silly Millie, for someone who doesn’t want to die you sure spent a lot of time talking about it,” the voice surrounding her said. “But that’s the way of things, isn’t it? Talk is always easier than action.”

“I think,” Millie said, sniffling, “that when I said I wanted to die, what I really wanted was to escape. I didn’t want death. I just wanted my life to be different.”

“Oh, but that really takes action, doesn’t it?”

And, if I can be real for a minute: I feel like that kinda changed my life. Or very least, my point of view.

As someone who has made attempts on his life before and frequently battles depression- It made my problems so much less overwhelming. Of course I didn't want to die. I wanted my life my life to improve. And now whenever the thought of suicide passes through my head, I just remember this phrase and it helps me keep it together and calm down.

And also F.Freddy's follow up with having to work for happiness is spot on too. Misery is comfortable, that's why so many people prefer it. Happiness takes effort. 10/10

Fetch:

I'm in the minority for not caring for this one. I felt like there wasn't any direction or character arc, I didn't find Fetch particularly scary or interesting, and the MC makes a lot of dumb decisions in it.

That being said, I love how it jumps right into the action instead of taking awhile to get to it like the other stories did. The stories tend to play out like a different book and then FNAF characters are slapped in at the end. This one gets right to it and makes it integral to its plot. 6/10

Lonely Freddy:

Another one I really love. The Frights series has a good traction with its tragedies and this one is no exception. I really connected with the feeling of being pitted against your siblings, usually by accident and circumstance with your parents. Particularly this line:

“Maybe you’ve made them what they are,” Aunt Gigi said, pausing for a moment before adding: “Hazel’s the easy one. Alec is the hard one. It’s like you put them on their own little islands.”

I wasn't Alec, but Hazel in this situation. And it made me realize what my sibling went through because of it.

And this is another story where Freddy's is more integral to the plot too, and one of the few times it's not already abandoned.

I really like how well done Alec's back and forth he had with himself whether to befriend his sister or not. It's a believable character arc when he realizes his mistake at the end unlike another story that we'll get to.

And the fact they made a God damn teddy bear legitimately creepy is a mastery of horror writing that I can only ever hope to strive for. Definitely the scariest in Frights 2. 9/10

Out Of Stock:

I agree with Dawko that this one feels best to make a 30 minute special out of. It feels like a Halloween special or creepypasta you would watch/read as a preteen. Old enough to want to explore more mature stuff, but young enough to still have more cartoony stuff be familiar. And I mean that as 100% a positive.

I also like how this one is a bit more comedy based. Like the scene where the MC gets thrown across the room after electrocuting himself and his friends dont even notice. I can picture that bit so clearly.

The climax is the best part of having a dire game of Red Light, Green Light with the Plushtrap Chaser. It's very energized and exciting that the other stories don't have as often because the subject matter doesn't lend itself to it.

The trend in these stories of kids learning to appreciate their parents, and they're parents realizing they have to sacrifice some stuff to make their child happy is very sweet. And it's no different here. 8/10

1:35 AM

What I like about this series is that you never know where its gonna go from story to story. I though for certain this story was about how the doll was gonna have an evil spirit possessing it.

But no, what actually happened is that it's never made clear if the MC is losing her mind, being haunted, or just seeing stuff because she's sleep deprived. That ambiguity makes the book a lot creepier and sadder because you don't know how this poor woman should be helped. And it ends without any clarification. That's great and a perfect idea for horror story.

That being said, Scott's writing quirks (and it's definitely Scott doing it, I can tell) of front loading info, constantly stopping the flow to have backstory and over explaining things that don't need makes it frustrating to read after several books of it. And we're not done with that either. 9/10

Room For One More:

I skipped over all the dream sequences because it adds nothing to the story. Its great you remember Sister Location, but it feels like you don't trust your audience to read a FNAF story if there isn't animatronics every couple pages. And honestly? Understandable.

I do know based on my own FNAF comic, pages featuring humans is a lot less popular than the ones featuring animatronics. And I get it, you're a bunch of furries it's more interesting to visualize. And you can go in the opposite direction and have very little FNAF stuff when they're needs to be more. The New Kid doesn't even bring it up til the last third.

But I digress. The strongest qualities in Room For One More is three points.

