#they’re not meant to have the same structure each time

[cyberfunsupporter]

i don’t really get why people wanna change the vocal roles of rv (irene rapper, seulgi main vocalist, wendy main vocalist, joy sub vocalist, yeri sub rapper) so bad. i personally think they fit very well + they vary depending on the song, which is what’s supposed to happen in a music group?? it’s just the general set-up for their songs, although it doesn’t inherently mean that’s how it’ll be all the time 😭

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 1: The beginning

In the quiet suburban enclave of Maple Heights, everything seemed to have its place. The two-story homes, with their neatly trimmed hedges and spotless driveways, lined the streets in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone waved hello, the lawns were always green, and the local church bells rang every Sunday without fail. Families gathered in the evenings for barbecues, the kids played soccer in the park, and the routine felt timeless.

But recently, something strange had started to creep into Maple Heights. It began with subtle changes that no one could quite put their finger on at first—little things, like men in the neighborhood who began dressing differently, speaking in more structured, rigid ways. Then, almost overnight, more and more of the men started showing up in identical black Fred Perry polos, each one with distinctive yellow details—a thin stripe running along the collar and cuffs, and the iconic laurel wreath logo embroidered on the chest. These weren't ordinary polos, though. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like, and they were always worn with the top button fastened tight.

The Evans family had been living in Maple Heights for a decade now. Paul and Greg, a married couple raising their three sons—Luke, 24; Michael, 22; and Tyler, 20—had chosen this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere and sense of community. Paul worked from home as a software engineer, while Greg ran the local bakery that everyone in town loved. The boys were a lively bunch, each with their own interests—Luke was the athlete, excelling in soccer; Michael spent his time writing music and drawing in his sketchbook; and Tyler, the tech whiz, could be found in his room building gadgets from parts he scavenged at local sales.

Their lives had always been filled with laughter and activity. Weekends meant cookouts in the backyard, bike rides around the block, and movie nights with popcorn on the couch. Church wasn’t a big part of their routine, but every Sunday, Greg made it a tradition to bake fresh pastries and drop them off at the church before opening the bakery. It was his way of staying connected with the community, even if they weren’t particularly religious.

But lately, both Paul and Greg had started noticing changes in the neighborhood, especially among the men. It started with Mr. Anderson, two doors down. He had always been friendly—waving to Greg every morning as he walked his dog past the bakery. But now, Mr. Anderson was different. His usual flannel shirts and casual jackets had been replaced by a sleek black Fred Perry polo with yellow details. Even stranger, the fabric seemed almost rubbery, the way it caught the light. And the way he buttoned it all the way to the top, stiffly and neatly—it made him look more formal than usual. His conversation was short, stilted, and somehow… off.

One evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Paul brought it up. “Has anyone else noticed how people around here are dressing differently?”

“Yeah,” Luke said with a frown. “A bunch of guys at soccer practice started wearing those weird black polos. I mean, they look cool, but... everyone’s wearing them, like, every day now.”

“They’re Fred Perry shirts, right? But they look... shiny,” Michael added, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “And they all button them up to the top. It’s kinda weird, like they’re in some sort of uniform.”

“It’s not just the shirts,” Greg chimed in, shaking his head. “People are acting strange, too. Customers at the bakery used to chat, laugh, but now they come in, order the same thing, and barely make eye contact. They’re so... focused.”

Tyler, the youngest, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “I saw a bunch of them after church last week. They were all wearing those black polos. I thought maybe it was some church thing.”

Paul and Greg exchanged a concerned glance. “It’s like some sort of group,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “They’re all starting to look and act the same.”

Over the next few weeks, the changes in the neighborhood became more noticeable. More men—fathers, teachers, even some of the older teens—were now dressing in the same glossy black Fred Perry polos, the yellow details standing out sharply against the dark fabric. Each man wore his polo the same way, with the buttons done all the way up to the top, giving them a sleek, almost uniformed appearance. Even their mannerisms had changed—conversations were short, their expressions calm, almost vacant.

Luke noticed it most on his soccer team. At first, it was just a couple of the players who showed up to practice wearing the polos. But soon, half the team had swapped out their jerseys for the slick, rubbery Fred Perry shirts. And once they did, their personalities shifted. They became more focused, more intense, and eerily synchronized. Luke, who still wore his usual soccer gear, felt out of place. His teammates, now all dressed in the black polos with their yellow accents, would glance at him with strange looks, as if waiting for him to join them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said to his dads one night, slumping down on the couch. “They’re all acting weird, like they’re in some kind of club. And the coach is in on it, too. He wore one at the last game.”

