#so in my attempt to just stop bullshitting myself and be real

[skinreflectsthesun]

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[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | april 30, prompt: sky | word count: 1.927 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger secretary james potter part 2 | part 1 AKA word on the street is i Excel in the sheets

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

The place functions as any other hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves just a handful of people throughout the day, most of whom are loyal customers returning every so often for a comfort meal when homesickness becomes a little too much to bear. Even now, there are only a couple of people scattered about, none of which pay any mind to either Regulus or James.

“So, first impressions?” James asks when he takes a seat across from him.

“It’s satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory.” James blinks.

Regulus is quiet. He looks terribly out of place wearing a luxury suit exported from one of the globe’s corners and James can’t help but feel a little guilty. He’s seen Regulus carve into lobster with only a fork and knife but still can’t help but worry about future dry cleaning prices for which he may or may not be responsible.

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

Regulus, perhaps finally acknowledging his poor attempts at small talk to ease the awkwardness, studies him intently for a long, close moment before acquiescing. “Enervating.” Right, because Regulus is the type to unironically use words like enervating. 

“The business deal?” James asks and Regulus nods. “Dude from Jakarta, right?”

“The CEO from the biggest real estate company in Jakarta,” Regulus corrects him. 

Tomato, tomato. “Does this mean you get to leave work at a reasonable hour starting tomorrow?”

“I’ve never had reasonable working hours.”

“Of course, I forgot the very important detail you’re a raging workaholic.”

Regulus’ mouth sets into a firm line as his brows knit together into a censorious frown—his entire face contorting into something that’s one odd remark away from turning downright petulant. “I am not—” He stops. Breathes in. Probably recognizes James is very carefully pulling his tail and for some reason becomes decidedly collegial. “Allow me to rephrase myself. I am meticulous. I prefer finishing tasks before going home and don’t mind when it results in me staying at work a little longer. It’s inevitable as a CEO when timezones don’t work in my favor.” 

Absolute bullshit. “Just last week you kept leaving the office after the cleaning shift already came by to sweep the place clean. I know because they told me.”

“I can’t see how any of this poses as a bother to you.” And there it is, the good ole Regulus Black-esque deflection. 

“I’m just worried. That is all.”

Regulus’ nose twitches and he looks away, a clear indication that he no longer wants to be a willing participant in the conversation. When Regulus becomes like this, James has learned to leave it be.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. James can stop pretending to take in the beautiful sight of the night sky, cracked asphalt, and the flickering colors of traffic signs when the plate is placed on the center of the table, carrying an assortment of different meat cuts and a modest side salad that will probably be Regulus’ for the taking.

Using the table etiquette of a properly groomed aristocrat, Regulus carefully selects some vegetables to put on his plate and a modest serving of rice. He skillfully carves out some pieces around the skewer.

“Seriously,” James deadpans. “Go on, Your Royal Highness, you can use your hands for this.”

Regulus almost bridles at the mere suggestion.

“Seriously, there’s no shame in it. Here, let me do it for you”

Regulus watches as James grabs one of the skewers and uses his fork to tear chunks off, dropping a generous portion of roasted vegetables and meat on Regulus’ plate. “You want some of this flatbread?”

Regulus shakes his head and James shrugs. He swiftly mouths off a dollop of sauce on his thumb, which earns him one of Regulus’ notorious James-exclusive grimaces.

Right, table manners.

They get to eating and James is once again reminded of how much of a slow eater Regulus is. It’s like he counts his chews, jaw working diligently with the faint scrapes of his cutlery against the plate. That and he works even as he eats, almost on auto-pilot with how he takes out his phone to open Outlook.

“Using your phone at the table is rude manners,” James teases.

“I got an e-mail.”

“Of course.” He nods. “Nothing workaholic about that, no.”

“It’s an important e-mail.”

“You know I read something about how it’s also important to spend time with your employees.”  He waves around a piece of the flatbread as if to emphasize the point. “Get to know them better and all.”

“I know plenty about you,” Regulus answers as he types away.

“That so?”

Regulus looks at him, entirely indifferent as the phone is placed face-down on the table. “James Potter. Twenty-three years old. Finished your master’s degree at Oxford, with flying colors might I add. You took a gap year to travel, working all sorts of jobs to pay for your accommodation. Currently, you live near Camden and spend most of your spare time enjoying hobbies or going to the pub with your friends. You have a Joe and the Juice stamp card.”

James tries not to physically reel back. “That…” He starts, absolutely nonplussed. Someone come pick his fucking jaw off the table, it’s dropped off its hinges. “You know what Joe and the Juice is?” Impossible, all things considered. Regulus is in a tax bracket where chain restaurants might seem like fanciful inventions, the kind of places mentioned only in tales where fine dining is unheard of. There's a brief curiosity about whether this is the equivalent of discovering that Toy Story's Pizza Planet is a real place that actually serves food.

“I've come to understand that it's a venue offering juice among a broad array of meals and beverages, yes.”

Still, that’s doesn’t explain… “How do you even know all of that? I hardly even know anything about you other than that you recently turned thirty and were homeschooled for this position.” And that he’s quite fond of the occasional handful of candied macadamias when feeling particularly indulgent. James keeps a packet of it in his bag.

Regulus’ throat bobs. “I do thorough research on the people I employ”

That’s not more than thorough research at this point, far beyond the usual background checks done on new personnel. “Uh-uh. Or you stalk my Instagram during your free time.”

Regulus promptly chokes on his food. His fork falls onto the plate with a loud clatter. James nearly knocks his knee against the table as he too scrambles for the pitcher to pour him water, almost knocking over his can of Sprite in the process.

“Easy, I was just kidding.” He has half the mind to stand up and start patting him on his back to dislodge whatever molecular-sized cucumber wedged itself in his airpipe. “I doubt Mr. Black Enterprises even uses Instagram.”

Regulus looks up startled. Definitely not from the lack of air.

Oh.

Ohohohoh.

“Oh my god.” James’ face splits into a distinguished, shit-eating grin. “You do.” 

“What?” It’s barely a wheeze with the way Regulus has been caught. His grip is deadly around the fork, something that should warn James to be wary.

“Instagram,” James repeats, trying his hardest not to gloat when Regulus shivers. “You use it? The Regulus Black uses Instagram? I thought you would be a member of some upper-echelon-exclusive platform instead of mingling with us.”

The worry swiftly dissipates, giving way to confusion, and then settles into something far more at ease. Although James enjoys those fleeting moments where he gets Regulus riled up, he much prefers seeing him relaxed. “Oh—I—Yes. Occasionally,” he stammers, swallowing and reaching for a napkin to dap at his mouth with. “Barty convinced me,” he hastily adds. “It’s a very private account. I’m hardly active on it.”

Sinking into his seat, James pats around for his own phone. “You should follow me.”

“Shu?”

“On Instagram. You should follow me. If you want, of course.”

The tips of Regulus’ ears turn a delicious pink as he returns his attention to his plate. “I’ll think about it.”

After some more idle talk and eating, they decide to head out before Barty ultimately decides it’s past working hours and he’s not dropping Regulus off at home—some palatial penthouse tucked away in one of London's secluded enclaves where the affluent reside, enjoying a life of extravagance as they remain shielded from the public gaze.

Nonetheless, the cherished designated driver will have to linger a bit longer, as both James and Regulus pull out their cards at the cash register. Being a very wise man, Hakeem registers the amount into the terminal and swiftly turns away, well aware that nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

James dismissively waves his hand. “You can put away your card, it’s on me.”

Of course, Regulus isn’t compliant in the slightest. “I made you feel obligated to stay longer than you intended, so it's only right that I pay.”

“I’m the one who invited you, come now.”

“And I’m the one responsible for making you miss out on dinner.”

“Nah. I told you, it was my fault. Seriously, I want to—”

He attempts to move closer, but Regulus also edges forward. Despite being shorter, Regulus exudes an air of authority that instinctively compels James to widen the gap between them and not bump into him. “And I insist.”

But luckily, James is taller and his arms are longer. “Gotta be quicker than that then.”

He extends his arm, shooting right past Regulus’ and taps his card against the terminal, smiling smugly when Regulus scowls up at him, not in the least impressed by his playing dirty. James’ lips part, a jab resting right on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of ‘They don’t teach you this at fancy pants school?’ only for a chime to disrupt his train of thought.

Card declined.

“Low funds, Yakup,” Hakeem announces without looking over his shoulder like James isn’t sinking to his knees in embarrassment already. 

“You got paid four days ago,” Regulus murmurs at his side.

“Rent and utilities were due yesterday.” It nearly comes out in a whine.

“I doubt your rent takes up your whole salary.”

“I also had to pay off my credit card,” James grits out, fumbling through his wallet looking for some cash. In an alternative universe where they’re starred in some cartoon show, the poor faux leather division coughs up dust motes.

“Seriously? How much do you make?

“Might I remind you that you pay me.”

The way Regulus clutches onto his credit card, unlimited of course, one might think the poor thing is about to fold in half. James might as well, to be honest. “Move.”

“No.” His pride’s already been hurt. “Hakeem, can I pay in installments?”

“Only if you take young Khadija out on a date.”

James considers it for a moment, but Regulus the comment only makes Regulus seethe further, “Potter, if you don’t move I’ll give you a reason to worry.”

That’s enough to convince James. He steps away, all kicked puppy-like, and watches how Regulus’ payment gets processed far quicker. “Next time’s on me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, even as the apples of his cheeks dust pink. “Come, I’m tired and want to go home.”

[nolita-fairytale]

try a little tenderness | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader one shot

summary: on the anniversary of mikey's death, you help carmy find a way to grieve. (set in the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone piece)

warnings: swearing, grief, mild angst, mentions of death & suicide, second person pov, no use of y/n

wc: 2.3k

a/n: i wrote this as a way to process my own grief over the loss of a close friend to suicide. i fell so deeply in love with 'the bear' because i saw myself in so many of these characters: how they responded to losing mikey, the nature of the loss, and the ways they fought their grief. i see so much of myself in carmy in the show and this ended up being really cathartic to write, even though it's been three years now. anyways, heavy shit ahead so don't feel obligated to read but thank you if you do.

(banner made by @allthefandomstogether)

Grief is a funny thing. 

For Carmy, most days it’s something easy to ignore – like an old friend that he’s managed to cut out of his day to day. He’s stopped calling, stopped picking up the phone, eliminated any and all thought about this thing that feels so foreign yet, so familiar at the same time. 

But now he has you – and he’s never been able to bullshit you for shit. Some days, he feels like you see right through him. He knows he’s been irritable, short, impatient at the restaurant (and sometimes at home too). It’s something you handle better than he expected – better than he thinks he deserves. 

“Honey, can we take a pause from this conversation? I just don’t think either of us are in the right headspace,” you’d asked him the other day when he’d tried to pick a fight with you. Completely caught off guard, Carmy had stared at you blankly in response, as if you’d suggested you both run naked down the street.

“If you wanna fight, we can fight. I just… don’t think this is what you’re upset about,” you’d explained, before slipping into the bedroom with the book you were halfway through. 

And today, after he’d tried to pick another fight with you, you’d stopped him again, like a tornado hitting an immovable wall. 

“Carmy, I’m not going to fight you about the dishes,” you’d sighed, shooting him a sympathetic look. “I’m gonna take a walk and pick some things up at the store for dinner. Is that still something you’d like to do?”

How could he forget when he’d been making his brother’s family recipe earlier that day, setting the braciole-filled dutch oven in the fridge to be put into the oven for later? But he almost has – another symptom of how checked out he’s been all week. 

He’s not used to this. He’s used to his siblings – his mom – picking fights over the smallest things that usually escalated into a screaming match. And while you were willing to fight over things that felt worthy to go to bat for, always quick to call him out when he’s being a dick, you don’t engage in his smaller, more frivolous attempts at starting something over the smallest, nitpicky things. 

It’s a whole new pattern for him, and he’ll admit, it’s harder than you make it look. 

Earlier in the week, he knew he’d been in a trash mood. Then he looked at the calendar and saw what date was coming:

2/22/23. 

Oh. 

No wonder he’s been such an ass. 

And now wonder you’ve been such a saint.  

“Oh, um…” he stammers, as he realizes his memory has failed him again. “Uh… yeah, we can still do that.”

He’d forgotten you’d made plans for dinner in preparation for today, and truthfully, he’d been so absent-minded all week that he’s forgotten – forgotten about the plan, forgotten about what day it was, forgotten that that day was now today. Thankfully, you’d had the sense to make sure he was off that day, coordinating with the staff of The Bear to make it happen. While you knew everyone would be grieving today, you weren’t interested in a repeat of last year when the both of you were still in New York.

Sydney, the real hero of this story, had moved mountains to get everyone’s schedules nailed down for this week – knowing it’d be a hard week for everyone that knew and loved Mikey. 

“No, we do not need a repeat of last year,” Sydney had agreed, as you’d explained to her the shit show that was Carmy going into work that night, one year ago. “Don’t worry. I’ll run the kitchen. Tap as many newer staff as I can to work too.”