The location is very vividly described. The underground security office with steel walls, the radiation disposals, the musky scent. It paints a clear and unique picture.

The main character's fallen arc of self care and distrust of others is a well done cautionary tale. It goes hand in hand with the speech before of having to work for happiness, and the difficulties there are from even trying. But you still need to do it.

The body horror is not as visually disgusting as it could've been, and more conceptually horrifying. But if you have a fear of bugs in your skin or crawling in your mouth, prepare for something so much worse! And no, that's not a spoiler, it's pretty obvious where its going from the beginning. 7/10

The New Kid:

This one was disappointing. This is not the way to do a tragedy, because I don't care about the MC.

Throughout the entire story, the main character has literal sociopath tendencies. He is controlling of other people, he doesn't have any empathy, he sees other people as tools to use, he kills a bird and doesn't care- So at the end when he accidentally kills someone, I don't believe him feeling bad about it. And I sure as shit don't care about his death after him leaving his victim to die, while he was still breathing, and not coming back for a week.

Also the twist at the end makes no God damn sense and I'm not even gonna dignify it.

A better tragedy would've been his friend, Mick, getting into trouble for the murder after refusing to ever stand up to the MC. Or even the MC being betrayed by him last minute for him to learn how his shit behavior really screwed him over. But the end result ended up being an unsatisfying mess. 2/10

I'll review the 4th's books with 5 and 6, since I'm sticking with a three at a time theme and because I haven't read 4 yet.

[turtleskele]

So I thought I’d give some Mafia Skeleton Characters a try-mostly for my own amusement. But if anyone wants to ask questions about them my ask box is open: Disclaimer I do not own any Undertale characters:

Mafiatale Sans: Faux (likes it pronounced as Fox rather than Foe, for reasons)

Much like Undertale Sans, Faux is very laid back in personality and it takes a lot to rile him up (or even to do anything really: aka a lazy bones). He loves telling puns and corny jokes, much to the annoyance of Wolf. But like his name suggests, do not let his permanent smile fool you. Just like how his name is pronounced “Fox”, Faux is very sly, cunning, and always one step ahead of everyone. And just like the literal meaning of “Faux” (foe), his smile is anything but genuine. Because of his line of work Faux has a hard time trusting anyone and despite his laidback persona, is riddled with anxieties and paranoias that keep him up at night. He is always tired and can be found napping almost anywhere. Because of this basis of fear and distrust, Faux is rarely able to actually feel any emotion, except for his brother Wolf which is about the only person he does trust. He’s dated multiple people but most of them end after a couple of dates and leave him in a self induced drunken stupor. When he finally does come across his S/O, they are the first person that is able to see behind his front and actually make him feel. They lead him to begin to open up- a little bit at a time and learn to trust people again.

Mafiatale Papyrus: Wolf

Just like Undertale Papyrus, Wolf has a very genial personality. He has high moral standards despite being in the mafia and hates to see innocents hurt. He loves to cook but like the OG; his cooking leaves something to be desired (meaning it’s only somewhat edible). But as his name suggests; do not underestimate him. Despite his kind tendencies and seeming naïveté, he has a very cunning and tactical mind. He ALWAYS knows what’s going on and knows how to play a scene to his benefit. This includes the ability to manipulate feelings effortlessly. He is very comfortable with who he is and knows how many people look up too and think he is very cool and he flaunts it~ Cue a string of admirers and causal relationships. When he finally does meet his s/o he is surprised to find out that they can see straight through his facade and confronts him about it. They end up being the catalyst for him to be his true self.