“I’ve seen the same thing with my friends,” Michael added. “They’re always wearing those shirts now, and it’s like they don’t talk about anything else. It’s not like them.”

Greg sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Even the customers at the bakery... I’ve noticed more of them wearing the polos. They don’t smile, they just take their coffee and leave. And today, one of them asked if I wanted to come to some gathering after church this Sunday.”

“That’s the second time we’ve heard about that,” Paul said, frowning. “Tyler, you said you saw them after church too, right?”

Tyler nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they were all standing around talking after the service. But they weren’t really talking like normal. It was like they were all... rehearsed.”

Greg shivered. “I don’t like this.”

That Sunday, Paul decided to see for himself what was going on. After the church service, while Greg was delivering his pastries, Paul slipped into the side area of the church where the men were gathering. As he stood at the back of the room, he watched them closely. Every man was dressed in the same black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Their shirts were perfectly buttoned up to the top, their expressions calm and focused as they listened to the man leading the meeting. His polo looked newer, glossier than the others, and his voice was firm but soothing as he talked about the “importance of unity” and “the future of Maple Heights.”

It was more than just a social group. This was something bigger, something that was spreading.

When Paul got home, he told Greg everything. “It’s not just the shirts,” he said, pacing the living room. “It’s like they’re all part of some bigger plan. They’re getting more men to join them. It’s like the whole neighborhood is changing.”

Over the next few weeks, the transformation continued to spread. Luke’s soccer team was almost fully converted, the boys showing up to practice in their glossy Fred Perry polos, barely speaking to anyone who wasn’t wearing one. Michael’s friends had stopped hanging out altogether, and whenever he saw them, they were dressed in the same shirts, their conversations short and emotionless. Even Tyler’s teachers had begun to show up to class wearing the same outfits.

One afternoon, Greg came home from the bakery with a tight look on his face. He held up a Fred Perry polo—glossy black with the yellow logo and details—and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“They gave this to me today,” Greg said quietly. “They said it’s time for me to ‘fit in.’”

Paul stared at the shirt, his stomach twisting. “We need to figure out what’s really going on, before it’s too late.”

But deep down, they knew it was already spreading faster than they could stop it. Maple Heights was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire neighborhood was transformed, one slick black polo at a time.

The next week...

Luke stood on the edge of the soccer field, his cleats digging into the grass as he stared out at his teammates, all of whom were already dressed in their glossy black Fred Perry polos. Their yellow-detailed collars were buttoned up tightly to the top, and the sheen of the shirts gleamed unnaturally in the late afternoon sun. He shifted uncomfortably in his old practice jersey, the only one left who hadn’t made the switch.

Over the past few weeks, more and more of his teammates had started showing up to practice in the strange uniforms. At first, it was just a few of the guys, but now, every single one of them wore the latex-like black polo. Coach had been pushing them harder too, but in a way that was unnerving. The drills were more intense, more synchronized. The team barely spoke to each other anymore, their conversations replaced by curt instructions and short exchanges.

Luke felt the pressure mounting every time he stepped onto the field. He knew the others noticed that he was the last one holding out. His friends, or who they used to be, barely made eye contact with him anymore. They’d glance his way with strange, expectant looks, as if waiting for him to join them, to give in.

As practice started, Luke could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He jogged through the drills, but something felt wrong. The usual energy of the game was gone, replaced by an eerie, robotic efficiency. His teammates moved in perfect unison, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank but focused. And all the while, Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to fall in line.

“Luke!” Coach’s voice boomed across the field, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come here.”

Luke jogged over, his heart pounding. Coach stood on the sidelines, his own black Fred Perry polo perfectly buttoned, the yellow details gleaming in the sun. He had been wearing the shirt for a few weeks now, and ever since then, practice had felt more like a drill session than a sport. The coach’s eyes locked onto Luke’s, calm but intense.

“You’re the last one,” Coach said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

Luke glanced at his teammates, all of them standing in formation, watching silently. “Coach, I’m just not sure about the mask. I don’t really feel like I need to wear it,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Coach smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about the mask, Luke. It’s about unity. The team needs to be united—on and off the field. You’ve seen how well we’ve been playing lately. We’re stronger, more focused.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at his teammates, all eerily still, waiting. He didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something different about their games recently. They were winning, dominating even. But it didn’t feel like a team anymore—it felt like something else, something controlled.