With the recent press about The Bear (not to mention Sydney’s official James Beard finalist status) there’d been a huge increase in applicants lately. You couldn’t thank Syd enough. 

“Okay. I love you, Carm. I’ll be back in a bit,” you reassure, before grabbing his keys and your coat.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, as he watches you go. 

*

After lighting up a few in the apartment, he lays down on the couch, turning on something mind-numbing to not pay attention to on the TV. He’s not sure when or how long it takes him to drift off to sleep, but one minute he’s blinking his eyes closed, and the next he can hear the sounds of pots and pans clamoring around the kitchen. 

He feels guilty: guilty for being an ass, guilty for trying to start something, guilty about what Mikey did.

You’ve told him time and time again: “I don’t think it’s fair to yourself to carry this much blame, Bear.” While normally, he’d love the way his familial nickname sounded coming from you, he’d winced at the mention – just because today, it hits a little too close to home. 

He knows it’s not fair to himself – or to you – but it’s something he’s just not ready to let go of yet. 

He can smell the braciole he’d prepared earlier that day; you’ve already put it in the oven, letting it braise slowly like it was meant to be. He recalled the conversation you both had had about this a few weeks ago. 

“Let’s make a meal he’d like,” you’d proposed, wanting to be a supportive 

“The braciole. Or maybe his spaghetti,” he’d suggested, so matter-of-factly that you could tell he was trying to mask his emotions.

“Maybe both?” you’d countered him. 

“Yeah,” he‘d agreed, quick to put himself out of the discomfort the conversation was causing him. 

“How do you feel about maybe asking some of the others to stop by, Only if they want. Only if you’re up for it,” you’d continued, cautiously. 

“Can I let you know?” he’d asked. 

“Sure,” you’d agreed, even though you knew he wouldn’t be bringing it up again. 

As Carmy sits up from the couch, his mind drifting back to the present, he sees you posted up in front of his little apartment’s stove top, working on his brother’s spaghetti sauce. Pangs of guilt fill his chest, and he feels like absolute garbage for being a dick earlier. He can’t picture doing anything else tonight and he’s glad you had the foresight to do this. Carmy rubs the sleep out of his eyes, watching you move around the kitchen. You’ve got a window open just in case that tricky little smoke alarm goes off while you’re steeping the garlic in olive oil. 

You’re busy trying to maneuver the largest saute pan Carmy owns over the burner for maximum heat exposure when he approaches. The sun’s already set, and the heat from the kitchen leaves a fog on the windows right near the stove, as you shake the saute pan by its handle. 

“Hey,” Carmy says, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Hey,” you reply, a soft smile on your lips as you turn to him. “Sleep alright?”

His unruly curls seem exceptionally messy this evening, and you can smell the remnants of the cigarettes he smoked while you were out. You hate how sexy you still find the nasty habit, even though you’ve tried your best to get him to cut back, citing lung cancer as a top reason. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re eager to taste the cigarettes on his lips, wiping your hands on your jeans because, unlike Carmy, you could care less to wear an apron at home. Framing his face with both of your hands, you place a gentle kiss on his lips, breathing him in as he kisses you back. 

“Sorry I was an ass earlier,” Carmy says, in between kisses. 

“Thanks. You’re kind of allowed to be an ass today though,” you say back. 

He can’t believe you’re letting him off the hook this easily. 

“And what about tomorrow?” he asks, taking a more playful approach this time. 

“No, definitely not. Cut off. Ass privileges? Revoked,” you’re quick to banter back, earning a dry laugh from your boyfriend. 

As you return to your post in front of the stove, Carmy slaps your butt playfully from your earlier comment, eliciting a giggle from you as he does it. He watches you work, adding salt to the tomato, onion, and butter you’re reducing in the saute pan, while the saucepan-filled olive oil/garlic/basil mixture comes up to a simmer. 

“I know you’ve always said that Mikey’s pasta was over-sauced and under seasoned… but it sounds like he just needed a little extra salt and a few little tweaks here and there,” you continue, tasting the tomato sauce. 

He’s not ready to taste the sauce just yet, even though he’d suggested you make the spaghetti in the first place. He watches as you use a spoon to check for salt levels, tasting the sauce first. You throw your head back as the salty tomato mixture hits your tongue. Carmy watches you carefully as you remove the sprig of basil with a pair of tongs, tossing it into a deli container for the trash later. Placing the deli container on the counter next to the rest of things you need to dispose of, his eyes linger on the 28 oz San Marzanos. 

Because the small ones taste better…. 

You busy yourself with straining the oil, setting it aside to add to the sauce towards the end of the process. Carmy checks his phone briefly, seeing a few texts from Richie, Syd, and Tina – all just checking in. 

“Silly question, I know. But how are you doing?” you ask him, having found a good stopping point. 

Carmy thinks about it for a second. He’s not sure how he wants to answer – how he’s supposed to answer this question. 

“I’m… I don’t know,” he managed to get out. 

You nod in acceptance, before replying with an empathetic, “That makes sense.”

“It doesn’t feel real, I guess?” he admits, taking his time as the words fall out of his mouth. 

“I can only imagine, Carm,” you sympathize. “Wanna help me out?”

“Yeah,” he replies, a half smile on his face. 

You’re so kind, so understanding, so empathetic, and he can’t picture spending this day with anyone but you. He thinks back to last year – when he got the news. It was the worst day of his life and regardless of that fact, you’d been there: caring enough to show up, to fight with him, to make sure he ate something. And then that night… the night you crossed the line, slept together even though both of you knew it was a bad idea, that there was no way you could start something real. 

He’s not sure how you got from there to here, but he thanks his lucky stars for whatever good deed he’s done in a past life that’s led to it. 

“Thank you for this,” he says intentionally, making sure you hear him as he continues with, in reference to earlier, “... and I love you too.”

You don’t expect anything from him, and he’s grateful, because he’s not sure he has anything to give. Not today. 

You give him the softest smile, something that makes him want to melt right there and then when you reply with:

“You don’t need to thank me.”

You step aside, making space for Carmy as you give him a task to do to help with dinner. You made the executive decision not to scale Michael’s recipes down, making them as written – family style. If anything, you hope to bring some of the leftovers, sharing his food in honor of his life. You wish you could’ve met Mikey, and since you didn’t get to, making his food feels like the best way to get to know the man Carmy loved and admired so much. 

You queue up a good playlist, working in perfect harmony with Carmy till dinner is ready to eat. Between the braciole and the spaghetti, you know you’ll have more than enough leftovers to feed the two of you for the next week. You let Carmy plate – something he’s truly exceptional at – watching him as he creates a perfect twirl of spaghetti before tearing a few pieces of basil for garnish. As you bring the spaghetti to Carmy’s small dining table that is only meant to seat two, he plates up the braciole on one plate for the both of you to share. You set the table, enjoying the sounds of the playlist you’ve set for the night, before sitting down to eat. 

Carmy takes his first bite of the spaghetti, knowing that it’s not going to be an easy thing for him. You watch closely as he tastes the sauce, his eyes closing and face turning a darker shade redder. 

You wait a beat, letting him settle in before asking:

“What do you think?” 

He nods his head, “It’s fire.” You can see that he’s holding back tears, not ready to lose all control just yet. “It’s actually better… than Mikey’s”

You eat your dinner quietly. It’s the good kind of quiet but the air feels heavy. Carmy may not always have the words for what he’s feeling, but he doesn’t need to right now. You try the braciole together, sharing one plate as he tells you about how Mikey refused to use raisins, even though that’s how they grew up eating the beef dish. You listen, letting him travel down memory lane, only as far as he’d like tog. 

Halfway through dinner, Carmy says something that surprises you:

“We’ve got more than enough leftovers to feed a large family of… twenty,” he states plainly. His blue eyes water as he continues with an ask. “You uh… maybe wanna pack this up and take it to the restaurant tonight?”

“Yeah, Bear. I think everyone would love that," you agree, the smallest smile on your lips. "Would you... wanna tell me a little about him? On our walk there?"

Carmy nods, "Sure. Yeah, I-. I think I can do that."

*

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery@strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn @hlkwrites @not-two-shrimp

[cosmicjoke]

Just adding this on, but this isn't an attempt on my part or an encouragement to harass these people, though I'm sure everyone reading this already knows that. Just a means of letting others know who's behind at least some of the harassment lately.

Alright, well, here comes the call-out post that I promised anon. Have fun with it, I guess. It's about to get long, folks. A group of @tsuki-no-ura followers, who's been obviously vague posting about me for months at this point, specifically targeting every topic I discuss on my blog by making counterarguments to it on their blog, even though I never directed any of my analysis posts or anything else at them, nor has anything I've ever written been in direct response to anything they've written, is certainly behind at least some of the harassment. And other than the times I've tried having conversations with tsuki in the past, when I used to follow them, and wanted to discuss their posts with them, which almost always went ignored, I haven't at all addressed them or made reference to them, either implied or specifically, in any of my analysis posts. I only made reference to them a few weeks back when I found out that they'd essentially said my defense of Levi's violence was tantamount to Nazism, which I wasn't going to let stand. That's the only time I've ever directly referenced them. And yet, every time I make an analysis post, a counterargument to it magically appears on their blog the same day or a few days later, something that was brought to my attention by a mutual of mine. I had no idea until a couple weeks ago that this was happening, because I stopped following them more than a year ago, and only just recently blocked them. But they're obviously stalking me. And, inevitably, every time they do this, a slew of anon hate messages get sent, both to me and various other blogs that I follow, or that follow me. This isn't a coincidence:

@clearavenuelover, @66honeybadgers, and I'm sure various other of their groupies, are the ones almost assuredly largely behind the anonymous attacks on Levi blogs over the last, several months. They start out with their passive-aggressive bullshit, and eventually, of course, it turns to outright hostility, because that's just who these people are. @clearavenuelover purposefully tagged me in one of tsuki's posts, and so obviously they're aware of their followers harassing other Levi fan blogs. This is the link to the post they tagged me and other Levi fan blogs in: https://www.tumblr.com/tsuki-no-ura/739123803956854784/okay-so-here-i-come-with-my-discourse-causing

And yet more evidence that these people all congregate in the same circles and circle-jerk each other over how they think they're "winning" some non-existent contest against me and other Levi fan blogs.

And look who liked this answer as soon as it was put up:

And here @66honeybadgers is again, name-dropping tsuki-no-ura while they continue to harass me:

And this is clearly the same douche-bag that asked me a few weeks back if I considered myself a "Levi expert", and has now, over the last two days, continued to harass me for daring to express my opinion about Levi on my own blog, dropping the "friendly" act and showing their outright hostility:

This is clear harassment from a very specific corner of the fandom, mainly, surprise, surprise, eruri shippers, or even just Erwin stans who want to make everything about him, and get angry at anyone who dares to express any different view from the ones they hold, to the point of actively seeking out and stalking our blogs, hate reading our posts, going into our inboxs and sending us anonymous hate messages, trying to cram their opinions down our throats and then getting upset when we don't listen or accept their views. And then they want to go around acting like they're all the victims. What a joke these people are. Anyway, I just thought I should make this post so that actual Levi fan blogs can know to avoid and block these assholes. I can't say if they're behind ALL of the harassment, but they're certainly behind some of it, and it's good to expose them because they're cowards, and once they've been exposed, they won't have the fucking balls to continue.

[filmbyjy]

hi its me, the one who asked u for the exam prep fic w jay.

i want some angst. Its because im going through that rn. HE FELL FIRST BUT SHE FELL HARDER, where jay gives up on their "friendship" because the reader was too busy denying her feelings for him. (u can end it w some fluff if u want heh) Doesnt necessarily havw to be with jay btw any member from enhypen u think fits best for this works.

its alright if u dont want to!!

a/n: oh hi anon☺️ oh my god but this request phew😮‍💨 prepare the tissues bc I feel like i’m gonna make this too angsty. of course, i’m gonna end it off on a good note. my heart can’t handle not getting a happy ending.

pairing: park jongseong x fem!reader

genre: angst but fluff towards the end

warning: talks about cutting/self-harm and depression (do proceed with caution). mentions of dead parents. I believe I made this too angsty so i am sorry. you do end up with jay though so that’s the good part. i did also change up a bit bc i believe that i have triggered someone with jake like ‘slut-shaming’ you. i am so sorry for that part.

word count: 1.5K words

taglist[perm]: @ja4hyvn @ahnneyong @milklix @kar0ki @sugarsunoo

our friendship

10 years of friendship.

down the drain just like that. all because of your selfishness. you couldn’t forget the way jay’s hands trembled as he voices out his feelings.

you felt like the villain for not believing him. denying your own feelings for him. you couldn’t love him. it was impossible, not when jay was for someone else. you couldn’t provide him with the affection he deserves. you were a broken record.

“why did you hurt him?” sunghoon asks.

— placing this in case the read more messes up —

“i didn’t mean to.” you nonchalantly say. the boy sighs.

“i know you didn’t mean to but I know you’re just hurting yourself too.”

“i’m not hurting myself.”