Mafiafell Sans: Pierce

This Sans was given his name for his “finishing” bone attack during “disputes”. But he also likes to think that it refers to his ability to make anyone fall in love with him. Pierce is a smooth talker and very flirtatious. His tactics have been known to make people swoon. Just like Cupid he’s able to ‘pierce’ their hearts. He loves to joke around make people laugh with his bad puns, corny jokes, and pickup lines (which DO work 98% of the time). But despite all his success, he hasn’t found anything or anyone who’s willing to go beyond a week with him or who isn’t intimidated by his job. Because of having grown up on the streets Pierce’s biggest fear is losing everything he’s gained, or having it taken from him.This has given him a bit of a complex. Those he has dated before, describe him as being possessive, clingy, and very controlling. If Pierce does not have control he falls into fits of anxiety that he expresses through explosive bouts of anger. He reacts on a whim until he feels safe or until the threat to his control has been “taken care of”. It is during one of these bouts that Pierce meets his S/O who was unfortunately involved. He is impressed by how they are able to handle and calm him helping him refocus his anger. As they grow closer his S/O begins to help him loosen his grip a bit-though it is a long process in the making. They are unwilling to bend when it comes to his anger and help him to learn different ways of expressing his anxiety when plans go south. Pierce learns that letting someone else have control doesn’t mean they will take away from him but rather add something more.

Mafiafell Papyrus: Merlot (mer-low)

Just like Underfell Papyrus, Merlot has a very surly personality which scares most and intimidates the rest. Out of all the mafia skeletons (excepting Cabernet), Merlot is the most elegant and refined, taking pride in his appearance; three piece suits, leather shoes- all specially made. He loves to cook (almost more than Wolf) with a preference towards Italian and Asian cuisine and has taken every avenue to ensure that his cooking is impeccable- I.e: His cooking is edible and actually tastes very good. Though being in the mafia has hardened him and toughened his bones, the truth is Merlot still has a very soft heart; though he’ll never admit it and will act like he doesn’t care. He has a deep longing to be able to share with someone who would reciprocate his feelings back; thus he has had a wide variety of relationships in search of this. Sadly he has found that most were only trying to benefit from his status or were merely too intimidated by him to refuse him. This has left him calloused and hardened. When he finally( and literally) bumps into his S/O he is astonished to find how open and up front they are in expressing their emotions-good and bad. They encourage and slowly help him to be open and share with them as well; finally finding the connection he has longed for.

Mafiaswap Sans: Masquerade (Masq for short)

Much like Wolf, Masquerade has a very genial and high spirited personality. He loves cooking but again it leaves something to be desired. Like Wolf he loves to flaunt his inherent coolness and strives to impress everyone he meets. But as his name suggests and much like his Tale counterpart Faux, Masq is not as he seems. In his striving to be perfect and make everyone love him, he has lost his ability to truly connect with anyone. Much like Faux, his permanent smile is never truly one of happiness despite what he wants others to think. Because he seeks to uphold his seeming perfection, he falls into cycles of anxiety, extreme stress, and finally depression when he messes up or fails. He tends to overthink and beat himself up over small details and has been known to act upon instinct during “business endeavors” if things do not go according to plan, which he regrets later. Though he is no stranger to the dating scene many of his past partners described him as clingy and smothering and were unwilling to find out the reason behind it. When he meets his s/o for the first time, in the midst of one of his “episodes”, he is floored by their calm demeanor and ability to talk him off the cliff. As their relationship grows they help him to embrace his imperfections and to simply let go. He begins to learn about the importance of self care what it truly means to connect with people.

Mafiaswap Papyrus: Pokerface (Poke for short)

Much like Underswap Papyrus, Pokerface (Poke) has a very laidback and nonchalant personality. His go with the flow attitude and tendency to procrastinate is a source of frustration and irritation for his brother Masq, who tends to call him a lazy bones. He loves to crack jokes and puns much to the chagrin of his brother. But despite the persona he shows, many leave an interaction with Poke knowing next to nothing about him. He is very good at keeping his true emotions and thoughts to himself and has been described as very distant and standoffish. Unlike most of the other mafia skeletons, Poke is one of the only ones not actively looking for a relationship. Because of his past and his years in the mafia, he has learned to keep to himself and focus only on what matters: doing his job and keeping his brother safe. He is not a risk taker and likes to keep things simple. A partner would only confuse things and just get hurt because of him. But what happens when he finally meets someone he would gladly take a risk for? An S/O that makes him want to open up-even just a little bit?