“I just don’t think it’s for me, Coach,” Luke said, though his voice faltered. The pressure was mounting, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Coach’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet authority. “It’s time, Luke. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Before Luke could respond, one of his teammates stepped forward, holding out a neatly folded black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details catching the light. Luke stared at the shirt, his stomach turning. The fabric looked slick, shiny, almost alive, and the thought of putting it on made his skin crawl.

The teammate, a boy who had once been Luke’s best friend, met his gaze, his expression blank but somehow expectant. “Come on, man,” he said softly, his voice calm but emotionless. “It’s just a shirt.”

But it wasn’t just a shirt, and Luke knew it. It was something more. The moment he put it on, he would no longer be himself. He would become just like them—another piece of the machine.

Luke stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his family, of his dads and his brothers, and how hard they were trying to resist the changes sweeping through the neighborhood. He didn’t want to give in, but here, on the field, surrounded by his teammates and Coach, he realized he was alone. There was no escape.

Coach stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re part of this team, Luke. You need to be like the rest of us.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the shirt from his teammate. The fabric felt slick and cold against his fingers, heavier than he expected. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw the shirt away and run, but his body didn’t listen.

Slowly, he pulled the black Fred Perry polo over his head. The latex-like fabric clung to his skin, tightening around him as if it had a will of its own. He adjusted the yellow-detailed collar, his fingers trembling as he buttoned it all the way to the top. The moment the last button clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through him, and his thoughts began to blur.

His mind felt foggy, distant. The resistance he had clung to for so long started to slip away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he looked at his teammates not with fear or hesitation, but with calm acceptance. The shirt fit perfectly, and for a moment, Luke wondered why he had ever resisted in the first place.

Coach smiled, patting him on the back. “Good. Now you’re part of the team, put this on.”

Luke nodded slowly, his mind quiet. He took his place among his teammates, their faces no longer strange or unsettling, but familiar—like they had always been. The game started again, and this time, Luke moved with them in perfect unison, every step, every movement synchronized.

As the sun set over the soccer field, the last of Luke’s resistance faded into the background, replaced by the quiet calm of uniformity. He was no longer an outsider. He was one of them now.

After practice, Luke walked home in silence, the cool evening air brushing against his face. His mind felt strangely still, as if the buzzing thoughts he had carried all day had finally quieted. The black Fred Perry polo with its glossy sheen and yellow details clung snugly to his body, and the weight of it no longer felt strange—it felt… right. The top button was fastened tight, and though he had been uncomfortable with it at first, now it felt natural, like it was exactly where it should be.

Luke walked home from practice, the full-face rubber gas mask still tightly fitted over his head. The dark, glossy material gleamed faintly under the streetlights as he passed through the quiet, suburban streets of Maple Heights. The once-familiar neighborhood now felt distant, his breathing slow and controlled through the mask’s filters, muffling the sounds around him.

His black Fred Perry polo, with its yellow details and buttoned-up collar, clung to him as he walked, the rubber of the mask and the shirt making him feel as though he was locked into something permanent. Each step felt heavy, yet he was calm. His mind was quiet now, his thoughts no longer his own.

As he approached his house, he saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights through the window. For a moment, something stirred inside him—an echo of the boy he used to be, the Luke who would come home to his dads, joke with his brothers, and feel like himself. But the mask pressed firmly against his face, silencing those thoughts. He reached for the door, knowing they would see him like this.

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him, but it felt different. His dads, Greg and Paul, turned from the kitchen counter, their faces going pale as they saw him standing there, dressed in the glossy black polo and the full-face rubber mask.

“Luke?” Greg’s voice was filled with shock and concern, but Luke didn’t respond. He simply stood there, the mask concealing any expression, the filters hissing softly with each breath.

Paul stepped forward, his voice shaky. “Take it off, son. You don’t have to wear that.”

But Luke didn’t move. The mask stayed on, its grip on him firm, the strange calm washing over him once again. He was home, but he wasn’t the same anymore. And as his dads stared at him in disbelief, Luke knew that the boy they once knew was slipping away.

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 022. ART DONALDSON murdrtober oct 8th. cheating roleplay

One day you'll quit Art. But today is not that day. You just hope today also isn't the day your husband finds out. aka a continuation of this 900+ words MDNI 18+

This is the wrong place to be. 

Not just here, in the basement bathroom and away from the main event, but here in this home. 

You knew as soon as you stepped foot into the Donaldson’s house, you would fall back into this same trap. You knew that no matter how many times you told yourself that this should end, that you should at least attempt to have a normal marriage even though nothing about being Mrs. Zweig is normal, that only time and your actions would tell. 