“when was the last time you ate properly?”

you kept quiet. jay usually made sure you ate on time, even if you didn’t have enough money, he made sure to buy you a meal. your life wasn’t the best. your dad did drugs and was absent most of your life. your mom ran off with a foreigner. you were left alone to fend for yourself. no family member to care for you. you matured quicker than most kids because of that.

sunghoon places a carton of milk. your favourite. one that jay usually buys for you.

“take this. you haven’t had lunch.”

“it’s alright. I don’t like this flavour.” you lied.

“that’s a lie. both jake and I have seen you happily drinking it after jay places it on your desk.”

“well, i stopped liking it.”

“after jay left.”

“well, he left for a reason.”

“because he was heartbroken.”

“his mom wanted him to study in america. that’s his real reason.”

“he would’ve stayed for you, (name).”

“i don’t want to hold him back, sunghoon.” you glared at the boy. sunghoon sighs.

“you aren’t holding him back, he just loves you.”

“well, i don’t love him!”

“stop being in denial. you love him just much as he loves you. actually no, you love him way more than he could love you.”

“you’re bullshitting, sunghoon.”

“you’re going to regret saying this (name).”

you left sunghoon. you didn’t want to hear what he was saying because if you stopped denying, you’d hurt yourself. falling in love with your best friend was something scary. falling hard for your best friend was the worst.

it had been years since you graduated from high school. you haven’t heard much from sunghoon, jake or even jay. you had fell out of that friendship ever since the talk. for some odd reason, your old classmates had organised this get together since it had been a while. you were not preparing yourself to meet your friends from high school.

“(name).” heeseung yells out. you gave him a little smile.

“class president.” you say. he chuckles.

“it was for 1 term, (name).”

“you were still our class president.”

“the best one.” jake slings his arm around heeseung. heeseung groans as he attempts to push jake’s arms off.

“it’s been a while, (name).” jake says. his voice laces with venom which wasn’t how he was normally and how he was back then. you nearly wince at how his tone sounded.

you could feel a shiver creep up and you were actually scared of jake.

“uh, yes. i-it’s been a while.” you say. afraid of saying something wrong to get jake angry. honestly, he had a very good reason to get mad at you. you hurt jay. one of the first few people jake cared about.

after you hurt jay, jake had followed jay to America. where they both continued their studies to together. sunghoon visited them and eventually moved there a little to spend time and possibly study there too. eventually, all of them moved back here to continue college since they missed Seoul.

seeing jake in a long while, you realised you missed him and the friendship the both of you had. jake was sort of like a brother to you. he was the closest to you but of course he clearly chose jay. you wanted to walk away but jake grabs on your wrist. heeseung leaves, he could feel the heavy tension.

“I see you’re happy with how your life turned out.”

“what?”

“cut that bullshit. iseul told us. you go to parties and have fun as if you didn’t do anything wrong! it’s disgusting, after you hurt your own best friend’s feelings?”

“jaeyun-”

“don’t call me that. we aren’t friends anymore.”

it fell silent between the both of you, the sound of EDM playing in the background. tears prickling at your eyes. someone comes to pull jake off you. you knew that familiar cologne.

“jake, you shouldn’t fight here. just leave her alone.” jay says.

“she hurt you, jay. how could you just ignore that? she’s been living her life happily while you cried everyday back in America.”

“don’t.” jake shoves jay’s arm and walks away. jay turns to you. he attempts to touch your wrist but you moved back.

“(name).” the way he says your name was perfect. it felt right but you shouldn’t.

you shook your head. tears falling down.

“jay, please.”

his eyes caught sight of slashing marks. they seem pretty recent. he knows you were never one to harm yourself but what exactly happened?

you left the place that day. it was when you started to really close off. you see, after jay left. a whole series of bad luck just dumped onto you. your dad got into car accident and died on impact. your mom was diagnosed with cancer and she died months later. you were left alone having to work hard to earn your own money.

you could feel the burden of living alone just pile over you and you couldn’t take it anymore. everything was overwhelming. too overwhelming. even the feeling of pain wasn’t as immense as the burden you felt. which was why you started self-harming yourself. you loved the feeling of the blade cutting your skin, it was numbing.

“(name), could you please tell me the answer?” the lecturer asks as you were daydreaming. you easily answered and the lecturer hums.

the bell rings soon after and students start pouring out of the class. you tugged onto your hoodie arms, hoping the hide the latest cut. it was itchy and it started bleeding again when you went to pick on it. you simply placed a bandaid over it.

you were packing your things when you felt a tap on your shoulder. you looked up.

“hi.” sunghoon says. you looked away, you couldn’t let him see you like this. you shouldn’t associate yourself with your old friend group. you walked away quick but sunghoon was fast. curse his long legs.

“(name).” he stops you and pulls back your hood. that’s when he realises the bloodshot look you had. he gasps a little.

“what happened to you?”

“didn’t sleep.”

“you look like you got hit by a truck.” he winced.

“maybe I did. what’s your problem?”

“look about what happened that day with jake at the reunion…”

“I forgive him. I deserve it after all.” you walked away but sunghoon tries to catch up to you.

“yeah but that doesn’t account for what he did to you.”

“he didn’t punch me. he just talked to me.”

“(name).”

“please, sunghoon. i don’t want to live in a world with guilt. I’ve already hurt jay enough and I don’t want to hurt jake too.”

“yeah but like I’ve said a long time ago. you’re hurting yourself too. I heard that you rarely ever go out besides actually spending time in school. you’ve gone from a social butterfly to an introvert.”

“what’s wrong with being an introvert.”

“it’s just not who you are (name).”

“so what if I am not who I was. people change sunghoon. i think it’s best if I stayed away from jay. we should have never cross paths.”

“but you like him.”

“yeah, I do. what will happen? hmm? jay doesn’t like me anymore, I know it. he’s probably already dating someone hot. someone that suits him. someone who isn’t me.”

“you are someone that suits me, (name).” jay voices out. you shook your head and turned around to jay.

“I am not right for you. you wouldn’t want an emotionally and mentally broken girl. I already lost my parents, I don’t want to lose anything anymore.”

“your parents are gone?”

“they’re dead. it’s been a year or two. after i graduated from high school…”

“(name).”

“jay, i’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my feelings but it’s too late. i am too broken.”

“you know I wouldn’t care if you’re too broken. I would’ve held you tight and cared for you.”

“jay, I just think we were on different levels. you were someone popular, smart and good looking. i’m just whatever this is.”

“I never cared about the stereotype. I loved you for who you were.”

“love is a strong word to describe how you’re feel about me.” you say. jay holds you close.

“but I do love you.”

“you wouldn’t understand, how much I feel for you.”

“then show me.”

“I can’t. not in public, where sunghoon and jake are staring at us.”

jake rolls his eyes, “go ahead and kiss. this idiot has been rooting for the both of you since high school.” he smacks sunghoon.

“what’s so wrong for hoping they’d get together. I thought they fit each other.” sunghoon glares at jake.

jay pecks your forehead, “we’ll take this slow until you feel better, hmm?”

and he did make you feel better.

[randomalistic]

Anyways here’s a rambling infodump thing about all the similarities between Spamton and Turbo and then some. (you should bully me for this)

My fixation on both of them… they feed into eachother.

3 foot tall FREAK !!!!!

THE INSANE SMILER…

Glitchy and pixelated

Full of envy, pent up hatred, DESPERATELY CRAVES REVENGE.

Kinda ugly </3

Or at least. Unconventional!

Used to drive a car when he was popular

I know there’s a difference between being a car spokesman and being a racer but it’s close enough <3 Spamton would not know how to drive a cungadero they just told him to pose in there and smile. Ok Headcanon OVER !!!!

Had it all in the 80s/90s before losing the spotlight

Turbo did his bullshit in 1987 (actual road blasters release year) and Spamton did his bullshit in 1997

Only really known as an unspeakable rumor and lives in infamy

It’s more like everyone “moved on” from Spamton and forgot about him (or at least tried to forget about him…) where with Turbo what he did was so bad that he’s only known for that ONE thing

Goes in hiding for decades

Spamton has his alleyway dumpster, and maybe other areas of cyber city with low traffic. Turbo’s hiding was implied to have been in the depths of game central station until Sugar Rush was plugged in. (Which I think was asked about in an AMA) Both are like. ~30 YEARS of hiding 💀

Would go any length for the same attention again

The interesting thing about this is Turbo DOES win. He does get that attention back by disguising as King Candy and being able to race again, and he keeps it for however long Sugar Rush was around for before the events of the movie. Spamton never gets it back…

But at least Spamton doesn’t get INCINERATED so I’d say he’s better off, even if the best outcome is him becoming an item

Dependent on some kid for his plan to work

Although Spamton’s relationship with Kris (dependent on them helping him) is pretty different than King Candy’s relationship with Vanellope (dependent on her not interfering) I still think it’s funny that they both have beef with children

Later attempted murder of said kid

Quality villains out here not even hesitating to kill kids to get what they want !!!

Imitated/fabricated identity

Spamton imitates Swatch, Turbo fabricates (?) King Candy

Stupid catchphrase

NOW’S YOUR CHANCE TO BE [TurboTastic!]

BOSS BATTLE FORM IS FUCKKKKED

They essentially have the same monologue of “THANKS TO YOU I'M MORE POWERFUL THAN EVER!! But it's not enough... so I'm going to kill you anyways"

I think King Candybug’s Face resembles SNEO in a weird way. Mostly just the big eyes and weird nose and THE SMILERRRRR. They have very similar vibes! I will stop myself now!

Virus/malware adiacent

Turbo literally claims he’s a virus by the end of the movie and Spamton is Spamton

Critically Acclaimed Tumblr Man (and hated)

From my RESEARCH. (Aka. Looking up art of him) Apparently a lot of people on tumblr liked Turbo in 2013. And those people have since become spamton people (perhaps ……) I guess that is me now too. Really unfortunate

Lore ties into a real life video game (Petz & Road Blasters)

In the sweepstakes spamton was kinda confirmed to come from a Petz game. I also didn’t know road blasters was Real until I started looking into it . (TurboTime is fake tho) But there’s a very specific similarity for you. Fucked up characters blurring the lines into real life my beloved

Rivalry/broken friendship with Those similar looking fellas (I’m running out of brain power here)

Spamton had the Addisons, which were like his friends? Fellow advertisers. Looked a bit like him, just taller with different colors. Spamton left them after becoming a big shot because he thought he didn’t need them anymore…

Turbo had the “turbo twins” (the 2 other blue racers in his game) idk if that’s their official name cuz they kinda barely exist in canon.. I think it’s popular fanon that Turbo is shorter than both of them, but that’s actually not true. But I’m still gonna count it. Anyways he KILLED them when he got turbotime unplugged. THEYRE DEAD.

Extreme temperature related death (is this a stretch)

Less of a similarity and more of an interesting contrast

Turbo burns to death when he’s INCINERATED in diet cola mountain. I could ramble about this a lot but. That’s for my second account

And Spamton NEO (in snowgrave at least) is FROZEN SOLID by noelle. He shouldn’t have asked for that ice cream man

Anyways I get similar vibes from those guys..

I hope they explode.

Also thinking more about this is making me realize how similar in concept deltarune and Wreck it Ralph are. As in, those apps and computer programs in the computer lab ? Yeah they’re alive and theres a whole ass cyber city and mansion and theres a ton of little guys living in there! (And same goes for the card kingdom in chapter 1)

Like if there was a dark world created in an arcade, it would probably look something like the WIR world. In a way, lightners would be the “players” because everything the game characters (darkners) do is to serve the players. I’m just saying !!!! These pieces of media are both Really Good!!!

[nikkoliferous]

This was NOT me and this is bullshit! I have been inactive for over a week and my friend just sent this to me. I would NEVER talk to another blogger like this ever. This was sent from an account @pussy-ass-bitch-fandom-wank

why do you think the anon signed it? They’re trying to frame me because I have been helping their victim @Lokilaufeysondiaries and they’re pissed about it. I’d never even heard of you until my friend sent this here’s some more proof. Here people are notorious for pretending to be others they sent a friend a nasty anon and signed it "Abby118" another very real Loki blog who doesn't do that kind of stuff ever. I hope we can talk because this just absolutely not okay what so ever and it needs to stop.

okay, I'm going to address this one time and one time only. I have nothing to do with @littlelokilad, @lokihiddleston, the LMQ server, or any drama going down between yourselves and the aforementioned parties. I literally don't know any of you, nor do I care to be involved in whatever petty, high-school-clique bullshit is going on there.

However, I will say that I find myself extremely suspicious of anyone attempting to paint @lokilaufeysondiaries as some kind of innocent victim in all this. I became involved in this stupidity because—and only because—LLD displayed some very inappropriate, manipulative behaviours towards @abby118, a friend, in DM over Abby declining to unblock them (which is absolutely her right). When Abby decided to publicly call out this toxic behaviour on her own blog, providing direct screenshots of their conversation as evidence, she began to be accused of "bullying" LLD (ridiculous) and has since been sent multiple abusive and suicide-baiting asks, ostensibly in LLD's defence.

As for the above accusations by @buckybarnes-winters0ldier, I find it hilariously ironic to, in one breath, complain about people falling for baseless frame jobs and, in the very next, accuse @lotus-eyedindiangoddess of backstabbing her own friends (namely, myself and Abby) and orchestrating this entire mess. Without a lick of evidence, of course. As you do.

