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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

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A Well Rounded Education (2): Grading Boundaries (Fem!Reader x Nanami Kento, 7.5k)

series synopsis: You are a teacher’s aid to teacher Gojo Satoru, training to be able to take over your own class next year by shadowing and helping him out. Gojo does not make things easy for anybody.

chapter synopsis: the father of one of your students requested a meeting to ask about ways of improving his son’s grades. after working with him for a few weeks, nanami wants to thank you for helping yuji out in his own personal way.

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. oral sex (male on female and female on male), massage, nanami is just a gentleman after toji tbh.

(a well rounded education m.list and navigation)

You oversleep the next morning and for the first time since beginning your work as Gojo’s teaching aid, the other man is at his desk before you manage to rush into the classroom. He’s relaxed, arms behind his head, feet up on the desk – and when he sees you, he gives you a cheery wave and a grin.

“Found this on the floor this morning!” He says to you, using his thumb to flip you something small and round that you only manage to catch through sheer dumb luck. You stare down at the thing you’re cradling in your palm; one of the round buttons from your blouse, that you guess you missed after Toji had left and you’d had to try and pull yourself together.

““S-sorry about that,” you babble, your mind working eighty miles a minute to think of a proper excuse. “I-it got caught on my jacket when I was getting ready to leave last night, I wondered where it had gotten to--”

“How’d the meeting with Tsumiki go?”

“Huh?” You ask, blinking down at the button still, trying to fight the heat that is crawling up your face as you shove the accusing object into the pocket of your neatly tailored jacket. “Oh! It wasn’t Tsumiki. It was Mr Fushiguro, actually. M-Megumi’s father?”

There’s a pause in the air, almost as if it’s rippling with tension. When you look up, Gojo is staring at you, his eyes implacable behind dark lenses.

“I see,” he says. “That’s unusual.”

“I gave him all the paperwork, explained the probation and everything,” you hurry to say, almost tripping over your words. You don’t like the way he’s staring at you, and you find yourself shifting from foot to foot, hoping you don’t look like someone who let their student’s father rail you over their boss’ desk. “Megumi’ll be back in school next week, and hopefully nothing like this will happen again--”

“Mm,” Gojo says. You’ve never heard him sound that serious before, ignoring the chance to poke a little fun. His voice usually pitches and modulates, laughing, before he cracks some kind of inane joke that makes you and half the class wince. “I’ve got a meeting tonight, by the way. I was hoping you’d sit in with me.”

“Please don’t palm off more of your dirty work on me,” you say to him, as you go over to your own little makeshift table in the corner of your room and begin to rifle through your bag for the things you’ll need for the day. “To-- Mr Fushiguro was kind of scary, honestly.”

“Oh, it’s nothing like that!” Gojo waves your worries away with a hand, immediately dismissing it. “No, it’s Yuji’s dad – he wants to talk about his grades, I think? I said I don’t think it really matters, and he got really quiet and kind of angry on the phone with me.” Gojo shrugs. Of course Gojo said something like that. You’re not sure Gojo himself has ever worried about something in his life. “Honestly, he’s a. . . businessman type. Very serious! I just want someone to diffuse the tension a bit!” Gojo grins at you. “So you’re my human shield!”

Right.

Far be it for you to think that Gojo might have an educational reason for wanting you to sit in on this meeting. Still . . . you really like Yuji. You know that sometimes his inability to understand things frustrates him – he’s constant energy, and his mind just can’t keep up with the pace of the rest of him. You’d like to help where you can! And you know that Gojo’s probably not going to be able to offer any helpful advice – his classes might work for some kids, and Yuji does really like him, but that’s a boy who would probably benefit from some individualised attention and someone a little quieter.

You don’t like the idea of him with a father who pushes him academically and doesn’t care about his other achievements. Biting your lip, you nod, busying yourself with laying out the pens on your desk and flicking through one of your training books to see if there’s anything about meetings with parents. This one, you think and hope, is definitely not going to end up the same way yesterday’s meeting did.

There’s a kind of nervous energy in Yuji all day. He drops his pen, he shoots you agonised looks until you come over to check his work, and as everyone is milling out to go to lunch, he comes to stand in front of you, kicking his toe on the floor. You smile at him, seeing how he’s vibrating, rocking on the balls of his feet – hoping that the smile might at least calm him down some.

“My Dad’s meeting with Mr Gojo tonight,” Yuji eventually blurts. Without Megumi in class to tamper down some of his more bombastic nature, Yuji’s voice pitches and wavers. “I’m-- Mr Gojo doesn’t care about grades, but my Dad’s like, ‘you should apply yourself more, you have it in you’ and . . . and I guess I’m worried?” He brings a finger to his chin, dwelling on the thought. The way he says it, it’s almost like he’s not usually aware of the idea of ‘worry’ – oh, to be a twelve year old boy!

“I know,” you say, after a proper time has elapsed to make Yuji think you’ve really dwelt on the situation. You reach into your own bag to pull out the carefully prepared lunch you have in there – you could go to the staff-room, but honestly, you’re still feeling a bit wobbly after last night’s events and you don’t want to go around into the hum of people who’ll gather you up into bubbles of small talk. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sitting in on the meeting too.” You hope your smile is reassuring. “It’s not going to be all doom and gloom, I promise.”

That actually . . . does seem to soothe Yuji.

“My grades are really bad,” he says. “I just . . . I’m not smart, y’know? Megumi knows all this stuff, and I’m just . . . dumb.”

“Being good at school stuff isn’t everything,” you say to Yuji. “You’ve got your own talents. Look at you on the sports field!” He blushes in the way young boys do when they’re being complimented by anybody, a kind of awkward ‘oh, shucks, don’t make me think that I’m good at anything’. You smile. “I’m sure your Dad understands that too.”

“Oh, he does!” Yuji’s eyes widen. You feel a little lock around your chest loosen, just a bit. There’s hero worship clear in Yuji’s eyes now. “He just thinks I should live up to my . . . what’s he call it? Full potential!” He twists his lip, and then leans in, conspiratorially. “He doesn’t like Mr Gojo. He doesn’t think he’s serious.”

Despite yourself, your lips curve into a smile. You aren’t going to trash talk your colleague to a kid that you’re in charge of, but all of the other staff just seem to roll their eyes and let Satoru Gojo get on with whatever he’s doing because apparently he was a prodigy at college or something. It’s nice to know at least someone is on your side, even if you’ll hopefully only ever see him once or twice during your whole year here.

“Don’t worry,” you say to Yuji. “I’ll try and handle it. Now, you should go! All the other boys look like they’re about to play a game of football--”

Yuji’s eyes brighten and he grins, turning away immediately, mind quickly flitting to something more pressing. He shouts a goodbye and a thank you to you even as he’s racing out of the door, almost too fast to be believed.

Kento Nanami (Itadori is his ex-wife’s name, he tells you with a sigh, but the name that Yuji was born with and he’s reluctant to have it changed) is very obviously a businessman, in a well-pressed grey suit and a navy shirt, a yellow tie tight to his throat. He’s wearing suspenders beneath the jacket, an expensive watch on his wrist, and a pair of small glasses perched on a sharp nose. A solemn face, sculpted jaw. He has cheekbones that you think could cut fucking diamonds into pieces, a wave of carefully styled blonde hair over a proud forehead--

What the fuck is going on at this school that it seems like all of the dads are so hot? You do your level best not to look at him too much, as Gojo introduces you and he shakes your hand. He looks at you with his eyes narrowed just a touch; you think he’s trying to get the measure of you, and whether you’re just going to be here to back up Gojo. There’s an air of tiredness to this man that suggests he will not take any of your colleague’s nonsense, and that thought bolsters you when he puts down his briefcase and neatly folds his hands on his lap, looking from you to Gojo.

“I want to talk about Yuji’s grades,” he says, “and how we can help him improve them.”

You like him already. The way he says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’ – the withering gaze that he sets on Gojo, as the white-haired man stretches his arms out above him.

“I told you on the phone,” Gojo says. “They’re just grades--”

“Grades that will follow Yuji throughout his career in this school, and eventually to high school, and eventually to college,” Nanami’s voice is very sure of itself, cutting through Gojo with ease. “I just want to ensure that he has the best chance possible. I want to make sure he’s living up to himself.”

Gojo – fucking Gojo – stifles a yawn behind his hand, and you see that Nanami’s hand flexes on his thigh (wow, his hands are big). You cut across before the two of them can come to blows.

“Yuji’s a bright boy,” you say. “He just needs . . . a little extra help. Someone to sit with him and explain what’s going on, maybe just go over the material again.” You give Nanami a nervous smile. “He’s not the only one in the class, honestly. I-- Mr Gojo’s teaching methods can be--”

“Innovative—” (Gojo says).

“Erratic—” (Nanami says).

“Unusual,” you decide on, in the end, “and not every child is going to thrive.”

“He won’t let me ask them to move into Miss Utahime’s class,” Nanami says, wearily. “Yuji is very fond of Mr Gojo.”

(You know that, and so does Gojo; the white-haired man gives a cocky grin to both of you).

“I enjoy teaching Yuji,” you say. “He’s good-hearted, enthusiastic – he throws himself into everything he does.” Nanami’s tired eyes seem to brighten behind the glasses at the compliment to his son, his lips lifting at the corners in the briefest twitch of a smile.

“He does,” Nanami says, and it’s clear from his tone that he’s very proud of Yuji. You feel bad for thinking he might be the kind of pushy, demanding father that you’d been warned you may encounter in this profession. With Nanami in front of you, it’s clear he just wants the best for Yuji and is concerned that Gojo might not be that ‘best’. You can’t blame him. You often think Gojo behaves more like a child than half of the kids in the class. “Yes, those are all of his best qualities.”

You nervously shift your gaze to Gojo, who is waiting for your next move.

“I’d be happy to work with him,” you say, eventually. “Maybe set up some kind of . . . drop-in, for students having trouble with the work, over free periods? I won’t make them, of course, but . . . I think my methods and Mr Gojo’s are very different, Sir.”

Nanami’s shoulders relax just a touch. He stands, nodding, taking your hand to shake it.

“I don’t doubt it, Miss,” he says – and as he touches you, a frisson of electricity seems to pass between the two of you. His hands are big and surprisingly soft, and as he grasps your hand you can suddenly sense strength behind the grasp. You hope that your surprise doesn’t register in your face, as he turns and inclines his head slightly at Gojo (Gojo does not get a handshake, you do not fail to notice).

“I hope that it helps,” Nanami says, as he leaves. And honestly . . . you do too.

Nanami asks to schedule a meeting with you, two weeks after you’ve begun working with some of the lower-achieving children in the class. Yuji’s grades have been improving, slowly and steadily – the boy looking at you with a grin when tests are handed back with letters far higher up in the alphabet than he’s used to getting.

“Ah, I can leave you to deal with that one,” Gojo says, grinning at you when he hears about it. “You’re the one working miracles, after all! I think Mr Nanami would just be displeased to see me sat with you, and I’m not gonna complain about not having to deal with a guy like that!”

You’re inclined to agree. So you watch Gojo leave that afternoon blithely, like he hasn’t got a care in the world – his bag is full of essays that need to be marked over the weekend, but somehow you think you’ll have a stack pressed into your own hands on Monday morning, more than a little crumpled, as Gojo insists you should get used to doing some marking yourself.

You wait for Nanami with your head in a book, steadfastly ignoring Gojo’s desk and sitting by your own table in the corner of the classroom instead. Last time you were alone with a student’s father in this room, you got to know that desk far too intimately.

Nanami is exactly on time, the second hand of the clock just ticking past the twelve as he knocks on the door and you call for him to come in. Gojo does have an office, and he’s said you can use that if you want – but the few times you’ve been in Gojo’s office, you’ve been overwhelmed by the chaotic mess that the man surrounds himself with. The classroom, if nothing else, at least looks peaceful.

Nanami sits across your table, well-mannered and polite, as you put your book down and smile.

“You wanted to talk about how Yuji’s doing?” You ask him. “It’s only been two weeks, but I think we can already see quite a bit of improvement--”

“Yes,” he says. “I think we can.”

Nanami does not heap you with praise; you get the impression that he’s not the kind of man who heaps anybody with praise. You get the impression he’s the kind of man who gives you an approving look, a pat on the shoulder, a nod – you find that you’re craving that approval yourself, looking at him across from you.

“I look at his homework sometimes,” Nanami says. “He’s getting a lot more of it himself, now. Not pulling his hair out at the dining table. You’re . . . you’re really doing a very good job, you know.”

Your insides fizz at the compliment. Gojo doesn’t give them out, either – but you’re the kind of person who occasionally needs to be told they’re doing the right thing, in order to motivate them to carry on. Nanami’s compliment carries a weight in your heart that lodges there like a secret.

You can’t remember the last time someone said you were doing a good job.

You and Nanami talk through the grading rubric, the other topics that are set to be covered before the end of term – how you’re trying to get Gojo to be a little more academic in his lessons, but it’s not working. You mention that lots of the other kids seem to be thriving under having a chance to go back over the material that your mentor occasionally skips and side-steps around, imparting his knowledge in his own particular way. Thoughts of Gojo make your mind swim with fatigue.

You hadn’t realised, until you started talking about it, but you also can’t remember your mind not being consumed by thoughts of your work at any point in the last few weeks. You’re always worrying about something; your mind always rushing from one possible bad outcome to the next. The kids, your training, Gojo, the school, the heavy weight of choosing a career where the next generation depends on you--

“You look tired,” Nanami says, his face twisted in sympathy. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

You haven’t, really – thoughts of the class, and your work, and whether you’re even cut out for this as a career have been haunting you more and more recently, as you watch Gojo stumble irresponsibly from day to day. You feel like you get home, do some work for the next day, go to sleep, and immediately go to work again with nothing in between. You look at Nanami, who’s all concern, and you know you shouldn’t, but--

“I’m just getting stressed from everything happening all at once,” you say, forcing yourself to smile. “I have a lot of assessments coming up, reports I should be writing, reports that are written about me. Ah, those ones-- those are by Mr Gojo--”

“Ahh,” he looks incredibly sympathetic at that one.

“There’s just,” you falter. “A lot. And if I don’t come to work feeling my best and supporting them all, I feel like I’m letting the kids down, but I also just feel kind of bone-weary aching all of the time—”

Nanami’s hand reaches across the table, taking ahold of yours. His palms are warm and rough, and the thumb that rubs soothing circles against the base of your own is comforting. You sigh, eyelids half flickering closed.

“I shouldn’t have said anything to you,” you murmur, the small moment of intimacy (when you’ve spent the last two weeks feeling like you’re lurching from place to place and nobody is paying attention) sending a much-needed hit of comfort to the marrow of your bones. “You shouldn’t have to listen to my problems.”

Nanami’s lips tilt.

“I’d say it’s the least I could do,” he says, drily, “after everything you’ve done for Yuji – and after you’ve had to deal with Mr Gojo.” The look he gives you is quietly private, a shared in-joke between the two of you that makes you smile in response. His response almost makes you forget that he’s touching you, and though the touch is innocuous, you also know it’s unprofessional--

You stare at his hand on yours. It’s the same arm that he wears his expensive wristwatch on, and the sleeve of his suit jacket has ridden up to reveal just a hint of the shape beneath, a prominently veined wrist. Your throat goes dry looking at it, as you think of how strong he had seemed that time he’d shook your hand--

He’s looking at where the two of you are touching, too – a faint spot of red fading in high on his cheekbones. He coughs, awkward, but doesn’t move his hand. He swallows.

“You’re very pretty, you know,” Nanami says, and your body seems to flood with heat. You should say something about how inappropriate that is, thank him for coming to see you and the sweet words he’d said about how you were helping Yuji along, but somehow you can’t bring yourself to do it when he’s looking at you like that. “It sounds very hypocritical coming from me, because anyone who knows me will tell you that I don’t get enough of it myself– but you should rest more. Relax.”

You can imagine him ramrod straight behind a desk, eyes narrowed behind spreadsheets and numbers. You can definitely imagine him tired and drooping, working too hard. You smile again, helplessly, the look apologetic. You’re not very good at things like that.

“You look stiff,” he says. “Here--”

He stands. You’d forgotten how tall he was, the breadth of him – he unbuttons his jacket neatly, laying it over the back of the chair. Without that, the width of his shoulders is really apparent. You don’t realise you’re staring until he makes a little noise, a ‘hmph’ of amusement, eyes not meeting yours, thumbs unbuttoning his cuffs and pushing the sleeves up to his elbows.

He’s behind you.

“I’ve been told I’m good at this,” he says. “Big hands, I suppose?”

You’re about to ask him what he’s doing when those same big hands are suddenly on your shoulders, the same thumbs that were just rubbing tender circles onto your hand digging into your shoulder-blades in a massage that you feel down to your toes. You don’t realise you’ve let out a noise and relaxed back into the massage until Nanami lets out a low hum that you think is mirth.

The noise you make as he works out that persistent knot in the back of your neck is near-on pornographic, and both of you know it – heat rushing to your face, Nanami clearing his throat. If somebody walking by had heard that – if they came into the classroom, to see you getting a massage from Yuji’s father--

How do you keep getting into these situations? Nobody warned you about this part of working in a school. Why do his hands feel so fucking good on you, fingers digging into your skin – you moan again, rolling back into his touch.

There’s a clipped quality to his voice when he speaks;

“Wait a second.” Your eyes flutter open as his hands leave you, watching in distress as he walks to the door. If you’re expecting him to leave, you’re surprised when what actually happens is that he twists the lock, so nobody can walk in on the two of you doing something so. . . incongruous with both the classroom around you and the knowledge of what exactly the relationship between you is.

He gives you another one of those half-smiles and you feel a familiar throb in your lower half. Oh, this is unfair – he’s so handsome, so unruffled, so gentle as he takes back his position behind you and touches you again.

“This would feel better on your bare skin,” he murmurs, the words ghosting along you as a politely worded request, and obediently your fingers deftly unbutton your blouse without hesitation. This time, you’re glad that there’s no clatter of lost buttons on the floor – this time, you’re able to push it off your shoulders yourself. Nanami sighs as you let the fabric drop, pooling behind you in a crumpled mess. One of his fingertips traces your spine, raising gooseflesh on the sensitive skin.

“Don’t you have someone at home to do this for you?” He asks, voice soft and low like velvet, as he kneads the skin, tension draining out of you more and more with each passing minute. The question is worded carefully, but both of you know what he’s asking.

“Just me,” you say, as his hands slide forward, thumbs digging into your shoulders but fingers resting over your collarbone, his hands so big on you.

“Pity,” Nanami breathes, but it doesn’t sound like he’s particularly unhappy about it. Your breath catches as he moves from your shoulders, further, further, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast in your (sensible, today) bra. He leans forward, his lips against the shell of your ear. “You can tell me to stop if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” you find yourself saying, and his thin lips curve into a smile that you feel.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs – and then, fingers diving beneath the cups of the bra, kneading the soft flesh, the plush of your body. You’re relaxing bonelessly into his touch when one finger brushes your nipple, sending a frisson of electricity right to the place between your thighs. Your bra straps are slipped off your shoulders, a slight lean forward so he can unclip the thing and let it fall onto the ground. Nanami sighs, almost reverent – when he moves his hand from your chest, you feel their absence keenly, a soft noise of dismay escaping you.

“Pull your chair out,” he says. You do; the legs scraping across the floor. Nanami himself moves so he’s no longer behind you, coming around to the front – casually, unhurriedly lowering himself to his knees in front of you. He reaches up to his face and removes his glasses, laying them neatly on the table to one side of him.

His eyes drink you in and you find your skin prickling with heat. You should be embarrassed; you shouldn’t be here at all, actually, alone in your classroom (again!) with someone’s father (again!), willing to let them look at you and touch you and more (again!). But Nanami reaches in, touching you so gently, fingertips and thumbs delicate as feathers as he strokes over your breast and waist and stomach. As he leans forward and licks a slow, agonising lap over your nipple until it hardens and pebbles, your entire body thrumming with desire. As he sucks it into his mouth, teeth nipping just hard enough at the bud that your body lights on fire, before he kisses a line across your sternum to give the other nipple the same treatment.

He slides his hands past your waist, unbuttoning and unzipping your pencil skirt with one hand, the cotton pulled down over your thighs. Nanami sighs again, cupping your hips, nudging your stockinged knee with his cheek.

“You’re lovely,” he says, affectionate, and it feels so intimate that your heart beats too fast against your chest. “Can I--?” Hands against the sides of your underwear, sliding over you in a way that leaves hot trails of fire behind him. You should be embarrassed that he can clearly see the wet patch, the way the sodden fabric clings to the petals of your sex – but when he’s looking at you like that. . . You can’t make yourself feel it. You nod, sighing, lifting your hips from the seat of the chair to assist in the removal of that particular garment. A light touch on your inner thighs has you spreading your legs further for him, his eyes drinking in the slick folds, the needy glint of your wetness.

He brings his face closer, taking a long breath in, inhaling your scent. The wash of his breath across you on the exhale fans across the length of you, your clit aching with need to be touched, paid attention to. Nanami takes his time, though – your thighs are kissed, first, his lips lingering on the soft skin, suckling gentle love-bites into the flesh. Occasionally, the briefest flash of his teeth, scraping across the sensitive area – always followed by a soothe, a kiss, a lick. Every one of them makes your body bloom into warm needy desire; you can feel how wet you are, know it must be soaking the chair beneath you even before Nanami has used his mouth on you properly.

He huffs out a chuckle as you whine, your hips tilting towards his mouth.

“You want me to use my mouth?” He asks you, his tongue gently lapping at one of the places he’s kissed. “On you, sweetheart?”

“Mm—mmhmm,” you say, breathlessly, not entirely sure that your mind is able to form any coherent sentences with Nanami knelt between your thighs. He places a chaste kiss on the mound above your clit, pulling back.

“Use your words,” he encourages you. There’s a stern dominance to him; coated in fondness, yes, but . . . an order, nonetheless. “I can make you feel so good--”

“Please use your mouth on me,” you whimper, soft as a mouse. Your hand flexes onto the seat of the chair beneath your thighs, and Nanami smiles against your soaking cunt.

“Good girl,” he praises, like liquid honey – and when his tongue finally, finally makes contact with your sex, the other hand has no choice but to curl into his hair as you let out a needy mewl, all of the heat that’s been building up within you since the very first moment you laid eyes on Kento Nanami coming to a point in the crux of his lips and tongue lapping hungrily at your slick.

Your lashes flutter closed, your thighs trembling, as Nanami sates himself on the taste of you, making you relax helplessly into his talented mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing; the flat, broad strokes against the folds of your cunt, the lower dip of his tongue as he flirts with stretching your hole open with it, the teasing flick of it as it dances, dallies with the idea of your swollen clit.

You can hear the wet sounds of him between your legs, suckling and kissing and licking and lapping – not all of it’s from your slickness, you know, but an embarrassing amount of it is. His tongue pushes into your hole, thrusting a few times, imitating the actions of fingers or cock – and your thighs flex, almost squeezing him between them, your fingers tugging on his hair with a soft squeal of surprise escaping you.

The noise just spurs him on. He fucks you on his tongue for a few more thrusts, before dragging the flat of the muscle through your folds, forcefully parting them (his mouth feels so hot, there), until he can reach the throb of your clit. He uses his tongue to roll the bud, swirling the tip of the muscle around it, drawing patterns over the place that all of your hot, desperate need is concentrated. Your other hand jerks into his hair too, your hips thrusting against his hungry mouth as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. You almost white out for a minute over the sheer overwhelming sensation of Nanami’s lips sucking on you, the displacement of air – you’re panting out breathy, whimpering noises, Nanami groaning as he edges you further and further towards your peak.

Fingers on your inner thigh. Nanami’s index finger, liberally coating itself in your slick and Nanami’s spit, dragging down the length of you that isn’t currently being utterly ravaged by Nanami’s lips--

He pushes one lone finger into your entrance, and that pushes you over the edge.

Your walls flutter around him, sucking him deeper inside your plush walls. You bite so hard into your lower lip you think that you might bleed, but it only serves to quiet the moan that escapes you by a little. Nanami groans against you, pumping the finger, sucking on your clit, guiding you over the peaks and mounds of your orgasm as he continues to enjoy the taste of you gushing into his mouth, overwhelming with the syrupy sweet stickiness of just how good you taste.