And your actions have exposed you. 

You try to make up for the way you willingly followed Art down here with resistance, but Art knows you. Maybe better than your husband does. He knows this is the exciting part for you, the part that gets you wettest. 

As if he’s testing it, he cups your mound and slides his hand up, copping a feel of the arousal soaking your panties. 

You turn your head away when Art goes to kiss you, but he takes a detour and places his lips on your neck instead, behaving as if the taut skin was your lips. His hands are so assertive as they push under your dress, fingers hooking in the thin waistband of your panties. Just as he goes to pull them down, you stop him. 

“Wait, Art,” he hums, but he doesn’t stop his mission.

You think he’s aiming to leave marks so you hook your left hand into his strawberry blond curls, finally growing out longer than it's been within the past five years. He says he grew it out for you, that he knows how much you love having something to pull on, that he knows you think he looks prettiest when his curls frame his face. You grinned at the time, allowing that fluttery feeling to spread throughout your chest, until you wondered how his wife liked his hair best. 

“Art,” you start again, “we shouldn’t do this.” 

This gets him off of you. His hands stay where they are, but he pulls his head away from your neck, your hand still stuck to his hair. You think a few strands have gotten stuck in your wedding ring, but you don’t try to undo your hand and find out. Not yet. 

Art stares at you, swollen lips still pursed, blue eyes unblinking. In this light, the speckle of brown in his eye is noticeable. It reminds you of the red-orange that you can see in Patrick’s eyes at a certain time of day, usually when he’s facing the sun and staring down at you. 

Art doesn’t respond for a second. But eventually he does. “Does he know where you are?”

You blink up at him, swallowing in an attempt to ignore the way your heart beats in your chest. Instead of directly responding, you say, “Do you know where she is?”

You both know that for every party involved in this square, the location of the other spouse isn’t the current concern at the forefront of your minds. And whenever the thought does make its way to the forefront, excitement will follow on its tail, for not knowing where your spouse was meant they were probably in a position similar to this. 

This arrangement is so convoluted and messy, each side of the square touching with lines that have been crossed to get there. You wanted everyone and no one all at the same time. You wanted to be desired, yet you wanted to be left alone. It confuses you. Maybe that’s why you continue to crawl back to what you know: the form of structure that came with laying with the perpetrator behind this entire arrangement.  

Art shrugs as if he doesn’t really care, the corners of his lips turning down in tandem with the movement. “Probably outside with Patrick, don’t you think?”

He leans in, his breath fanning over your lips as a sardonic smile spreads across his lips. “Or do you think they’re like this? Tucked away in the guest bathroom upstairs, maybe in the master closet against my suits, fucking each other like rabbits.” The tip of his nose nudges yours and it’s embarrassing how you follow the movement. “I bet they’re not resisting, so why should you resist?”

You flick your tongue over your lips and Art is so close that you feel his bottom lip against the tip of your tongue. “You don’t know that they are, though. We can’t really know.”

“Can’t we?” He starts to urge your panties down your thighs, slowly but surely. “We know them. They’re our spouses for God’s sake. We know their routines, their likes, dislikes.” Your panties are down to your midthigh by now and if Art lets go, they’ll fall to your ankles. He doesn’t let go, though. He holds them in his hand, leaning just that much closer until you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours. 

“If you really think Patrick won’t put his dick in my wife by the end of the night then you can leave. Walk right out that door and I’ll join you back outside in a few minutes. We can pretend none of this happened.”

You can’t think straight, not when you’re so close to what you really want. 

Closer. You want Art closer to you. 

You can feel the imprint of his cock in his slacks pressing against your thigh. You remember what it feels like for him to kiss you, to fuck you. The sounds of his moans woven into whimpers as he fills you up. 

Art pulls back just enough to stare down at you. His top lip quirks up when you don’t move, and then the corners repeat the movement until he’s smirking down at you, the look of pure cockiness. 

“Okay.” He releases his grip on your panties and they fall to your ankles.

[translatemunson]

cat and mouse for a month or two or three • ttfd

chapter eight of the tortured firefighters department

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader, brains is recovering, idiots in love, short chapter after a huge hiatus I'M SORRY OK , no proofreading otherwise i’d never post this (lmk if i missed something)

A new routine took place. You spend most days inside your apartment, classes online since they were checking all the buildings on that side of the campus, on medical leave from your job because, on top of the broken ribs, they wanted you to recover from the burnout you got yourself into. That also meant you were taking mandatory therapy sessions, and maybe after a month they could let you work again. It was like being grounded from what kept you fueled in your late twenties.