TL;DR I am way too fucking old to be invested or interested in whatever manufactured drama is going down on that side of the fandom. My only interest in this bullshit is, and ever has been, Abby being targeted for harassment. Full-stop.

Now, I will say that I am inclined to believe you when you say you were not behind the aforementioned ask—if only because you would have to be very, very stupid to use the anon function only to announce your identity within the text of the ask. like, why?? And I am aware that Abby has been a victim of the very same (terribly executed) tactic. As such, I will update the post in question to reflect this... development? information? idk, whatever. That is, unfortunately, all I can really do, as we all know that once something is on the internet, it's on the internet forever. Even if I were to delete the whole post, any reblogs of it would still exist. If I update it instead, at least the contradicting information is there to be digested in the future, so that would seem to be the best option for dealing with this, to me.

I do sincerely apologise for whatever additional distress the aforementioned ask has caused to you. I have no interest in smearing anyone or discrediting their reputation. As I said, my sole interest in this entire matter has been Abby's well-being. Nothing more, and nothing less. Whoever it is behind all this manufactured drama—and I shan't make any accusations here because I have no evidence to present, regardless of any personal suspicions I may or may not have *cough*—really needs to get some less debilitating hobbies than treating real human beings on Tumblr like abused Barbie dolls to manipulate for their own sick amusement. It's pathetic.

[thatfilthyanimal]

tw: stalking, grooming, pedophilia, sexual abuse, past suicidal thoughts

I've recently been made aware that Dupsy is still talking about me and is now going to random Megamind fans that don't know me and telling them to avoid me. I'm also aware that they're doing this in the Ruby Gillman fandom. I have no words to really describe the level of discomfort this brings me, but I will attempt.

First of all, all the "grooming" allegations were thoroughly debunked and proven to be bullshit. I can't believe I have to even say this. I'm a victim of grooming and sexual abuse myself. It's extremely traumatic and life-altering shit, and never something I would want to inflict on someone else. I feel like it should be obvious, with the measures I took in the server to ensure no child is exposed to such things. I was recently diagnosed with PTSD due to the shit that happened to me when I was growing up, and between processing that in therapy sessions and stomaching transitioning in a near-constant hostile-to-trans-people online social media hellscape, I am tired.

I love Megamind, more than anything, and this is known and obvious to anyone who's met me. This movie saved my life when I was extremely suicidal and planning to end my life back in 2010. Watching the movie when I did gave me something to focus on, a distraction, and a responsibility as a fandom member that helped distract me long enough to get out of the planning mindset I was in. Had I not seen the movie, I do not think I would have stuck around. I will leave it at that.

And moderating fandom spaces for Megamind has been lovely! I adore this fandom. The people in it are extremely talented and sweet, and just so damn nice, like by default. I say this all the time but I've never experienced another fandom space quite like it. There are usually bad eggs in fandoms, and perhaps -I- am said "bad egg" to some, but genuinely this one is special. I have always felt that way, even when the bad eggs show up and make a stink. It has always felt worth being here for, to me.

And while I hate to give Dupsy the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me, I need to be honest-- it's been rough. I stopped talking in my server, I locked up on most of my friends and stopped talking even in DMs. I still struggle with severe anxiety in the server and have talked to Dal on various occasions about transferring the server ownership to him. He's been very patient with my freakouts and super understanding, but it's still hard. This WAS a place I felt safe, for over ten years! And now it feels like any minor can just say I'm a groomer or a pedo or whatever with ZERO consequences, just because they're mad, just because these are words that make people go "oh shit" and listen, and man! It's not ok! And this coupled with the fact that trans people are often called groomers just for existing, just… man! I'm tired. I'm so tired.

There are real, severe, damaging effects to these claims being thrown around so casually. It's hurtful to me, as a victim of sexual abuse, because when I came forward to people about what happened when -I- was a minor, I was told I "wanted it" and "asked for it". It was made to be my fault that I was abused, and I internalized it for years. It nearly killed me. I cannot stress enough how important it is to not use claims like pedophilia and grooming so lightly-- these are VERY damning terms to use on people and should be reserved for people ACTUALLY HARMING OTHERS. Being mad I banned you from the server is not "abuse" and using my Customer Service Voice to be nice to you and then being obviously tired of you when you were banned is not "emotional grooming". What the actual fuck. ALSO. This was well over a year ago! Why am I still having to post about this? Why are you still TALKING about me? And yet again I ask, where the HELL are your parents?

Anyway, if you've been wondering why I've been so quiet these days and struggling to socialize… honestly? It's this. I hate that this is what did it. I know people trust and believe me, I know the fandom backs me up regularly and I appreciate them all so much for it. I see it, but I never know how to respond. You guys continue to make this fandom feel safe for me even when my entire brain is screaming to run, and I appreciate you so much for it.

Kids deserve to be trusted when they tell people they've been hurt and I hate that the recent proshipping discourse or whatever you want to call it, this culty all-or-nothing shit, has a bunch of minors growing up feeling like EVERYTHING is something to call rapey or predatory, with apparently little room to distinguish when REAL abuse is happening to them. I don't blame anyone for believing Dupsy, and it's honestly better they DO believe all unproven claims of abuse by default, just to stay safe-- but man, it has consequences that follow people, and really should not be a thing to just throw around because you're mad at someone. I just can't believe they're STILL going around and reaching out to strangers telling them to avoid me… like, what the fuck.

I will be ok, I always am eventually, but I needed to say something, because it's honestly been a while since I've said much of anything.

Keep being kind. <3

[evilfloralfoolery]

Along Came Fire - Avery/Blair, Pt. 2

A lot more snz and misery in this lol. Avery showing her true colors. Blair being unbearably into it. Both of them wondering about the other. Plz enjoy my hasty edit! :)

_____________________________

By the time the heaters in the stadium get the memo, the set is over and Blair has had just about enough of this frigid bullshit.  

He’d managed to fend off whatever fuckery his sinuses were concocting during the performance, but now, it’s gotten to the point where no amount of shallow breathing and nose rubbing will do the trick. His body has just had enough of him.

And the feeling is fucking mutual. 

Blair cringes against his knuckled fingers with a flash of teeth. "HhhRISSCH! –RIIHHHSSCHuh! EKTSSCH! UhhhCHHSSSH!" He pauses, breath a hitching, ragged heave. "Hhh–RIISSSCCHHiiiuuhh!"

"What, you're not going to try for an even six?”

He stops with the miserable, wet sniffling and glances over his shoulder.

It's her. Just standing there with a laminate around her neck, like she belongs there. No idea where she’d gotten the pass, but he’s not going to ask questions, especially not with the way she’s looking at him right now.  Kind of like how the Blond Wonder looked at him, but with a more curious sort of concern rather than outright, overly empathetic gawking.

Hard not to stare back at that mane of hers with all the red, orange, and yellow competing for space, a vibrant cascade of fire that has the nerve to call itself “hair.”

“Hey.”  She waves a hand in front of his face with a bit of a laugh. “Are you okay in there?”

He offers her a slow blink in tandem with the realization that he has said nothing to indicate an answer.

“I am,” he says.  “Just too damn cold.” One eyebrow arches high.  “Are you?”

She tilts her head. “Cold?” 

“Okay,” he clarifies. 

“Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.” She combs her hair away from her face with one hand and laughs. "I’m pretty sure I left puncture wounds on that idiot, so there’s that."

Probably.  He hadn't missed how aggressive she'd been. Kind of a firecracker for such a slender chick.

Hot.

"Yeah, well. Guys are assholes." He offers her a smirk.  "But I'm a bigger asshole." 

"Good quality, if you ask me." Her smile is a sly mirror of his own.

“Damn straight.”  He tugs at the knot on his bandana out of habit.  “Avery, right?” 

“Yep.” She pokes him in the chest with one finger.  “You didn’t tell me you were the bass player.”

Cue the smartass eyebrow arch. “You didn’t ask.”

“I don't usually introduce myself and then be like, ‘so, do you play the bass?’ ”

“Why not. Good conversation starter.” 

She flicks a piece of his hair with a pop of her fingers. “You're weird.”

He’ll take that.

But what he’s not going to take is any more shit from his sinuses.  Sort of.  Goddamn it.

She does the curious, cocked head thing again at his abrupt change of energy and asks the obvious question.  “Something wrong?”

“Nothing. It’ssss uuhhh-hhhheh!” He holds up a hand to politely silence furthering questioning, breath catching in his throat with a choppy attempt to draw in enough air. "Heeh-hh. . . Hh'RISSSCHU! Hkg–CHISSSHUHH! Fuck."  He rubs at his nose with a sniffle. "Hhngh, sorry. The cold fucks me up."

"I can tell," she says as he sneezes again with twice the force and less control. 

Goddamn it. 

"God bless," she says in this voice that's somewhere between concerned and a bit. . . something else. 

Interesting . . . 

"Stick around and you'll get sick of saying that real fast," he says. 

She laughs, but doesn't refute him. She does, however, close the distance between them unexpectedly.  "Hold on." A hand reaches up to adjust the apparently lopsided bandana tied around his head. "You're about to sneeze this off." 

"Heh, thanks."  He fiddles with the knot on the thing and tightens it. "Wouldn't be the first time." He regards her with a slow, assessing tilt of his head.  “Feel like sticking around?”

Her eyes are the lightest shade of honey gold he’s ever seen.  And to think she asked him about contacts.

“Sure,” she says. “You might need someone to fix that bandana again.”  A faint hint of super white and slightly pointed teeth peek from behind her lips,  which is so absurdly attractive to him, he shoves a hand in his pocket to keep it to himself. 

But that still leaves him with one.  Which he holds out to her.

It only takes her a second to decide to fork over her fingers, which slide into the width of his palm like something delicate and precious.  Compared to Blair, most people are on the smaller side, but while Avery is tall, she's particularly slender of frame, a fact that is emphasized by the tight black pants and matching bodysuit with strategically placed fabric slashes she’d chosen for the gig. It highlighted the fuck out of her multi-colored hair.  Like autumn leaves in a jeweled pit fire. 

“Hungry?” he asks as he leads her down the rowdy expanse of the corridor where musicians and techs alike are loudly congratulating themselves over the success of the show.

“I could eat something,” she says.

So could he. 

______________________________________

The booth is a semicircle, not one of those across the table deals. And she sits close to him, so close that her leg presses against his thigh. 

He's not sure what he's done to elicit that kind of contact, but he wants more. So, he does the cheesy movie thing and drapes an arm across her shoulders, casually at first, but when she willingly curls closer against his side, he ups his game with an upper arm squeeze. 

Damn, she smells good. Like spring rain and oleander. 

"Are you still cold?"

He nuzzles her thick hair. "Not as much." 

Mainly because she's a fucking furnace, like a personal space heater. No complaints from him. 

Well, except for the goddamn prickling the "defrost" is causing in his sinuses. No, dammit. He's not unwinding his arm from her lithe body. 

He unrolls the napkin-wrapped silverware and snaps the thing open, but doesn't quite make it. 

"HhhRISSCH! ISSCCHUH!"  His lip curls away from his teeth in a snarl of irritation and he clamps the napkin over his mouth and nose. "AahhRISSCHuh! IKGSSSH-U!"  He sniffles and dabs at his nose with a hint of a smirk. "Hnnnh, sorry I'm so goddamn sexy." 

She laughs in a high, almost tittering way that is reminiscent of something he can't quite place, but he likes it. 

"I think I can handle you." She hooks a piece of his hair that escaped his bandana behind one ear. "God bless." 

Her breath tickles his ear and coaxes the hair on his arms to stark attention. 

"Hmn, thanks." His voice drops to a lower, darker version of itself. "You want a steak?"

"Sure," she says. "Purrs" is a better word. "I like meat." 

The way she says that is hotter than it has any right to be.

"Yeah?" He rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. "How do you like your meat?"

Her lips brush the line of his jaw with scantist touch. "Extra rare." 

Okay, fuck it. 

He shifts his body just enough to slide a hand into her hair and leans in close, pausing just shy of capturing that mischievous mouth of hers. Makes her wait for it. Teases her with a faint exchange of breath.  But when the tip of her tongue darts out to just barely flick his lower lip, he’s over it.  

And damn, can she kiss.  It’s electricity and fire, the slow, smoldering promise of something far more urgent, but deftly restrained. His body finally gets the message and switches on the heat until his skin is feverishly hot.  Sharp nails dig into his shoulders just enough to make temporary, pointed crescents in the flesh and he sits back against the vinyl seat as the kiss recedes, the faintest wisp of smoke curling from his lips. 

“Goddamn.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment and he exhales a breath from the depths of his chest, as if he’d been holding it for hours. 

Nails drag down his forearm in a light, affectionate scratch.  “Been a while?”

“Oh yeah,” he says.

A long fucking while. 

__________________________________________________________

The seated dinner had turned into “fuck an hour wait, room service is better” and man, had he made the right choice.  

The idiots in the kitchen had forgotten the steak knives and rather than ask some underpaid kid to go seventeen floors down to get a couple, Blair and his “date” had opted for the more barbaric option. 