He guides you, too – with careful, slowing licks, lazier pumps – through the weak aftershocks and trembles of your peak, as they come to a slowly twitching halt. Your eyes are glassy, lips swollen from bits, as he places another chaste kiss over your sensitive clit and pulls back. His finger pops out of you with a wet gush that makes you feel so embarrassed at your own neediness you can barely stand it, but between your thighs Nanami is straightening up, a smug glint to his tired eyes.

“There,” he murmurs, standing, drinking in your quivering body, the slick on your thighs, how dark and satisfied your eyes look as you gaze up at him, half-woozy from the pleasure. “Don’t you feel a little more relaxed, now?”

You’re afraid if you speak you will simply slur your words, your tongue feeling unfamiliar in your mouth. You try and focus on Nanami instead – unfairly tranquil, aside from the wet of his chin, the damp spot darkening his collar. He places the finger that was formerly buried inside you into his mouth, the glint of arousal on it consumed by him with a tilt of the head as if he’s savouring the taste.

You can’t help but notice that there’s an outline of something putting pressure on the fabric of his slacks, there, between his thighs – something that looks hard, and stiff, and uncomfortable. You blink at it through a hazy mind as Nanami goes leans over you, gently taking hold of your chin, checking that you’re alright.

“C-can I help with that?” You manage, only a little bit garbled. Nanami’s eyebrows raise in surprise, a light pink flush to his cheeks – what does he take you for? That you’d let him eat you out so well that your toes curl and then just let him leave without seeing to his own issues?

(It’s a confidence boost, honestly – knowing that he’s hard because of you. You know that this isn’t the kind of man who would fuck you on his tongue in his son’s classroom if he didn’t find you attractive, but still . . . Someone like Nanami, with those cheekbones and those lips and those shoulders, wanting somebody like you?)

“I-- ahh--” He seems nervous about it, a little flustered, clearly not expecting you to offer something like that – but then, you raise one hazy hand and gently pet his crotch through the fabric and he whistles through his teeth, the organ giving a welcoming throb beneath your hand. You swallow at how it responds, the size and heat of it.

“Please?” Plump lower lip caught between your teeth. “I’d like to repay the favour.”

He swallows, raising a hand to loosen his tie. You see the bob of his throat as he moves, pulling out the chair he was sat on before, parting his own knees.

“I’d like that,” he says, and that’s all of the encouragement you need to sink from the chair onto your shaking knees, half-crawl towards him until you’re situated between his thighs. Your hands reach up to his waist, undoing his belt buckle carefully. The heat of his cock radiates through the fabric, brushing against your arm as you undo the belt. As you undo the button. As you tug at the zipper, the noise of the teeth indecently loud. He sighs himself, a hand cupping your cheek. “You’re so pretty,” he says, repeating his earlier compliment. His eyes on your face make you feel hot and flushed, the way he watches you eagle-sharp as your smaller hands reach into his underwear to pull out his already hard cock.

He’s not as big as Toji was, but that doesn’t mean he’s not big. His cock is elegant, a light upward curve, the head ruddy pink and slick with precome – and as you lean forward and let your tongue trace the slit of it, as you taste that same precome in your mouth, he groans quietly. He brings the hand not on your cheek up to his mouth to muffle the noise, and you can’t help but pout.

“Please,” you say. “I want to hear you--”

A pause. He drops his hand, taking a chest-deep breath. His fingers slide across the apple of your cheeks – you know he must be able to sense how warm you are, how shameless and brazen you feel.

You give the head of his cock dainty kitten licks, getting used to feel of him – getting used to the soft breaths he keeps making, the way that the hand on your cheek moves to knit into your hair. You know you’re teasing him, but the way he looks down at you like you’re the one doing him a favour has you all giddy and light headed.

You envelope the head in your waiting mouth, tongue messily lapping at it. It’s been a long time since you’ve done something like this – judging from the sigh escaping Nanami’s lips, the light thrust of his hips, though, you’re not doing too bad of a job on it.

You take him a little further, willing your mouth to open wider. Your tongue is still moving against him sloppily – tracing the veins of his shaft, licking fat stripes where you can manage to get it around. You feel a trickle of drool escape your lips as you widen your mouth a bit more, so much you can feel a light ache in your jaw.

“Fuck,” Nanami breathes, deep and ragged. “Fuck, that’s a good girl.”

The praise just eggs you on further, makes you want to take him deeper – makes you want to win more noises said by that dark, low voice. You push too far and have to pull back a little, your makeup smearing (you’re glad you’d foregone a darker lipstick today), your eyes watering. But you’re determined, and after you’ve managed to draw a choked breath around the cock in your mouth, you’re back on it, kissing and sucking and licking as best you can. Every so often, Nanami will groan from above you, his hips jerking, the hand in your hair guiding you just a little to the left. The other hand comes to cradle your face, so tender and careful with you.

“You feel so good,” he says, soft, like he can barely believe where you are. “Your mouth is so good, sweetheart--”

The flat of your tongue is dragged over the slit, his taste flooding your senses. You squeeze your thighs together, the friction thrilling even considering how slick your cunt still is (you’re grateful that your skirt is dark, because you know you must have soaked through your underwear).

His hips are moving more regularly now, but you can tell that he’s still holding back – that he doesn’t want to roughly fuck your throat, though he easily could. You look up at him with your eyes dark and wide, your lashes trembling, trying to get across that it’s alright for him to do that without having to stop hungrily licking and sucking at his cock. He sees your gaze, your lips wrapped around him, your cheeks hollowed in your attempts to impress, and he breathes out a shaking exhale.

“Is it really okay?” He asks you. “I don’t want to hurt you--”

You hum your affirmative around his cock and his eyes roll back into his head for just a moment, groan escaping his parted lips again, as he begins to rock his hips into your mouth. You gag around it at first – so big, so thick, even though he’s not going that fast yet – but as he begins to pick up his pace, your mouth gets used to moving in tandem with his thrusts and the tugs on your hair.

The ache in your jaw begins to be pleasant; you begin to feel like you’re meant to have it open that wide, that the bump of his cockhead against the back of your throat is right and perfect. His face is flushing, his breath getting shaky – whistling in his chest.

His chest. You stare at the bare collar above the buttons of his shirt, the lean shadows of his collarbone – you think, judging by the broadness of his shoulders, he’s probably built beneath there. You’d love to find out. You’d love to be somewhere other than in the classroom with this man, somewhere where you could learn his body by heart, where the floor beneath your knees isn’t quite so hard--

“Fuck,” he hisses, fingers tightening so hard that you groan, your throat vibrating around his cock. “Sweetheart, my good girl, I’m gonna--”

You hear the warning in his voice and you suck harder, swirl your tongue faster, coaxing him forward – his abdomen flexes under the shirt, his cock juddering in your mouth, pulsing as your mouth suddenly fills with the hot, wet, salty and unmistakable taste of Nanami’s come--

You keep sucking. You keep licking, swallowing pump after pump, draining forth every single drop of his release that you can until he’s shuddering and his cock is softening, his head thrown over the back of the chair to reveal the tempting column of his throat.

He’s taking deep breaths, great heaving ones that his shoulders move in time with, as the last few thunderbolts of his release travel through his body and he groans in the pleasured way that someone who has orgasmed their worries away does.

Nanami’s hand in your hair eases, his breaths evening out from the shakes and groans. His fingers are quiet and affectionate, as you pull back, swallowing the final few drops of his release. He looks down at you with those intense eyes half-lidded, his face briefly free of lines and stress and worry. He sighs, hand diving into the jacket still hung on the chair behind him – when the hand emerges, he’s holding a handkerchief, that he brings up to your face like a lover.

Tenderly, he wipes a bead of his come from the corner of your mouth. The action is so warm, so fond, that you can barely breathe for looking up at him. You feel like you’re knelt at some kind of altar – that Nanami had prayed to you, and now you are responding with your own supplication.

“Are you alright?” He asks you. “Your knees? Your mouth?” He’s so gorgeous; unfairly picked out under the classroom lights, like he doesn’t belong here at all. In another world, he’s avenging like an angel with a weapon in his hand. Now, he’s softly rumpled with his shirt unbuttoned and one of his suspenders fallen down his shoulder, his knees spread wide.

“Yes,” you breathe. He smiles again – he does not grin. His mouth is just a light uptilt, as he leans forward and brushes his lips over your own.

“Good girl,” he murmurs again, the words sending another shiver down your spine. “Do you need some help getting dressed?”

You rise onto unsteady legs and Nanami is there, supporting you carefully, rising with you. He rescues your skirt, your bra – deft fingers re-doing buttons, catching eyes with hooks, zipping up until you look – if not immaculate – at least presentable. Someone who had seen you this morning would probably recognise that your skirt is creased and your blouse is crumpled, that your hair is falling around your face--

Nanami’s fingers capture those strands too, tucking them back behind your ear, smoothing them out. Every single sweep and caress of his fingers makes you feel like you’re about to break into pieces from how soft you feel, how cherished. It’s a stark difference to how you had felt after Toji had swung out of your classroom, leaving you prone and leaking his come.

He leaves you, after you’ve regained your balance, to get your bag and coat, to grab the book you had been reading before this meeting had commenced – and he sets himself to rights with a calm, assured aura. If someone looked closely at him, you think perhaps they’d notice the tie not quite as tight, the hair not quite as neatly swept from his brow – you yourself can barely take your eyes off him. Is there something in the water in this town?

He grasps his briefcase, clips his glasses into the top pocket of his suit jacket instead of placing them back on his nose. His entire being seems to have lost tension, his eyes not quite as tired, his shoulders not quite as strained. As he finished, he comes to stand beside you – an arm gallantly curving around your waist just loosely enough that the touch could be read as friendly and not romantic. As the two of you walk across the classroom, he says quietly;

“You really should relax, you know. You don’t have anything to worry about. Yuji adores you, and I’m sure the rest of the children do too.”

(Your cheeks heat, the compliment warm and convincing in the sonorous bass of Nanami’s voice).

“Even Gojo isn’t permanent,” he says. “Anybody would be lucky to end up with you.” A cough. “That’s . . . as a teacher and in other ways.”

He pauses at the door, unlocking it with a final click that feels like he is saying that this little adventure has truly come to its natural end. His eyes linger affectionately on your face, a brief touch of hesitation colouring his features – before, once more, he leans in and brushes his lips against yours with a feather-soft touch that has you gasping in surprise against his mouth. The hand not on the briefcase takes your own hand, fingers entangling, and if you had thought your face was warm before, you’re quickly taught that you didn’t know what heat was.

He draws back a little breathlessly.

“I hope you’ll continue working with Yuji,” he says, sincerely. “And perhaps, if it’s agreeable to you-- perhaps we could schedule a catch-up meeting in a few weeks? So I may see. . . how things are progressing?”

“Of course, Sir,” you say, words very breathy.

When you get home tonight, and probably for the next few weeks, you’ll take a really good look at the grading rubric. You know. For the kids. Not because of Nanami’s sharp cheekbones and wicked tongue and the glint that had been in his eye when he had pressed his mouth against your heated core – not because of how his cock had felt heavy and thick in your mouth, and how it would feel pressed inside of you--

Nope. Not at all.

Definitely for Nanami’s son.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami x you #jjk x reader #afab reader #fem pronouns #writing #jjk teacher aid au #jjk writing tag

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somethingpoetichere · 4 years ago

Text

lovebug- caliban imagine

sup. fic inspired by my favorite song in THE world. not as soft mushy as it may sound I promise caliban is a nice lil sarcastic SHIT with a big ole crush. mild sabrina bashing but its funny in context and I think it’s the way family behaves. reader is a Spellman, not a witch but DOES know about the supernatural/is part of the supernatural world. here with my once in a blue moon post lol. feedback would be appreciated!

called her for the first time yesterday

finally found the missing part of me

felt so close but you were far away

left me without anything to say

Caliban was not an idiot- he knew not to underestimate the Spellman half-witch that had gone and declared herself queen of hell. So he’d taken the liberty of learning everything he could about her, noting her habits and schedule and the people she surrounded herself with.

And then he found you.

You weren’t a witch- at least, he hadn’t found your name in his diligent searching through the Book of the Beast- but you were something. That he was sure of. There was something slightly off about your presence, tinged a little glittery, though not altogether unpleasant.

No, not unpleasant at all, he mused as he watched you make your way towards your car. Tucked into a little yellow sundress, you stood out like a ray of sunshine in the wave of doom-and-gloom that hallmarked high school. The school bell rang out behind you, and Caliban felt his knees go disgustingly weak as you smiled brilliantly at Sabrina through the crowd.

It was a stupid, stupid decision that Caliban would never have made in the right state of mind, but he reasoned that pissing off Sabrina was validation enough to get your attention. He ducked into your path on purpose, taking advantage of your momentary distraction as he gently bumped into you. oops.

You collided with a solid wall, books tumbling out of your hands as strong arms reached out to steady you. You let out a surprised yelp at the collision, peeking up curiously as the wall you’d hit laughed.

Oh, well that was a sight for sore eyes.

The golden haired stranger holding you was, well, gorgeous. Bright blue eyes peered down at you as he grinned, and you felt the whole world shutter around you. You’d definitely been watching too many soap operas with your auntie, but goddamn it if you weren't positively putty.

“Hi there, stranger.” You giggled nervously, and Caliban suddenly remembered he’d had his arms around you for far too long to be acceptable. He reluctantly retreated, feeling something claw a little uncomfortably in his chest.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” He apologized, moving to pick up your books as you bent down to retrieve them. He ran a hand through his hair in barely concealed bashfulness, unsure of why he felt so... unsettled, all of a sudden.

“It’s alright, my head was in the clouds.” You waved off his apology, accepting the books he offered you with a grateful smile. “Are you new here? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“He’s new here!” Sabrina’s shrill voice interrupted, training her icy glare on Caliban, who fought back a smirk. “This is Caliban- he’s from... Australia! Yeah, down under!”

“Oh, I can show you around tomorrow! I know how scary it can be to be new here.” You patted his arm sympathetically, ignoring Sabrina’s stream of indignant protests. “I was with student council all day. If you’re a senior, we probably have most of the same classes.”

Caliban had shit to do. Caliban had trials to plan and souls to torture. But you were looking at him- all warmth and sunshine, and Sabrina’s look of pure horror only sweetened the deal.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow then, sunshine.”

so worth it.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban didn't understand why the mortals all bemoaned high school as hell on earth. It certainly wasn't so bad once you got past the wave of body spray and the questionable cafeteria food. In fact, darting to class with a pretty girl beside him was pretty enjoyable, all things considered.

You’d spent the day introducing him to the other students, passing him silly notes in class, and had even tugged him from the lunch room to hang out with your friends in the library. He learned that you pretty much did it all- student council, cheerleader, top of your class- all while managing to somehow know the name of everyone you passed with a smile in the halls. You were silly and sweet— smart as all hell with a wit that certainly kept the clay prince on his toes.

and he was smitten.

The groan that escaped your painted lips was delightfully sinful as you slumped in the seat beside him in english class. “I hate Romeo and Juliet. How do two people fall in love in a few days anyhow? And Mrs. Willows always makes us reenact the scenes, and it’s so corny.” The blush that colored your cheeks as he looked at you in concern was something he did his best to commit to memory- cheesiness be damned, Caliban was enjoying himself far too much.

Caliban smirked, skimming through the booklet he’d been passed as the teacher droned. The prince of hell had a certain flare for the dramatics, and Sabrina’s glare burning into the back of his head only fueled his antics. He had one scene in mind, and it was the scene that was certain to kill four birds with one stone- totally make you fall in love with him, he would somehow manage to kiss you (that part was a work in progress), piss off Sabrina, and also- piss off Sabrina.

And kiss you. So maybe five parts. Damn it, Caliban was going to have to make a list.

“Partners?” He whispered softly, gently tugging at your hand as the teacher sat back down. Caliban’s eyes were alight with a tinge of mischief that you either failed to notice or were simply amused by- and your answering nod was more than a little bashful. “We can do my favorite scene.”

“If you say the first kiss scene, I’m punching the daylights out of you.” You warned, playfully nudging his knee with your own. “It will be unkind and I will not feel bad.”

“My lady wounds me.” He dramatically rested his hand above his heart. “And we absolutely have to do this scene-” He raised his hand to silence your half-hearted protests- “because Billy told the guys in calculus that he was specifically going to be pissed if we did this scene.”

Okay, so maybe he’d stretched the truth a little bit. But Caliban knew that the mention of your seedy ex-boyfriend (who you’d enlightened him about during lunch) would absolutely get you to agree to the scene. And it wasn't like he’d lied— Billy Marlin’s glare was nearly as icy as Sabrina’s. And, it wasn't like the way Billy looked at you- with something akin to possession in his eyes- totally made Caliban want to fast track the kid to damnation right then and there. Nope.

“We can meet up later today to practice? I have cheerleading practice after school, but I’m free after that!” You grinned at him, and he felt the tension ease out of his shoulders as you rested your hand on his arm. The gesture was so effortless- but to Caliban, who’d never really experienced connection like this- you reduced him to all but clay again.

“I can drive you home after practice?” Caliban offered, enjoying the yelp that Sabrina let out from the back of the classroom. He shouldered your bag as the bell sounded, noting the way your eyes softened even further at the gesture. “We don't really have cheerleaders down under, you know.”

“You’re welcome to stay and watch.” You shrugged, ignoring the way your heart thudded erratically as he walked you to the locker room. “It won’t be too long today, and Sabrina has a date with Nick after, anyways.”

it was really just too easy.

i can't get your smile out of my mind

i think about your eyes all the time

you're beautiful but you don't even try

(you don't even, don't even try)

modesty is just so hard to find

Caliban wasn’t sure if he regretted his earlier offer. Sure, the sight of you tucked into the tight cheerleading uniform (did they make them that short on purpose?) was pretty much the pinnacle of male fantasy, and the smiles and winks you’d thrown his way whenever he caught your eye during your routines were something else altogether.

But getting the sight out of his brain as you rambled aimlessly in the car about today’s chapters of Dante’s Inferno, while he simultaneously tried to focus on the road and definitely not the way your skirt hitched on the leather seat...

Yeah, Caliban was pretty sure he was in love.

You weren’t too far off, in all honesty. Caliban’s large hands had a firm grip on the steering wheel, and you took the time to admire further up his toned arms as he drove. His hair fell in loose, windswept waves, and his side profile looked like it was sculpted by the freaking gods. Every so often he would glance your way, his perfect lips parting to reveal his perfect teeth and perfect smile and gods-

Yeah, you had the lovebug bad.

“So how did you meet Sabrina?” You questioned innocently enough, and Caliban had to restrain the urge to spill all of the hell-related gossip to you. How Sabrina had managed to keep all of her throne-seeking from you was beyond him, but it certainly added a thrill to his pursuit of you.

“I had some administrative issues the other day and ran into her. She doesn’t like me too much, I’ve gathered.” Caliban was careful not to lie- his entanglement with you had the added perk of pissing off your dearest cousin, but it was genuine on Caliban’s end. He found he didn’t really want to lie about things.

“Sabrina is... touchy.” You offered carefully, shifting in your seat as you pointed out directions to your home. “I don’t really understand why she doesn't like you, to be honest. I was actually going to have a word with her about being nice- you’ve been so sweet, and I was the new kid too a few years back. It's hard to find your place in the established dynamic of a small town.”

Caliban doubted you’d had too much of an issue, with the way the halls seemed to light up around you, but the accompanying smile you gave him was bright enough to soothe his imagined woes. “It’s alright, I reckon she’ll get used to having me around.”

“Used to you?” You mused with a giggle, leaning on the console in a gesture that brought your face much, much closer to his own. He was overwhelmed with your floral scent- something soft and summery and altogether you.

“I plan on being around you a lot, sunshine. If you don’t mind.” He grinned, turning to face you momentarily at the stop sign. Your eyes were wide with hardly concealed surprise at his words, and he watched the realization of the close proximity of his face flicker through them.

It happened so fast that Caliban was almost certain he imagined it- but your eyes had definitely glanced at his lips. The blush that tinged your cheeks as you pulled back confirmed it, and in a moment of calculated risk, Caliban moved to rest his hand on your exposed thigh.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

If Caliban squinted, he could almost picture that he was a normal teenage boy, driving a beautiful, normal girl home from school. The sinking sun was peeking through the windows, bathing you in an ethereal glow, and - at least for right now- everything was perfect.

you were perfect.

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again

Caliban draped himself across your bed, a languid smirk on his lips as you kicked haphazardly placed piles of clothes into your closet.

“I promise I’m not usually this messy,” you apologized with a sheepish smile, shoving a mass of shoes under your bed, “okay, that's a lie. I’m always this messy, I just didn’t expect company.”

Caliban hardly minded. It was adorable how embarrassed you were, and he took the time to take in your bedroom (drawn from his reverie only by the occasional delighted shout when you found a shirt you’d thought had been sacrificed to the laundry gods, or worse, Sabrina’s room).

The first thing Caliban noticed was the books. While your clothes lay in scattered piles, all of your books were meticulously organized and lovingly tucked into shelves that took up an entire wall of the room. Sabrina may have answered that Caliban’s only hobby was torturing babies (or her, which was the same thing, really— and also, what the hell? Caliban may have enjoyed the occasional soul flaying, but only when it was well deserved!)— but Caliban loved to read.

What was one lifetime in one world, when he could learn of a thousand others in just as many universes? Immortality could grow dull, and eternity had to be spent somehow. Caliban tried not to smile as you precariously placed the book that had found its way onto your nightstand back into its place, and supposed that it might be far more enjoyable with someone else.

You seemed satisfied with your damage control, and slumped onto the bed dramatically with a groan. It was then that Caliban’s hand found a stray victim of your clothing massacre.

“Nice.” He grinned, and you peeked up from your playbook to find him dangling a pink lace bra.

Shit.

“Give me that!” You lunged, but Caliban was too fast. He quickly moved them from your reach, laughing wildly as you wrestled him desperately for the bra.

“You are the worst.” A groan escaped you, and you huffed in fake-defeat as Caliban smirked victoriously at your retreat. You leaped at the chance, tackling Caliban with all your might. While momentarily surprised, he reacted quickly and shifted so that he was now pinning you to the bed, his hair dangling wildly in your face as you both laughed.

Caliban’s face was so close that you could see the flecks of green in his eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to flicker to your lips, but in the seconds it took for you to find your voice again, you’d lost your nerve.

“We should get back to the scene.”

The moment was broken, and Caliban retreated with a bashful look on his face. He ran a hand through his hair and moved to sit across from you, his cheeks tinted a little red as he politely handed you back your intimates and pretended to shield his eyes when you tossed it somewhere. You’d never been so freaking embarrassed in your life, but Caliban was smiling so softly at you, like you were—

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” He motioned around with his hands dramatically, tone playful and light.

You were so dead. Caliban was freaking made for this romantic swooning nonsense that you’d tried to protest nearly the whole ride home, Billy Marlin be damned.

Giggling nervously in what you hoped seemed scene-appropriate, you tried your best to forget being a horny teenager to instead play a horny teenager. “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss.”

Caliban’s voice lowered, a smile still tugging at his lips as he took your hands in his own. “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”

“Ay, pilgrim.” Your own voice softened in turn as Caliban began to trace mindless patterns on the backs of your hands with his thumbs, “lips that they must use in prayer.”

“O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.” Caliban’s eyes were soft, and you imagined that Shakespeare had pictured the man in front of you when putting the words to paper. The words fell so naturally from his lips and he seemed engrossed in the scene— he was, for lack of a better word, enchanting.

“Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.” Your voice was hardly more than a breathless whisper, the proximity of your faces and the intimacy (however imagined) stealing the air from your lungs.

Caliban paused, his eyes meeting yours intently as if searching for something. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it as he took your face in both of his hands.

“Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.”

It was all too much. You could hardly be blamed for kissing him as fiercely as you did.

It was like fireworks, like every cheesy romance novel and play (cough, Romeo and Juliet) claimed it would be. You’d had plenty of kisses before, but never one that melted your brain like this. You forgot all about the scene, about how not real this was supposed to be as your hands tangled in his windswept hair and he pulled you onto his lap.