Their first mistake was giving you way too much free time while bored. You wrote pages upon pages of your thesis in your first week. The moment you hit send and sat to wait for your professor’s notes, you found out you couldn’t reorganize your home because it was considered too much effort for your broken ribs. Your kitchen became the latest victim.

But a real victim to all your boredom was one door down the hall, who probably regretted giving you a copy of his keys — to be used just in case of an emergency.

“What the hell are you doing, Brains?” It was the third time this week that Buck arrived at his home and found out you were there, just casually chilling,

“Reading!” You were upside down on his couch, a romance book in your hands.

“I don’t think this position is good for your ribs. Can you sit like a normal person?”

“No. It’s boring. Also, I’m gonna babysit Chris tomorrow, so I’m hijacking your Xbox.”

“Why aren’t you doing that at your place?” He pointed to your silly reading position.

“Because I needed to tell you about your video game. Are you hungry? There’s some lasagna in your fridge.”

“Did you make it?”

“Yeah. Now shut up, they’re finally confessing their feelings for each other.”

Buck turned the TV on just to get some noises into the silent apartment. You were too busy with your book, he was too afraid of doing something he would have regretted later. Somewhere between his first and second plate of lasagna, you put the book aside and started to pay attention to the news.

“Big rescue, hm?”

“I don’t know why they keep building towers with paper thin structures and too many glass windows with shitty fire alarms. What happened to the good ol’ bricks and stones?” He was eating at the table, probably destroying the food in record time.

“Excellent question. I’ll look it up and give you an answer tomorrow”

“You’re really bored, aren’t you?”

“Oh, what gave it away?”

“It’s definitely not the same book from yesterday, you cooked a lasagna as big as the ones Bobby feeds us, you’re gonna babysit Chris on Eddie’s day off.”

“He needs to run some errands, and Chris hasn’t been feeling good lately, probably just the flu. So I offered my services for the day. What’s wrong with that?” You stared at him. Was he cuter upside down than the other way around?

“Nothing, it’s just… are you ok?”

“Please, don’t pull a therapist on me, I already had my mandatory session today. I swear I’m ok, I’m just bored of doing nothing. No adrenaline, no deadlines.”

“You’re really addicted, hm?”

“What can I say, Buckley, I wasn’t made to stay still.” As soon as the local news was over and football started, you moved back to your book. Buck got up and went for some beers. “I’m just gonna finish this and I’ll see myself out.”

“I’m gonna charge you rent for my couch.” He sat on the floor, right next to your face. Third time in his living room was a charm, right?

“Wasn’t the lasagna enough?”

“I thought that was for my Xbox. Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

You opened your book again, but the sudden proximity with Buck was the only thing you could focus on. The five o’clock shadow, the red birthmark on the left side of his face, the brightest eyes you’ve ever seen… Staying alone with your thoughts for too long was making you think of things you once judged impossible.

It was a split second, but he caught you red handed, staring at him. You smiled and moved your eyes to the pages of your book, not sure where you left off.

One big hand snatched the object from you. You turned to your side to complain and retrieve it, giving Buck the perfect opportunity to bring your lips close and kiss you. It barely turned into a deep kiss before you took some space to process what was happening. Your action made Buck a little confused, blinking his eyes and nervously messing with his own hair.

Your ribcage started hurting, so you moved your body carefully until you were sitting on the floor, face to face with him. Giving him enough time to change his mind, to say he actually didn’t mean it. Because how could he kiss someone like you?

You thought you’d never see a glimpse of fear on the eyes of one of the most fearless men you knew. Buck was too stunned to say anything, his full, pink lips slightly open. Your hand found the curve of his neck, your cold skin over his boiling hot veins.

You leaned in for another one. He pulled you closer carefully. However, it was nearly impossible to avoid the messier, helpless kisses. Evan Buckley was finally taking over your mind, maybe even your whole body.

Both of you had to move back a little, taking quick breaths after such intense kisses. You rested your hands on his shoulders and smiled.

“Did it really take me getting trapped in a burning building for us to have the courage to do this?” You bit your lower lip, trying to avoid him noticing your blushed cheeks.

“I don’t know about you, but I wanted to do this for a long time,” he confessed.

And it caught you by surprise. So Maddie was really telling you the truth.