Just pick the shit up and eat it. 

Now, watching Avery snack on that rare slab of meat was hotter than any porno could ever be.  There is something primal about the way she takes small, but efficient bites of the steak, the way she sort of tears off a chunk and licks her fingers afterwards.  And when he doesn't eat the entirety of his own steak, she finishes it for him. 

Where the hell had she put it all?  The woman is a slender wisp of a person.

If that’s what she actually is. 

It's the same thing with Caspian.  A flash of something wild. That “otherness.”  He’s seen it before. Plenty of times. 

“I don’t usually do this, you know,” she is saying as she licks the last of the blood and juices from between her fingers. 

“And what’s that?”

She flashes him her super pearly whites.  “Eat meat with strange men.” 

He chuckles and it morphs into a bit of a cough, reminding him that the surge of heat between them earlier hadn’t been enough of a catalyst to jumpstart his body into actually doing anything about his damn "illness."

Her expression morphs from playful to concerned and she sets the plate on the nightstand.  “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah.”  He wipes at the edges of his nose with a clean napkin and winces.  “Still too goddamn cold, I guess.”  

That fucking nose ring.  Not like he could just take the bastard out without some pliers.  Special ones. 

Avery moves closer, but he holds up a hand to stop her progress, his breath hitching in ragged, uneven catches.  

“Hhheh—!  RISSSCCH–UHH! ISSCCHHU!  Mother. Fucker.”  He growls to himself and drops the napkin in favor of the box of tissues that she’s now offering him.  

Fuck it, he’s taking the whole box.  

“Thanks,” he says in a tone that is way more grumbling grouchiness than he means it to be.  

But she’s obviously not put off by that because she’s suddenly right beside him, her hand on his thigh, even though he’s gross as hell whilst taking care of his dripping sinuses. 

“Sorry,” he says with a sigh.  “Was hoping this shit would just let up or fuck off.” 

“Stop apologizing.”  She rolls her eyes a little and he’s reminded of the same exasperation Caspian uses for Miami, which is more than a touch amusing. “I’m not worried about your cold or whatever it is.”  She tosses all of that flaming hair over one shoulder.  “I like a guy that can be a hot mess and own it.” 

Blair laughs.  “Jackpot, then.” 

“You can lie down, you know.”  She pats the top of his free hand.  “It won’t hurt my feelings if you’re tired.” 

After tossing the tissues into the trash, he slips her fingers into his palm and scratches his thumbnails over her knuckle.  “Mmn, I’m not that tired.” 

She leans in for a kiss and he affords her the opportunity with eager reception. Doesn't stop her when she presses herself against him again.  In fact, he pretty much pulls her into his lap and she’s happy to be there, given the way she’s kicked off her boots and settled in.

“I’m not contagious,” he says.  

Her hands slide over his chest and clutch the fabric of his shirt.  “Wouldn’t care if you were.” 

“Want me to take this off?” He tugs at the edge of his shirt.

“No,” she says.  “I want to take it off.” 

If his eyebrow arched any higher, it would disappear into his hairline.  “Okay.”  He leans back against the bed frame and lets go of her hips.  “All yours.” 

(TBC...)

[shootinwebs]

fucked up shortwrite huskerdust fic/excerpt (angel pov) because i'm all fucked up and venting some bullshit

( content warnings: mild NSFW implied, sexual abuse / angel & valentino, graphic imagined gore )

( spoilers: s1:e4 )

I thought having sex with Husk would comfort me.

But, after we'd been kissing and rubbing for a while, and he started to prepare himself to enter me, I clammed up.

I couldn't get it out of my head. Having to fake an orgasm for Val that day, having to cry out the words "I love you" at the peak of it. It made me sick to my stomach. It made every part of me tense up.

"...stop..." I gasped to Husk. My voice was so small, as I was gritting my teeth.

He heard me and backed off.

I hugged myself tightly, folding my legs against my torso.

"...I'm sorry..." I whimpered, starting to cry a little. From the humiliation of what sounds and words I'd had to force out of me with Val hours before.

"...Anything I can do for you?" Husk asked softly, zipping up his pants.

"...I... I want you to stay with me, but please don't touch me..."

Not that I ever fucking read that shit, but...

There's something in Shakespeare about how... something isn't truly the worst until you can no longer say it is. I don't know what it's really supposed to mean, but, to me... it ain't the worst until there are no words. When you can't form them in your head anymore.

There existed a number of words for it. But I didn't have the electricity running in my head enough to think them. Violated, dirtied, tormented. None of them sufficed. But whatever it was, I felt fucking that by the sounds replaying in my head. I wanted to rip my head open and gouge out my fucking brain. A shotgun in my mouth wouldn't be violent enough. I needed to stab myself over and over and over again in my fucking skull and mangle the grey matter and then fucking stomp the shit out of it.

Husk noticed me trembling, and that my eyes were wide and staring at nothing. My breathing had become violent.

He moved to the edge of the bed to sit there, giving me space.

"Hey, if... If you need someone to beat the shit out of, I volunteer," Husk said.

Normally, that would've made me laugh.

But no. With how fucking furious and torn open and disgusting I felt... if I started hitting him, it would be hard for me to stop.

I was scared of how violently enraged I was.

I held my head with my hands pressed over my ears, as if in a feeble attempt to keep the sounds of my own voice in my ineffable memory away.

And a noise came out of me like a low growl. I needed to scream. But it wouldn't come out; I had to build it up.

I kept forcing my voice out, until I was indeed screaming, at the top of my lungs.

I couldn't stop.

Some seconds into it, I felt a soft pressure enclose me.

It wasn't Husk. I would have instinctively gored anyone with my bare hands if they touched me.

When I lost my voice and couldn't scream anymore, and was just a trembling mess with tears running down my face, I noticed it was layers of weighted blankets on top of me.

Husk was still there, at the foot of the bed. Just to be there. Keeping his hands to himself, not trying to console me with empty, hopeless words.

I loved him for it. That way he had of never forcing me to talk about anything, never hugging me if I didn't want it, and most of all, his understanding that, in my circumstances, there were no uplifting words.

He understood and respected the hopelessness of it all. The lost cause.

He knew any "it'll be okay" bullshit would infuriate me, or make me physically ill at best.

He made me feel safe.

Loved.

Known.

I wanted to tell him I loved him, in that moment.

But the phrase had been tarnished.

So I just said his name instead.

"...Hassan..." I whimpered his real name in a painful rasp.

"Yes, baby?"

I just said it again.

And he understood.

[darklinaforever]

I get really annoyed by people who think that a problematic / toxic relationship necessarily involves physical abuse. Like it was a pure evidence. And here I am talking about a fictitious relationship.

Sorry, but no.

There are toxic relationships that can completely be written without there being gratuitous physical violence.

Daemyra, in the HOTD version for example (and not for the Fire and Blood version, who Daemyra is not toxic for me) is undeniably toxic, or at least problematic with episode 4 which demonstrates a certain attempt at Daemon's manipulation of Rhaenyra, although it ultimately does not go as far as at the end. But was there a need for him to strangle her in episode 10 ? No. Absolutely not. Besides, it's even rather incoherent.

Or the Darkling who also strangles Alina in season 2, even though he never hits /physically attacks her in the books. And no, the case of the amplifier does not count, because even if it is imposed by force on Alina, the Darkling remains disconcertingly gentle when he puts it on her. He clearly wasn't the type of character to do that.

Same for Lestat with Louis in the Interview With the Vampire show, it doesn't seem to me from my recollection of the book's version for the Loustat relationship, that Lestat ever did such a horrible and violent thing to Louis.

And I'm tired of this kind of bullshit.

Already because it only boils down toxic relationships to being physically violent, which is not the case in real life, and it's definitely not good to have this tendency to always add that when depicting toxic relationships, which can give a biased image of the latter.

The proof why I'm making this post is that I literally came across someone saying "it's stupid for someone to say they like fictional toxic relationships and not like when there is violence so that, well, what exactly did you expect ?".

Except that sorry, but toxic relationship is not always = physical violence. A toxic relationship can be devoid of it.

Then, no, it is not because a toxic fictional character will be physically violent with people that he will also be violent with the woman he loves. Sorry, but can you seriously imagine Cezare Borgia hitting Lucrecia ?

I do not think so, no ! Yet the relationship is clearly toxic !

So yes, we can like toxic things, but depending on certain cases, not appreciate physical violence at all.

And it's tiring to hear the opposite.

Please note, I have nothing against fictitious toxic relationships / toxic ships with physical violence. I have some myself, exemple :

But it must make sense with the characters represented, and not be gratuitous.

Just like we need to stop adding gratuitous physical violence to the adaptation of a relationship that didn't have it in the original material.

All of this frustrates and annoys me immensely.

[tostadamika]

Daniel Watches She-Ra

& The Princesses Of Power

-S1E3- 'Razz'

Todays' She-Ra Watchthrough Art: Look I have been having a real shit week or so let me just bullshit this one thanks

Dumb question but why is Glimmers mom British? Also this is probably just me but it looks like her wings are attached to her hair & I can't stop thinking about it.

Oh also yo the theme song?

Yeah that's pretty swell.

A big step up from the original cartoon which was just.....sad? It's just like a sad attempt of being a cool retro cartoon theme song. It fails to live up to any of the greats of decades past.

TMNT 87? Iconic. Badass. Groovy. Radical.

Transformers? Iconic as well. Absolutely fucks.

The Super Mario Bros. Super Show? Fucking ART that makes Hans Zimmer look like an absolute fucking dork.

Sonic Underground? LITERALLY THE GREATEST FUCKING PIECE OF MUSIC EVER COMPOSED BY MANKIND.

80s She-Ra? It's like watching a cat spray diarrhea across my carpet for a solid minute. It's just sad.

Okay so I literally don't know any of their names but uh-

These two. These two evil goons right here.

Are-

Okay so are they like gay? I don't know why but my brain saw this & went "Is this dude dating that lizard? are they going to smooch?"

I have no evidence or any proof to back up my claim here.

But I'm gonna just assume these two are gay & smooching & holding hands & stuff.

Anyways these goon squad characters are lame, also fuck that one girl who was bullying Cat-Ra, like, damn. The fuck is her problem?

Like leave that cat alone she's a fucking cat. Who bullies a cat??

Fuck you!!

Yeah so the only two goons I find myself enjoying are these two because I just get a strong feeling that they might be gay.

Again, I have no proof or evidence. But I'm gonna just say that they are anyway because I decided that I want to & you can't stop me.

Also one of them is a lizard dude. Like I said, that objectively makes him cool as fuck because reptiles are rad as hell.

ALSO GLIMMER & ADORA ARE SO GAY??

LIKE- OKAY FIRST OFF THIS POSE ABOVE THIS SENTENCE? THAT AIN'T A POSE OF A STRAIGHT PERSON. SHE'S AT THE VERY LEAST BI OR LESBIAN OR SOMETHING. BUT NAH THAT POSE IS GIVING ME VERY HEAVY FAG VIBES /POS

GOD THEY'RE GAY THEY'RE GAY THEY ARE GIRLFRIENDS IDC

I fucking squealed at this they're SO IN LOVE AAAAAA

GOD THEY ARE SO GAY

SHE'S BEING SO GAY JUST TALKING ABOUT ADORA/SHE-RA

GAY?? GAY

REAL

IF THEY DONT KISS & HOLD HANDS BY THE END IM GOING TO PISS ON MY NEIGHBOURS MAILBOX

POV: Glimmer introduces you to her wife (she's magic & can become very tall & glows bc she's just cool like that)

Also I like, find She-Ra so fucking funny from the design itself?

She's just.....tall. She's a tall lass. Big. Large. Massive. A Tree.

Like, the fact that she's just....big. Like this is a needed change for her transformation. Being taller is an essential part of it.

One of her magical powers is just being really tall I guess. Like that's part of the transformation, she gets BIG. So that's just considered a power, because it makes her taller.

Being a tall fuck is considered a magical ability in this universe.

Also why did this episode just turn into Pixars' Brave (2012) for the middle part? I'm not upset I'm just confused bc I didn't expect to be hit with this sudden flashback to 2012 shit. But I like this old lady.

But (good job daniel you used but twice in a row, you're so good at writing you stupid fucking idiot-) I just kept being reminded of Brave while watching. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I haven't watched Brave in like a decade. Like, damn though, this part just reminded me of it a lot & I feel it's worth mentioning.

I should rewatch Brave sometime.

AHEM-

SHE'S SO FUCKING CUTE I WANT TO CRY SHE'S LITERALLY THE SCRUNKLY SCRIMBLO BLORBO AND ALSO A FAGGOT. I LOVE HER. PROTECT THIS SPARKLY FAGGOT & HER MAGICAL WIFE.

GRAHHHHHHH

Whore-Dak Update:

Okay Hordak, you get points just because you told Shadow Weaver to go fuck herself. That's incredibly based & awesome of you. To not only tell the wizard bitch to shove her stupid fucking shadow magic fart clouds up her ass. But you also were like "Hey angry lesbian cat, you get a promotion because you're epic" & that's so real.