It was Caliban who first pulled away, only just so that your noses were touching. He was breathing heavily, eyes blown wide— and you felt your whole face turn red as reality consumed you again. “I am so sorry, I’ll just—”

“Where do you think you’re going, Juliet?” Caliban’s hands firmly gripped your hips, preventing you from moving away. His fingers thumbed the band of your skirt, and his next words were a whisper against your lips.

“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”

kissed her for the first time yesterday

everything i wished that it would be

suddenly i forgot how to speak

hopeless, breathless, baby can't you see?

Caliban was in love. He’d spent the next three weeks with you reciting Romeo and Juliet, sharing shakes at Dr. Cerberus, and tugging you into empty classroom and closets at every opportunity to kiss you senseless. Every moment not spent with you was at least somewhat occupied by the thought of you, and Caliban found he wasn’t the least bit upset about it.

And Sabrina was pissed.

If she’d hated him before, she positively loathed him now. It was the latest point of contention between yourself and your darling cousin, who’d you taken to threatening with various kitchen utensils and promises to tell the aunties she’d been sneaking out to make her behave. And Caliban, for his part, was perfectly polite— even though he still had every intention of taking the throne from the inexperienced witch who promised to destroy the balance of heaven and hell.

Which presented Caliban’s own latest dilemma. He was going to have to tell you eventually— and in a way that didn't make you totally hate him. He had a plan. Okay, maybe a skeletal plan. Or no plan. Yeah, Caliban was going to wing it.

After today. He just had to make it through your reenactment of Romeo and Juliet with no demonic catastrophes or maiming Blly, and then he would tell you everything.

But even that was too much to ask.

Sabrina burst through the english classroom doors, yelling in barely concealed panic that there was a BIG problem and the principal needed Caliban now.

Caliban moved to leave with an apologetic smile in your direction, which you were absolutely not having. Despite your current frustration with Sabrina, she looked downright terrified, and you were both concerned for your cousin and overwhelmed with a gut feeling that something was up.

After a few moments, you excused yourself to use the restroom.

You hauled ass to the gym, where the screaming sounded to be coming from. When you entered, you were met with the strangest sight.

The gym was filled with winged... rats? And at the center of the chaos was Sabrina and Caliban, back to back and armed with what appeared to be lacrosse sticks. Caliban’s shirt was tattered from the rats, and you took a fraction of a second to banish the completely innappropriate and untimely thoughts from your head.

“And no one thought to call me?” You shouted angrily through the swarm, snagging a baseball bat from the rack and smacking it around with reckless abandon. Caliban hooted, laughing loudly as you took your place beside them. Rats tore at your clothes, but you were more frustrated that Sabrina had called your boyfriend (or whatever he was) over you.

“Why did you get Caliban! I was right there! Is there something wrong with you? Were you dropped on the head as a child? He’s not even from here Sabrina, he has no idea what-”

“For hell’s sake, he’s not the new kid! He’s not even from Australia! He’s a stupid clay prince from hell who is trying to take my throne and raze humanity, and his stupid plague king sent these after me, and now he’s dating you!” Sabrina spat out the word dating as if it was even more disgusting than the winged vermin tearing at your clothes.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on here?”

You were no less frustrated when Sabrina revealed her trek to hell and the all ensuing madness she’d partaken in, but you remained calm enough to not turn the bat on her clearly empty skull.

“And you’re the clay prince of hell... challenging her throne?” You questioned with a sharp glance at Caliban, who nodded reluctantly as he swatted a rat hurtling towards you.

“Do you even have a driver’s license!” You screamed, waving your baseball bat around wildly.

“I’m a demon prince of hell made out of clay, and you’re worried about if I can legally drive?” Caliban shouted back in astonishment through the wave of shrieking rats. The lacrosse stick he’d snagged was surprisingly effective.

“I was getting to that part, thank you for reminding me!” You hissed, debating whether to smash his face in with the bat. “How about we start with how you completely lied to me, and how our whole relationship or whatever it is a lie! Were you ever going to tell me? Or was this all part of some throne grab?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” Caliban demanded hotly. “You were not a lie!”

“Really!” You whirled on him, eyes alight with anger. “Because I sure feel like one!”

The rats numbers were dwindling rapidly, and you smacked the last one heading towards you directly at Caliban’s face. It collided with a satisfying shriek, and you threw your bat down as you stormed out of the gym.

Sabrina and Caliban rushed after you, but you’d disappeared in the hall.

now i'm, yeah, oh!

now i'm speechless, over the edge

i'm just breathless

i never thought that i'd catch this love bug again

now i'm hopeless, head over heels in the moment

i never thought that i'd get hit by this love bug again, (oh)

love bug again

You’d remained collected until you’d transported into the middle of the living room, collapsing into auntie Hilda’s arms in a puddle of tears as you told her everything. She’d muttered a stream of ancient curses about Sabrina, but beyond that merely smoothed your hair and told you that all boys were awful— especially demonic princes of hell.

“I hate him.” You glared half-heartedly into your cup of steaming peppermint tea. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid. Falling blindly in love with a stranger who had only sought you out for some elaborate game with Sabrina. Screw Caliban and his perfect hair, his perfect smile, his perfect— “I want to bash his face in.”

“No you don't, love.” Hilda smiled knowingly. “You’re angry, yes— and hurt. But you care for the boy. I’ve never seen you so happy as you’ve been these last few days. I think you ought to cool down and hear what he has to say.”

“I never want to talk to him again.” You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. “I’d rather die.”

And because the universe was truly conspiring against you, a knock sounded at the door.

“Well, best get over that quick.” Hilda warned, ignoring your stream of indignant protests as she hustled to the door.

“Caliban! Yes, do come in love. Oh, yes, we will be having a little chat later, but for now I think it’s my niece you must be speaking to.” Hilda’s cheerful voice trailed in from the foyer, and you jumped up to make a break for it.

You were halted by a familiar pair of strong arms tugging you back by the waist.

“Get off of me!” You shouted, pushing Caliban away harshly and ignoring the warmth that lingered where he’d touched you. “I want my baseball bat. Somebody get me my baseball bat! I’m going to bash your stupid pretty face in you asshole—”

“Five minutes.” Caliban pleaded desperately, “just give me a five minutes to explain, and then I’ll give you back the baseball bat to bash my face in, okay?”

You considered his offer for a moment, swallowing the sob crawling its way up your throat as you nodded reluctantly. If it made him leave faster, you’d do anything.

His shoulder sagged in barely concealed relief. “Okay. I am Caliban, Prince of Hell. I am not from Australia, clearly, and am not a transfer student. I am trying to take your cousin’s throne. She does not understand the realm of the damned— she thinks it needs to be generous, rather than a fair judgment of life. I am not her father, and I do not believe in reckless or cruel damnation. I do not wish any harm on Sabrina, and I’ve managed to keep the worst of the plague kings from her. Even if you were to reject me now, I would continue to try to protect her— you have my word.” Caliban paused as you released a breath you did not know you were holding. Your eyes finally dared to meet his, and you nodded for him to continue.

“I agreed to attend Greendale because yes, it did piss off Sabrina, but you were there.” He raised his hand to halt your protest. “You intrigued me, and I wanted to know you better. I will be fully honest that it had the added bonus of irritating your cousin, who I so delight in irritating, but my primary focus was you. You... enchanted me. I had never found myself so invested in anything before as I was in spending mundane days at high school— of all things— with you. Truthfully, it confused even me at first. And while the past you knew is false, I am real— and my feelings for you are true.”

“That is such bullshit, and you know it!” You exploded furiously, smacking his chest with untamed rage. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Who agrees to go to high school because they like a girl? Are you unhinged? Who doesn't just ask someone out if they were so interested, huh? No, you came here with your stupidly perfect little ‘oh I’m Caliban, and I’m so dreamy’ act, knowing full well that it would make me completely abandon all rationality. Well guess what, I did! I fell stupid head over heels for you, and it was all one big lie.”

Your voice broke on the last few words, anger shifting to broken sadness as you continued to pound relentlessly on his chest. “I was a lie.”

He caught your hands, holding them against his chest as he pressed you against the wall. “You weren't a lie, Spellman.”

His words were breathless whisper, his beautiful eyes pained and desperate as he gripped your hands harder. “I fell for you the moment I saw you. I enrolled in high school because you smiled at me. I learned every line of Romeo and Juliet to recite them to you. When we first met, you wondered how Romeo and Juliet could possibly fall in love after a mere few days, but I understand it now. I have never been driven so completely insane by anything or anyone like this before. The power you have over me is unmatched. I am completely and wholly yours. If you were to ask me right now to leave, to never bother you again, I would leave my heart with you and spend my eternity in endless sorrow. I would think forever of the way you smiled at me, the way you kissed me, how soft your hair felt in my hands, and how my heart raced every time you laughed. I would never forgive myself for the pain I had caused you, and you would haunt me every day, every waking moment, every dream.”

Caliban moved your hands to his lips, nearly kissing them as he pleaded to you with tears in his beautiful eyes. You were motionless, turned to stone by his heavy gaze.

“So please, don’t become my specter. If I am a stranger to you now, let me make you fall for me all over again. I would do it a thousand times, if you'd let me. I could think of no sweeter way to spend my eternity.”

When you’d thought that Shakespeare had been imagining Caliban when he wrote, you’d been wrong. There was no poetry, no book, no lyric that could possibly compare to the way he spoke to you— the way his eyes so desperately tried to convey his anguish.

You removed your hands from his, and his whole face seemed to shatter.

“You’re not a stranger,” you muttered softly, moving to take his face your hands. His face remained guarded, but he leaned instinctively into your touch. “You’re Caliban.”

When you kissed him, it was like falling in love all over again.

And you supposed you did.

“But we are having a long, long talk about everything.” You warned as you pulled back, poking his chest sharply as he nodded profusely. “And if you ever, ever lie to me again, I’ll set something worse than flying rats on you. I’ll let Sabrina have you.”

Caliban laughed wildly, picking you up and spinning you around as he kissed you over and over again in sheer relief and joy. “I love you, Spellman. Anything you want, it’s yours.”

“I just want you, clay boy.”

724 notes · View notes

coldflasher · 4 years ago

Text

Title: don’t threaten me with a good time Chapters: 1/1 Length: 7.7k Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Minor/Background Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Kamilla Hwang, Barry Allen/Iris West Characters: Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon, Kamilla Hwang, Caitlin Snow, Killer Frost, Iris West, Leonard Snart, Original Male Characters Additional Tags: Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, Bisexual Barry Allen, The Flash 7x12 Good-bye Vibrations.

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this? “This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are eight stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It begins with stage one.”

Inspired by the Santiago Drunkenness Scale from Brooklyn-99. Team Flash are throwing a party to celebrate Kamilla and Cisco’s departure from Central City, and Kamilla wants to make sure they go out with a bang. But with great power comes great responsibility, and sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.

Read on AO3

@dctvgen (i hope this is okay!! didn’t really use any prompts but i had this one saved up and seemed like a good time to post it, lmk it’s not suitable!!)

Life came at you fast. After seven years being besties with a speedster, working to save the world, Cisco knew that to be true in more ways than one. But apparently despite everything he’d seen, it still had the capacity to surprise on him.

One minute the thought of leaving Central City had been a vague, abstract thought – a ‘what-if’ or a ‘maybe’ he dwelled upon whenever yet another crisis announced itself with a shower of broken glass raining into his Vibeuccino, or when he’d compared the news in Central City, which was all doom and gloom and murderous metas, to somewhere nice and peaceful like Keystone, where the biggest news story of the day was some kid winning the national Spelling Bee Championship. Then the job offer came in, and Kamilla had tested the waters with wanting to leave – and now their stuff was all packed and in boxes, he had a start date at ARGUS, and what had been a daydream was now a very clear reality. He’d hung up the gloves, said a final goodbye to Vibe.

It was the other goodbyes that were going to be the hard part.

“It just feels weird, you know?” he said, pausing in the middle of hanging bunting from the corner of the cortex. “We’re saying goodbye to everyone we know. This has been my life for almost eight years now. Team Flash are my family. It feels weird to celebrate leaving all that behind.”

“Don’t think of it as a celebration of what we’re leaving behind,” said Kamilla, who was sat at the desk, partway through ordering pizza. “Think of it as a celebration of everything we’ve accomplished. Making friends and building inventions and saving the world! I know it’s difficult and change can be scary, but it doesn’t have to be. We’ve done amazing things, and I think it’s important to honour that.”

Cisco sighed as he successfully stuck the flags to the wall. He climbed down from the table he was stood on and joined her at the desk in his usual chair, pushing himself back and forth with his foot. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right. I’m not getting cold feet, I promise. I’m excited. We’re going to make this work. We’ve done amazing things, and we’re going to do even more. Together.”

Kamilla beamed. “That’s the spirit.” She held out her hand for a fist-bump.

Grinning, Cisco returned it. “You’re such a dork.”

“Which is exactly why you love me,” Kamilla countered, with a few final clicks and a flourish as she placed the pizza order. She consulted the list on her phone. “Okay, so we’ve got the cake, the decorations, the drinks, and the pizza is in transit. There’s just one more thing we need.”

She slid past him and made her way towards the small metallic fridge tucked away in the corner. Kamilla typed in the passcode 05-20-80 – the release date of The Empire Strikes Back – and the fridge unlocked with a clunk, revealing two test tube holders – one containing a single emergency vial of Velocity IX, and another that held eight tubes of liquid a few shades lighter than blood.

Cisco glanced over, bemused. “Babe, did you stash your Kraft beers in my security fridge? Because that seems a little excessive.”

Kamilla eased the second rack of tubes off the shelf like a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven. “No, I’m just getting a couple of vials of 500 proof for Barry. I didn’t want him to feel left out of the festivities.”

Cisco had met a lot of speedsters in his time, but in that moment he was pretty sure he moved faster than any of them as he sprinted across the room to intercept. Startled, Kamilla jerked back and the test tubes clinked together like champagne glasses mid-toast.

“Sorry, can we just back up a little bit – you’re what now?” said Cisco.

“I’m grabbing some drinks for Barry,” Kamilla repeated slowly. “This is his special speedster booze, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Cisco said nervously. “It is, but…”

“But…?” Kamilla prompted.

“Listen,” he said, hands up in a pacifying gesture. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but that is a highly controlled substance and it’s really in everyone’s best interests if you put it back.”

Kamilla grew wide-eyed. “Why? Is it dangerous?”

“I mean, if any normal person drank it, it’d pretty much liquidize their insides, but that’s not the problem.”

As he spoke, Cisco headed over to the shelf on the wall, ran his fingers along the various binders tucked onto the shelf, and pulled one off. Cisco carried it over to the table, pushed aside the keyboard and laid the folder flat in front of her.

“The problem,” he said, flipping it open, “is this.”

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this?”

“This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He picked up the metal test tube rack and returned it to the fridge, his fingers flying across the buttons to input the code before he slid the vials back into place. “It’s also the reason why this stuff doesn’t leave the lab except in dire emergencies, including but not limited to break-ups, deaths and severe metahuman disasters.” Decisively, he closed the fridge and it locked again with a clunk and a beep.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you are fortunate enough to have never before encountered an inebriated Barry Allen,” said Cisco. “Let me walk you through it.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are nine stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It starts with stage one.”

1 DRINK BARRY: A LITTLE CLINGY

One of Barry’s many wonderful qualities is his propensity for affection. Unimpeded by the bounds of modern-day toxic masculinity, 1 Drink Barry generously bestows physical affection on everyone he encounters. To put it plainly: he’s a hugger.

Standing outside Barry and Iris’ front door, Cisco checked his watch.

Usually at this time of night, he’d be hanging out in the cortex watching the red dot darting around on the monitor as Barry did a lap of the city, or in his lab tinkering with some new invention. Tonight, though, was different. They’d all agreed work was off-limits – time to take a hard-earned break. Cisco had been looking forward to it all week, but he guessed the rest of Team Flash didn’t share his enthusiasm, because they were late. That wasn’t like Caitlin at all. Shrugging, he lifted his hand to knock.

The click of heels made him turn just in time to see Caitlin bouncing up the stairs in her heels. “Hi, I’m here! Sorry I’m late; Frost and I couldn’t agree on an outfit.” She leaned in. “Did you bring the, uh…”

Cisco slid a silver flask out of his pocket slightly. “Sure did.”

“Then I guess we’re ready to go!”

“Damn right. …Ladies first?”

Caitlin knocked. They waited, listening to the rattle of six locks being unfastened one at a time, until the door opened to reveal Iris standing on the threshold wearing a tight red dress and a leather jacket.

Cisco whistled. “Damn. You look good.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” said Iris as she stepped back from the door to allow them entry. “Barry will be down in a second, he got held up at work, so he’s a little behind –”

There was a whoosh and a crackle of lightning, and Barry skidded to a stop beside her with windswept hair and a grin. “Here! Hey, guys.”

“Oh. Famous last words.” Iris reached for her purse and swung it onto her shoulder. “Well I’m also running late, so I’d better get going. You guys have fun! And try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I’m afraid we can’t make any promises, cos everybody knows there ain’t no party like a Team Flash party!” said Cisco. “You sure you don’t wanna come with us? It’s gonna be one hell of a night.”

“Thank you, but I’m going out with a couple of the girls from CCPN tonight, so… rain check?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Cisco warned.

“You’d better.” She rested her hand on Barry’s arm. “I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Barry, and he leaned in for a kiss.

“Boo! Get a room!” Cisco hollered.

Iris rolled her eyes fondly. “Goodbye, Cisco,” she said, and headed out.

Cisco sighed. “And then there were three.” He looked from Barry to Caitlin and back again, stretching out on the sofa. “Okay, drinks!” He headed into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and three glasses in the other.

“Uh, isn’t the drinking supposed to start after you leave the house?” asked Caitlin.

“Only if you’re an amateur! You always have a drink or two before going out on the town. It’s financially savvy.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Barry when Cisco offered him a glass. “No use wasting perfectly good alcohol when it doesn’t even touch the sides.”

“That,” said Cisco, “is why you’ll be drinking this.” He pulled out a silver flask from inside the breast pocket of his blazer. “I call it 500 Proof 2,” he said, and held it dramatically aloft like Frodo holding the one ring.

Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “Really?” she said.

“The name’s a work in progress,” he admitted. “But the drink itself…” He kissed the flask. “She’s ready to go.”

Barry eyed the flask warily. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, you’ve earned it. The city can manage without the Flash for one night. Go on, live a little.” When Barry continued to look skeptical, Cisco started to chant. “Barry, Barry, Barry–”

Grinning, Caitlin joined in. Barry endured it for all of thirty seconds before he rolled his eyes and snatched the flask. Caitlin and Cisco both cheered.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” said Cisco.

He splashed wine into his and Caitlin’s glasses, and passed one to her. She took it with a twinkle in her eye.

“All right, Team Flash!” Cisco whooped, and they clinked their glasses against Barry’s flask before they all drank.

Barry pulled a face. “Jesus! That’s – that’s potent.” He coughed, eyes watering.

“You’re welcome,” said Cisco. “We made a couple of tweaks to the formula. It should stay in your system longer instead of just burning off in thirty seconds flat like the first batch.”

“It tastes like rocket fuel!”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll put some hairs on your chest,” Cisco said dismissively.

“You can say that again,” muttered Barry, massaging his chest.

“Speaking of hairs on your chest,” said Caitlin, curling up comfortably in her seat. “Did they grow back yet?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Barry. “It’s sort of a peach fuzz.”

“That’ll teach you not to get so close to my experiments,” said Cisco.

“Maybe it’ll teach you to label them better,” said Caitlin.

“Really? Don’t do me like that!”

“Sorry, it’s true.”

This triggered a bout of good-natured bickering as they debated the results of some of Cisco’s more disastrous experiments. Before long they were all laughing, loosened up by the drinks. Barry, who was perched on the arm of Caitlin’s chair, leaned against her.

“I love you guys, you know that?”

“We love you too, Barr – ooof! Oh. Okay,” said Caitlin, bewildered. Barry had slid off the arm of the chair and squeezed up next to her, taking up half the chair like a Great Dane still trying to sit in its owner’s lap.

“Look at him, he’s getting tipsy already,” Cisco teased.

“Shhh.” Barry rested his head contentedly on Caitlin’s shoulder. Amused, she patted his knee.

Cisco downed the rest of his drink. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

He offered Caitlin his hand – only to have Barry grab it instead. Then he grabbed Caitlin’s hand too.

“Oh, we’re holding hands?” said Cisco. “Is that a thing we do now?”

“It is when we’re running,” Barry said, grinning.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Oh. No, no, no runni–”

The rest of her sentence was lost to the wind.

2 DRINK BARRY: KINDA CLUMSY

When Barry became a speedster, he gained a massive boost in motor functions, including enhanced reflexes that have massively improved his coordination. Prior to this transformation, his ability to walk unhindered across a flat surface was roughly equal to that of Bella Swan from Twilight. Two-Drink Barry is harmless, but he must be kept at a safe distance from breakable objects.

Okay, so travelling at super speed sucked – Cisco would stick to breaches from now on, than you very much – but he had to admit it had its advantages. They’d beaten the evening rush by minutes and found themselves a table, where they had been comfortably situated for the past half hour. Since then the bar had filled rapidly, and now they were surrounded by people. Glasses clinked, bodies gyrated. All around them was laughter and the throb of music; he could feel the buzz of the bass against his elbows where they rested on the table.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” asked Caitlin. “No monsters, no metahumans… just the three of us having a few quiet drinks.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Cisco said darkly. “Also, I don’t know that the ‘drinks’ part is entirely accurate. The fastest man alive is about to lose his title. Where the hell is he?” Barry had offered to get the next round, but that was ten minutes ago and they hadn’t seen him since. Frowning, Cisco and scanned the room.

Just as he had started to get concerned, the crowd parted and Barry appeared with three glasses in his hands.

“It’s about time! What took you?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Barry. “I got held up at the bar, there was a huge li–”

Whatever he’d been about to say next was cut off as he abruptly tripped over his own feet.

All three drinks spilled everywhere. Lightning flickered as he lurched forwards to try and intercept, and he managed to right the glasses, but not before the majority of their contents had ended up all over the table.

Cisco’s plastic cup floated across the tabletop in a puddle of dismally fizzing coke, which dripped steadily into his lap. Caitlin looked down at her soaked sweater, hands held up in shock. Her eyes flared white.

“This,” snarled Frost, “is a cashmere sweater.”

Barry’s eyes were wide. “Oh my God, guys, I am so sorry.”

With a jerk of her head, Caitlin regained control. “It’s fine,” she said, then winced, presumably in response to whatever Frost snarled in the back of her head. “Really. It happens to the best of us.” She pulled the sopping wet fabric away from her with a grimace. “Um… does anyone have a tissue?”

“Let me get some paper towels!” said Barry.

Cisco reached out to stop him. “Actually, Barr, maybe you should –”

But it was too late: Barry had already turned around and crashed into a guy going in the opposite direction, who slopped beer all over himself. Cisco winced sympathetically.

“I’m sorry!” Barry said, while the guy glared and shook his wet hands.

“Maybe you should take a seat,” said Cisco.

Still apologising profusely, Barry sank onto his stool and shrank in on himself, nursing what was left of his drink while Caitlin went to get something to clear up the mess.

“So I guess those adjustments we made to the 500 proof are working, huh?” Cisco said with a smirk.

“Oh, they’re working,” said Barry. “Speaking of which, can I get a top-up?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Caitlin asked, returning with a wad of paper towels. She started to mop up the table.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m not even buzzed, seriously. Tipsy at best. Come on, hit me.” He waved at his drink.

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged looks. There was a slight flush to Barry’s cheeks, and his eyes were a little brighter than usual, but other than that he seemed stable.

“I have wanted to study how the speedforce interacts with alcohol,” Caitlin admitted. “Metabolic processes aside, I am interested to measure the effects.”

“What the hell,” Cisco said. He unscrewed the cap of the flask and tipped it in to Barry’s glass, pouring a generous measure. “Knock yourself out.”

Barry beamed and picked up his drink. “Cheers,” he said, and they all clinked their half empty glasses.

Three Drink Barry: Barry Dance-Pants

This Barry is able to flawlessly replicate the choreography for every single Britney Spears music video unprompted. So far we have been unable to determine where he acquired this information.