“Wait, how long?” He avoided eye contact and you laughed. “No, Buck, please. Tell me.”

“Do you remember that shift I got your number with Eddie? So,” he took a deep breath, “I was planning on asking you out that day, but I just… I chickened, ok?”

“And right after that you ate all my cupcakes when I was at Maddie’s. Off to the best start, Buckley.”

“Not my best move, ok?” He laughed. “How many months ago was it?”

“No clue, to be honest.” You pecked his lips again.

Buck’s arms held you close, not willing to let you go. His lips were just inches away.

“Should I remind you of my doctor’s orders?” you whispered.

“You’re never walking into danger on my watch again.” Buck finally let you go, but it was written in his face it wasn’t what he wanted. His touch lingered a little longer, a little too deep. And you were sure you were mirroring his actions.

“I know.” You got his video game console and your book. “See you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing, Brains.”

You leaned over, leaving a goodnight kiss and a promise to come back to whatever you just started.

+++

“Ok, do you want some snacks? I,” you checked your storage once again, noticing how you should’ve added “do groceries” to your list. “How are we feeling about popcorn?”

“I love popcorn!” Chris replied, his focus on the TV screen.

“Popcorn it is.” You turned the machine on and measured the serving. You heard knocks on your door. “Just a second!”

Maybe Eddie was back because Chris forgot something in the car? No, he had everything in his backpack. You opened the door, but your eyes stayed on the kid on your couch. “Really, Eddie, don’t worry. I can watch him for as long as you need and… Buck.”

“Hi.” Even if he looked like he just left the shower, his voice sounded like he ran a marathon and stopped at your door.

“Buck!” You both heard Chris from the couch. “Are you joining us?”

“Only if Brains let me.” He smiled, waiting for you to invite him in.

“How could I say ‘no’? Come in, we are playing video games and having popcorn.”

“You can play with me!”

“I’ll be there in a sec, Chris. I just need to talk to Brains first,” he pulled you aside and out of Chris’ view. Not like the kid is paying any attention to you, anyway. “Hey there.”

“Hi. Why do I have a feeling you’re here to babysit me?” You move to your kitchen, rushing to find the popcorn bucket in your cabinets.

“Can you blame me? You have two broken ribs, self diagnosed burnout syndrome,” you mumbled, “ok, your therapist said you have it, and you’re babysitting Chris on a day you’re supposed to wake up after 3.”

“It’s just for a few hours, and he’s not like Jee-Yun,” you pointed out the reality: Chris was just a little bit sick and Eddie didn’t want him to be alone. “So you’re here to see if I have plans for today.”

“Kinda.” He opened the top cabinet and gave you the bucket. “Do you?”

You elbowed him on the torso, playfully.

“Watch your step, I know his reputation.” You pointed to Chris over your shoulder. “But the answer to your question is no.”

Buck smiled, satisfied with himself. “Hey, Chris, orange or apple juice?”

“Apple, please! I’m crushing you!” The kid's voice indicated a promise to end Buck’s character.

“Ok, buddy, if you say so,” he turned to you and whispered, “so it’s a date?”

“Yes, Buckley. Now are you gonna help me with Chris or not?” You served two glasses of apple juice.

“Sure thing, but I might need to run some errands later because,” and he stopped himself. “You’ll see.”

a/n: hi is there anyone here still? i know guys, i was gone, no sign of life, but hey, i'm back (i hope so). IT FINALLY HAPPENED! i had to make this chapter shorter than usual because otherwise it would be too big. so that's it. see ya soon!

[missredherring]

Develop

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: R

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: one-sided feelings. unspecified age gap. stalker behavior. a dash of voyeurism? female masturbation.

Summary: Your fingers freeze on the mouse when you get to the last pictures of the final roll of film. You scroll through, eyes straining to understand what the thumbnail is showing you. 

It looks like Joel had an adult sleepover of his own.

A/N: This came from @psychedelic-ink and the idea that Joel has a collection of dirty pictures. Thank you @johnwatsn to the moon and back for being an amazing beta.

A little thrill zips through you when you see the name on the blue and white striped envelope on the counter. You crane your neck to see if he’s still in the store, but you only see a pair of broad shoulders and curly hair walking out the door.

There, filling out the request form printed on the front of the envelope in neat and legible handwriting, is his name, contact information, and print order.

Joel Miller.