I respect a villain who doesn't bully cats for no reason.

(other than because you're a huge bitch cough shadow cunt cough)

You're still nowhere near being Skeletor. But you are definitely a far better villain than the original 80s Hordak was. Keep it up buddy.

[mbat]

hey guys, remember to stay skeptical of random messages on discord, or any social media tbh.

i was already suspicious when i got a random dm from someone i barely knew who i havent talked to since 2021 saying 'i need to talk about something serious' like... ??

but also the shit they were saying was dumb as fuck. first of all, over 300$ on nitro?? not to mention the ultra specific number of 362, like, thats just weird to me. also 'mess with your ip and stuff' how. how though.

also the weird implication that somehow my friends or family could also have hacked this person. my family who barely use discord/know how to use discord, and my toootally real irl friends that i have that got on my computer, right....

but also like i say in the screenshots, they were avoiding all of my questions asking for clarification, including me rightfully asking how this person would even be thinking of me after 3 years of not talking, not to mention we werent even friends, we just sent a few dms to eachother... but most of all how theyd remember me based on a pfp i drew after i stopped talking to them, or how someone would have a similar pfp to the one i drew myself of my own OC. yeah, sure buddy.

and most of all how dumb it is to be like 'oh noo, the person who i reported you to wont listen to me, please can you, the person whos account is at stake for actions you may or may not have taken, please go beg for your account for me?' like... that doesnt make sense. on no level does that make sense.

i took the picture they sent me, erased specific details like their username and my name and pfp, and reverse image searched it

and every single result was how its a scam.

and like i said, naming yourself that on discord, also that pfp?? thats cop shit. thats some cop shit. fuck no.

they prey on your fear of losing your account. the realistic idea that many people get hacked all the time from suspicious links, so that you feel bad for this person and are more likely to listen to them. they obviously go through peoples friends lists or dm lists so that its someone they might know, or previously knew, so that youre less likely to be like 'hey, fuck off.'

and they send a screenshot that is actually fairly convincing at first but its also like... bruh. cause im pretty sure ive reported some accounts in recent months and never got that image, though i didnt report them on the discord website because discord has a built in report button in app. and honestly whos gonna bother going to the website unless its like, extremely serious, like the time someone sent me images of fucking dead bodies on discord. thats what you go directly to the website for.

anyway, other people online have said that the person they attempt to send you to is the real hacker trying to steal your shit, if that wasnt already obvious by this persons insistence... so yeah. dont fall for scammers bullshit, guys.

if youre wondering why im even bothering posting this and saying so much shit, im just hoping if other people reverse search the image people send them that they get informational posts like this, cause its important people dont fall for this garbage

[vvatchword]

Reading BioShock: Rapture (Part 1: The Cover)

Part 2: John Shirley and the Front Matter ->

“Who the hell is Reggie?” I asked my friends a while back.

Reggie shows up in a lot of BioShock fanfiction. At first I thought he was a fan-made creation that had jumped isolation, but he appeared in enough oddball places that I began to think I had missed something important from canon.

“He’s from the BioShock novel,” a friend replied.

I swore and eyeballed the novel, which has been sitting next to me for about two years now.

BioShock: Rapture is a video-game tie-in novel written by John Shirley (aka Some Guy) and published in July 2011. Originally, it had been slated to release with BioShock 2, which launched February 9, 2010. It did not because it had to work in BioShock 2 elements and the BioShock 1 canon had to be okayed by Ken Levine, creative director of Irrational Games.

Why I’m Reading This Thing

I’ve been working on a BioShock epfic, as you probably know since I won’t shut up about it. I adore working with pre-existing canon in an effort to harmonize dissonant elements and attempt Art (lol); long story short, my fanfiction is for my own satisfaction and nothing more. I like being as accurate as possible; I do not want to lie; and I like to respond to what someone is actually saying rather than the Internet custom of “Inventing a Guy to Get Mad At.”

So of course I bought the BioShock novelization the minute it came out. At the time, I was on about the third draft of my epfic.

I read about 50 pages, writing mean notes in the margins as I went, before I just stopped. I just couldn’t stand it. It was so, so wrong. At the time, I couldn’t have told you why. All I remember was that Andrew Ryan felt pathetic, and that is unforgivable. Ryan should always feel threatening and powerful and real. BioShock: Rapture’s Ryan felt pretentious and annoying and I was pretty sure I could give him a swirly with impunity.

What made this dissonance particularly irritating was that the information presented was not necessarily incorrect, but the tone, social dynamics, and overall implications were… how do I put this? Stupid. Stupid and vapid. The character interactions, the author’s comprehension of social and historical issues, the emotional zing—all void, careless, or off. That subtle off-kilter sensation ends up building into a hell of a thing.

I can stand a lot of bullshit. I even love bullshit. But what I cannot bear under any circumstances is boredom and “safe art.” And BioShock: Rapture was the definition of safe.

I had to realize that this was, first and foremost, a corporate product, lobotomized and neutered and defanged, with all the possible poison sucked out of it. (Coincidentally: just how I felt about BioShock 2.) The person who wrote it didn’t give a shit about it. The corporate execs who commissioned it didn’t give a shit about it. Only Levine probably gave a shit, and only in that the right information was presented. (I don’t know if BioShock 2’s creative director, Jordan Thomas, was involved. He wasn’t mentioned in any of the interviews I read.)

If this had been literally any other book, I would have gotten rid of it and forgotten about its existence. But Ken Levine, creative director of BioShock 1, had been involved, and by all accounts, he hadn’t spared any details. That meant that canon existed in this piece of shit—canon for BioShock 1, my favorite out of the three installments.

I don’t believe in making any more work for myself than necessary, and I don’t always trust wikis: I had to get into this book to find framework for my own.

I had to fucking read it.

The Journal Method

In an attempt to further cement the book in my mind, I first attempted to do a book club with other fans—not once, but four times. My attempts fell through, partially because I fucking hate everything about this book. My brain gremlins scrub it every time I dip my toe in the water. I realized that, to get through this dumpster fire, I would have to write about it. So I decided to use the journal method to attack it, sometimes literally.

See, because I have a jumpy, excitable brain—something like a Jack Russell terrier on meth—I write out my thoughts on the more difficult books I read. These write-ups are usually more like journal entries than about the story itself. It’s not necessarily helpful or interesting to anyone else, but it gives me touchstones that I can return to years later to quickly refresh myself on notes of interest. This way, I retain information and don’t have to re-read whole goddamn books again. Recently I’ve been doing this with Paradise Lost, which is very difficult to read thanks to its archaic English, poetic diction, and constant references to classical myth and literature. It works well!

That said, I kinda hate myself for what this turned into. Is it reasonable? Oh, no, of course not. I started overthinking it at once. You should all know I am Shameful and Cringe and Deserve to Be Thrown in a Well. No balanced human being should care this much about this book or franchise. Thankfully I am deeply imbalanced and have no standards that anyone understands.

I make this readable for my own pleasure. If you come along on the ride, god bless you. Also, feel free to critique or share your own experiences and opinions.

About John Shirley

I’d never heard of John Shirley before this book. According to the bio on the back of this book, he won the Bram Stoker Award for a story collection (Black Butterflies), and has written numerous bestsellers I’ve never heard of, as well as an adaption for Constantine. He was also one of the screenwriters on The Crow.

I do wish I had any sense of any of these things. I do not. Not even The Crow. You’d think that’d be up my alley. I started The Crow and promptly turned it off. This says nothing about his screenwriting, just that I started a movie he impacted once.

I read a few interviews with him regarding the book, which gave me further hints as to his influences. He’s a white centrist Boomer because of course he is. This was the first sign that I should be afraid.

First, socially (and generally) speaking, the more mainstream identities you possess, the more insulated you are, and the less you are challenged to step outside of that viewpoint. The tone and subjects of mainstream media cater specifically to you. You accept this is as “the way the world is” instead of realizing that the mainstream is itself a cultural viewpoint with a limited focus. It takes you effort to empathize with viewpoints outside of your own. Many people never make that effort. The less you attempt to understand alien concepts, the worse you are at doing so.

Second, centrists tend to see every human philosophy as morally neutral. To a centrist, it is the philosophy’s application that can be done Incorrectly or Wickedly.

In my mind, this is supremely stupid. A philosophy is not a law of nature, but a human tool. It can be fundamentally broken in how it approaches the universe; even if it produces good outcomes, its goodness can be outweighed by its negative aspects.

Objectivism is one of these philosophies. If you know anything about it, you know why it’s broken and why it should be thrown in a fire. I will probably explore it in some capacity as I write this piece, but I won’t be terribly exact due to its nature. This is for me to remember what I have read, not to win awards or reach a big audience.

All of this said, I’m coming to this writer in what amounts to a vacuum, with a handful of suppositions based on some quick interviews. I have no perspective on him as a person or artist in any depth. The book is gonna have to stand on its own merits.

About the Front Cover

At first, I began by talking about the prologue, but my criticisms started to spread all over the front matter of the book, which is how you start off with me criticizing the FUCKING COVER.

Generally, covers aren’t really that important, but in this case, I feel like the graphic design implies how much care was taken with the book itself. Someone let the interns do this. I would bet fucking money. The art is completely inappropriate.

How do you choose cover art? Well, what is cover art intended to do? It’s intended to deliver a quick advertisement to the person passing the shelves. It’s supposed to answer questions, like: “What is the story about?” It’s supposed to lure you in. There should be some suggested friction or promised reward.

Look at this fucking thing. What is the art’s focus? Is it interesting? What does it say? Does it give you an idea of the book’s story, characters, plot, setting, or tone? If you knew nothing about BioShock, what would your impression be?

Now, you and I both know (because we are nerds) that the focus is on the globe with the starburst, for we know the starburst is where Rapture is located.

Except that’s not the first thing you’re going to think. The first thing you’re going to do as A Human with Eyes is search for a focal point. The globe seems like a background element, the flare a stylistic choice. You will first latch onto the man and the woman in the bottom left because the human mind is hardwired to look for faces, but they don’t seem to be the focus of the image; in fact, the image feels strangely off, like there should be something else to it.

That’s because this particular image is focused on architecture and setting, with the crowd as flavor over the top; it is best viewed in landscape. The book cover has cut off 2/3 of the goddamn picture and thus completely obscured its original intent. Here’s the original--which is by Craig Mullens, btw. I love it. It’s one of my rotating desktops and I own it in physical form.

"1959," by Craig Mullens

A lithograph of this image was included with a limited-edition game guide released with BioShock 2. It was one of the few special-edition illustrations that did not focus on Big Daddies or Subject Delta. BioShock: Rapture is a prequel, so it couldn’t use any images with Big Daddies on them—it’s not about the social fallout you see in-game. Mullen’s art was, however, a preexisting piece that nobody had to spend any extra money on.

The point being: this art was created for BioShock 2, not for the book.

In other words, no special efforts were made for any of this. Slap on BioShock logo! Find some font evocative of art deco (copy-paste-make shape-paste-in-place), and outline that shit in Illustrator one billion percent. Use this beautiful art in a way that says nothing about what the book is about because it’s really not meant for that purpose to begin with, and get your $0/hour intern to slap it all together.

Whallah! Body-slam that shit on a bookshelf and go back to drinking.

The Back of the Book

The bad graphic design extends to the back of the book. The summary is double-spaced for some reason, there’s little contrast between text and background color, the background is noisy enough to obscure the font, and the Andrew Ryan graphic fucks up the indents, making the summary look like a text wall. It’s not, actually. Regardless, the effect is the same: it obscures readability.

Spoiler: it’s probably because they didn’t want you to read it.

This graphic looks better than the book in person and it is still ass.

Oh hey who wrote this summary?

The First Paragraph of This Lazy-Ass Shit

It was the end of World War II. FDR’s New Deal had redefined American politics. Taxes were at an all-time high. The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had created a fear of total annihilation. The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs. America’s sense of freedom was diminishing… and many were desperate to take that freedom back.

Uh whose side is this on lol

So, summaries are here to do two things: explain the general Where, Who, and Plot, and Invoke Interest. A summary is the scantily-clad lady-friend with one knee cocked out of a doorway saying, “Come on in.” She gives us a little wink-wink, shows a little skin, I’ll show u soooo much more if u just step this way big boy.

Unfortunately, the way this summary works is more like somebody flinging buzzwords at you as fast as possible while hoping you don’t look too closely. If you are on the political right, it will immediately invoke a certain fuzzy alarm reserved for words like “communism” and “socialist”; if you are on the political left, it invokes your illiterate aunt’s unhinged Facebook rants. One has the sense that said writer doesn’t actually know what they’re talking about, which is a hell of a way to a) start a summary for historical fiction and b) summarize a book that they should, by all rights, have read.

What’s more, if we judge the strength of its hook alone—its only fucking job, I might as well add—it’s weak as balls: the only sentence that pulls you in is the one about nuclear weapons, and that’s because it gives you a sense of urgency and fear of annihilation. Problem: this book ain’t about nuclear weapons. This book ain’t about the end of World War II at all. Wrong subject. Completely wrong.