Mafiafellswap Sans: Cabernet (Caber for short)

Cabernet (Caber) shares a striking likeness with his namesake wine. He is durable and thick “skinned”, able to weather anything that is thrown at him. He is relentless despite the elements around him and like a stone, is immovable, unflappable, and seemingly unfeeling. Because of this inherent tenacity, his territory is the furthest reaching and deeply staked out of all of the skeleton mafias. Much like Merlot, he deeply enjoys cooking and also has taken tremendous efforts to make sure his cooking is flawless. He enjoys Latino and Mediterranean cuisine and is always looking for new dishes to try. He is the pinnacle of high fashion (seconded only by Merlot), and ensures that he has an endless supply of new and expensive clothes at his disposal-all monogrammed and all specially made for him. Much like Merlot, Caber, when he is comfortable and has built up trust, can be charming, sweet, and very soft. Despite the rumors spread about him, he is very sensitive to the plight of others, and often has been known to let witnesses go as long as they don’t speak a word about what they saw (with minor intimidation for good measure). He too longs to be able to find someone he can connect with, but years of being the head of the mafia and several failed attempts at relationships have left him hardened and unlike Merlot make him come off as cold and unfeeling. When he finally sees his S/O for the first time, he is instantly attracted to their vulnerability, but not for the reason most would think. He admires and cherishes the way his S/O can so clearly express what they are feeling and how it sparks positive feelings in his own soul. Slowly as they grow to know each other, they work to help him soften his stony heart.

Mafiafellswap Papyrus: Shadow

Just like fellswap papyrus who shares many traits with swap papyrus and fell Sans, Shadow shares many traits and behaviors with Pierce and Poke. He loves corny jokes and bad puns and will most likely be the only one laughing his ass off if you tell one. He is flirtatious as well but mostly on the down-low. Much like Poke, he likes to keep to himself and is the quietest out of all of the mafia skeletons. He has a very laidback personality, but many leave interactions with him feeling somewhat on edge. Almost as if he is surrounded by a cloud of anxiety. He received his namesake from his brother Caber because of his ability to stalk and follow people without being noticed. But many believe that it has a second meaning that is left unsaid between the two: that he will always live in Caber’s shadow. Because of the pressure to do better from his brother and the uneasy and untrusting nature of his job, Shadow deals with a lot of anxiety and depression. He is a perfectionist, but if he is unable to get it right, would rather not try at all or puts off doing it until he is forced to. He has a lot of self hate and self depreciates often. He doesn’t believe anyone understands him or would want to put up with him. Like Poke, he is not actively looking for a partner; his job and world are dangerous and a partner would complicate things. He also believes he is not good enough for a partner-that he would never be able to fulfill their needs or ever be good enough for them. He doesn’t necessarily meet his S/O, rather he encounters them when he’s on a job. They are trying to comfort a monster child who has gotten lost and by the end of the conversation even Shadow feels uplifted. This is a very rare feeling for the quiet skeleton so he follows them to see more and begins to feel...calm. Maybe someday they’ll uplift him in person~

[tf-reconciliation]

Prime Megatron vs. IDW1 Megatron analysis that no one asked for

This is really slapdash and was done in like an hour and a half this morning so there’s probably some incorrectness about timeline stuff (especially with IDW1 Megs), but this is pretty much all opinion. This is also really long, so I put it under a read more.

There’s some things to think about regarding Prime Megs vs other Megses with similar backstory (thinking primarily IDW1 [and this is all my interpretation based on what we get in MTMTE] Megs).

In Exodus, it’s implied early on that while Megs does want to reform the government of Cybertron he wants to do it with him at the top as “Prime.” My impression of this is that he has a thought process of “the government sucks, I could do it better, and I deserve to be the one in charge of doing it.”

Here’s Megatron’s speech to the Council in Chapter Thirteen of Exodus, without the narration unless it’s crucial for context:

“In the beginning I had not name. None of us did. We spoke to each other, down in the mines and the smelters, by electronic signature. We indicated each other by function. We assigned each other nicknames. I was D-16, named for the sector of mine where I conducted demolition operations. And then I saw my first match in the gladiator pits. That is where I first learned how life was for the lower castes that none of you ever take a nanoclick to consider. Each Cybertronian in that balcony has seen more Cybertronians die himself than the total of you in the rest of the gallery. Our lives are worthless!