They all agreed that it was best if Cisco got the next round. He didn’t retrieve the next lot of drinks any faster than Barry had – if anything, he was slower; people kept shoving in front of him every time he got close to the bar – but at least the glasses stayed upright this time. When he returned to the table, though, Caitlin was alone.

“Where’d Barry go?”

Caitlin frowned. “I thought he was with you.”

“Nope.” He passed her drink over to her.

Caitlin worried at her lower lip.

“Hey, don’t stress,” said Cisco. “Barry’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“I don’t know. He’s been gone a while, and he wasn’t exactly steady on his feet. He might hurt himself.”

“Good thing we have a doctor on call,” said Cisco, sipping his drink.

“That’s not funny. Seriously, I’m worried about him. I’m not sure he should be left unsupervised.”

She had a point. Speed and immense clumsiness wasn’t a great combination – they’d learned that the hard way. Cisco downed the rest of his drink with a grimace. “All right, let’s go look for him.”

They got up and headed out onto the dancefloor. The music was so loud that the entire room vibrated, Britney Spears’ Womanizer throbbing through the room. Caitlin pulled back and made a face as she almost inhaled a mouthful of some stranger’s coarse blonde hair. She batted it away like cobwebs.

“Ugh. Remind me why we decided to come out on the busiest night of the week?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” muttered Cisco, craning his neck. “Man, I can’t see him anywhere. It’s like playing Where’s Wally? Hey – hey, excuse me! Can I just squeeze – guys?” He attempted to slide past a knot of people, only to give up with a frustrated sigh. “Jesus, it’s like talking to a brick wall. What the hell are they looking at?”

Caitlin stood on her toes. “It looks like...” She stopped. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

She grabbed his arm and steered him through the crowd, using him as a battering ram to force her way through. Eventually, breathless and sweaty, they made it to the outskirts of the dancefloor, where Cisco finally got a good look at exactly what had captivated everyone’s attention.

Barry was in the middle of the dancefloor, tearing it up. He strutted up and down, squatted and slut-dropped before he arched his back and pumped his hips forward in several lewd thrusts. The crowd cheered.

“Oh my God,” said Caitlin.

“He is killing it!” Cisco cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Yes, Barry!”

Barry winked and blew a kiss, rolling over to air-hump the ground with an alarming level of enthusiasm.

“Should we maybe go over there?” asked Caitlin.

“In a second,” said Cisco. He held his phone up, pressed record and zoomed in on Barry’s gyrating body, careful to keep his face in shot. “I wanna get this for posterity’s sake.”

“Cisco!” Caitlin scolded, and reached out to cover the camera.

Cisco jerked the phone out of reach. “You are aware that his ringtone for you is still thirty seconds of you butchering Summer Lovin’?”

Caitlin pursed her lips. “On second thoughts,” she said. “I hope you’re getting this in HD.”

Cisco grinned and went back to recording.

“Okay, that’s a little embarrassing,” Kamilla conceded.

“That? That was iconic,” corrected Cisco. “The man has moves. I swear he was a professional dancer in another life. I still have that video; I’ll show you later if you ask me nicely…”

“I’ll hold you to it. But none of this explains why this stuff has to be so rigorously controlled. I mean, being clumsy, affectionate, kinda sloppy, tearing it up on the dancefloor… that sounds like pretty standard drunk behaviour.”

“The first three drinks aren’t the problem,” Cisco said darkly. “It’s what comes after that you have to worry about. See, drunk Barry is insatiable. One drink is never enough. Once he’s had a taste of that sweet, sweet 500 proof concentrated speedster juice, he won’t rest until he’s had more. And while he may be an icon, three-drink Barry soon gives way to…”

FOUR-DRINK BARRY: LOUD BARRY.

Barry Allen is a hero in every sense of the word. Time and time again he has sacrificed everything for the noble goal of making the world a better place. Barry doesn't save lives for the glory or the recognition; he does it because it's the right thing to do. But four-drink Barry… he thinks a little recognition might be nice.

The final chords of Womanizer faded out into a sea of applause. Beaming from ear to ear, Barry took a series of bows, flapping his hand as if to say, ‘oh, stop it!’ After a few more moments of thoroughly enjoying the spotlight, he disengaged from his loving admirers and headed back towards Cisco and Caitlin and slid breathlessly back into the booth. His sweaty hair stuck to his forehead.

“Where did that come from?” Cisco asked, impressed.

Barry shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Clearly. I think you just earned yourself another drink!”

Cisco handed him the flask, and Barry clinked it cheerfully against Cisco’s beer bottle before he tipped it back and swallowed with a grimace. His eyes watered.

“Damn. That never goes down any easier.”

“Well it is just concentrated alcohol,” Caitlin reminded him. “Speaking of which…” She pulled her testing kit out of her purse. “Four drinks should be more than enough to start showing some side-effects. Let me take a quick blood sample.” Before Barry could object, she stabbed a lancet into his finger.

“Ow!” Barry put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

“Everything okay there?”

They all turned. A blond man in a grey t-shirt stood a short distance away, looking at them in concern.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just hurt my finger.” He held it up ruefully.

Blondie moved closer. “Well it’s your lucky night: I’m a nurse. Why don’t you let me take a look?”

Cisco plastered on a smile. “That’s real nice of you, but our friend here is actually a doctor, so –”

Barry held out his hand, overriding Cisco’s objections. Blondie took it and examined it, tracing his palm with the tip of his finger. Cisco rolled his eyes hard and took another swallow of his drink.

“I was just watching you out on the dancefloor,” Blondie said. “Those were some impressive moves.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Barry said modestly.

“No, it was definitely something. If I busted out a routine like that I’d be laid up for a week. What’s your secret?”

“Funny you should say that, cos…” Barry leaned in and said impishly, “I’m actually the Flash.”

Cisco choked on his drink. It went straight up his nose; his sinuses were on fire. He coughed hard, eyes watering.

“Are you okay, man?” the stranger asked concernedly.

“Great,” Cisco managed.

Satisfied, Blondie’s attention returned to Barry. “Well, I think your finger’s okay.” His thumb pressed against the inside of Barry’s wrist and his forehead creased slightly. “Your pulse is pretty fast, though.”

“Is it?” Barry said, resting his chin on his hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

Blondie released him, but he showed no signs of leaving. He looked Barry appraisingly up and down. “So you’re the Flash, huh?”

“Yep,” Barry said. His eyes twinkled. “Fastest man alive.”

“Mm. Maybe we’ll have to test that.”

At this point, Cisco decided, enough was enough. He slapped Barry on the back hard enough to make him stagger and complain, “Ow!”

“Ha!” he said. “This guy. He’s a kidder, right? A real riot. Hey, uh, Barry, can I talk to you for a second?”

Before Barry could object, Cisco had grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him out of the main bar area into the corridor, where there was a line of people waiting for the bathroom. Out here it was cooler and while he could still feel the throb of the music through the sticky soles of his sneakers, at least he could hear himself think.

“Dude,” he said. “Seriously? What the hell?”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a little harmless flirting. Iris and I, we have an agreement–”

“I’m not talking about the flirting! You can’t just –” Cisco stopped and made himself take a very deep breath before he lowered his voice. “You can’t just tell people you’re the freaking Flash!”

Barry gave a slow, confused blink. “But I am the Flash.”

He didn’t say it quietly. Several heads turned their way.

Cisco gave an uncomfortable laugh and rolled his eyes, before darting them at Barry like, ‘this guy, am I right?’ After a moment, the bystanders lost interest and went back to their conversation, and Cisco lowered his voice. “I know that, Barry, but it’s a secret, remember?”

“A secret?” Barry’s eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh! Right, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You know what? It’s all good. Just a little misunderstanding. But uh, let’s keep that one under wraps from now on, okay? Lips…” He mimed zipping up his mouth.

Barry nodded dutifully. “Got it.”

“Okay.” Cisco exhaled heavily. Jesus. Babysitting a drunken speedster was hard work.

Barry patted him on the shoulder. “M’gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in…” He held up two fingers. “Two seconds.”

“You’d better be. And remember –” He made the zipping motion again.

Barry imitated it, pretending to lock his mouth up and tossed away the imaginary key. Then he went to join the queue.

Feeling like he’d just aged a decade, Cisco made his way back to their booth. Mercifully, Blondie had gone to chat up some twink at the bar. Cisco sank back onto his stool and buried his head in his hands.

Caitlin, who was squeezing a few droplets of Barry’s blood onto a testing strip, made a sympathetic sound. “Not having a good time, huh?”

“I’d be having a great time if Black Canary over there could quit singing about his secret identity for five freaking minutes.” Cisco snatched the silver flask off the table and screwed the cap back on with a sharp twist. “We’re cutting him off right now, before we get into any more trouble.”

“Oh, come on, cut him a little slack. He doesn’t exactly get to let loose very often.”

“There’s letting loose and then there’s whatever the hell this is.” Cisco shook his head. “It’s like –”

A high-pitched shriek cut him off, and Cisco grimaced as it rang throughout the room. Everyone turned to the source of the commotion – and Cisco’s heart sank. Barry stood on the stage, fumbling with the microphone stand.

“Is this thing on?”

“Oh God,” said Caitlin.

Cisco launched himself at the stage, fighting through the crowd. As he did, Barry continued to ramble into the mic.

“Hi. My name’s Barry, Barry Allen, and I just wanted to say something real quick. Because I love this city. It’s like… my favourite city. And I love all of you. Especially you.” He pointed unsteadily at someone in the crowd and gave a clumsy wink. “Anyway, I’m gonna tell you a secret while I’m here. You guys can keep a secret, right? Shhh!” He put his fingers on his lips. “See, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but…” He leaned in so close that his lips brushed against the mic. “I’m the Fla –”

Just in time, Cisco jerked the mic away from him. “Flaaa–ha! Okay, that’s quite enough of that. I think my buddy here needs some air. Come on, Barry, let’s go.”

Luckily, Barry didn’t resist. He whooshed cheerfully as Cisco shunted him back to their booth and into his seat, then lolled sideways against Caitlin, who – with reflexes well-honed from constantly grabbing flying paperwork – managed to save her testing kit from being swept off the table.

Barry giggled. “I’m fast,” he said.

“Okay,” Cisco said resignedly. He turned to Caitlin. “Got any better ideas?”

She shrugged. “Pray that six-drink Barry is a little more tight-lipped?”

It sounded like a terrible idea. But when had that ever stopped them? With a shake of his head, Cisco withdrew the flask from his pocket.

“Hold on.” Caitlin’s voice had dropped an octave, and silver began to creep down from the roots of her hair. “I wanna see this,” said Frost. “It’s gonna be a total shitshow.”

Unfortunately, Cisco suspected she was right. He splashed more alcohol into Barry’s glass. “Here you go, big guy. Drink up.”

Barry looked down at his drink and frowned. “Can I get ice in this?”

Frost passed her hand over the glass and a chunk of ice dropped to the bottom with a clink.

“Awesome,” Barry said, and downed it.

“Oh God,” said Cisco. “We are so gonna regret this.”

“Okay,” said Kamilla, looking up from the binder. “I think I’m kinda starting to see the problem. But we won’t have that issue tonight. Everyone at this party knows Barry’s the Flash.”

“Listen,” said Cisco. “Four-drink Flash is a cake-walk. The worst is yet to come.” He flipped the page. “Let me introduce you to five-drink Flash.”

5 DRINK BARRY: THERAPIST BARRY

Five-drink Barry got a little too invested in Iris’ Intro to Psychology textbook in college. He’s all heart, zero clinical training.

Leonard Snart lay back on his bunk in Iron Heights, one leg resting lazily over the other, flipping through a nudie magazine. At least, that was how it appeared from outside the cell. Tucked between the pages was a blueprint of the prison, which his sister had smuggled in during her last visit. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight.

One of the guards struck the bars with his baton. Len glanced up.

“Snart. Get your ass out here. We’ve got a phone call for you.”

“Who from?” Lisa didn’t usually call so soon after a visit, and Mick never called at all; the signal on the Waverider was terrible.

“What do you think I am, your PA? Just get your ass out here.”

Interest well and truly piqued, Len tossed his magazine aside, careful to make sure the blueprint stayed safely tucked between his pages as he crossed the cell and waited for the door to be unlocked. Given his status as a high security prisoner, the guard cuffed him before leading him to the payphone booth in the reception area, the walls marked with grease stains and graffiti. With some difficulty, Len picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Leonard Snart speaking. How may I be of service?”

The quality of the call wasn’t great. He could hear the throb of music, people talking and shrieking and laughing in the background.

Then a familiar voice said, “Snart? Is that you?”

Len’s forehead creased. “Barry?”

“Shmart. Snart.” Barry cleared his throat. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“…Peachy.” Len flicked a glance over his shoulder. The two prison guards stood watching him with folded arms and distinctly unimpressed expressions. “Can I ask if this is a business or a personal call? Because this isn’t exactly a secure line.”

“I just –” A loud, deep burp echoed down the line. “Wanted to check in n’ make sure you’re doin’ okay.”

“What?”

“Because I wanted you to know,” Barry said, his voice thick and indistinct, “that it’s okay not to be okay, you know? You shouldn’t bottle up your emotions. You gotta let ‘em out, you know? After everything you’ve been through with Lewis, I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed to talk…” He choked up, before recovering. “I’ll be here.”

“Barry, are you drunk?” Len said incredulously.

“See, there you go again, changing the subject. Have you ever noticed that you often use de… def… deflection as a way to avoid talking about difficult subjects?”

“I’m hanging up now,” said Len.

“No, no, no, no, wait! Wait!” Barry said urgently. “You need to talk about what bothers you. Don’t just bottle it up. Your emotions are a beautiful thing. Emotions are what make us–”

“Barry?” came another muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Barry said immediately.

“Barry, give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Just give me the god damn –”

The sound of static and scuffles crackled down the line, and Len grimaced, lifting his head as far away from the speaker as he could to keep from being deafened. Over the commotion and the continued music blasting in the background, he could hear Barry shouting.

“You can be anything you want to be! Your past does not define you!”

“Okay,” said Len, and went to put the phone down.

“Wait!” said Barry. “Before you go, do you have a number for King Shark? Because I wanted to check in and make sure he’s doing okay. I know he looks scary, but underneath that slimy exterior he has the heart of a –”

Len rolled his eyes and hung up.

Sober Barry was a seasoned fighter, with speed, agility and hard-won experience on his side. Fortunately for Cisco, however, Drunk Barry’s combat skills comprised of slapping and some half-hearted attempts to bite, which meant that he was able to wrestle the phone away from him fairly easily. As he hung up, he glanced at the caller ID and blanched.

“Seriously? You’re making phone calls to Iron Heights? Are you gonna tell all the bad guys your secret identity too?” He held Barry’s phone up. “You know what? I’m keeping this; you clearly can’t be trusted.”

“My phone!” Barry said, and made a pathetic grab for it.

“Nope. Not happening, pal.” Cisco tucked it into his back pocket.

Barry pouted.

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m going to give it back later, I promise. I just need you to sober up first.”

“Okay,” Barry said sorrowfully. His bottom lip started to tremble.

“Oh, no,” Cisco said. “Not the lip – oh God, Barr, you’re breaking my heart here.”

“What’s happening?” asked Frost, returning to the table with two more beers, frost creeping down the side of the bottles. She gave a disinterested look at Barry, who was staring at the table with tears brimming in his eyes. He sniffed hard.

“Uh-oh,” said Cisco. “Six-drink Barry must be…”

SIX-DRINK BARRY: SAD BARRY

Shortly after his fifth drink, Barry loses his well-honed ability to repress and crumbles under the weight of well over a decade of trauma. In times of crisis, he can be medicated with chicken wings or, in a pinch, large servings of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Cisco turned to Frost for help, but she inched away, rapidly shaking her head. Great, thought Cisco. Super helpful. He rubbed Barry’s back tentatively.

“Hey, Barry. You doing okay there, bud?”

Barry looked up. “I just got off the phone with Snart. He’s having a really hard time, you know? I mean, some people just can’t catch a break. He had a crappy abusive drunk for a father; he practically raised his sister. In and out of juvie, never graduated high school – and in spite of all of that, he comes up with these brilliant heists – like seriously impressive – and then the Flash comes in and totally ruins every single one of them. I mean, come on. The guy’s gotta make a living somehow, am I right?”

“Uh,” said Cisco.

“I always said to him, you can do better.” He poked Cisco clumsily in the chest to emphasize each word. “You have what it takes to be a hero. So the guy joins the Legends, becomes a hero, and then he freaking dies in an explosion. Kaboom! And then he comes back, returns to Central City to start over, robs one lousy bank and gets thrown straight back in prison. How is that fair?”

“Jail time seems like a fairly reasonable consequence for grand larceny,” said Frost.

“It’s just a bad habit,” Barry said forlornly. “He deserves help and compassion, not a prison cell. Do you know what it’s like in Iron Heights? The food is terrible. My Dad spend a decade in there and he always said…”

He trailed off. For a moment Cisco thought he’d gone into a trance, as he stared down at the table, forehead slightly creased. Then he saw the haunted look in Barry’s eyes. The face of a man who had seen terrible things.

They needed a distraction. Luckily, Cisco had just the thing. “You know what?” he said. “Maybe the food in prison isn’t great, but you know what’s awesome? The food you can get delivered right here. Nice, starchy, alcohol-absorbing food. Let’s look at a take-out menu and see what we’ve got.” He pulled up JustEat on his phone. “We could get you a pizza… maybe some fries… a couple of burgers; that sounds–”

“Chicken wings,” Barry said distantly.

They both turned to look at him.

“Chicken wings?” said Frost sceptically.

“Chicken wings,” Barry insisted.

“Okay!” said Cisco. “We’ll get chicken wings.” He added one portion to the basket. Then took another look at Barry’s face and hit the plus button several times. “Lots… and lots… of chicken wings.” He locked the phone. “Okay, food should be with us in a couple of minutes. So what now?”

“More drinks!” Barry said.

“No! No more –”

It was too late; there was a crackle of lightning and then the flask slammed back down onto the tabletop.

Cisco closed his eyes in defeat.

8 Drink Barry is a Michelin-star chef

Sober Barry’s cooking is average at best, but 8 drink Barry reveals a deep inner passion for the culinary arts.

It was a little past two am when a breach opened at the top of the stairwell, pulsing and flickering with pale blue light. Frost and Cisco staggered out of it, each holding one of Barry’s arms to keep him from escaping.

“Okay, almost there,” said Cisco. “You’re doing a great job. Can you let us in?”

Barry patted himself clumsily down until he found his keys and tried to open the first lock. He kept missing the keyhole. After his third attempt, Barry sighed and collapsed forwards, head resting against the wood panelling. Then he started vibrating.

Cisco suddenly realised what he was trying to do. “No, no wait, don’t–”

There was a buzzing sensation, a sickening lurch, and then all three of them fell straight through the front door.

Frost gave a full-body shudder and released her hold on Barry’s shirt to rub her arms.

“Never do that again! It makes my skin crawl.”

“I feel like we should have a rule about phasing under the influence,” Cisco muttered.

Together, they managed to get Barry onto the couch, where he lay blinking up at them, floppy as a rag doll, barbecue sauce smeared down his chin. More of the wings had ended up on his face than in his mouth, but Cisco hoped the restorative properties would kick in soon.

“Hey, Sad Flash. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m hungry,” Barry said. He clawed his way to a standing position. “Gonna make food.” Yellow light blazed as he sprinted into the kitchen.

Frost turned to Cisco. “He’s still hungry? He had like, eight servings of chicken wings!”

“Just go with it,” Cisco muttered, and then the alarming sounds of crashes and bangs came from the kitchen. “Barry? Do you need some help in there?”

Lightning crackled erratically as Barry sped around the room. Within seconds, every available surface was strewn with culinary equipment: a chopping board; a stained knife; various ingredients. A knife flashed as he rapidly diced an onion and swept it into the pan too fast for the eye to follow, and then the burner came on with a click and a whoosh. Oil sizzled as Barry dropped a steak into the pan. He grabbed a wine bottle off the side, yanked the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room; it missed Frost by inches, and she recoiled in disgust. Barry sniffed the wine, and after a moment of consideration, he sloshed a generous amount into the pan. Flames leapt skyward, and Barry expertly tamped them down.

“Uh… what are you doing?” said Cisco.

Barry flipped the steak with a flick of his wrist. “Cooking.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but I thought you were going to make pasta, or fries, you know – normal drunk people food, not –” Cisco inhaled. “What even is that?”

“Braised steak in a red wine sauce, with asparagus on the side,” Barry said.

“…Right,” said Cisco. “Sorry I asked.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Kamilla.

“It isn’t,” said Cisco. “It’s goddamn awesome. The problem with 8-Drink Barry is that hot on his heels is –”

9 DRINK BARRY – SLEEPY BARRY.

On the night the particle accelerator exploded, Barry went into a coma and remained unconscious for nine months. During that time, his score on the Glasgow Coma Scale was a 5. Rumour has it that nine-drink Barry scored even lower than that.

“This is the worst night out I’ve ever been on in my life, and I share a body with Caitlin. Her idea of fun is wearing hideous pyjamas and watching documentaries on Hulu,” Frost hissed.

They stood on the doorstep laden with plastic bags while Cisco searched through the assortment of keys Barry had given him, trying to find the one for the first lock. “Look,” he said, inserting one into the lock with a crunch, “I know it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but hopefully he’ll have got the rest of it out of his system while we were out breaching to every grocery store in the city.”

“Right, because Gordon Ramsay in there had to have…” Frost slid the bottle of wine out of the grocery bag. “Whatever the hell this is. Chateau Belair Mona–whatever. As if a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle is going to taste any different than the fifteen-dollar fifty bottle from the liquor store.” She rolled her eyes. “What the hell is he even going to do with it?”

“To be honest, as long as he doesn’t drink it I could care less what he does with it. Just keep him distracted for long enough to get some more food inside of him and make sure any breakable objects are out of reach before he gets down to the two-drink level.” He shook the keys in frustration. “Jesus, how many keys do they have?”

“I still don’t see why we had to–” Frost paused and narrowed her eyes. She sniffed sharply. “Is something burning?”

They looked down. Thick grey smoke billowed out from underneath the kitchen door.

Seconds later, the door burst off its hinges in a cloud of icy fog.

Inside the loft was total chaos. Barry slumped at the kitchen table, dead to the world, his hand still loosely clasped around the flask of speedster booze. A small puddle of drool on the table shone in the firelight. Behind him, his frying pan lay abandoned on the range, smoking violently while flames leapt towards the ceiling.

The piercing shriek of the smoke alarm tore through the room. Frost blasted the frying pan with a thick stream of ice and cold energy crackled from her palms, barely making a difference in the temperature of the room. Cisco grabbed a damp tea towel off the side and beat at the flames, trying frantically to extinguish the blaze. Behind them, Barry didn’t so much as twitch, his snores drowned out by the alarm.

“Okay, I think I get the gist,” said Kamilla, looking up from the folder. “No-booze Barry is the way to go.” She hesitated. “But just out of morbid curiosity, what about nine-drink Barry?”

“Unchartered territory,” Cisco said darkly. “We figured eight drinks was enough.” He closed the folder conclusively. “So yeah, it sucks that Barry can’t drink with us, but with great power comes great responsibility. And sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t accidentally break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.”

Cisco went to slide the folder back onto the shelf. As he did so, his gaze caught a framed photo on the countertop. He paused and picked it up, smiling sadly. It was a picture of himself, Caitlin, Barry and Thawne – or Wells, as they’d believed back then – from the early days. They all looked so young, grinning at the camera, hair tousled where Barry had sped out from behind the phone before the shutter clicked. His chest ached.

Kamilla put a hand on his arm. “You’re going to miss them, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He put the photo down. “But we gotta keep moving forward. Speaking of which, it is beyond uncool to be late to your own party, so we’d better get shaking.” He held out his arm. “Ready?”

“You go,” said Kamilla. “I just have a few last-minute things to take care of. I’ll catch up.”

“Okay.” Cisco kissed her on the cheek and slipped out of the room.

Kamilla glanced over her shoulder, bit her lower lip. Then her gaze slid over to the fridge.

Tiptoeing across the room, she approached the container and input the code again. Her hair tossed as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Then she slid out a single blood red vial and tucked it into her purse.

Just in case.