You might very rightfully say, “Well, this is from Andrew Ryan’s point of view,” in which case I’m confused, because this is not written from Ryan’s point of view. This is written as Information We All Know and Understand to Be True :) The problem being that it is so slanted, and so vague, and so simplified to the point of stupidity, that it puts the summary’s writer in the spotlight at once, which is a catastrophic failure by every metric. This summary makes me ask questions like, “Should I be wary of the author’s ulterior motives?”

Well. To be fair, a BioShock novel by an Objectivist would be a lot of fun—in the same way Miami Connection is fun. I would absolutely read that and cringe and cry-laugh and throw the book and then pick it up again. Very good times would be had. Why? Because somebody cared about it, and somebody is about to say some very, very stupid bullshit with all the confidence and passion in their whole body, and everything in the story is going to align beautifully to that bullshit, and something bullshitty is going to happen and it will be like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

Let’s just say that I love reading Ayn Rand but it’s not for the reasons she’d prefer.

I want you to know that Shirley has been quoted as saying, “You cannot fly a plane without the left and the right wings,” which I will allow to stand without commentary.

FDR’s New Deal had redefined American politics.

That’s the most diplomatic way I’ve seen the New Deal described. Ever. And I was taught American history in West Texas by a basketball coach. It’s so carefully neutral that the first thing I did was read the sentence twice, like that was going to open up a magical window back to the past and show me what harried motherfucker wrote it. If it had done this, I would have thrown an egg at them. Not very hard. So maybe less of a throw, more of a “rolled it across their desk and closed the window to fuck with them.”

“Where did this egg come from,” they’d say. “What the hell. I hope it isn’t a dimension-hopping nitpicker again.”

Anyway, that’s when I realized everything about this book was probably going to be wrong: as I stood in an aisle at a Barnes and Noble in July 2011. I’m talking about a sinking feeling and a slight nausea. I actually thought about not buying it and I was at a point in my life where I bought everything with a BioShock logo on it. I was also a stupid-ass far-right evangelical flirting with Objectivism at the time. Big fuck-ups all ’round.

If the copywriter wrote this… still not a good sign, but better than if the author wrote it, because a) this prose is clumsy as fuck and b) the end of World War II is not the point and thus should not lead.

Is There a Right Way or Are You Being a Cunt?

Yes!

What is the point? Andrew Ryan as a person; what history has done to Andrew Ryan; what people have done to Andrew Ryan; Andrew Ryan’s philosophy; Andrew Ryan’s goals; Andrew Ryan’s failures; Andrew Ryan. ANDREW MOTHERFUKCING RYAN. Start with RYAN, not with the historical context.

America’s sense of freedom was diminishing…

In. In what context. Citation needed. Citation please. Loaded language. Loaded like a fucking gun.

The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs.…

Woo. Whooooah WHOOOOOAH hold on there Silver whooooooah I’m gonna need you to hold on a second. This is way too fucking vague.

At first I thought it might reference the USSR in addition to the United States, but by starting and ending the paragraph with America-centric sentences, the “where” and the “who” is most likely “America” and “gubmint” respectively. That’s immediately problematic because those two concepts are so vast.

What government agencies? What sanctions? Who’s the “many”? What are the wrongs? I’m still groping in the dark. My friends in hell, this is a summary. That means I (the Reader) should know exactly what is going on by Sentence One. So far I have the vaguest notions of historical period and authorial motivation as written by a 12-year-old off 4chan.

A lot has been written, but nothing has been said. This paragraph depends on You (the Reader) to ascribe value judgments about these vaguely-referenced enormous fucking political machines. And we can’t because, I mean… we don’t know who they are, what they’re doing, or why they’re bad. Also, given the writer’s clear axe-grinding, I’m kinda wary, so I’m already holding them at arm’s length.

Now, I can appreciate that the writer was trying to give historical context, but in this particular story, that context only makes sense once it filters through Andrew Ryan. Andrew Ryan takes a vast, infinitely-complex part of history and narrows it down to one place, one time, one person, one ideology. If you throw a net that’s too wide, you lose all definition. A fucking metric shit-ton of bullshit went down in the little window between the end of World War II and the founding of Rapture: World War II literally affected every single country and human being on Earth, and even cutting it back to Just America is too vast a subject to simply imply.

What is more, the story of Rapture is not the story of World War II or handsy government, it’s the story of how Andrew Ryan dealt with challenges he could not bear. The minute you focus on Ryan, the summary clicks, and everything immediately grows more concise and clear: then we can have specific government entities and specific events that lead to Ryan building a utopia beneath the sea. Lead with Andrew Ryan and the explicit ways he has been hurt. Make it personal, a story about a person, and make it specific, and for god’s sake, make it FUCKING INTERESTING.

Long story short, this summary feels like you’ve opened a bad theme from a high school student and they need to type so, so many words and it’s 4:46 AM and they are fucking tired and they can only reword Wikipedia so much before they lose their fucking mind.

Paragraphs Two through Four

Among them was a great dreamer, an immigrant who’d pulled himself from the depths of poverty to become one of the wealthiest and most admired men in the world. That man was Andrew Ryan, and he believed that great men and women deserved better. So he set out to create the impossible, a utopia free from government, from censorship, and from moral restrictions on science, where what you gave was what you got. He created Rapture—the shining city below the sea.

Someone is fucking stanning. Someone was definitely arguing on forums that Rapture would have worked great if only… and then they gave a long bulleted list, and everyone called them a big dork even though they’re all on a video game forum arguing about a game from 2007.

Now to give you a little perspective, this book was released fresh after the Tea Party movement had really gotten its feet under it. So I couldn’t help but think: who is writing this? Why is it written this way? Were they trying to channel a libertarian, or did they really mean it? Are they the kind of person who would excuse Ted Cruz?

If we had started the summary by focusing on Andrew Ryan personally, we wouldn’t have this problem.

But this utopia suffered a great tragedy. This is the story of how it all came to be… and how it all ended.

A tragedy!!! In my BioShock? It’s more likely th an y ou th in

k

Look at the way this is fucking phrased, I can’t…

I can’t

Why Are You Like This

This is a great time to talk about auxiliary (or helper/helping) verbs and passive voice, because this summary is lousy with them, and this is a textbook example of how they can suck the tension straight out of a premise.

The Tools

Passive voice indicates that something has been done to the subject. The subject is not an actor in their own right: they were affected, and they were powerless to stop it. They are, by definition, inactive.

Auxiliary or helping verbs are myriad, but the most common ones are “are,” “go,” and “has.” In function, they tend to soften sentences—probably because they imply the action has been finished. They are also colorless, weightless, and have no emotional oomph: auxiliary verbs are 100% structural.

The ideal is to say as much as you can with as few words as you can, and that means using the most proper and powerful words possible in the best possible places and arrangements.

Back to the Summary

Remember what I told you that an ideal summary should do?

You want a summary to be immediate and punchy. You want it to suck the reader in. You want a sense of who all the major players are and the problem involved.

In this case, it’s Andrew Ryan, Bill McDonagh, and probably Frank Fontaine. There should probably be a government entity represented by some toady, too. Maybe even some suggestion of specific bills or social movements. Hint that Ryan’s got an ideal and that he sold the fuck out of it, and that people believed so much in that ideal that they’d abandon everything they worked for to go under the sea.

It was the end of World War II.

World War II gave me a little jump of interest, but on the whole, I feel nothing. This is a state of being and it’s just chilling here. There’s no problem. In fact, this is the definition of a solved problem. I’m all about no-Hitler! Okay! Good! Yeah!

So?

Taxes were at an all-time high.

Passive voice is used here because it’s explaining a state of existence. A state is, by virtue of its nature, inactive. Nothing is happening. It already happened. Here we are, standing here, breathing, existing, taxed. All righty.

So?

The only tension we get here is from the construction of the sentence itself. This is a loaded sentence—it implies that taxes are bad, it implies that they’re being improperly used, and it gives no actors—but that turns your focus onto the summary writer, not onto the story itself. It’s like these taxes just materialized out of the ether. What’s more, we don’t know where these taxes are being levied or what’s being done with them. This shouldn't be passive. Who's the actor?

In some ways, thanks to the placement of this sentence, this implies that the taxes are a major subject. You head to the next sentence expecting expansion on the tax problem.

Coincidentally, that’s not a great load-bearing sentence. I can think of nothing more boring than taxes. It’s only interesting if you’re some kind of crazy reactionary asshole who operates solely via political slogans.

The bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had created a fear of total annihilation.

Finally, some tension! Now we also have a setting! Unfortunately, it’s enormous—it’s worldwide. So are we talking about worldwide taxes? As in, raised taxes were a worldwide phenomenon?

Wait a minute. What the fuck are you

The rise of secret government agencies and sanctions on business had many watching their backs.

WHERE ARE WE? “Secret” is a little exciting, but what “government agencies” and “sanctions” and what are they doing? Who is the “many”? Taxes + business means I see an economic concern front and center. So why is nuclear weaponry in here?

On another note, why is this so fucking dry? It’s like I’m reading a Wikipedia summary. The only powerful language has been “secret” and “all-time high” and “total annihilation.” What the fuck is going on?

Everything is so vague—so problematically, memeishly vague—that now my hackles are up. This sounds just like a boomer on the bus yelling at his phone. This is Neil Breen levels of indistinct. I don’t like it. It sounds like someone who doesn’t know what the fuck they’re talking about, and this is a fucking HISTORICAL NOVEL.

I am now completely switched off from thinking about the story. It doesn’t seem like there’s much of a story at all. In fact, this sounds like it’s going to be unfocused conservative ramblings. I am now thinking not about the story, but about the writer as a person. I’m starting to wonder if even the author doesn’t know what they’re focused on—which implies a story without a solid structure—which implies a story without a through-line.

I don’t want to restate everything I just said, but you can see the problem, right? Things are just happening. Every occurrence is shared as a state of being. The people suffering are unnamed, and the ways they are suffering is indistinct. The friction is indistinct, too. I have no idea what I’m rooting for, I have no idea what the subject is, and we are four sentences in.

A good summary should be about 3-8 sentences long and punch you in the face. So far I have experienced the literary equivalent of a dry gnat fart.

Let’s move ahead.

That man was Andrew Ryan, and he believed that great men and women deserved better.

God I hate this fucking line. It says absolutely nothing about Andrew Ryan or Objectivism.

What is “better”? Better than what? Under what circumstances? What does Andrew Ryan believe? Why should I be interested? Why are you sharing this in past tense before the story even begins? This sounds like something tension should be attached to. Why is there no tension here?

Andrew Ryan is based on Ayn Rand, and Rapture is based on Objectivist ideals. People live and die as Objectivists. They fight for Objectivist ideals. On this very day you can go to YouTube and look up a recording of Andrew Ryan’s speech and some dumbass has uploaded it to YouTube with a slideshow of patriotic imagery. That’s how accurately Ken Levine cleaved to Objectivist ideals: that actual libertarians look at the message of the game and go WELL ACKSHUALLY

I think I’ve figured out why this is all so vague, though. Objectivism is controversial and Objectivists have no shame whatsoever. We can’t have controversy in our fucking BioShock! Maybe the powers-that-be defanged it because they didn’t want to deal with fallout. (Ha ha ha ha aaa h a ) Maybe they defanged it because they wanted to sell it to as wide an audience as possible, and they didn’t want to insult anybody holding $20.

Did they not play the game? Because that’s embarrassing. It definitely puts BioShock Infinite in a new light for me. There’s no way for us to accurately understand Ken Levine, a public figure, as a human being—all we have are little snapshots of him in time and second-hand accounts, which by their natures will vary in truth—but I’m starting to wonder if he started to raise this big middle finger, like: “ooooh u want me to be safe? Fuck youuuuuuuuu”

Which I can appreciate, obviously.

This fear of controversy is prime executive behavior. Executives, as I’ve learned over time, are fucking morons. Have you ever met an old man with the personality of a 15-year-old? Think Elon Musk. Well, there’s a reason for that. Because they hold the purse strings, you can’t talk to them honestly, because there’s a real chance they’ll take offense and strike back at you right in the pocketbook. Because they’re so wealthy, they can buy their ways out of suffering, so the fear of god is never slapped into them, and they have absolutely no conception of what true loss is. It’s not that they can’t fail, but their failure is so much more insulated than ours is. It’s how you end up with Oceangate: people to whom life has said “yes” so often that they have no respect for physics.

Executives are so used to being coddled that any pushback deeply wounds them. They can afford to be psychologically insecure. As a group, they are fertile ground for Objectivism to take root; they are most likely to see themselves as the Randian Ubermensch, for they also tend to be unreasonably wealthy—and that’s because of their innate genius and capability, right?

This is the height of an unchallenged viewpoint.

So he set out to create the impossible, a utopia free from government, from censorship, and from moral restrictions on science, where what you gave was what you got.

This is sentence eight, at the end of an 11-sentence-long summary, and ladies and gentlefolks, we have finally HIT THE FUCKING PLOT. I am going to hit a motherfuckin copywriter is what I’m going to fucking do.

THIS IS THE PLOT. This is where all the tension should be. This is where we should have our actors. This is the plot! It’s about Rapture! It’s about building Rapture!