Until--Until we decided we had worth. We, the lower castes. We, the bots who die in subsurface mills and factories creating all of the things that you up here take for granted. We learned that we were individuals by facing off against each other in the gladiator pits in Slaughter City and Kaon, and how did we know we were individuals?” He waited for a moment to let the question sink in. “We knew we were individuals because as we killed our opponents in the ring, we saw in their deaths the realization that they were individuals. And so we knew we were, too. In killing, we understood life. In being the most disposable of commodities--a gladiator, whose remains are thrown into the junkpile to be picked over and scavenged, the healthy pieces sold off to brokers in Iacon and Crystal City--in being disposable, we discovered that we had value. Someone would pay us for what we did. Someone would cheer when we killed, and roar in anger when we died.

So if our lives had worth--even to others just as worthless as we were--then we had the right to names. And that is how the sequence of events started that led to me being here before you today. My friend Orion Pax, I thank you for helping our cause gain this platform; and to the High Council, I express my thanks for your time and attention.”

This is your usual fare for miner-cum-gladiator-cum-revolutionary-cum-tyrant Megatron. The Council goes on to ask him about the bombings at Six Lasers (among others), and he says that he had nothing to do with it and that he “disavow[s] any act that does not ultimately herald a new and better era on Cybertron.” The Council then asks, “Are you not responsible if your rhetoric excites those unfortunates without your willpower, though? Do you not have the same kind of responsiblity that this Council and its members have, if your leadership position is to be taken seriously?”

Megatron does not directly answer the question. Instead he says, “What you have to worry about is what will happen if my leadership is not taken seriously.” I kind of see this response as a thinly veiled threat to the Council.

Now, this chapter is ultimately from Orion Pax’s point of view, so we get his views on things: “Orion Pax couldn’t decide whether to admire him or be scandalized that he could stand up in front of the High Council and ignore the truth.” Orion believes that Megatron is ultimately responsible for these bombings because of his rhetoric.

The plot moves on with Halogen, the main dude on the Council, calling for the Guilds to speak . Orion then gets up to speak, first insulting the Guild representative and subtly blaming the Guilds for loosing contact with the colony worlds. It is Orion who calls for the Council to choose a new prime: “Choose well, for a Prime might either lead Cybertron to a new golden era in history, or stand by as the dark energies of anger and resentment explode into planetwide chaose and war.”

We then move into chapter fourteen.

Halogen then goes on to say that these two have a point the caste system has already begun to be upended. Most of this is just plot and talking about Sentinel Prime and how he’s missing.

Orion has an epiphany: “We cannot count on anything. No existing structure can handle the problems we have raised.” And he realizes that Megatron has realized it as well, but has had a different reaction:

“Megatron looked as if he could gleefully have presided over the permanent and total destruction of every institution of Cybertronian civilization. Orion Pax wanted to be free. But if there were no Cybertron, if there were no Iacon or Hydrax or Sonic Canyons...then what good would freedom do?”

The Council goes on and on about the Matrix of Leadership, culminating with Halogen saying that it has bee lost for billions of cycles and according to Alpha Trion it might be found “in these turbulent times.” Megatron says, very softly, “yes” at this point. He thinks that Halogen is talking about him; he thinks that the council is going to choose him to be the next Prime.

And Megatron starts projecting, in my opinion. He’s angry, which he is allowed to be seeing as things didn’t go his way and anger is a natural reaction to that, he feels betrayed, though he hasn’t actually been betrayed. He accuses Orion of just wanting power. He begins to mock him: “Does Cybertron not call out in its hour of need and find...a data clerk?”

Its at this point that we get back to my earlier point of Megatron thinking that he should be in charge. He reminds Orion that he didn’t know the plights of the lower castes until he met Megatron. He learned from Megatron. I believe at this point that Megatron is having a moment of “Why should the student surpass the master? Why should this more privileged ‘bot be the Prime when I have lived this injustice first hand?” These are fair questions, and I do think that a good portion of why the Council chose Orion as the next Prime has to do with him simply being less confrontational in his speech.

To me, it seems that Prime Megatron wanted the power to change Cybertron himself, and when he was denied it, he resorted to violence. While he was a miner at the start, he is primarily a gladiator. He says it himself that he didn’t truly learn what life was like for the lower castes until he first saw, and began participating in, gladiatorial matches. He knows violent solutions to violent problems first and foremost. He also spends a lot of time in later chapters thinking about “when i’m prime…” and while some of that might be to blame on Dark Energon, I think it’s also a lot of his own thoughts. He first aspired to be the leader of the gladiators, which he became. What’s to stop him aspiring to be Prime?