#DCTVGenPrideMonth #the flash fanfiction #my fics

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

Text

Second Chance - Ch 5 Cold Feet

Luka played the chord progression again and sighed. Nothing was working. He put the guitar aside gently, resisting the urge to toss it across the room. He walked out of his studio and threw himself down on his living room couch, glowering at nothing. He checked the time. He had another hour and a half to himself before he had to head back to the studio, but he was making so little progress, maybe he should just go on in.

He missed Marinette, Luka admitted to himself miserably. It was like having her here was a week-long high that he was coming down from. He’d been down since her things had vanished from his home. Everything was exactly the way it had been. Plain. Boring. Why hadn’t he ever put any effort into decorating this place? Granted, he hadn’t had much in the way of stuff to bring with him when he moved in, and most of that went in the bedroom. Then he’d been touring, and it wasn’t like he ever had visitors. He lived in his bedroom and on his balcony, he worked in his home studio and at the dining room table.

He thought fondly of the cluttered chaos of the Liberty. It had only gotten worse since he and Juleka moved out. Without her children coming and going and bringing friends in and out, necessitating a minimum level of order simply so people could get around, Anarka was free to live her precepts to the fullest, and she did. His apartment décor might be minimalist even by normal standards but it was positively barren according to Anarka’s. Juleka’s place was a little better, but Juleka had more interests outside of music. Luka was pretty sure her collection of hair accessories alone would take up more boxes than everything he owned. And Juleka lived with Rose, so there were plants and flowers and unexplainable frilly things everywhere. Rose had given him some plants when they’d all moved in, but...well. Luka was frequently too distracted to remember to feed himself, let alone take care of plants.

He suddenly remembered Marinette’s soft sympathy as she told him, You’ve been lonely. He’d answered, I guess I have.

Luka looked at his phone, considering. Anarka was somewhere on the Mediterranean out of touch by anything except satellite phone at the moment, and wouldn’t be back in Paris for another month. His old friends had lives of their own that didn’t include sleeping until noon and eating lunch at dinner time. He scrolled idly down his contacts and paused. Ivan worked construction and his hours were sometimes weird. He was a manager now, too, maybe he would have a few minutes to spare. If Ivan even cared to speak with him. Luka hadn’t exactly been in touch.

Luka took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, and his thumb moved and he raised the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Ivan, it’s Luka,” he said with a smile. “No, nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to catch up a bit. Got a few minutes for an old friend?”

Really all he had to do was get Ivan rolling, and let him go on about Mylène and all the things they were doing to get ready for the baby. Luka could hear Ivan’s fear buzzing under his words.

“It’s scary, yeah?” Luka observed once there was a break in Ivan’s words. “It’s scary like all change is scary, and there’s no take backs on this one.”

“I—yeah, it really is,” Ivan admitted. “We both really wanted this and now I’m scared shitless.”

“Anyone would be,” Luka agreed. “But you’ve got Mylène. She’s probably scared too. You can be scared together, and you can get brave together.”

“She doesn’t act scared,” Ivan said begrudgingly. “She’s all plans and excitement and—“

“And keeping busy so you don’t figure out how terrified she is?” Luka chuckled.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “You think so?”

“I don’t know,” Luka admitted. “I mean, I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you guys and maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. But I know that she’s facing all the same things you are, plus all the craziness of actually carrying a child in her body. If she’s not completely terrified, I’ll eat my guitar.”

“Yeah,” Ivan said slowly. “Yeah, I...shit, I’ve been so wrapped up in my own head that I never even questioned it.” He paused. “I gotta talk to her.”

“Probably should. But Ivan, you and Mylène have so much love. I’m not worried about you. You love her and you love the baby and I truly believe you’ll be okay. You can’t play the whole song the first time you pick up an instrument, right? You’ve gotta break it down. You don’t have to be perfect on day one. You’ll learn as you go.” He chuckled. “I mean, if my mom could do it, you guys should be gold.”

“Thanks, man. It sure is good to talk to you.”

Luka smiled, touched. “I’m sorry I’ve been so out of touch. I’ll try to do better.”

“No sweat, man, you’re living your dream. Speaking of which,” and Luka raised his eyebrows because he’d never heard Ivan sound sly before, “I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with Marinette.”

“As much as either of us can spare,” Luka chuckled. “Which is not nearly as much as I’d like, honestly. She’s…” He paused. “She’s grown up a lot since I saw her last. We’re trying to take things slow and just...see what happens.”

“Luka,” Ivan said flatly. “I know you love her. You’ve been in love with her since we were kids. What the hell are you waiting for?”

Luka sighed heavily. “I don’t know, I...it just seems kind of crazy, doesn’t it? That she would just somehow show up out of the blue and suddenly I can have everything I ever wanted. It just...it sounds too good to be true. I keep looking for the catch. And that’s—it makes me feel like I’m not being fair to her, too.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know, this shit is just...complicated.”

“Marinette makes things complicated, it’s like her superpower or something,” Ivan snorted. “But I never thought you would be the one to get things all tangled up. Just let it flow and be happy, man.”

Luka sighed. “I want to, I just…after last time...I mean I told her that I don’t hold it against her, and that was absolutely true, but it just...makes it difficult. Moment to moment, I’m so happy, I just—” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Damnit, I just got Juleka to lay off the gloom and doom, and now I’m doing it.”

Ivan was silent for a moment, and then he said, “Maybe I should be the one asking you what you’re afraid of.”

Luka lifted his eyes and stared at his empty living room. This, he thought. I’m afraid loving her and thinking she loves me back will change things so much that I’ll never be satisfied again when she leaves. “I’m afraid she doesn’t mean it,” he said quietly. “That whatever epiphany she had while she was away, whatever it was about seventeen-year-old me that she was missing won’t be enough for her to stay once she’s gotten closure on the what if.”

There was a shuffle on the other end of the line. “I mean, I guess that’s fair,” Ivan conceded. “So maybe it’s smart to keep things slow. At the same time, you know Marinette overthinks everything, and she cares about everybody. I don’t think she’d have approached you if she wasn’t pretty sure this was what she wanted. I mean, she has to know how badly it would hurt you if she couldn’t stick it out so...she must be pretty sure.”

“I hope you’re right,” Luka sighed. “Most days I think so too. We’re...we’re really good together. It’s—” He blew out a breath and shook his head. “It’s just too damn perfect is what it is. I can’t possibly be this lucky.”

“Now that sounds familiar,” Ivan chuckled. “I seem to remember you saying the same thing at the party we had to celebrate you signing with the label. Ugh, listen, man, I gotta get back to work,” Ivan said apologetically. “But—thanks for reaching out. And for the advice. Mylène’s putting together a gender reveal party, we’d love it if you and the girls could come.”

“Definitely,” Luka smiled. “Just text me the date as soon as you have it so I can make sure we stay free. Take care, Ivan. I’ll try to be in touch more often from now on.”

“You too, Luka. See you around.”

Luka lowered the phone and sighed, but he was smiling. He still didn’t know what to do about the song, but at least he felt less alone. He tapped his phone on his knee and stood up.

“All right, Couffaine,” he muttered. “Back to basics.” He went back into the studio, queued up a beat on his sound system, turned up his amp, and picked up his guitar. Forget trying to write, it was time to have some fun. He moved his body to the beat for a moment, and then started to riff.

***

When he finished at the recording studio that evening, he had a text from Juleka. Marinette’s hanging out with us until you’re free, just come over when you get home.

The sound of laughter greeted him when he walked into Juleka’s apartment and he had to smile. He found all three girls sitting around their dining room table. Juleka was laughing a full-body laugh that usually meant she was laughing at him. “And yeah, she was drunk,” Juleka choked out between giggles. “But the girl was hot, I mean sex on legs. So she’s rubbing all over him and she got like, no reaction, he’s just looking at her and his face was bright red but with this bored expression, and so she says, ‘What, are you gay?�� and he said—he said—” Her face was turning red, she was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, let alone finish the story.

“Whaaaaat?” Marinette whined, and Juleka just shook her head, laughing so hard she was silent. Rose was also laughing too hard to finish the story.

“I said, ‘Maybe I’m just not turned on by a complete and total lack of respect for personal boundaries.’” Luka supplied, leaning against the wall. “That got her to rear back enough for security to get a hold on her and they dragged her drunk ass off me and threw her out. Do I need to get you some oxygen, Jules?”

Marinette burst out laughing, and Juleka put her face on the table, still shaking with laughter. Rose, pink-cheeked and giggling, rubbed her back and encouraged her to breathe before she passed out.

Luka watched the three of them laugh with a smile on his face and a stinging sensation behind his eyes. I want this. I want to be able to have this forever. “I’m glad you guys think it’s funny,” he grumbled, trying to look put upon. “She smelled like a frat party.” He shuddered.

Marinette giggled.

Luka smiled and held out his hand. “Had enough of these two lunatics yet?” Marinette smiled and took his hand, and let him pull her up out of her seat.

Juleka raised her hand and waved, her head still down on the table, though she was finally breathing and not laughing. Rose did the same, still rubbing Juleka’s back. “Have a good night, you two!”

“I’m glad you came,” Luka said as they crossed the hall. “I know you’re probably tired.”

“I am, and I probably shouldn’t stay too late,” she said, as he opened the door, “but I wanted to see you. How’s the music going?”

He shot a soft smile back at her as he hung his keys back on the rack. “Pretty terrible, actually. I really wanted to see you too. You want to watch something? Or I could put some music on.”

“Music sounds good. Unless you want to play?”

“I do not want to play,” he snorted. “The guitar is in time out after all the frustration today. Which is probably good, honestly, I was playing myself sore and getting nowhere.”

Marinette frowned as she watched him go to his sound system and start up a playlist. “Why so much trouble?”

“I don’t know,” he lied, and then sighed, collapsing on the couch. Marinette slid into his lap and he put his arms around her waist. “I mean...I sort of know,” he admitted. “I get these surges where everything really flows and then there’s always sort of a slump afterwards, so that might be it. Except this...doesn’t feel exactly the same.” He sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I’m trying really hard here not to admit that I missed you so much I was too depressed to write music, but there it is, I’m just that pathetic.”

Marinette giggled. “You’re not pathetic. I think it’s sweet.”

“I don’t even know how to say it without sounding weird,” Luka sighed. “But it’s just...I don’t know, you just put out this creative energy and it’s easy to get caught up in.”

"Mm.” Marinette looked slightly surprised and mildly amused, but not put off, and he relaxed a little. “Do you know why I came over tonight?” Marinette asked him, with a tenderness in her voice that he wasn’t prepared for, “Even though I really ought to be either working or sleeping?” Luka blinked at her. “You’re so steady and calm. It’s...I don’t know, grounding? I needed that today. I really needed it.” She shifted to put her head down on his shoulder. “I’ve always been surrounded by crazy energetic people. Nino can be chill, but he can also lose his chill spectacularly. The only people who’ve ever really given me this peaceful feeling are my mother, and you. I didn’t realize how badly I needed it until I was away from you both.” She sighed, but he could hear the smile in it, even if he couldn’t see it at the moment. “So if you’re pathetic, I guess so am I.”

“Marinette?”

“Hmm?”

“You think, when your presentation is over...maybe you could help me redecorate?”

Marinette lifted her head, looked around at the room, white-walled, with the same white blinds and off-white curtains that had been here since he bought the place. “ Re decorate?” she said drily.

He chuckled and squeezed her lightly. “Yeah, I never had the time or the taste to do much. It was fine before but...I think it could use a little color now.” He chuckled. “Maybe some of your energy will stay.”

“We can do that,” Marinette said, turning to look at him. “It’ll be fun. Now if only I could think of a way to carry your steadiness with me.”

Luka grinned, and dug in his pocket, coming up with a smooth, flat, translucent blue stone. “Sea glass. I found it on a beach we were visiting, oh, I don’t even remember how many years ago. Bigger than what you usually find and kind of a rare color, so I kept it. I’ve carried it with me for years. I like the symbolism, I guess. Seaglass starts out as plain old broken glass, and it takes decades to wear the rough edges away and make it like this. This little rock has been going with the flow probably for longer than we’ve been alive.” He took Marinette’s hand and closed her fingers over the stone.

“Luka, you don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he told her, dipping his head slightly to meet her eyes. “Whatever else happens, Marinette, I always want to be here for you when you need a calm place.” He cupped her cheek in his palm and kissed her softly.

Marinette smiled. “Thank you, Luka.” She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. This time his sigh was shaky.

Marinette tilted her head slightly. “What’s up, Luka? You seem...I don’t know, kind of emotional tonight.”

“Yeah,” he said roughly, and cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Just tell me how I can help.”

“You are helping. Can you just...hold me for a while?”

Marinette moved away to tuck the sea glass stone in her purse, and then shifted their position so that his head was on her shoulder, and her were arms wrapped around him. One hand continued to slip through his hair. “You shouldn’t be so lonely, Luka. I know how much you love your family, but you need friends, too.”

“I’m figuring that out, I guess. I called Ivan today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” he said, nuzzling into her neck. “It was good. I need to try harder. I need to be a better friend.”

Marinette pressed her lips into his forehead. “You just need a little balance in your life. I know getting started was hard, I know it took a lot of work to get to this point. But you’re successful, now. You don’t have to be working constantly. You can find a balance. You're good at that.”

“Yeah?” Luka smiled against her skin. “What about you?”

“I’m still in the hard part,” Marinette sighed ruefully. “I still have a lot of work to do.” She nudged his temple with her nose. “But—and I don’t mean this to sound mean, Luka—I’ve managed to do it without isolating myself. I kept my old friends and I made new ones. And I know you feel awkward with new people, but you’re so kind and so warm and you have such a big heart. There’s no reason for you to feel so alone.” She hesitated. “And...I know from experience that I can’t be the only support in your life. I can’t stand being smothered.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Marinette’s fingers moved down to stroke the short hair at the nape of his neck, and his eyes closed in pleasure. “I heard from Juleka how careful you are not to lean on her too hard. But burying yourself in work isn’t the right answer either.”

“I get it,” Luka said softly. “You’re right. I didn’t realize how alone I felt until you were here. I’ll start reaching out more, I promise.” He cuddled closer to her and changed the subject. “Are you ready for the movie premier Thursday?”

People were getting tired of the XY scandal and the reporters he’d been dreading were bound to start showing up sooner rather than later. Luka had an invitation to a movie premiere Thursday night, and it seemed like as good a time as any to go out and officially be seen with Marinette. After some discussion amongst the three of them, Lucille had put together a press release and Luka had sent it to his friend at the entertainment magazine, requesting that he hold onto it until Wednesday and promising him an interview in exchange. At least this way they could control when and how the news got out, and it meant they would be public before Marinette’s presentation to the internship committee. Marinette would just as soon have kept it under wraps until afterwards, but Luka and Lucille were both convinced their secret would get out on its own before then.

Marinette sighed. “I suppose.” She paused. “There was kind of something I wanted to talk to you about for that.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want it to sound weird.”

Luka huffed a chuckle. “Then don’t make it weird. Just say it, Marinette.”

“Okay.” Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want you to know I’m not going to wear my designs when we go out together.”

Luka blinked. “Okay.”

“Listen, I know that you know that I’m not after you for your fame,” she said earnestly. “You know that and I know that and Juleka and Rose know that, and whatever anybody else thinks isn’t important.”

“I’m with you so far.”

“But people are going to say it. Especially because of Adrien. They’re going to say I used him to get that internship and that I’m using you now to promote my business.”

“They probably will,” he agreed quietly. “But like you said, we all know it’s not true.”

“It isn’t, but it is,” Marinette shot back. “It’s not the reason why I want to be with you, but it is a side effect. People will pay attention to us when we’re out together.”

“They will. I don’t mind, Marinette. Your designs deserve all the attention they can get.”

“Well, I know it’s probably practical to think that way,” Marinette sighed, “but I just can’t. I don’t want those rumors to be even a little bit true. So, here’s what I’ve been thinking.”

“I’m listening.”

“I made a lot of friends while I was away, a lot of talented young designers who are amazing but who may not get a chance at exposure like this for years. I did a lot of trades. I’d rather wear something from one of them.”

“If that makes you happy, Marinette, I certainly don’t mind.”

Marinette chewed her lip. “You don’t think I’m being ridiculous?”

Luka shrugged, his face still against her neck, breathing in her perfume. “I don’t, but who cares if you are? It’s your body, your business, and your peace of mind. I’ll support any decision you want to make about those things.”

Marinette sighed, laying her head on his. “You’re so sweet, Luka.”

“I may not have been a great student but I did pass being a decent human being with flying colors.”

“I missed you so much today,” she murmured unexpectedly, sending a lightning thrill along his nerves. Her nails dragged lightly around his scalp and he muffled his moan in her neck.

“I missed you too.” He turned his face slightly and dragged his tongue lightly along her pulse, enjoying the way she gasped.

“I thought you just wanted to cuddle,” she teased, fingers sliding up and down his arms.

“I did. We did.” He nosed up her neck to press a kiss just under her jaw, and lowered his voice to something deep and warm. “I like cuddling.” Luka trailed soft, slow kisses along her jaw to her chin. “I like that we can talk about things together.” She moved to meet him as he kissed her mouth, softly and then deeper. “I like it when you hold me.” He kissed her again. “I like it when you touch my hair.” Luka rubbed his nose lightly along hers.“I just...like being close.” He kissed her again, trailing the fingers of his left hand along her cheek and down her neck, and Marinette arched into his touch. Her eyelids fluttered and then her blue eyes focused on him with all the warmth and want he could have wished for. “And I like when you look at me like that,” he whispered as her arms wound around his neck. Luka pressed close, sliding his hands up her back and wrapping her as tightly to him as he could. “Can I really have this?” he mumbled into her shoulder. “Are you really going to stay?”

“What was that?” she asked breathlessly. He raised his head and kissed her long and slow.

“Nothing, baby. Just...tell me you missed me again.”

He kept her much later than either of them intended, lost in soft touches and deep kisses and a burning want that was growing harder to deny. It was tempting to ask her to stay, but her clear exhaustion and his unsettled mood kept the question behind his teeth.

Luka went to bed alone.

***

With the movie premiere date/announcement all planned out, and they were probably on their last few days of privacy now, and Luka hated that they couldn’t spend more of those days together. He had meetings with his record label all day, which always left him a little annoyed. Luka knew he ought to be grateful for their focus on the bottom line, because it kept him bringing in a paycheck, the kind of paycheck he could barely conceive of when he first started in this business, but their general lack of artistic vision and integrity always grated on him. He glanced at the time and wondered if she’d be finished soon. She’d been working a lot of late nights as the deadline loomed ever closer, and he knew she was annoyed to be losing time for the movie premiere at all.

He should leave her alone, she was busy. She was working, like he was supposed to be working. It would be really, really lame to bother her just because he missed her.

Luka squeezed his phone in his hand.

She probably wouldn’t even answer.

He called anyway, sighing at his own neediness.

She picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Luka, what’s up?”

“Hey,” he grinned broadly. “Just had a few minutes and wanted to check in. Are you busy?”

“Swamped,” she sighed, and his heart sank. He could hear people and machines in the background and concluded she must be on the production floor. “There’s so many things to do and we’re starting to run short on time. Honestly, we might be here all night.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked, and sighed at the guilty pause. “Come on, Marinette, you know what’s going to happen if you don’t eat and hydrate. You’ll lose a lot of time if you pass out or break down.”

“I know, I know, I just—I didn’t plan for anything and I don’t have time—”

“How about if I bring you dinner?” Luka asked, perking up at the idea. “I’ve got some time before I have to get back to the studio and I’m not getting anything done here. I could bring in dinner for your whole team if you want.”

“Luka, that’s too much, you shouldn’t—I mean—well, I guess I could ask, but you have your own things to do and—”

“Marinette, I’ll buy dinner for the whole damn building if it means I get to see you for a few minutes,” he said without thinking, and then coughed, embarrassed. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. You want to send me an email with what you want? Or you can just tell me how many people you’ve got there and I’ll call Lu, I’m sure she knows somewhere that would work.”

“I hate to bother Lucille over something like this,” Marinette fretted.

“She gets paid to put up with me bugging her for stupid things, and I don’t do it often, it’ll be fine,” Luka promised. “Just tell me how many people and if there’s any restrictions and I’ll pick it up and bring it over myself. I’d love to see you work, if that’s allowed.”

“Mmmm, sort of? Normally you wouldn’t be allowed, but since this room is only working on my stuff and it’ll be after hours anyway, I can probably get you in. Let me know when you’ll be here and I’ll talk to security.”

“I’ll text you,” he promised, and hung up, grinning.

***

There she was. Like lightning on the water, a charge he felt tingling on his skin even from this distance, beautiful and dangerous and thrilling.

Luka made a mental note to write that down later.

The person she was speaking to spotted him and said something, and Marinette turned and lit up with a smile. She waved at him and signaled “one minute.” He raised one hand in acknowledgement and thanked the departing security guard who had escorted him in. Luka set the takeout bags carefully down on the floor at his feet, stuck his hands in his pockets, and waited, humming the bridge he’d been working on to himself.

Everyone in the room had clearly taken advantage of the fact that they were here after hours. Shoes, jackets, and ties were discarded, collars were loosened. Marinette herself was gorgeously disheveled, padding towards him her stockings with her blouse untucked from her skirt and her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head and tied with what looked like a piece of scrap fabric.

“Holy shit that’s Luka Couffaine,” a voice hissed to his left, and Luka glanced that way.

“Oh God, he heard me,” one of the young men breathed. The wall behind the young man’s worktable was adorned with a large poster of Luka in full stage gear and makeup, which is to say, looking nothing like he currently did except for the tattoos on his bare arms and the blue tips of his hair. It took a pretty devoted fan to recognize him out of costume. Luka smiled to himself and turned back to Marinette.

His smile widened into a grin as she walked up to him. “Hey heartbreaker,” he greeted. “Hungry?”

Her eyes travelled deliberately over him and heat crept up his neck. “Definitely.”

“Jaques,” the young man hissed, “Jaques, Luka freaking Couffaine is blushing at my boss and I can’t deal.”

Luka heard the sound of someone being smacked upside the head and bit his lip to keep the laughter in. “Interesting folks you have working here,” he said to Marinette as she rolled her eyes. “Think you could introduce me to my fan over there, or will he have a heart attack if I talk to him?”

“He might,” Marinette giggled, waving a couple of people over to take the food from him. “But he’ll be too excited to stay dead for long.”

“You could have warned him.”

She shrugged. “This is so much more entertaining. And to be honest, I kinda forgot.” Marinette made a face at him and he chuckled.

“I feel so appreciated,” he teased.

“I bet Francis would appreciate you,” she teased back.

“C’mon, introduce me before this gets weird,” he laughed, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Oh my God,” Francis gasped as they came his way.

“Luka, this is Francis,” Marinette said cheerfully. “He’s a big fan of your work.”

“Hey, Francis,” Luka gave his most friendly smile and offered his hand. “I’m Luka.” Francis kept one hand over his mouth. The other shook as he grasped Luka’s. Luka squeezed his hand lightly, reassuring, and used his smoothest, mildest voice as he said, “Nice to meet you.”

“Your music saved my life,” Francis whispered, and Luka’s expression softened from mild amusement to genuine concern as he covered their joined hands with his free one.

“I’m glad it helped you,” Luka said warmly. “I hope you’re in a better place now.”

“Yes. Yes, I am, but I...I’m serious, I wouldn’t have made it through that time in my life without you.” Francis flinched. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to make it weird, it just—I never expected to meet you this way and why can’t I stop talking—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Luka moved his hand to Francis’ shoulder. “I’m just a regular guy who likes to play music. Thank you for listening to it. I’m glad my music could touch you, and I’m thrilled that it could help. Thank you for telling me, that was really brave, and it honestly means a lot to me.”

“You, um…” Francis’ eyes flicked over his shoulder to Marinette, who had retreated to deal with some issue or other. “You and Marinette, are you…like, together?”

“Yeah, but…” Luka put a finger to his lips and winked. “Let’s keep that to ourselves for just a little bit longer, okay? I’d really appreciate it if that stayed off social media for a few more days.”

“Right, of course,” Francis said breathlessly, nodding a little too fast. “I got it.”