The envelope is slightly larger than a 5x7" print so it can fit the two offered print sizes and negatives easily. It can begrudgingly fit an entire disposable camera, maybe two with seams near bursting, but not the four that Joel had left in a line under the envelope. You smile at his thoughtfulness. Other customers toss them on the counter without a care, but his are lined up neatly with the envelope resting on top. Had he looked around for a rubber band to keep them together? You’re disappointed at the missed opportunity for small talk, but there’s always a chance you’ll be working when he picks his order up. 

You get to work, cracking open the plastic case of the disposable cameras like crab shells. Four rolls of film go into the processor, unspooling and revealing their secrets. Usually he brings in one or two every couple of weeks. They’re filled with things like his daughter’s soccer games, family cookouts with who you think is his brother: they have the same eyes and nose. Sometimes they’re pictures from jobs he does. You don’t know anything about construction, but you think he’s good at what he does. The lines are clean and the structures look solid.

The machines run through their functions and your computer screen steadily fills with thumbnails of pictures as each negative is scanned. It looks like his daughter had a sleepover. There’s picture after picture of faces too close to the lens. Red eyes and toothy grins take up the frame. An impromptu concert with music video dance moves frozen in time, and peaceful faces peeking out of sleeping bags. It looks like a nice time, making you remember sleepovers of your own, and the fuzzy feeling you usually get when looking over Joel’s pictures warms you almost as much as the heat coming from the machines.

Your fingers freeze on the mouse when you get to the last pictures of the final roll of film. You scroll through, eyes straining to understand what the thumbnail is showing you. 

It looks like Joel had an adult sleepover of his own.

Included in your job description as a photo technician is the duty of reviewing photos that people want prints of and deciding if they were too adult in nature to print. That meant no nudes or anything illegal in nature. Thankfully, it’d never been an issue baring the few rolls of film that showed up after an annual biker rally. 

Objectively, these photos aren’t anymore risqué than a boudoir photoshoot. It’s hard to be objective right now. 

Some of the lines are blurry from the camera being operated with one hand. A woman in lingerie pushing up her chest with her arm, just the hint of a coy look on what you could see of her face. The last two are different. The angle, the perspective, and the photographer has changed. 

The lace of the lingerie teasing the curve of a hip and a hand, big and rough-looking, resting just where the line of fabric gives way to skin. The indent of his fingertips just beginning to show as they press down. 

The woman’s face. Her lips are plump and open like she’s waiting for another kiss. Large glassy eyes don’t look back at you from the lens. Instead they’re looking just off to the side, where he must be. 

A man’s hand. It has to be Joel’s; you recognize the fading bruise on his thumbnail from when he handed over his disposable cameras last time. His hand is cupping her jaw, tilting her face to the side just so. Like he was directing her to the perfect pose for this picture. 

Your mind has turned to static. Before you can form a coherent thought, your finger twitches, increasing the print count for the last photo, and before you can cancel it the order is starting, the printer rumbling to life. 

You know you shouldn’t have done it. It’s an invasion of privacy. It’s against the rules. It’s probably illegal. It’s just not right.

The picture, still hot off the rollers, is shoved into your purse like the contraband it is. 

***

You’re too old to be sneaking things into the apartment like this, but it feels like there’s a giant sign pointing right to your purse that tells everyone what you did. You shove it under your mattress and try to forget about it. You can’t. It feels like hiding a dead body. A tell-tale heart under your mattress that beats along with throbbing in your pussy. 

It’s a slip of paper. Nothing. But as you lay in bed that night you swear you can feel it. It makes you feel silly, like the princess and the pea, but you don’t remove it. You don’t have to.

The tableau is seared into your mind’s eye. Showing the negative image on every blank surface you look at. You can’t stop thinking about it, wanting it.

You want to be the one his hands are on. So you touch yourself to that fantasy, and it’s so strong, the closeup of his hands so detailed, that you’re close to coming in minutes. 

You shouldn’t be doing this, but you don’t care about wrong or right; you just want Joel Miller to fuck you. The thought, blunt and delicious, spurs you on and you come, turning your head to your pillow to muffle the whimper that escapes you.

The endorphins rush through your body, and there's some satisfaction from coming, but the ache, the want, is still there as you clench around your own fingers. 

Crossing your arm over your chest, you cup your own face with a trembling hand in the same way Joel had in the picture. Tracing the curve of your lip, you press down, as if admiring the darkened hue.

Did he turn her head just for the camera? Was her pulse hammering in her ears so loudly that she couldn’t hear the crank of the film advancing or the click of the shutter? Did she smile at him after? Did he call her his good girl? Did he call her his "Baby," “Sweetheart,” or “Darlin'” in that southern drawl? Yea, you like that one.