Now, IDW1 Megatron is an entirely different beast (at least re: early early on ala “Births, Deaths, and Interventions” and Elegant Chaos). I’m not as familiar with him between the events of BD&I and basically the rest of anything. I don’t know how exactly he gets from miner to tyrant.

What I do know is that at the beginning, he does not want to be in charge. Terminus tells him that he has two weapons, his brain and his fists, and he must be prepared to use both of them. Megatron rejects being a figurehead. His job “is to articulate the injustice at the heart of the system in the hope that others might be inspired as one, to push against it.” Terminus is almost pushing him to be this figurehead that he doesn’t want to be.

M: “I’m not a figurehead.”

T: “But you may yet become one—and that’s why you need to listen to me. Never back down. Never compromise. Never bend. The moment you try to accommodate a rival set of interests, you subordinate your own. When your enemies realize they can’t corrupt you, or contain you, or appease you…that’s when you’ll have their attention—because that’s when you become a genuine threat.”

M: “You’re focusing too much on the individual. Lasting power rests with the collective.”

T: “Of course—but the masses need someone to rally behind. Someone to take point. And even after that, even after you’ve forced the world to be fair…the top table is set for one. You must be prepared to sit alone.”

Now. I have opinions about Terminus that aren’t…positive. But here he’s pushing—he’s pushing for Megatron to take control, to lead almost singularly; he’s pushing against what Megatron wants. I think it’s important to realize that at some point you might have to resort to violence of some sort, but I think it’s also important to encourage peacefulness until you get to the point where it is literally impossible to do otherwise.

In Elegant Chaos part 1, present day Megs has a conversation with Orion Pax (we love time travel shenanigans) and he asks, “Why rely on someone else coming along and doing your job for you—someone who may not actually want the job?” This question implies that at some point before the war properly started, he still didn’t want to be the one in charge. I believe that he was somewhat content writing and inspiring people to change the system.  As evidenced in Elegant Chaos pt. 2 when Megatron is talking with Impactor: “Because the revolution will be about ideas. Taking a new step, uttering a new word…That’s what the ruling elite fears the most. Violence solves nothing.” Also, if I remember correctly he hides under the table during the fight in the bar.

[astoldbygingersnaps]

On Petco and COVID-19:

I’ve seen a lot of stories and reports about various companies and how they are treating their employees poorly in the wake of COVID-19, but to my surprise I haven’t seen anything about my company, Petco. I suppose it makes sense, given that Petco isn’t as large a company as Target, Starbucks, or Walmart, but I believe people should know what we as partners have been dealing with since the outbreak really picked up steam in the US. 

Before I detail exact what my personal struggle with the company has been, I’d like to make one thing clear: I am a hard worker. I have spent five years of my life--half a decade--dedicating myself to this company. I am both a dog trainer and a keyholder, and I take both of those duties very seriously. Nothing means more to me than taking care of pets and their people, and I pride myself on providing the best care and service to our guests as possible. So when I say that this entire situation is forcing me to abandon my job out of disgust for the way I and my fellow workers have been treated, I want you to understand how much that means. 

I love the work that I do, but that does not change the fact that I, along with many other Petco partners, have been exploited, dismissed, and outright lied to during this crisis. While I understand that we are living in a dangerous and chaotic time that is difficult to navigate, such a fact makes it all the more necessary to treat people with dignity, compassion, and respect. I do not enjoy putting an organization that I have given so much of my heart and soul to on blast, but the events of the previous month have made it clear that Petco as a company does not care whether or not its employees or even its customers are harmed or killed because of their negligence.

For almost a month our concerns have been ignored, belittled, and redirected, and the little action that has been taken has been incredibly delayed and led to even more confusion. Furthermore, we’ve had little clear guidance on what we, as partners who work in retail stores, should be doing to take care of ourselves and our guests. 