“Well, thanks for being a fan, Francis, and thanks for helping Marinette out. I know she appreciates your hard work, and I appreciate getting her back in one piece and mostly sane at the end of the day. Do me a favor and take care of her for me, okay?” Luka glanced at the poster behind Francis. “I can sign that, if you like.”

Francis eyes went huge. “Oh my God yes please. Uh, pen, I need—”

“It’s good,” Luka chuckled, reaching in his back pocket for the sharpie he kept there. “I hate disappointing people so I try to be prepared.” He signed the poster, choosing not to hear the frantically whispered conversation behind him that he was pretty sure was about his ass. Thankfully, Marinette was there with a plate of food when he turned around.

“Are you eating with us, Luka?” she asked.

“I was hoping to,” he smiled at her. “But I don’t want to interrupt your work, I know you’re busy. I can go if I’ll be a distraction.”

“You can stay for a while,” she smiled up at him. “Unless Francis sews his finger to the garment or something.”

Luka flinched. “Ew.”

“Sorry,” Marinette laughed at him. “Hazards of the trade. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Come on, I’ve got a work table over here that’s mostly clear, we can eat there.” He noticed the tension in her shoulders.

“How are things going?” he asked.

“I have faith that we’ll get there,” Marinette said with less conviction than she probably intended. “It’s only my entire reputation and future career on the line after all.” Her hand came up to grasp a pendant on a black silk cord that hung around her neck. When she let go, he saw it was the blue sea glass stone he’d given her, wrapped artistically in silver wire.

Luka had missed having the stone in his pocket since he’d given it to her, but looking at her now, wearing it and taking comfort from it, having turned it into something practical and beautiful, made giving it up totally worth it.

“You’ll make it,” Luka said with the confidence Marinette lacked. He caught the annoyed look she shot him as she fished out their food, and smiled. “I’m not patronizing,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You’ll make it. You might have to scale some things down, you might have to edit, but creativity and adaptability are your greatest strengths. Even if you do wind up having to change your original vision to make the deadline, you’ll come up with something fantastic. Maybe even better than what you planned.” He caught her hand and squeezed it before letting go. “There’s no shame in having to cut an idea and save it for later. I’ve done it, on songs that weren’t working or when I come up with a good line or riff that just doesn’t fit the melody. It’s a sign of maturity as an artist.”

“That’s true,” Marinette said thoughtfully as they began to eat. “I’m much better at editing than I used to be. That’s—“ she paused. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and suddenly she was across the room like a shot, flipping through a stapled printout and scribbling notes.”

Luka chuckled and continued eating. When Marinette returned he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t all there, so he stayed quiet other than quietly encouraging her to eat when her fork stopped moving. When she pushed her half-empty plate aside and stood up, there was purpose in her movements.

“Huddle up real quick, team, I want to make some changes.”

Luka watched her give orders to her team with both curiosity and admiration. Marinette wasn’t much older than anyone else in the room, clearly much younger than a couple of them, but she spoke with confidence and conviction. He’d seen her make motivational speeches before and she’d always been good at them, but that was class president good. This was take-the-fashion-world by storm good.

He had to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. She was stunning when she was in charge. He watched the faces around her go from worried to relieved to excited.

After she dismissed the team back to their work, Marinette did slow circles around the room, checking in, offering encouragement or correction, carrying things from table to table. She was competent, she was in control, and even stressed out of her mind and on a deadline she was kind . She reminded people with still-full plates at their elbows to eat, she corrected mistakes gently. When people had questions, she was confident in her answers, even when it took her some time to come up with them. The place hummed with slightly manic energy and he could feel it seeping into him.

I’m not going to get any sleep tonight, am I? he thought as his fingers began to lightly tap out a beat on the tabletop.

“Marinette,” Luka called softly as she passed him, and she turned. “Scratch paper?” She smiled and brought him paper and a pen. He hummed softly to himself as he made some notes, pen in one hand and fork in the other. The fork was quickly forgotten; several times in her rounds of the room Marinette nudged him to remind him to eat. Vaguely Luka made a mental note to talk to Lucille about setting up more collaborations. He was really thriving on just being near the energy of other creators. His head began to bob as he closed his eyes to listen to the bass line forming in his mind.

#quickspins #backlog #second chance #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlfics #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng

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albatris · 6 years ago

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WIP Tag!

thanks @cautiousgoose (@goose-scratch) for the tag!

I’m sorry this took so long, and that this got so long, this is the first tag I’ve done in like a century, I've been like..... moving house n stuff, I've been busy, kind of

anyway

I'm doing this for all the doors becaaaause. I'm lazy. yup

What is the working title of your book?

"all the doors are open"!

Where did the idea for the book come from?

honestly I don’t remember specifically, I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually plan to Go Anywhere with this plot, I just started messing round with it for fun then decided to keep rolling with it

but ok, yeah, serious answer, I liked the idea of an apocalypse story that’s not so much ABOUT the apocalypse, y’know, like.... there’s this premise of the story, which is basically..... “reality is coming apart at the seams and the universe is literally unravelling under our feet, we have no idea how long we’ve got and we’re all fucking terrified” but then just.......... well, what are you meant to DO about that, really

so then you’ve got just a plain old story about people being people, going about their lives as best they can, against this weirdass apocalyptic backdrop, which was just an idea I was super drawn to

and I wanted to explore the ways I could have this objectively horrifying world, and present a story that’s upbeat and hopeful and fun. or, like, a story that’s by definition about The Destruction And The End, but have almost every theme around ideas about creation and hope and new perspectives

that was a concept I was really keen to mess around with and explore c’:

What genre is your current work in progress?

hell if I know, I'm bad at genres lmao

most of my stuff falls into the realm of fantasy/sci-fi, and I think ATDAO is a little more sci-fi leaning than fantasy...... but yeah my science is absolute nonsense bullshit with no real world basis whatsoever

it's internally consistent in its nonsense bullshit though and that's what matters

guess you could call it some kinda YA coming of age sorta thing. idfk. in my brain I liken it to the same genre as "the rest of us just live here" by patrick ness. y'know. a people story that just so happens to be set against a fantastical background

Choose actors for your movie rendition.

oh good lord no, I can't do faceclaims, I'm so unbelievably picky, we would be here for a month

the only acceptable ATDAO movie renditions are either with an entirely new cast of characters or with every single character being played by brooms in various wigs

Give a one sentence synopsis of your book.

"maybe the real door was the friends we made along the way!!"

no that's definitely not it, fucking ignore me

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agent?

ehhh that's Future Logan Problems

I'd give traditional publishing a crack but in all honesty I'll probably just decide I'm too lazy to do either and I'll just fuckin post it online and be like "there have it it's free it's yours go!" because lmao

How long did it take you to write your first draft?

ohohohoho let's not open that can of worms

What other books could you compare your story to?

uhhhhh

well I already said vaguely "the rest of us just live here" by patrick ness in terms of genre, that’s probably the best I can come up with, in that it’s definitely a Story About People that just so happens to have this weird fantastical backdrop

and I've had people tell me in the past that my writing voice reminds them of douglas adams (generally only when I go full Phoenix Building Chronicles lmao. but that is, coincidentally, exactly when I have the most fun)

there's also a matter-of-factness with which people just sort of sigh and Deal with the objectively horrifying nonsense that's constantly happening around them as reality ever-so-slightly entirely unhinges itself, which is something that can I guess be likened to bits of WTNV??

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Who or what inspired you to write the book?

uhhhhhhhhh lots of people lots of places lots of things, but mostly like...... writing for me has always been one of the ways I process and explore the world, and..... I mean.... I sorta just write the sorts of stories I wish I’d had when I was younger, so in writing them I hope one day they’ll reach other people who need them. or want them. or whatever. aw that’s cheesy I’m gonna be quiet

What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?

bold of you to assume anything I've said so far has piqued the reader's interest

mkay there’s a lot I could mention here but I’ll take this opportunity to scream about something that is very important to me personally

so one of the main things for me is like....... I struggle so much to find stories with mentally ill characters that aren’t Capital A About mental illness. like. u know what I mean right. I know you know

mentally ill characters, they don’t really get to exist in fiction unless they serve a purpose or unless their mental illness is the entire point of the story, they don’t get to just go on a cool fuckin adventure because Fuck Yeah

like Tris deals with psychosis, he hears voices and has delusions, and Noa has what will eventually be diagnosed as borderline personality disorder, Shara and Kai and Alice have their own fuckery to deal with........... and like YEAH, the book’s discussions and depictions of mental illness aren’t ever something that’s watered down or played off as a joke, it’s one of the very few things I don’t poke fun at

but at its heart it’s still just a fuckin dumbass frolicking cross-dimensional sci-fi adventure. no nasty plot twists. no cheap gotchas. just a fuckin good time with a happy ending

anyway, it’s been a while since I’ve properly done a tag, honestly I have no idea who in writeblr likes to Be Tagged anymore and I definitely lost that list that was goin’ round........ also I feel like most of you have probably already done this one........ and ALSO it’s the middle of camp nano........ but I’m gonna tag some of my usual suspects and then some new faces, hello, feel free 2 ignore

@justaprettylittlesoulwriter @elliot-orion @christinewrites @itstheenglishkid @awolfthatwrites @breakeven2007 @spacebrick3 @chibi-shuuya aaaaand I lied I’m not tagging new faces that’s scary and I’m shy

#i mean........... tris and noa don't go on a cool fuckin adventure just because ''fuck yeah''#they do have like. actual motives and stuff #but #y'know #fuck yeah!#atdao #writeblr #tag games #funsies #what's this!!!! logan doing a tag!!!!!#shock horror #i'm going to bed #i see u guys tagging me in games or sending me asks and i appreciate it and hngnhngh i swear i'm getting to them k i promise #ily #<3 #also i'm gonna post some selfies in a minute. some tacky dress selfies. mmhmm #''maybe the real door was the friends we made along the way'' is...........#not technically *wrong*

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angry-green-girl · 3 years ago

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I'm new here and I don't know how to create connection between posts so I will just re blog it for part two 😂😅

Modern Au MDZS — The "Jin Ling On Suitcases" continuation

It's Jiang Chengs turn to spend time with he's nephew for the next week or two. He picks up Jin Ling from school. Jin Ling as always has mixed feelings bc he loves hes uncle but he knows Jiang Cheng is a busy and usually stressed and overworked man. He has his schedule, hes usually on a phone with his coworkers. He tries to find time for he's nephew, the only family that he has but he was never good at babysitting. A bit awkward, masking it with being strick as he's own mother was, imitating her behavior. Jin Long is used to that. He finds it quite funny, when he's uncle forgets himself, lost in the work life, and address to him like to his coworker, asking about school life like about a daily report in his company, giving comments and advice as if he was fixing problems in the industry. Jin Ling is used to that, thats just how he's JiuJiu is. Threatening that he will break hes legs for watching Teen Wolf instead of doing homework... But sometimes he watches with him, pretending he's doing some paperwork for he's company in the background. He never actually "break legs" or any other limbs. Jin Ling takes it as "their little thing". A bit scary for everyone else but not for him. He just rolls he's eyes every time he hears it, with no fear of actually loosing he's legs lol.

He sits at the front seat, next to Jiang Cheng, packing all his staff for next days to the car. It smells like lotus air freshener and cologne. It's super clean as always. Radio plays quietly latest news. Jiang Cheng finishes he's phone and greets Jin Ling formally. He drives from the parking lot. Jin Ling talks about he's day, giving the usual "report".

The way back home is long. Unfortunately, lights are always red, stopping them in a traffic jam. Comfortable silence between uncle and nephew takes over the car. Music plays quietly in the background. Jinag Cheng hums the rhythm under he's breath.

You're gonna grow and have a good life

I'm gonna do what I've got to do

Jin Ling looks at him. He knows he's uncle likes rock and some super old bangers. He's surprised he's uncle knows this one.

Rockabye baby, don't you cry

Somebody's got you

Jinag Cheng hums quietly while driving. It's so different from their usually singing/screaming Real Gone, Doom and Gloom or something... It's so calming and home.

He wonders if he's mother used to sing lullabys. He sees her in Jiang Chengs calm voice, hes deep eyes, little habbits and moves whenever her not stessed out. Whenever her calm, sparated from work and all the business, and has time to make a little break in he's rushing life. In how he makes tea or watches TV shows with him, little smile crossing hes face at moments he finds funny.

Everybody is scared of hes JiuJiu and Jin Ling completely understand why. But he's not. He sees he's uncle at stages nobody else sees, far from professional and scary Boss. They are each others only family after all.

As always — sorry for all the grammar mistakes and staff. Correct me in the comments

I need to do my math homework but all I can think about is mdzs modern au where Jin Ling is living basically on his suitcase while constantly switching between Jiang Chengs and Jin Guangyaos house. They both want to have rights to their nephew and spend time with him. Jin Ling spends few weeks here, few weeks there. He likes to be in Jins' house bc obviously they are rich and he has everything with a snap of his fingers but he also likes to be at Jiangs' where his mother used to live and eat Jiangs' family food, imagining his mother would make something similar for dinner. He knows from the stories she was great at cooking.

He hates when Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng start the arguments, especially the "Who do you like more" one. He can't decide which one of his uncles he likes more. They both have flaws, they both have good sides. Sometimes he feels so out of place as if he could live with both famielies but didn't belong to any of them actually.

Again, I'm not native english speaker but i hope you can understand my point.

#cql #the untamed #mdzs #ma dao zu shi #jin ling #jiang cheng #family #jiang cheng and jin ling blasting some old bangers in their car #can we go to McDonald's #no #then going to McDonald's anyway

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edream93 · 7 years ago

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hi. can you write a huma christmas prompt. Ursula is always watching Auradon's soap operas so one day Uma and Harry are sneaking in and catch a christmas episode and then they decide to have their own christmas so they join a lot of food and get presents to each other. I don't know if it snows on the Isle but they should have some fun on the snow too ❄️⛄🌨️

Anonymous said: yay you reopened the prompt asks!!! write something Christmas related about Huma pleaseeeeeeeee!! 🎄

Hi anons! Here’s the Christmas prompt you asked for. It’s a bit more platonic Sea Three (but there’s some Huma if you squint). I hope you still enjoy! (FYI, the kids are about 6 or 7 in this.)

Warnings: Some cursing.

youtube

Uma pouted. How was she supposed to know that the white powdery looking stuff that she had seen in one of her mother’s stupid Auradon soap operas (the one with the three sisters that Gil always said the youngest one looked just like her but older - Uma didn’t see the resemblance) wasn’t flour? It wasn’t like she had ever seen snow before. The Isle seemed to only have one weather: doom and gloom.

“Just look at this MESS!” her mother screamed, waving her hand at the dining part of the restaurant that was covered in a thick layer of flour. “Do you know how long it took to get all that flour, you little brat!?” Ursula hissed wrapping a tentacle around her young daughter’s arm and pulling her roughly towards her.

“It was supposed to be snow!” the little girl yelled back.

Ursula paused. “Snow?” she questioned, confused.

Uma, still trying to tug out of her mother’s grip nodded. “Yeah! Cause it’s Christmas! And all of your shows have snow during Christmas!”

The old sea witch’s face was expressionless before she burst out into loud cruel laughter, shoving the girl away from her harshly. Uma bit her lip in an attempt to not cry at the pain. (That would only make her mother angrier.)

“Oh girl! I knew you were stupid, but not this stupid!” Ursula laughed so hard tears were in her eyes. “Christmas! On the Isle? Oh you poor little idiotic angelfish of mine.”

“And what’s wrong with Christmas on the Isle?” Uma snapped back. “Those Auradon kids get to have it! Why can’t I?”

“Because no one loves you, you little brat” Uma hissed. “Now clean this shit up! I’m going out and I expect this to be all gone when I get back!”

Uma waited for the last of her mother’s tentacles to be out of sight and to hear the loud slamming of the back door before she looked towards the restaurant’s small stage.

“All clear,” she declared just before a boy with blonde hair was forcefully pushed from behind a slightly less moth eaten curtain, tripping over his feet and landing hard to the side of the stage.

“I’m okay,” he declared getting up as a dark haired boy hopped from behind the same curtain off the stage and in front of Uma.

“Yer ma’s a whore,” he muttered darkly as he glared at the spot Ursula had once been.

Uma frowned. “Do you even know what a whore is?” she asked.

Harry turned back to her, his dark look quickly disappearing, replaced by a cheeky grin. “No, but I think it means scary ‘cause I heard someone call Harriet that and she then knocked the lights out of ‘em!” he said enthusiastically, punching the air in an imitation of his older sister.

“My dad said my mom was a really big whore!” Gil tried to chimed in happily.

Rolling her eyes, not having the energy to explain to them what a whore actually was, Uma shoved past the boys and made her way to the kitchen. “I just better not hear either of you call me that,” she muttered before adding as an after thought. “And ya probably shouldn’t say it to Harriet either.” It only took a moment for Harry and Gil to follow her and take the brooms and mops she shoved into their hands.

Harry snorted. “What do I look like to ye? An idiot? I’m not trying to get killed by that harpy!”

Uma sighed but didn’t comment.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t bring Christmas here for you, Uma,” Gil sighed as they began to clean up their poor substitute at snow.

Uma shrugged, trying not to let her disappointment show. “It was a stupid idea anyway. We’re villains. We would have just gotten coal anyway,” she murmured as she began to sweep some of the flour outside. “But it would have been nice to have seen it snow.”

Harry and Gil shared a look, a brief and rare moment of being in sync as an idea began to form between them.

—

The next day was like any other day for Uma. She got up early, opened up shop, and was worked endlessly until the day was almost over.

It wasn’t that unusual a day except she hadn’t seen Harry or Gil once, an odd occurrence since the two always snuck in for food or to help out if the crowd got too busy.

Her mother had already retired to her room and Uma was just cleaning the last of the dishes when she heard the swinging doors up front open. She grabbed one of the kitchen knives, prepared to stab anyone in the shins who thought they could steal from the shop, when a hand gripped tightly to her wrist.

“Put that away, lass! Yer gonna poke me eye out!”

Uma relaxed at Harry’s voice, ready to tear him a new one for scaring her when she paused, utterly confused at the sight before her.

“What…what in the seven seas are you wearing?”

Harry looked down at himself, at one of his father’s old red coats that trailed behind him with the fluffiest pillow he could find tied underneath around his stomach. On his face was shaving cream that he had nicked from Lady Tremaine’s salon when her grandson hadn’t been looking, dripped down from his face and onto the floor. (He was so going to clean that up.)

“I’m that old fart Santa- oh! Ew! That’s disgusting!” he spat out as shaving cream got into his mouth. Uma laughed at his misfortune which made the boy pout. “Stop yer laughin’ or I’ll smudge ya with coal!”

Uma bit her lip, trying to withhold her laughter. “O-okay,” she managed to say though a giggle or two did slip through.

Harry frowned but he nonetheless pulled out the crudely wrapped package from the pocket of his jacket. “Here!” he shoved it into her hands.

Taking a moment to observe the spreading redness that she could see underneath the splotchy patches of shaving cream on the boy’s cheek, Uma went to a nearby table and placed the gift gently on it before beginning to unwrap it. Her eyes widened a bit, breath catching in her throat, as a beautifully crafted snow globe was revealed.

Inside was a beautifully sculpted ship with pearl white sails with a intricately carved seapony as its figurehead. Around the base of the globe was carved images of rising waves and starfishes. When Uma shook the globe, the ship looked like it was covered in snow, giving it an ethereal effect as little flakes of “snow” spun and danced around before softly floating back down.

“We can’t make it actually snow here but…Gil and I figured it was the next best thing,” Harry asked, not looking at her but instead fiddling with the too long sleeve of his father’s jacket.

“Where did you find this?” Uma asked, looking from her friend back down to the globe again, not able to help herself when she gave it another gentle shake, mesmerize at the small snow storm happening inside.

Harry grinned, inflating slight with pride. “Snuck it out under Jay’s dad nose when he wasn’t lookin’.”

“Jay will be mad.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he waved the comment off. He and Jay hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, mostly because the young thief wanted to hang out more with annoying Maleficent’s daughter. Besides, if Uma liked it, it would have been worth the strain on the already tense relationship between him and Jafar’s son.

Harry watched as Uma swirled the little trinket again, mesmerized.

“Do ye like it?”

Uma paused. “I didn’t get you or Gil anything.”

“Ye didn’t have to,” Harry shrugged.

Observing the way the boy shifted looking uncomfortable, the red on his cheeks already reaching his ears, Uma decided to take pity on him.

“I like it,” she nodded, handling it with care. After all, this was the first gift she had ever received.

Harry grinned, relief evident in his expression.

Uma smiled before a thought came to her. “But I do have one more question…Why is Gil wearing a sheet with a bow on it?”

“I’m the the Christmas Present Ghost!” the boy proclaimed proudly, not understanding why his two friends groaned exasperatedly. “Merry Christmas Uma!” he proclaimed, picking up the much smaller girl and spinning her around and around until she began to laugh, a rare innocent and carefree noise that wasn’t heard too often on the Isle by anyone.

As she was placed on her feet, a bit dizzy due to all the spinning, she grinned up at the two boys with genuine appreciation. “Merry Christmas.”

HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!!!

#edream93 answers #disney descendants #sea three #uma descendants #gil descendants #harry hook #descendants 2 #descendants fanfiction #edream93 fanfic #edream93 fanfiction #christmas fanfition #happy holidays #descendants fluff #sea three fluff #mcclain sisters #jingle bell rock

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ideadudes-blog1 · 4 years ago

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7 Steps To FINANCIAL FREEDOM & INDEPENDENCE For Millennials & Students!

Being young and starting out in life is a little scary. We have all been there. Myself that was a little while back. No it was not before the dinosaurs roamed the earth or when Adam and Eve were created. But, I am not a spring chicken. But, one thing that I did realize growing up is that time flies. So, you need to be prepared for the future. If you are not then it will bite you in the assets. So, where do you get started , when do you get started, these are the questions that need to be answered. In this article I will point out some of the things that you can do to get started the right way. You are the next generation and the pride of the future. Make us proud. Mindset Discontinue your fascination about the doom and gloom and start fascinated by the options, begin thinking about what you could create for yourself. Even though it can be only something really small, doing it given that as you do it you see the outcome you see how powerful and persons who you might be. Even have a fairly good think about your attitude on the subject of spending. My money mantra is handiest purchase what you love, value, use and appreciate. Building wealth has surely nothing to do with how a lot you earn however what you do with what you earn. Don't get me wrong I like a luxury purchase. Nevertheless, I do it inside a balanced process. I prioritize my economic objectives and my monetary successes earlier than I am going and reward with some extravagant high-priced purchase. Have a fiscal snapshot You have to comprehend where you stand financially proper now. So, open up your Excel spreadsheet and write down cutting-edge date and write down your whole belongings, all of your liabilities and the way much passive income you earn. Now, whilst you first begin doing this it would seem very small. 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So any credit card debt that you just might possess, any scholar debt that you just would have, any investment loans or mortgages. Write down these numbers and add all of them up. This will then enable you to create a net determine. This is the place you are taking the belongings and deduct the liabilities. It'll provide you with a internet wealth better and as I mentioned, ensure you set down trendy date. In the third column, I want you to write down how a lot passive earnings you earn. On the moment it probably zero, but that's something we're going to study to construct by means of gazing my videos and being subscribed to this channel. Now, examples of passive earnings you might earn it things like earning curiosity off bank bills you might only be $1 per thirty days that they earn in interest and that is okay considering the fact that I'm going to show you how to construct it. We're going to rather flip up the quantity for your passive income due to the fact that's the key foundation to actual financial independence and protection. Now, whenever something alterations on your trouble or even each month, go into that excel spreadsheet and replace it evaluation it. See what is working and notice what's growing. Possibly your organization is hanging more cash into your superannuation. Account might be you are paying off these credit card debts. Now, as I said review and replace this Excel spreadsheet on a general basis. It's a little bit like reducing weight or going on a health plan. Whilst you soar on the scale, you will discover exactly how much you weigh and that's manner that you would be able to set the targets as to how so much weight you want to truly free. Now, while you see that weight coming down. 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So say for illustration, you will have an intention to save lots of up thirty thousand greenbacks for a deposit for your first house. For your budget you set in a regular financial savings plan so that you are making it sincerely happen. Set monetary ambitions You need to have fiscal pursuits which might be brief, medium and long term. They must be distinctive. So you need to say to yourself. I need to construct up a passive revenue of $100,000 per yr or I want to buy an investment property worth $300,000. You must have a numerical small print in your fiscal goals and must be competent to articulate them. So in case you bump into me in the street and come to a decision to come back as much as say hello, which I would love.