Look how they wrote this shit!

The story should, by all rights, begin with a question: can Andrew Ryan build Rapture?

The extremely literal dumbass will say: “Yes hurhur.” But stories are not built on certainty, my fellow assholes. They are built on questions and friction and problems. We know how it ends, yes. Technically we knew how it ended when we started BioShock 1, didn’t we? The question you’re answering isn’t Yes/No, it’s WHY.

That doesn’t mean you treat the story as though the city is already built. Hypothetically there was a point where Rapture was just a very nice dream. That should be interesting in and of itself. The point of tension is Rapture’s production—the reasons why people want it, the acts taken to produce it, the actors who try to stop it, why someone would stop it, the ways you attract citizens to inhabit it without alerting the entire universe, the process of upkeep. Worldbuilding shit. What are Rapture’s pros and cons, the devils in the details, the kind of society that evolves from a place like this?

Why are they talking about it like it’s already been built? Why are they using past tense for a story that I haven’t read yet? I read a lot of stories knowing how they end. I don’t read for the sakes of endings. It’s like some dim-bulb somewhere was like, “Uhhhhh historical fiction uhhhhh it already happened so uhhhhh let’s write it in past tense…”

All stories have already happened by definition. It is finished. It lies in your hands. You talk about it in present tense in a summary because the reader’s experience is the important part. Reading is about the experience, not about the ending.

Someone somewhere is a colossal dumbfuck and I hate them for even touching my smart fucking video game. Don’t even speak its title. Get the fuck out of here you fucking clown and go back to reading shitty YA.

But this utopia suffered a great tragedy.

“This utopia suffered,” like nobody saw this shit coming. Like nobody was involved. We’ve gone from blaming everybody to blaming nobody. Like there was a natural disaster or an alien attack or God reached down and flicked Rapture into space.

This is. Just. Just the worst.

What the fuck am I reading about? Who are the shakers and movers? What are the focal points? A summary can’t and shouldn’t give you the whole story, but it sure as hell should give you some sense of what the trouble is and who’s causing it.

This line is what really kicked my brain in gear: the summary is so fucking hands-off. It doesn’t make any promises; it doesn’t fucking commit. It’s a vague scene with no actors in it. You might be tempted to say, “Well, Andrew Ryan is mentioned!” But the problem is that he’s mentioned off-hand, like he just kinda exists in the ether with the Bad Gubmint and the Many and the Taxes. It doesn’t introduce any problems and it doesn’t stand for anything. It’s just so vague and mealymouthed. Grow a fucking spine and stand for something you fucking cowards.

This idea offers a small possibility: that someone didn’t like the subject and described it at arm’s length—what they thought the author was saying while feeling deeply uncomfortable.

Whatever the case, this summary offers nothing. It isn’t even hot air. It’s a little gasp of lukewarm something-or-other. It has no scent, no function, no body, no face. Like the tenses it employs, it simply exists.

I’m pretty sure nobody loved this story while they wrote it and it shows. And if there’s anything I don’t trust, it’s work nobody gives a shit about. Being shitty isn’t the ultimate failure: being boring is. And this shit is boring.

AND IT’S JUST THE FUCKING SUMMARY.

Hope Springs Eternal

I remember reading the back of this novel before I bought it and feeling my stomach sink. I still bought it because I was that heartsick for a big ol’ BioShock novel. The only fanfiction anyone ever writes is instant-gratification short-form and that makes me very sad. At the same time, one must be sensible: writing a novel is a lot of fucking work, and one should be fucking grateful one gets anything at all. In fandom, where everything is a product of passion and free time, one must be particularly respectful of this.

But this is not fandom; money has changed hands several times along the way; and I expect certain standards from something for which I have exchanged funds. BioShock: Rapture was not written because somebody believed in it or loved it; it was written primarily to be a Product. It is cynical, as BioShock 2 was cynical, to appeal to as many as possible—which means that by definition, it is insecure, afraid, and says fuck all.

This is bad, okay. This is very bad. This is somebody who didn’t understand the game on some of the most basic levels imaginable. Things like: what is BioShock about? What is the moral system and philosophy in BioShock—as intended, as it actually landed, and as represented by different characters and the player? What does BioShock say about idealism and those who adhere to ideals at the expense of human wellbeing? How are characters influenced by world tragedies on a personal level? What happens when you have an entire population of radicals and there’s no longer a convenient Other to hate?

What makes BioShock interesting?

Whoever wrote this summary has no fucking clue, and what’s more, they don’t particularly care. All they understand is a Bad versus Good dynamic. Anything more complex makes them snort and stomp like a mule deer, and they’re just about to fling themselves off sideways and hurtle through an elementary-school window screaming about liberals or transgenders or something.

This had better be a copywriter because I’m about to roll some stinky-ass eggs y’all

Part 2: John Shirley and the Front Matter ->

[millenniumfae]

Dragon Age Demons vs Real-Life 'Inner Demons'

Way back in the summer of 2015, my symptoms got so unbearable I was bedridden. 20 years old and experiencing psychosis, quasi-hallucinations, and actual, unending panic for the first time. It marked the start of a condition that has never stopped since.

My aunt (and other relatives) helped me develop proper mindfulness skills based off of our homeland's folk Buddhism - the 'second arrow'. The meaningless of forgiveness. Devaluing control. And something that struck me as a new Dragon Age fan … 'Possession'.

Well, when translated to english, you'll find texts using the word 'insight' rather than 'possession'. But that's the word my mom translated from off the top of her head, and it immediately resonated with me.

"Imagine your panic as an inner creature. Something that is also you, but is acting independently. Treat your panic with kindness and mentorship, not antagonism. The more you struggle in the spider's web, the worse things get. But if you nourish what's hurting in you, let them tantrum, then come back in to nurture."

Up until the 2010s, the most acclaimed mental health books you could buy written in the english language would most certainly be christianity-influenced. Maybe not overtly, (but you'd be surprised how many have a chapter about "insert-book-topic-here and Christ") but there's little hints like how the reader must have left home at 18 to avoid mooching off their parents, or how to 'turn guilt into something productive' (???), the use of the word 'gamble' as a bad word, etc. But these books tend to include a chapter that would be some weird bullshit like "The Dark Souls Of Respawning?? What Daoism Says About Immortality" and take a brief moment to talk about the radical, never-before-heard-of methods from across the pacific that Will Turn Your World Upside Down.

Behavior therapists (of the 1950s) were aware insights about the origins of the problem usually weren't helpful. Exposure to the thing the patient feared was often curative. -When Panic Attacks by David D. Burns MD, Chapter 18, "Taking a page from the Tibetan Book of the Dead"

Now, it's no secret that the Dragon Age serial is very. Um. Christian. Catholic, specifically. Faith is written to be an unequivocally redeeming trait. Attempts at inventing fake elf/qunari/Tevinter 'religions' still have them be belief-based, colonialist, and conversion-heavy, while also at the same time implying that the 'Maker' of Chantry faith is the single actual true god.

So it's no surprise that the demons and spirits of DA are very seven-deadly-sins. Party banter and side-quests do point out the euro/christian-centricity of this demon categorization (Merrill, Solas), but that doesn't mean shit if, in overall story and gameplay proper, Pride is the most powerful demon while Faith is virtue at all.

So here I am, lying in bed and only capable of just riding the waves of panic day after torturous day. You bet I'm gonna try to geek-erize my symptoms. If people do it with Jesus, then I can do it with Dragon Age.

Enter Vigilance the Spirit. I was an at-risk young Rivani mage, so their Magic Welfare Government helped me join their クサビ-依り代 program and matched me with a spirit to induce possession. Can't boil two skulls in one pot, so to speak. I could have chosen to do their hemispherectomy program (I am made Tranquil but carry around a piece of the Fade like a pacemaker that keeps me perfectly lucid, only turning off when I sleep), but that comes with its own risks.

But it doesn't take much for a spirit of Vigilance to do a 180 and become Panic. They're still Vigilance, and I am still me, but the taste in the mouth is different. Our life will need to adapt.

I will not kick myself for 'failing' my friend. Vigilance has turned to Panic, yes. But they have always been one. Now, so are me and Panic. Such is the nature of spirits.

If I am kind to my spirit, then I am kind to myself. It's what we both deserve.

[dramatic-crying]

i used to hate this city // ryan dunn x reader

description: while filming Jackass the Movie, the Westchester boys visit L.A. to film with the rest of the Jackass boys. Ryan, however, is not a huge fan of the city, but that may change when he meets you.

**afab!reader**

warning: extensive language

word count: ~920

**inspired by a random story plot generator**

i do not own any content Jackass has made, nor do i claim to. this is a fictional story; this is not based on the boys' real personalities.

Ryan's POV:

*10:30 P.M.*

As I'm sitting in the hotel room I'm currently sharing with Bam, I can't help but focus solely on the obnoxious sounds of L.A. traffic on the street outside the hotel. I sigh in annoyance as all I want to do is return to Westchester where people aren't so focused on themselves instead of the world around them.

While I'm lost in my thoughts, I hear the door slam open on the far side of the room; clearly indicating Bam's entrance. "WHAT'S UP, FUCKER?" I hear him yell as he runs over, and body slams my laying figure on the bed farthest from the door.

I playfully shove him off of me, while saying, "Get the fuck off of me, asshole."

"C'mon, get dressed. We're going out," he states as he smacks the back of my head.

"Dude, really? You know I hate people; I'm not going out."

He scoffs in response and says, "Fine. You don't even have to change, but you are coming."

"Whatever," I say, truly thinking he's full of shit. However, seeing as 30 minutes later, we're in a completely packed nightclub surrounded by people who have no sense of personal space, I guess he wasn't bullshitting me after all.

Your POV:

*11 P.M.*

As hour six rolled around of my nine-hour shift, I was just about done with all of the people ordering drinks tonight. Either they're already drunk, completely chaotic, absolutely disgusting, or all three.

While there was finally a small break between customers, I lean on the bar counter, rubbing my hands over my face in an attempt to wake myself up a little.

Almost immediately after, I hear two men speaking while there's a pause between the music to switch songs. One says, "C'mon man, just go talk to here. What's the worst she'll say?"

In response, I hear, "Uh, she'll look as disgusted as possible and tell me to get out of her face?"

I chuckle to myself, unsure of why this man is so nervous to talk to someone. As I turn around, ready to serve customers again, I'm met face-to-face with two men. One is a few inches taller than me, with curly blonde hair and rosy-red cheeks. The other is a little but shorter than the first man, with curly brown hair and a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

I fake a kind smile and use my best customer-service voice to ask, "Hi, can I get you anything?"

The blonde man immediately stills and turns to look to his friend who already left. He looks back to me and I notice how his eyes have widened at this realization. As I don't want to be responsible for someone passing out at my bar, I ask, "Hey man, are you okay?"

His stunning green eyes don't leave mine and he just nods his head and exclaims, "Yeah, absolutely."

"Okay," I giggle, and ask him again whether or not he wanted anything. After a small pause, he runs his hand through his almost-frizzy hair and smiles at me. Before he even says anything, I can't help but notice how intoxicating his dorky smile is. After he gives me his order, I quickly make it and give it to him. As I'm about to leave and start cleaning the countertops behind me, the man stops me and says, "My name's Ryan, by the way. Uh, in case you were wondering."

"Well, I wasn't really worried about it, but thanks I guess," I say, giving him a small smile. "My name's Y/N, in case you were wondering." I joke, giving him a wink.

He chuckles and swirls his drink in his hand, while looking down at the table. As he's looking away, I can't help but notice how his hair dangles in strands in front of his bright green eyes, full of anxiety but a hint of happiness as well.

Unfortunately, we don't talk much for the rest of the time he spends at the bar, since many people decided to get drinks at the same time. Before I know it, he disappeared in the crowd of people behind him.

Around 12 A.M., it finally calmed down again, and I heard a familiar voice in front of me. I look up to find Ryan, significantly more confident, but also more drunk. He aggressively sits down at the bar stool in front of me, almost falling off and I laugh at his mishap.

He tentatively looks at me, his eyes switching from mine down to my lips and back up. He wrings his hands in each other. "Could I have your number, Y/N? Um, I mean ma'am," he stumbles over his words, clearly less confident the second he opened his mouth.

I don't laugh this time. I lean on the bar counter and grab a napkin and pen. I quickly write down my real number and slide it to him. "I would love to go out with you sometime," I admit, abruptly surprised by the feeling of Ryan's hand over mine.

"I'm glad to hear that," Ryan nervously responds, rubbing the back of his neck. "How about after you get off work?"

I furrow my brows. "Honey, I get off at 1:30 this morning, at the very earliest."

The beautiful, compassionate man in front of me shrugs nonchalantly, and declares, "You're worth waiting for." With a smile, he raises my hand to his lips and lightly kisses my knuckles.

FIN

hey, everyone! thank you so, so much for reading my first sort've romantic fic on here! i know so many authors say this, but i'm sorry of it sucked and didn't really go anywhere lol i felt the need to write but had no idea what to do so this is what happened. but anyways, thank you so much again, and i am always open to constructive criticism to improve my writing! requests are always open!