It is also worth noting that our CEO, Ron Coughlin, was sending out emails to Petco Pals Rewards members in the beginning of March claiming that stores would be instructed to disinfect and clean regularly, but no such instructions were ever given. We never received any emails or forms of internal communication telling partners on how they should be cleaning, and because of this my own store took time out of our day to develop a cleaning schedule and shared our template throughout the district. Again, this is something we did OURSELVES, NOT something we were explicitly told to do. So, if you don’t care about how retail workers have been treated, at least care that you, as a customer, have been lied to. 

From the beginning, there has been a very clear divide in how store partners have been treated compared to corporate/office workers. While corporate/office workers have the luxury of working from home with full benefits and are allowed to perform social distancing to the CDC’s guidelines, we are not so lucky. Again, I understand this, to a point: because of their positions they are able to perform their jobs from home while we are not. But such a decision was consistently framed as “difficult” and “emotional,” which, frankly, is bogus. What’s so hard about giving your employees access to work from their personal computer? And what’s so difficult for them anyway considering they’re not the ones who have to come in contact with the public day after day?

Through the second week in March, numerous communications were spread throughout the company on our internal Workplace service, each one more inadequate and inefficient than the last. The worst was a ten minute long video where our CEO repeatedly stated that “pets are our main priority” and described over and over again how we simply MUST stay open for our customers. It wasn’t until the very end of the video that any mention was given to partners at all. The entire post was incredibly off-putting and made me, as a partner, feel incredibly undervalued. 

What made things worse, however, were the comments under the video. Floods of partners shared their concerns and disappointments. Many of them cited having young children or older relatives at home, or were immunocompromised themselves, and worried about the danger that working in a retail environment put themselves and their loved ones in. And what was the company’s response? To tell these people over and over to simply “partner with their district manager if they were worried.” That’s it. No direction, no guidance, no words of comfort. Nothing. One person was even accused of simply not having a desire to work rather than, I dunno, A FEAR OF CONTRACTING AND SPREADING A DEADLY ILLNESS. 

The post in question (all names have been blacked out to respect privacy): 

It was some of the most vile behavior I have ever witnessed, both from upper management and lower-level employees like myself who were displaying an almost slavish devotion to a company that was so ready and willing to dispose of them. Multiple people stated they were proud to work for our company in this moment, which was utterly baffling to me, as I had never felt more worthless to Petco than I did seeing those messages.

So! Let’s talk about partnering with your local leader! (Spoiler alert: it’s fucking useless)

On March 15th, my direct supervisor and I made a call to our district leader to “discuss our concerns.” What followed was thirty minutes of our life wasted where we were told the exact same thing as we had been told via the Workplace post: no partner would lose their job for taking time off if they displayed symptoms or came into contact with a person who had COVID-19 (the absolute bare minimum, in my opinion), but they would be required to either take a fourteen day unpaid medical leave or use their personal PTO and sick time to cover the cost. Around this time I was both showing symptoms (dry cough, fatigue, shortness of breath) and learned that my fiancee, whom I live with, came into direct contact with someone with the illness via her work. The possibility of contracting COVID-19 was especially worrying for us, as my fiancee has severe asthma and I have scarring on my lungs from chronic bronchitis; were we to get sick, the consequences could be severe. It’s even more concerning given that the state we live in, Massachusetts, has one of the highest rates of infection in the US and hospitals are in danger of becoming overwhelmed. Therefore, I decided to make what I believed was the most responsible and ethical decision, and went on leave. 

Fortunately, I am lucky; as a full-time worker who has been with the company for many years, I have accrued enough PTO and sick time to cover the weeks that I would be gone for. But many people who work for this company are not so lucky. Many are part-time workers who are not entitled to benefits, and some are full-timers who may have already burned through their paid time off as it resets on the anniversary of your hire date. So now these workers, like many other workers across the country, are being asked to choose between taking care of themselves and their community or putting food on the table. It is absolutely inhumane, especially given that last time I checked our CEO is worth more than two million dollars--yet the rest of us are forced to worry about paying our rent and feeding our families while we do the dirty work on the front lines. 

Since I initially took leave, this has been amended, and employees who have been affected by COVID-19 have been given access to 40 hours of sick time, regardless of their status as full or part-time. But that only covers one week of the mandatory self-isolation period, meaning partners are still at risk of losing money. 