I need to hear what your friendship goal is. I would like you to turn up and say good day Michael I read your article on Biz Owner Survival Guide, my economic goal is to get rid of my $10,000 credit card debt through January 2021. I need to hear exactly how so much and with the aid of what time limit because it makes you responsible. Places a lie on the stand and you understand that point is ticking so you'll pull your finger out and make matters occur. So that intention has got to have it in quantity and it has to have a cut-off date. On no account say in three months time or in six months' time because you are normally pushing that intention into the long run. Supply your self up a relatively strict closing date so that you just work towards it at all times. These short and medium-term targets can also be daily and month-to-month, quarterly and with the aid of yearly and annually. Make certain that they're all in line with every different. So that you your whole short-time period targets are positively aligned to the fulfillment of the massive photograph intention. I love that announcing we perpetually overestimate what we can do in sooner or later, however we underestimate what we can acquire in a single yr. Through breaking one gigantic intention into little chunk-sized mini manageable and viable pursuits just like the ideas of a thousand dollar mission. That is how we get stuff performed. That is how we develop. That is how we succeed. Coach yourself Ensure you're reading books and listening to podcasts on Success Stories. One of the first books that you should read is "Think and Grow Rich". It was written in the 1920's but all of the Billionaires have read it. There are so many other books that you can read by well known authors. Get your head out of the TV and the computer. This is extremely most important. You have to be feeding your brains with you fully grasp what cash is. How cash work, the right way to use money, the best way to spend money, find out how to invest money and find out how to grow cash. Read some of my other articles on my blog. They have tips and tricks about finance and business. We share pointers and tricks and each week I speak about books that I am studying. I share with you other key features about these books. It's an incredibly connected and powerful crew where we're all helping each and every other acquire our financial objectives due to the fact we're making each different accountable. Do it Stop talking about it and just do it. You can plan all day but until you actually do it, nothing get's done. Don't be afraid of failing. Failing is all about learning. You may not want to hear it but the most successful people failed before they accomplished anything. Take Abraham Lincoln, he failed every time that he ran for office except the President of the United States. Do you use a light bulb or a lamp? Of course you do. Do you know that Thomas Edison failed 10,000 times before succeeding. I am glad that he did not give up or we would not have lights. What about the Wright Brothers, do you think they succeeded on the first time with inventing flight? No way. Don't take it from me. Do you research ,but don't just read about it. Do it. Nike has the famous saying "Just Do it". Well start listening. That is how I get forward financially. So discontinue the entire chatter on your mind speaking to your family your acquaintances about your goals and your passions. That used to be satisfactory however tell them what you might be truly doing rather than what you are going to do. Make silence be your success. Simply get out and start doing it and as you do it you are going to inspire different persons to keep doing it as well. So ensure you keep people up to date on what you have been doing considering it's significantly strong and magical.

Start Investing Of direction, it's principal to save and store up for these big monetary ambitions, like buying your home paying, off your debt those don't seem to be really fundamental, however once you've gotten achieved that start investing start constructing lengthy-time period passive income streams. There are different ways that you can start investing. One of the principles that you should learn is the principle of 72. Divide the interest rate into 72 and this will give you how many years your money will double. Take if you are 22 years old. If you were to take $25 and invest it each month for 10 years how much would you have? You would have $3000 right? Wrong you would have a lot more. Depending on the interest rate that you have will determine how much you would earn. Can you put aside $25? Sure you can, just give up a meal at McDonalds or a movie once a month. Let's figure how much you would have in the account. Say, hypothetically you had found an account that paid 6% interest (money market account). You take 72 divide it by 6 and that is 12. So, your money will double in 12 years. Let's make this interesting. Say, you were able to earn an additional $1000 a month above your regular job. Take that money and invest it. At the end of the year you would have $12,000 saved. Now let that set for 10 years. Guess what you would have. $24,146 would be in your account. Let that sit for 30 years. You would have $72,585 in the bank. If you have $12,000 you could probably get 12%. I can show you investments that have paid over that. You would have $428,919.22. Say, we put away $120,000 in 10 years. Let that set for 30 years. Who wants to be a millionaire. How about $4,389,192. It is not about how much you invest but consistency. You have the ability to start now , while you are young. The question is where can I find the extra income. Well you could go and borrow money from a bank. That is not likely to happen. You could go back to school and get another degree. Well that will cost you the $120,000 that you wanted to invest. You could buy a franchise but then you will be working 80 or more to make that $120,000 plus have employees and more liability. Another option is to find a part-time gig and work to make that $1,000 a month for investment. I have done that as I was growing up but did not take all of my advice. I found a company that I could work 10 hours a week and make an additional $1,000 or more per month. If you are interested in learning how, then click on this link Extra Income. Do you research and you will find something that meets your passion. But just Do It. The bottom line is when it comes to investing. Be smart. Do you research. Find advisors that can help you make educated decisions. Build an income that is residual and also passive. Enjoy your younger years but don't forget about the future. When you think. Do I need another car? Do I really need that new pair of sneakers ($200)? How much will I loose if I buy it now? Just think financially smart. Don't do what our generation has done and buy another house or car. Put money away so that you can retire early and enjoy the rest of your life. The only think that we cannot get back in life is time. So, don't waste it. By the way, ask for help. Your parents have already done this before, so they know what is coming. Think before you act. You can always reach out to me for answers to your questions. I may not know all of the answers but I can lead you to those that do. Henry Ford was told the one time "You do not know anything about motors". He said "I don't need to that is what I pay these people to know." You need to surround yourself with a mastermind. People that you know and trust that know more than you do. That is the last point of success. Read the full article

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thecrookedgavel · 5 years ago

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The Black Box Readings - Ep 2 Transcript

Here’s the transcript for episode 2 of The Black Box Readings, the podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down.

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An: Hey, all! And welcome back to The Black Box Readings, the podcast where I read to you the backup of queer blogs that have gone down! I’m your host, An Capuano. I want to start off by thanking you for coming back for episode 2. It means a great deal to me. Last time we were introduced to Emmy and started getting into her story. But also, we got into some personal anecdotes from me… Some very personal anecdotes, actually. So a little peek behind the curtain, I’m recording this before the release of episode 1, but I showed an unmastered version to some of my friends and they all thought my little stories really added something to the episode. Which is good, because I felt really empowered by it, even if I didn’t really plan on sharing so much about me.

If you haven’t heard episode 1 yet, I would really recommend taking the time to do so before continuing, but here’s a brief summary of what was covered:

Let’s see, we met our hero Emmy, and we learned that she’s a visual artist, and learned a bit about her being bi-polar and deaf. We also saw some hints of her being a trans lesbian. We come back into the swing of things with a frequently asked questions post as a response to the messages she received after her last post, titled:

“(Unfortunately) FAQ

Thank you for your attempts at cheering me up. I appreciate it, even though some things that were said were not helpful at all. Rather than replying to each of you individually, I decided to make a FAQ. Let’s get into them, shall we?

-You’re deaf? Why don’t you wear hearing aids?

Sorry, it’s not that simple. With the amount of deaf I am, I still can’t understand speech, even with hearing aids. So they’re basically pointless.

-Why don’t you get cochlear implants? Isn’t that the cure for being deaf?

There’s no easy fix for being deaf. Even with cochlear implants, you “hear” in a totally different way, and it’s taxing and torture from what I hear. Plus, my dad says we can’t afford them. I don’t know if I would want to have them if we could tbh. It all seems pretty scary if you ask me.

-Do you have a deaf accent when you talk? I know what you mean, but please don’t call it that. I’m not from the country of “Deaf”, so I wouldn’t call it an accent. But yeah, I talk funny, if that’s what you’re asking

-Are you able to lip read?

Yeah, I can. I’m ok at it, but I can really only follow one on one conversations. Any more than that, and I get lost easily. I understand the most when someone articulates and talks slowly for me.

-Wow, you’re really brave! I would kill myself if I couldn’t listen to music.

Gee, thanks. I’m glad you think my life isn’t worth living. There’s nothing brave about it, I just do what I can, and try not to beat myself up too badly.

-Why not take medication for being bi-polar?

Honestly, it’s complicated. Being on tumblr is what made me realize that I’m bi-polar, not a doctor or anything. So there’s no one I can get meds from. Legally, at least, lol. My dad refuses to accept what I’m going through is a mental illness, he just thinks that I have behavioral problems. That I’m just doing all this to spite him or something. So I’m sort of stuck without meds for the time being. “

She can be very sassy, can’t she? There’s a bit of cleverness to her responses. No swearing or name calling, those things are just implied. It’s nice that she calls out the ableist rhetoric that disabled people are better off dead. It was heartwarming to see, when I originally read this post, that she does believe she has value as a person, even if it is sort of buried at the moment under the doom and gloom of her previous post.

She also talks about how her Dad can’t pay, or maybe even won’t pay for cochlear implants, and refuses to get her psychiatric medication. I’m not the biggest fan of her Dad, to be honest, and why will become clearer as we progress through Emmy’s blog. In fact, our next post is about an interaction between the two of them.

“Got mad at my Dad today

God, I’m so PISSED OFF, you don’t even know. My Dad is being his usual tyrannical self again. He never lets me do anything! Ok, so I just wanted to go to the corner store and pick up a few things we were missing around the house, nothing major, right? I wanted to be helpful, you know? But as I walk out the door, he grabs my shoulder and pulls me back into the house. He YELLS at me, even though he KNOWS I can’t understand him when he does that. After a while of telling him to stop yelling, he finally starts talking slowly for me. He told me that it’s not safe for me to leave the house on my own. That I might get hurt, kidnapped, or worse. I told him that I’d be fine, and that he needs to stop being so controlling all the time. Then he started quoting the Bible at me, I hate it when he does that. Something about the 10 commandments and how I’m supposed to honor him, idk. I know I’m supposed to believe it all, being I’m the son of a pastor, and all that. But I’m seriously an atheist, ok? I just don’t believe in God, fate, or any of it. Anyway, I hate to admit it, but he’s probably right. Not being able to hear a car coming does scare me a lot. Thanks for reading, rant over. “

This is one of many rants that made their way onto Emmy’s blog. I think she was able to use it to feel better about the negative things in her life. You can see at the end that she’s much calmer than she was at the beginning of the post, even going so far as to actually agree with her Dad. Though I get not wanting your child to get hurt, I don’t think he should have pulled her back into the house physically like that. And yelling on top of that? It all rubs me the wrong way. Though they’re not the reasons I truly dislike him. Unfortunately, those will come by in full force later on.

Oh, I realize I haven’t given an anecdote yet, sorry about that. Let’s see… umm… I guess I can really relate with the struggle of wanting to be independent. I’ve been really sick for more than 10 years now, and we had a lot of trouble getting a diagnosis. It’s looking like it’s all due to a concussion I had in my teens. I’m getting treated now, and things are looking up, actually! There’s a lot of hope with me.

But before that, I actually had the opposite dynamic as Emmy. My parents would really push me to be independent, but I had sort of accepted where I was with my level of dependency. I couldn’t do things like exercise, laundry, or even make my own food, even on my best days, without feeling absolutely terrible afterwards. Certain movements would basically knock me out for the rest of the day. This lead to terrible sleep cycles, and my parents would get really upset with me for not appearing “normal.” I think it looked to them like I wasn’t making an effort, when in truth, I wasn’t normal and I was doing exactly what I could every day. It sort of came to a boiling point with them not understanding, and I sort of had to move out and get my own place to stop it from getting truly awful, honestly. It was hard, for a lot of reasons, including money reasons, but that’s a story for another time, I think.

But back to Emmy herself, I guess we really haven’t talked about her religious views yet. She went into a bit of detail in an earlier post, but in the end, I decided to omit it from the podcast. Mostly because the core of it is present here. She doesn’t believe in God or predeterminism, and she has a real disdain for The Bible. It’s probably from oversaturation, to be honest? Like, grow up with a super religious parent, and you’re bound to want to rebel as a teen. Though I find it kind of funny that she says she doesn’t believe in fate, it’s not strictly a religious concept, and bit of a spoiler, but she ends up changing her mind on that front later on.

Next up is a post where Emmy talks about her aspirations and future goals. She wants to be a full time artist, and take the steps necessary to get there. She wants something more out of life, which is pretty natural for a teen. It’s why the “princess wanting more” story is told time and time again. Anyways, the post is titled:

“I Want To Do Art

I’ve been thinking a lot about the future recently, and I’ve been feeling pretty bored just sitting around doing whatever lately. I want to work for a living, but I know I can’t really do that without leaving the house. I want to be an artist. Like an animator or an illustrator. Something like that. It’s something I’m perfectly capable of doing, even if I can’t hear. I know my art needs work before I can make a job out of it, but I think that’s what I want out of life.

I passed high school last year, even if I was homeschooled, it still counts! I don’t know what kind of art school would take me, and I understand that I’m disabled, but my Dad won’t even let me look for an art school. He just won’t fucking listen to me! He thinks I’m just going to sit at home and do nothing for the rest of my life, like some sort of fucking pet! I’m so sick of him! He’s so goddamn controlling and I fucking hate him for it! I don’t know what to live for if I can’t be an artist, tbh…”

Honestly, this is an upsetting post to me, for a number of reasons. It sort of gives me a flashback to high school, which never sounds good, but bear with me. I was told by someone I really looked up to, my acting teacher, that I’d never make it as an actor because of my hearing loss. He encouraged me that I could still work in theater, like being a stage manager, but the damage was kind of done. I always thought that he believed in me, he would give me opportunities like assistant director on several projects. I got a good amount of experience working with him. Maybe he believed I was better suited to being a director, which is something I have been doing, directing my own projects, like The Crooked Gavel. But I also have been voice acting, which is acting, right? Actually, talking through this has made me realize that he would be proud of me. I think he would be happy to have been proven wrong. I actually feel a lot better now. Interesting.

Anyways, where were we? *light chuckle* Right, so I think Emmy has the right to resent her Dad in this case. It sounds like he’s not trying to meet her halfway, not even trying to look into an art school for the disabled. To me, it seems like he just doesn’t want to let go of the idea of Emmy as his child. She’s growing up, and he’s kind of refusing to see it. There’s also the aspect that he might be embarrassed of her, which… *sigh* more on that later.

---

Moving on, here’s another post accompanied by a piece of art. It’s… well it’s part of the reason why her previous post upsets me. Because I remember this post along side of it. If I had a copy of the picture, I’d probably have to warn you first. It was really dark. So, onto the post, titled:

“Here’s how I feel

I feel so trapped and small”

*Sigh* And I’ll try my best to give you a description from memory. I stared at it for a long time, I recall. I remember a figure wrapped in chains. The art style had a very dream-like quality to it, the colours all dark and texture sort of… messy? *Sigh* Anyway, the person in chains had tears streaming from her eyes, and no mouth. The chains lead upwards into puppet strings to those marionette-style crosses. It was good art, but knowing who was behind it, it really scared me. Especially since she hinted in her previous post that she might not see anything to live for. She felt so trapped and like she didn’t have a voice. So I thought it over, and I decided to message her words of encouragement. This was our first interaction.

I told her that I loved looking at her art, and that it brought me a lot of joy when she came up on my dashboard. That I was half deaf, and although I couldn’t get the full picture, I got some of her struggle. I encouraged her that her art was already good enough for commissions without art school.

I’m sure she got a lot of messages like mine, because she never responded directly. Instead, she posted this message on her blog the next day.

“Got a lot of messages

A ton of people messaged me to give me words of encouragement after my post yesterday. I’m sorry I worried everyone, I just needed an outlet to express myself, you know? But people also messaged me to tell me that I’m good enough already to do commissions without art school. I don’t think you’re right, but I’ll think about setting something up. My Dad probably won’t let me make a paypal, but maybe you can pay me in Steam games or something, idk?”

A little later, she reblogged the post and said: “Everyone sending me messages and words of encouragement, thank you! It really means a lot”

I was really happy that I reached out to her, and due to what she posted, It felt more or less like she was thanking me directly. By this point, I was invested in her struggle, and I made sure I’d always message her again if she needed me to.

Alright, we’ve made it to the last post of the episode. It’s kind of exciting, because it’s the mark of a really good thing happening in Emmy’s life. It’s well deserved, and I remember being very happy for her whenever a post of this type came up. I don’t want to spoil it, but I guess the title kind of does that for me, *chuckle* It’s titled:

“I Think I Met Someone

I was playing a lot of Overwatch today, what else is new? LOL. It was the first comp game of the day, and we got Anubis. So I instalocked Mercy like I always do. Anyway, me and the Dva player, her name was EmeraldSkies, were wrecking face together. It was pretty great, actually! Obviously I wasn’t in voice chat, as that would be a whole lot of useless. People usually get mad at me for it, and try and force me to join, but she was chill about it. After the game ended (in a win for us, of course) I got a friend request from her, so I accepted. We ended up chatting for a bit, and then we ended up duoing for a while. I really liked playing with her, and she didn’t pressure me at all to join chat, even if my excuse for why I couldn’t was half assed.

I had to go eat lunch after a while, I gave her my discord and she actually accepted! After I got back online, we talked for a bit, and it was really fun! Idk, she’s just so upbeat and seems so deep. Plus she’s totally not at all judgemental. I really really like her already, is that weird?”

See, I told you it would be exciting! I’m personally a big fan of instant connections. *Sigh* I’ve had a few really intense ones in my life, and they’re always something else. I choose to think of this interaction between her and EmeraldSkies as one of those instant connections, rather than Emmy jumping the gun about developing feelings. There’s just so many people in Overwatch at any given time that running into any given person is pretty rare. She doesn’t talk about it yet, but this may be the point where she starts to question whether or not she believes in fate. Though, I’m sure that’ll be something we talk about later on.

Thank you for listening to this episode of The Black Box Readings! Again, I have no idea what sort of reception the first episode received, since I’m recording this before it releases. I tried to match the energy of the first episode today, and I hope my personal rants mix well with the readings. Follow me on Twitter at TheCrookedGavel to stay up to date on this and other queer podcasts. Feel free to contact me there as well. This is An Capuano, signing off!

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thyroidandroid-blog · 8 years ago

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How to treat someone with cancer so they don't feel like the pink elephant with two heads in the room

When you have cancer, the last thing you need is people around you denying it. And some will. I get that they’re in shock but what’s worse than having cancer (besides for nothing)? People who claim that the doctors are wrong, the biopsy was wrong, it’s not cancer it’s just an infection…. o.m.g.

My family was (and still is) in denial about my thyroid cancer. Recently, I burst into tears about how shocking it is to think I’ve had cancer at such a young age, and one family member said “But the doctor didn’t say the word ‘cancer’.”

What???!!!!!! YOU WERE THERE WITH ME!

I get that people want to make you feel everything is okay but nothing gets on my tits more than someone trying so hard to pretend everything is fine and nothing bad happened, move-along-nothing-to-see-here. It’s infuriating! I didn’t want cancer and I’m not sobbing every minute, feeling sorry for myself, but don’t take the experience away from me. That makes it worse. I know I’m not defined by the cancer, but the experience of it brings a lot of emotion with it. Duh. By saying I never had it, you’re saying that I don’t have a right to feel what I do. That’s fucked up.

Then, a different family member heard about the symptoms I had when I wasn’t on any thyroid meds (more on that later), and said, “I have the same things and I have a thyroid! They should just take mine out as well!”

Yeah, really sympathetic. Way to go. Want the cancer too? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Because I guarantee if you did have it, you’d be crying all the time about how shitty it is to be diagnosed with cancer and how horrible it is to feel like your joints are stiff and your whole body is tensing up. You’d bite my head off if I wrote off your feelings then.

Phew, sorry for that rant.

I’m going somewhere with this, dear reader. And it’s here: cancer makes you see what people can really be like. I had some denial from people, as I’ve shared with you, but then on the other side of the spectrum I also had a friend who acted as though I were dying. His messages to me were filled with doom and gloom. I felt like he’d already written me off as dead before I’d been given a chance! Creepy. The best was when he suggested that my treatment plan (surgery, followed - perhaps - by radioactive iodine, yes more on that later too) was too good to be true. Um. OK. First of all, how can that be good???? I think he was expecting more drama, fireworks, maybe some lynching. It was like pitching a story to a movie producer and him telling me it wasn’t “out there” enough so he didn’t call me back. Although this friend stuck around a bit, he went awol during my treatment and now has gone back to our normal interactions pre-cancer. Yeah, just wipe it out as though it never happened. The scar on my neck? Don’t worry; we can just pretend I’m moonlighting as a pirate.

I’m not saying I want people to ask about my thyroid all the time, of course, but just to respect and try to understand - no, they can never understand, but just try to listen. FFS! Be a decent human being! Do you go to someone who’s had a car accident and tell them it didn’t happen or that they’re dying? No! So? Be normal with people who have cancer.

But it’s not just loved ones who do this.

It’s scary how the word “cancer” can even make medical professionals weird around you. I swear, there’s such a social stigma when it comes to cancer. I remember a woman working in the hospital where I’d tried to get authorisation from my medical aid for the op looked at me with shock when I told her I had thyroid cancer. Her face bore the same expression as if I’d called her a bitch. Then, another doctor’s receptionist had given me a tip for what to say to the medical aid and when she mentioned my cancer, she whispered the word like she was afraid other people in the waiting room would be able to catch it. SMH.

Can everyone stop doing shit like this? Can people just say the word “cancer”? It isn’t going to make it a greater epidemic if you speak about it. You’re not going to catch it. You’re not going to protect yourself from getting it, either. But you will make the person who’s going through it feel like a normal human being instead of a delusional alien.

#cancer #thyroid treatment #thyroid cancer #respect

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dricaswrites · 8 years ago

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Game of the Year 2016: Has There Ever Been a Better Time to Play Video Games? The Answer May Surprise You!

This article has also been posted to my blog on the website Giant Bomb. You can read it there as well if you’d like.

Hey, internet. You might remember me from such hit gaming crit pieces like the game of the year list I wrote last year, or the 0 other things I wrote about games because I’m a lazy idiot and I didn’t have the time or energy to write anything else in the time from then till now. Woops. I meant to write more, I swear.

Anyways, a lot of bad, scary shit happened this year and I’m sure if you possess both a heartbeat and the ability to understand communication about the outside world you know that already, so attempting to address any of that in a silly video game ranking list seems like a bad idea. But if we were to judge 2016 purely by how good its video games were (which, as we all know, is the only metric that matters), I’d say 2016 was a pretty good year.

So good, in fact, that I kind of feel bad that I either didn’t even get the chance to play certain games, or that I wasn’t as into certain other games that others seemed to love. Sorry, DOOM, I just don’t love you the way everyone else does. I appreciate your tongue-in-cheek tone, fast-paced action, and the mere fact that a critically acclaimed Doom game exists in 2016, but you just didn’t click for me. Sorry Civilization VI and Dark Souls III, you both surprised me that I actually liked you, given that I didn’t care for Civilization V or any of the other Souls games, but you’re both unfortunate victims to me just plain liking other games better than you. And finally, sorry to Planet Coaster, Thumper, Titanfall 2, Brigador, Watch Dogs 2, Darkest Dungeon and probably a few more I’m forgetting. I just didn’t have the time and/or money to get to play much of any of you. I probably would have liked at least a few of you if time and money weren’t obstacles.

But enough doom and gloom and apologia. It’s time to get to the games I enjoyed the hell out of in 2016.

11. Death Road to Canada

Adding Death Road to Canada to this list feels a bit weird to me. Not because I don’t enjoy it – I do, quite a bit, actually. It’s just that despite how much I enjoy my time playing it, it’s a hard game for me to recommend.

For those of you that don’t know what the game is, the premise is as follows: After a zombie apocalypse destroyed most nations on Earth, only Canada exists as a last bastion of uninterrupted civilized life. You play as a group of up to four either custom made, randomly generated, or rare special event survivors as you make your increasingly difficult trip through generic American towns seeking shelter in Canada. Throughout your trip, you’ll fight off zombies, gather supplies, build your survival skills up, and try to have your group of survivors not kill or double cross each other. It’s essentially Oregon Trail but with zombies (and way better than the other game that tried to do the same thing).

Despite the premise, the game is pretty goofy, with jaunty 8-bit rockabilly tracks and humorous dialog and events littering the death road. Which is actually one of the first reasons I might not recommend it for everyone, actually. The comedic writing hits more than it misses, but when it misses, boy does it miss. Between its actually funny original writing there’s the occasional joke that’s referential for the sake of being referential, as well as enough jokes about Canadian stereotypes that it’s actually occasionally grating.

The combat in it could also be better. It’s essentially one button to attack, with your character’s effectiveness with their weapon of choice (as well as their stamina and ability to repeatedly use it, if it’s a melee weapon) being based on said character’s stats. It works, but it might be a bit too shallow for some.

But despite that, I still really, really enjoyed most of the time I spent playing this game this year. The game’s RPG mechanics are actually surprisingly well done, with much of your characters’ stats being initially hidden until it actually comes time for them to use them. The random events that happen between resource gathering missions are usually pretty funnily written and occasionally oddly humanizing in their pettiness, involving things like arguments over who let a nasty fart rip in the car, or what song to play on the radio. Sometimes, some of your characters will even be bummed out if you do something good like help other survivors with no reward if they’re assholes. It’s things like that that give the game its real charm and appeal to me, and what gets me invested in making sure my group of survivors makes their way to Canada.

I’ve already written way more than I expected to about this game, so I’ll close by saying that despite the relatively low amount of songs in the game’s soundtrack leading it to be a bit repetitive, what’s in there is pretty stellar. This one in particular is my favorite.

10. Superhot

Superhot is probably one of the most stylish and cohesive games I’ve ever played. It’s very short, but only because it doesn’t need to be any longer. It busts down your door, delivers a gut punch of stylized hyperviolence, then puts a shotgun under your chin and blows your head off with its unexpectedly off-the-wall narrative, leaving you shattered in pieces by the time it’s done like the many red, featureless enemies featured throughout the game.

In other words, Superhot is the most innovative shooter I’ve played in years.

9. Dragon Ball Xenoverse 2

For me, Dragon Ball Xenoverse 2 is the video game equivalent of comfort food. I’ve already stated in my list last year for the previous installment in this game series how I have a kind of nostalgia for Dragon Ball Z, fueled by how often I watched it with my brother when we were kids. Playing Dragon Ball Xenoverse 2 takes me back to the show’s overly dramatic storylines and over the top battles that are endearingly cheesy to watch as an adult.

But this sequel has quite a bit more going for it than pure nostalgia factor. The mission structure feels much more smartly designed than its predecessor. I’ve also felt like there’s just overall more to do in this sequel than I did with the last game. I’m not sure if there’s actually more side quests or if the game has just guided me through all it has to offer better than the last one did, but the end result is the same.

Sure, the combat is still pretty button mashy, but that almost feels appropriate to the source material. Dragon Ball Xenoverse 2 isn’t the deepest fighting game ever (and probably not even a fighting game at all but I don’t give a shit about that argument at all), and I don’t know if someone who doesn’t have at least a bit of reverence for the Dragon Ball universe would enjoy playing it, but none of that matters to me. It makes me feel all warm and happy inside when I play it and I love it for that.

8. Pokémon Moon

Despite considering myself a fan of the Pokémon franchise, I haven’t played most of the Pokémon games. My first was Pokémon Red/Blue when I was a kid. Being a certified 90’s Baby™, I was the perfect age to fall in love with both that game and the cartoon that spawned from it.

After I stopped watching the show or caring about the first game, I lapsed on playing any Pokémon games all the way until Pokémon X/Y came out a few years ago. While I enjoyed that game for what it was, in a lot of ways it felt like it was clinging onto to a few old design decisions, either out of complacency or some misguided notion of what a game in the series should be. I kind of checked out on playing it before I beat it, likely because of how clunky it could be at times.

With Pokémon Sun/Moon, it feels like Game Freak has learned this lesson and made the game feel a lot more like a modern video game, at least for the most part. There’s still a few weird clunky bits and questionable design decisions here and there (I’m looking straight at you, theoretically infinite calling-for-help mechanic), but overall, it’s much more pleasant to both navigate and play. For example, once you battle an individual Pokémon at least one time, the next time you battle the same type of Pokémon, the game will tell you which of your moves will be super effective, effective, or not effective. Quality of life improvements like that have gone a long way in improving my experience with the game.

The game’s fake Hawaii setting of Alola is also a really pleasant place to be. Everything about it from the music to the palm trees and tropical clothing make the game just feel chill, man. It’s an inviting world that was a joy to visit every time I launched the game this year.

Also Team Litten 4 lyfe

7. Stellaris

I’ve been a huge fan of the Paradox style of grand strategy games ever since Crusader Kings II stole many hours of my life a few years ago. Since then, I’ve spent countless more hours in Paradox’s other offerings, such as Victoria II and Europa Universalis IV. But despite how much I enjoyed their more historically-oriented offerings, I always felt like they could apply this formula to more fantastical settings.

So needless to say, when Stellaris was announced, I was super excited for it. So much so that it almost feels like a bit of a disappointment that it’s not higher (lower? How do lists work) on my list. A relatively shaky launch marred with an almost nonexistent midgame and a few technical issues soured me a bit on the game initially.

That being said, after a few post-release patches addressing this and a few other balancing issues, the game feels like it’s most of the way to where it should be. The political ethos system you can set for your race at the start of the game is the perfect springboard for thinking about how you want to roleplay your empire, which has been the most enjoyable part of the game for me. It’s easy to get lost for hours playing the game and tackling any issues that come your way how you think your empire would handle them, not necessarily how you would personally handle them.

I still wish the game had the political and economic complexity of Victoria II and the depth of character of Crusader Kings II, but nonetheless Stellaris has been another Paradox grand strategy title worthy of the hours it’s sucked from my life.

6. My Summer Car

So, I know what you’re probably thinking seeing this game on my list. This has gotta be a joke, right? Nobody would enjoy this clunky, bizarre mess of a game enough to have it on their game of the year list, right?

Believe me, I felt similarly when I first started playing My Summer Car. The premise and all the pre-release trailers almost made it feel like a joke game, like your Surgeon Simulators or your Goat Simulators. But at some point during my time with My Summer Car, it stopped being a joke for me.

At least not entirely. It’s still a game with a dry, distinctly Finnish sense of humor, but the crude humor almost belies the game’s mechanical depth. When you’re putting your car together, you literally have to put your car together, piece by piece, bolt by bolt. It’s strangely therapeutic to put your digital hoopty together. There’s a real sense of accomplishment once you finish your build and fire your car up for the first time.

What’s great is the fact that your car will always kind of be a piece of shit in My Summer Car. When I first started my car up after my initial build, the car kept making a horrifying grinding sound. Also it was eating through brake fluid like nobody’s business. It felt like I was really struggling to put a piece of shit old car into a semi-drivable state.

It’s an extremely janky game for sure, but its intricate car building mechanics punctuated with bizarre Finnish pop songs and copious amounts of drinking make My Summer Car legitimately one of the most unique video games I’ve ever played. I can’t wait to see it come out of early access.

5. Motorsport Manager

In a lot of ways, Motorsport Manager is the game I’ve wanted to make for years. Ever since I got into F1 thanks to Giant Bomb’s Alt+F1 podcast, I dreamed of a modern F1 management game that had Crusader Kings II-like traits for all the characters in the game. To be fair, there have definitely been well-received F1 management games made in the past, but Motorsport Manager is a great, modern take on the idea.

A deep set of skills and traits make a lot of the drivers that populate your game’s race world feel unique. If your driver is a bit of a primadonna, they could refuse any orders you attempt to give to them, as they want all the glory for themselves. Drivers can fall in and out of love with each other, which affects their relationships with each other as well as their performance.

It’s not just a spreadsheet game, either. Outside of the more menu driven ways you micromanage the more minute details of your team, you also manage your race strategy on the fly during the actual race. You decide when your drivers pit, as well as when they push their cars to the limit and when they ease off to conserve fuel and car part wear.

There’s a few problems I have with the game, such as the fact that, despite the game’s use of fictional drivers, the pool of rookies and drivers signed to teams at the start of the game is set in stone and not randomly generated, meaning you can just remember which drivers and staff members are good to sign at the start of every game, rather than a more dynamic hiring process that randomly generated drivers and staff would allow. There’s also a few issues the race AI has in regards to respecting blue flags, making overtakes when they have the opportunity to, and making pit stops that make sense.

But a few minor quibbles didn’t hamper my enjoyment of the game that much. The loop of the game is engrossing enough that I often found myself playing the game for hours on end without intending to, telling myself that I’d play for just one more race. It’s got some room for improvement for sure, but Motorsport Manager is pretty much everything I want out of an F1 management game.

4. American Truck Simulator

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found myself appreciating games that embrace mundanity more and more. Games like American Truck Simulator appeal to me because I feel like it respects me enough to simply enjoy driving in the space between towns that are often ignored in games. There’s probably a million different ways that SCS Software could have made the game feel more “gamey”, like the boring racing and other types of minigames that other open world games have at such a rate that it almost feels like they are required to by law, but they didn’t. The game doesn’t cut down the long and winding roads between major cities out of a fear of a lack of excitement. Rather, it revels in those spaces.

The game currently simulates California, Nevada, and Arizona, with plans to eventually get to the rest of the country stated by the developers. Despite this relatively large area, the world of American Truck Simulator is surprisingly detailed. Little bits of personality like roadside sculptures made from propane tanks, burned out hotels with bare mattresses laid on the floor, and billboards around Las Vegas for divorce lawyers are littered all over, making the world feel more lived in than you might expect from a game like this.

It’s a game that many people describe as a “podcast game”, and while that’s not an inaccurate statement, I prefer to make a playlist of my favorite sad, slow, contemplative songs and hit the road. There’s in-game internet radio, much like Euro Truck Simulator 2, and while it’s fun to listen to hokey country music stations and the like, there’s a certain zen-like state that my mind goes to when driving down long highways and through small towns while listening to my playlist that kept me wanting to come back to this game throughout the year.

I can’t wait for them to expand the game’s map as time goes on (especially into Illinois, which is my neck of the woods), and I definitely see myself coming back to this game to explore more of this digital version of the States for a long time.

3. Stardew Valley

Stardew Valley came completely out of left field to me. I didn’t follow the game’s development process, only first hearing about it once it had already came out and was generating a lot of positive buzz. I didn’t play any of the Harvest Moon games before, so I don’t have any particular nostalgia or affinity for this type of game, so I wasn’t really sure if I’d like it or not. Imagine my surprise when it ended up being one of my favorite games of the year.

The game’s premise is fairly simple. You inherit a farm after your grandfather’s death, available for you to move to whenever your corporate cubicle farm job gets to be too much. After taking up this offer and setting off for the titular town, you have to turn the overgrown remains of your grandfather’s farm into something he’d be proud of, all the while making friends and lovers with the town’s residents along the way.

It’s a bit of an overly romantic view of country life as simple living, but that’s easily forgivable. The game is charming as hell, with so many different things you can do and unlock that it’s mindblowing that the game was made by one person. Throughout my time in Stardew Valley, I’ve never felt like I didn’t have anything to do. Quite the opposite in fact, as I usually felt like there was a glut of different things I could do at any given time, even after sinking dozens of hours into the game.

I’m a sucker for games with a lot of heart and empathy in them, both of which are qualities that Stardew Valley possess. There’s really humanizing moments to be had with characters that are homeless, suffer war-induced PTSD, alcoholism, depression, and more. The game doesn’t really turn its nose up at many of the characters and make them 100% irredeemable assholes, even if they might appear that way at first glance.

Given that it appears that I haven’t even seen close to what the game offers combined with the fact that the game keeps getting additional content added in via updates, I can see myself getting lost in Stardew Valley well into the new year and beyond.

2. Overwatch

I’ve kind of fell off competitive shooters as I’ve gotten older. I used to play games like Halo and Rainbow Six: Vegas all the time when I was younger, but their appeal to me waned after high school. I’ve definitely put some time into a few of them over the years, especially after getting my own gaming PC a few years back, but not like I used to.

Because of that, I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m surprised by how much I enjoyed Overwatch, but it’s the most I’ve enjoyed a competitive shooter in years. Nearly everything about the way the game is designed seems like it was made to minimize the feeling of letting your team down that turns many away from competitive shooters. The game rarely highlights your shortcomings to your team, instead opting to show everyone the best play of the game and several cards with the players that did the best at the end of every match.

The different heroes in the game (which are basically just classes) not only give you many different ways to play the game, but also inject lots of personality into the game as well. It doesn’t too long of searching through any social media site’s gaming tag to find the myriad of fan art and jokes that build off of the different personalities that inhabit the world of Overwatch.

There’s also been a good amount of post-release content as well, with new heroes and new maps joining the fray at a pretty frequent rate. It’s enough to get me back into competitive shooters and make Overwatch one of my favorite multiplayer shooters in recent memory.

1. Hitman

After 2012’s Hitman: Absolution failed to recognize what made previous games in the franchise so good, I cynically thought there’d never be another good Hitman game. I was so sure that games like Hitman: Blood Money could never be made in the modern games industry, at least not with the budget and team size needed to make it truly great. So if anything, Hitman has taught me to not be so cynical about the state of the games industry, as it is an incredible game.

With it, IO Interactive has found a way to have their cake and eat it too in regards to being both highly accessible for players new to the franchise and deep enough to hold the interest of veterans to the series. The challenges system is the perfect introduction to both any given map as well as the game’s mechanics, guiding you step-by-step through a hit designed by the developers. The brilliance of it is that through tackling these different challenges, you naturally learn the intricacies of the map and how the systems in the game interact through doing, not through some more boring and traditional tutorial system.

The masterful design doesn’t stop at the challenges system, either. Each map is designed to be just one or two steps away from mayhem, just waiting for you to spring the trap like a murderous game of Mouse Trap. And even where the designers didn’t intend for chaos to unfold, there’s enough of a variety of tools at your disposal to create your own brand of murder wherever and whenever you’d like.

While the episodic nature of the game was much maligned prior to its release, it actually ended up being one of the game’s strongest suits. The steady trickle of escalation missions and elusive targets punctuated by new map releases gave me plenty of reason to keep coming back to the game throughout the year. It makes the case for the episodic release structure better than any other game I’ve ever seen.

Speaking of elusive targets, I can’t end this piece without mentioning how incredible of an idea they are. For the uninitiated, they are one-time assassinations that are available only for a limited window of (real-life) time that you only have one chance to complete. If you mess it up or miss the window, it’s gone forever. This elimination of the safety net of save scumming and infinite retries makes elusive targets some of the most intense and rewarding things I’ve done in a video game all year. There aren’t many words that can describe the feeling of coming up with a plan and executing on it perfectly, all the while knowing that any slight misstep will lock you out of any future attempts and permanently mark your failure on your record.

Top to bottom, Hitman is a masterstroke of game design that not only lives up to the name of previous entries in the series, but far surpasses them. And with the prospect of a season two nearing us, it seems like the fun times in this world of assassination are just beginning.

#my posts #text #video games #game of the year 2016 #writing #death road to canada #superhot #dragon ball xenoverse 2 #pokemon sun and moon #stellaris #my summer car #motorsport manager #american truck simulator #stardew valley #overwatch #hitman

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jeffrmayhugh · 5 years ago

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Global Elites Exploiting Pandemic to KILL CASH!

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

Are the global elites exploiting the current pandemic to kill cash and to finally bring in the one world currency of the Big Brother state? Well, a growing interest by central banks the world over seems to indicate that we could indeed be moving towards a cashless society much sooner than most people anticipate. The kind of cashless society that ends up being built will really determine our future. The crypto LARC, this is where you subscribe for all of the hottest and all of the latest happening out there in crypto land. And of course, if the idea of living under the heels of a central bank digital currency does not particularly appeal to you and you’re interested in getting some bitcoin, but you still need help figuring out all the basics, like what is bitcoin, how, where to buy bitcoin, how to mind bitcoin, how to store bitcoin. All of those questions are much, much more than check out my course. Cryptocurrency explained it is specifically designed for beginners. This course Waukee through all the basics with step by step tutorials. There is a link down below in the description where you can learn more. OK, so let’s go ahead and dig on into this. So right now, this global pandemic is being used as a scapegoat to get a wish list of global elite fantasies fulfilled. I mean, there’s bail-outs of just unimaginable proportions for corporations, unlimited money being given over to the commercial banks. We have central banks buying up junk bonds because of socialism for the rich, capitalism for the poor. Right. We have massive censorship happening on the major tech platforms. Of course, privacy is going to be an afterthought with things like phone apps now tracking your whereabouts because of the virus. And of course, the holy grail of all of this. The one-world currency, or at least the first phases of it. You see central bank digital currencies. They are going to be the start of moving us towards a one-world global currency. And those currencies. They’re coming and they’re coming quick. Make no mistake about it, the U.S. stimulus package initially included language around creating a digital dollar. It was dropped off before the final version of the bill, but they wanted to put it in. It will come. China is nearly ready to roll out its digital currency, and the EU has begun the first phases of testing its digital currency rollout. It’s happening and what a better time to kill cash and bring in a central bank digital currency than during a pandemic. Remember, folks, cash is dirty. You spread disease and all that stuff. Grouse, grouse. And right now, during the middle of this pandemic, what is the central bank spending their time doing? So is giving money to their mates. They’re rushing to adopt. BLOCK chain technology so that they can phase out cash and introduce central bank digital currency. The Bank of International Settlements, which is the central bank of central banks, has even said that the pandemic will accelerate the implementation of central bank digital currencies. Why would you do this now? So many of the things we are paying attention to. Well. It’s very, very simple. The banking elites want total control. They hate cash and they hate Bitcoin even more. You see cash while still giving banks power over you. You know, having control of your financial life, it still gives way too much freedom. You can go and do all kinds of things that they don’t like with cash. But Bitcoin Bitcoin is completely out of their control and thus their attempts to regulate Bitcoin into subservience that we haven’t seen recently really make sense. I mean, it’s OK for bitcoin to be digital gold, but it certainly can not be the money of the revolution. This is why we see things like the EFF ATF regulations to implement the travel rule go to you put in place that is bad for bitcoin and bad for crypto. With all this talk of a digital dollar and a digital euro, a digital yen and a digital yuan. Just stop and ask yourself how long until we get a one-world currency? Central banks, they’re all in the same party anyway. Central bank digital currencies are coming and the selling points are actually to be really, really attractive for a lot of people. I mean, it’s got to be free to move these currencies from person to person. They will be stable currencies. They will be convenient. They will be the unit of account. And of course, they’re not going to carry any yucky diseases on them. And of course, they will be the most dangerous link in the Big Brother control matrix. Why? Because there will be no anonymity. Payments will all be linked to your name and your idea or the only way to pay for things. There will be no freedom of money. I mean, if you want to go and buy some meth or you want to give money to WikiLeaks. Sorry. Denied. There will also be no safety of your money either. At least not from the government. Sure, it’s going to make it easy to stop theft from some kind of back-alley criminals. But the real criminals, they’re actual criminals. Running society, running the banks, running the governments. Oh, they’re going to have free reign to do all kinds of bad stuff. Blacklists. That will definitely happen. So if you are guilty of any, you know, thought crimes, then your digital dollar wallet, it will be locked in. You’ll be totally cut off from society, not even able to go and buy food, let alone pay for your Internet bills or anything else like that. The next step, of course, will be to give people trust ratings just like they have over in China. Now, if you are a good little boy or a good little girl, then you will get rewards from the masters. But if you commit unapproved behaviours or perhaps you go to unapproved locations or even worse if you are the same location with low rated people, then you will be punished and you will be prohibited from doing things with your money to, for example, buy a plane ticket or buy alcohol. Why? Because you’ve been a bad, bad boy. Does that sound crazy? It’s happening in China right now, and some of the world’s biggest tech companies were complicit in making that happen. And you may say that China’s history of authoritarianism has made its citizens uniquely vulnerable to such a system. But I honestly think that the TV addicted masses everywhere are ready to have their rights stripped away without the faintest bit of protest from the majority of the population. Major tech platforms, they have already been squashing dissenting political voices. They’re just erased from the Internet. And the Snowden revelations about the scary level of spying powers being used by governments to spy on friends, allies and citizens alike. That should have caused a revolution, but it didn’t. And the Snowden revelation, that was seven years ago. How much more advanced will this big brother spy state be right now? And they’re doing it. They’re definitely doing it. Okay, look. Yes. This is the worst-case scenario for a digital fiat one world currency. Actually, I suspect that most, if not all of these aspects will at some point come true because it’ll be, you know, something security. We have to protect you. That’s why we need this digital currency and all these draconian measures to go along with them. Look, this video is not intended be some kind of doom or gloom kind of video. Far from it. Knowledge is power, but you should definitely have knowledge that you should never trust. The banks don’t trust the politicians. They’ve been bought by the banks and the special interests and do not trust their new digital currencies. And even if not that bad stuff happens, we have to remember that digital fiat is still fiat. This money will be printed into oblivion. The pandemic has definitely been used as an excuse for these massive corporate bailouts, huge giveaways to banks, massive inflation will rob the wealth of an entire generation. That same generation will also be burdened with completely unpayable mountains of debt. The United States alone has more than 24 trillion dollars just in government debt. So either all U.S. taxpayers become permanent debt slaves or the U.S. defaults. Either way, you cut it. It will not end well for the dollar. But perhaps a new world currency can rise up from the ashes of the coming Great Depression to save us all. Blockchain will be used. Remember, don’t trust the people who say blockchain, not bitcoin. Those people are not your friends. Anyway, if you are not excited about all these things that I just said, then you do have options. Bitcoin and perhaps, even more, moving to the future, things like Monaro, those will be the true money of freedom. You see, we already have a one-world currency. Its name is Bitcoin. It is the tip of the spear of a whole host of new trust, less financial products and services that will actually tear down the control matrix of the elites. Decentralized finance. This is such a massive thing. It’s going to crush so much of the crucial infrastructure and open up a whole new economy. Decentralized, stable coins backed by hard assets like bitcoin that will establish a new gold standard or of course, as well actually be known, the bitcoin standard for money, fully unstoppable private money like Monaro that will actually come in to fill that vacuum for cash. There will be no censorship, no permission, open public networks, no one telling you that you can’t have an account or you can’t buy certain things or you can’t send money to certain people because someone else disagrees with their political opinions. Bitcoin is the money of freedom. This is why the elites in it. They cannot control bitcoin. They cannot easily stop bitcoin. It is truly the people’s money. We are fighting a battle for our freedom right now against the largest and most well-funded companies, banks and governments in the world. And all it took to shake them was a little bit of code written by a guy 12 years ago named Satoshi Nakamoto. It won’t be an easy fight, but the only way to avoid bad outcomes is to develop technology to move beyond them. Technology is a force which can liberate us in a massive way for our human society when put into the right hands, or oppress us if put into the wrong hands and bleed towards the authoritarian ship. Look, I definitely you know, I love the sit gains and crypto, but honestly, what keeps me Hotaling and what keeps me optimistic through the market’s ups and downs. The big picture, the revolution of money, the revolution of finance and the revolution of technological freedom for humanity, building a better damn society. Anyway, those are just my two. Stoesz is, of course. I hope that you enjoyed today’s rant. I would love to know your thoughts on it. Do you think that central bank digital currencies are going to be just bad news bears man? Or do you think that you know, maybe there’ll be something good? I’m kind of pessimistic in case you can’t tell on central bank digital currencies that will be keen to know your opinion on it. I know I didn’t cover every nuance of the topic either, but hopefully, it’s a bit of food for thought for you anyway if it enjoys today’s video, which lacks that thumbs up button and of course subscribe to the channel. If you are new around here, long live the blockchain and PSU next time.

source https://www.cryptosharks.net/global-elites-exploiting-pandemic-to-kill-cash/ source https://cryptosharks1.tumblr.com/post/615395146534715392

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scottmapess · 5 years ago

Text

Global Elites Exploiting Pandemic to KILL CASH!

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

source https://www.cryptosharks.net/global-elites-exploiting-pandemic-to-kill-cash/ source https://cryptosharks1.blogspot.com/2020/04/global-elites-exploiting-pandemic-to.html

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