Time and time again we have been told how much our overlords value us. We have been thanked, we have been praised, and we have had so many meaningless words and tiny gestures thrown at us. Sure, our store hours have been cut and we’re offering curbside pick-up to reduce foot traffic in certain stores (my store, a smaller Unleashed location, doesn’t qualify for curbside pick-up, because of our size). Sure, changes have been made to the dog training program to freeze classes and puppy playtime for the time being. And sure, there has been a partner assistance fund opened to support partners in these ~trying times. I applaud the company for making these necessary changes and for putting their money where their mouth is when it comes to donating directly to us.

But in a lot of ways, it’s too little, too late, and so many of these services remain inaccessible to all partners. Hell, partners have even been policed about when they can actually utilize their own personal sick time even though we are in the middle of a global health crisis. 

Even for those of us who have done everything exactly as we were supposed to, we are still getting screwed. Currently, I’m battling with Petco HR to get paid for the first week of my self-isolation as, even though I submitted all my time off requests accurately, none of it was reflected in my paycheck; because we get paid by-weekly, I have yet to see whether my second week will be covered, but I suspect I will have to battle for that as well. As a person who lives paycheck to paycheck in one of the most expensive cities in the country, I quite literally can’t afford this right now. But, of course, the HR team is off work right now because of COVID-19, because unlike us they have that luxury. 

In addition to this, I’ve also been prevented from coming back to work because our Leaves Coordinator now claims I need a doctor’s note to return to work even though I have it in writing, from paperwork directly from the Leaves Department, that I do not, as evidenced here:

I would also like to note that I confirmed that I would be returning to work on the afternoon of March 27th and received an automatic reply that I would hear from a representative in 24 to 48 hours. I did not, in fact, hear back from a representative until March 30st at 11:59pm EST, ten hours before I was scheduled to return to work, as you can see here (again, I am hiding my personal information as much as possible to try and avoid retaliation from my employer): 

While I understand delays given that our HR and Leaves Departments are no doubt bogged down given how many employees are currently in the same boat as me, it does not change the fact that I am suffering because of their lack of action. 

It would be one thing if the facts had been clearly communicated from the very beginning, but as you can see that’s very much not the case. Instead, I’ve been jerked around, lied to, and, again, had my pay withheld. Every day I spend at home fighting with these people is another day of pay I lose and cannot get back. Words cannot express how terrible this whole experience has been. I’ve cried nearly every day and been so anxious and depressed I’ve literally vomited from the stress. All the years I’ve spent building my career and taking care of clients while earning money for this company and this is the thanks I get in return. It is quite literally sickening. 

Throughout this entire process I and many of the Petco employees in my area have been treated like absolute garbage. The stores in our district are running on fumes because so many partners are sick and/or on leave. Employees are running entire stores on their own and not getting breaks because we’re so short-staffed. One store in our district even closed down because a groomer tested positive for COVID-19 leading to the entire store shutting down and being professionally cleaned... and then re-opened almost immediately, causing even more of a burden on the remaining employees scrambling to cover all these near-empty locations. Our technology is over-loaded and crashing because it can’t bear the weight of our increased Buy Online, Pick Up In Stores (BOPUS) and curbside pick-up orders. It’s absolute insanity and it needs to stop. 

I am not the first person to say this, nor will I be the last, but the crisis we are currently experiencing has starkly exposed how broken our economic and social structures truly are. Along with doctors, nurses, and medical care professionals working in hideous conditions to keep the rest of us healthy and safe, the people who contribute the most to our communities are those that have traditionally been looked upon as unskilled and overall less-than: janitors, housekeepers, garbagemen, cashiers, shelf-stockers, etc. Very quickly public perception has turned, and now society as a whole knows what those of us who work these types of jobs have always known: we are essential. We have the power in society. And we should use that power to defend ourselves and each other, which is why I’m writing to you now. By shining a light on the flaws and failings of this company, I believe we can hold them and others like them accountable and demand better, because we absolutely deserve it. 

The bottom line is this: if you care about workers’ rights, if you value the safety and lives of your fellow humans, and if want to slow the spread of this disease that has upended everything we hold dear, don’t go to Petco. Don’t reward this company’s bad behavior with your money because they have proven they do not deserve it.