“Look at me, Darlin’.”

Wind, wind, wind. Click.

You imagine it’s his weight on the mattress that makes you shift. The way he’d keep himself back, maybe even still wearing his jeans and nothing else. The bulge in those jeans would be evidence enough of his desire, even if you couldn’t see his face, partially covered by the camera. 

You widen your thighs and lift your hips to him; to his touch and to his view. Your hand goes back down to your pussy and you start touching yourself again, opening the swollen lips for him. The cum makes everything slippery and you know you must look a mess. Spread open and on display for a phantom photographer. Would the flash catch it and make it shine?

Would he want a picture of this moment too? A keepsake from a night of passion. When memories and sensation fade, would he take the picture out and remember you fondly? Would he touch himself while he looked at it? Remembering how you felt? The softness of your skin, the taste on your tongue, the heat of your pussy. Would he be careful not to cover the glossy paper with his cum so it wouldn’t stain? Or would he like that so much he’d do it again on purpose. Covering your image in his cum just like he had covered your body that night. He wouldn’t have had enough wits about him to take a picture of that. 

Your entire body tightens up as you continue to press against your clit, circling and circling, pushing into overstimulation as one orgasm rolls into another. “Joel.” His name echoes in the room and the climax feels better this time.

You go back and forth on whether you want to be the one to hand him his completed order before you fall asleep. 

[cloud-somersault]

okay, here's that whole "mate day" thing I was gonna talk about the other day LMFAO

So, the whole mate day vs. kidnapping thing in demonkind is something I’ve thought about a fair amount when planning Constellations out. I had to do a “wedding day” of some kind for obvious reasons and also just to capture that moment of them becoming mates. And of course I thought about “kidnapping/courtnapping” as an option, but the more I thought about it, the more I think it did a disservice to the world-building and structure of the AU.

So, demons kidnapped humans A LOT in JTTW and in other such material and various things would happen because of it. They’d have to live in hiding, they’d get hunted down, fights/wars break out, etc. They’d also get punished by the divine for interfering or doing something they knew they shouldn’t have done.

When it comes to demons kidnapping their own kind, I believe that custom was expected, but then we also have the whole “demons fighting each other, not agreeing with the union, hunting down their own kind, territory disputes, etc.,” there, too. I thought it would cause problems either way, but, more than that, I thought about how societies and customs change over time.

We see this with the divine, how they create new magic and come up with new systems and such things when it comes to organizing the multiple workflows within Heaven. They still, unfortunately, rely too heavily on paper, but regardless, I believe there’s been a change in Heaven compared to thousands of years ago.

I think the banquets that are held are a bit more modern. The attire and such is the same, but the food, the activities — I think those adjusted slightly to incorporate more influence from the other realms, mainly those of the demi-gods and mortals. More exciting and entertaining things.

There’s also the presence of magic and how new subsets are created frequently. This allows them to use magic in new ways to enhance these get-togethers. I haven’t given extensive thought to this, but it is something I keep in mind.

And, obviously, there’s the mortal realm. Mortals have changed substantially over the years, coming up with new technology, making advancements at a quick pace — and all without magic. The divine would glance down at those advancements and study them. And demons… Demons live side by side with mortals. Their societies are heavily integrated. Demons hide in plain sight. They would get inspiration from mortal behaviors and rituals and celebrations.

So! I think, since the “courtnapping” thing often led to more trouble than it was worth, some clans of demons started to play around with the idea of improving this idea. They look to the mortals and the divine for inspiration and see that…actually having a feast and celebrating is more fun, actually. It gets the community involved, no fighting, and everyone gets to enjoy themselves. Also increases the purchase of demon-made goods (LMAO) and all that. They’re helping each other this way.

I think iterations of this evolved through the centuries. Maybe courtnapping turned into “Demon A kidnaps Demon B and takes Demon B to Demon A’s residence so the union can be blessed and, if it is, then PARTY!” that kinda thing. Then it possibly evolved into “both demons are secluded together for some time and, if there’s no bloodshed after three days, then the union was meant to be” like different things like that.

Because, not only does demonkind have the influence of mortals and the divine, they also have THE Monkey King who resides on his own mountain and makes his own rules. Wukong wouldn’t want to incite more fighting when he’s already got demon kings killing each other. He’d want a more peaceful solution. So he’d take influence from mortals, too, especially since he spent so much time with them learning their language and way of life. He’d bring those lessons home and mix them with the previously established ceremonies that FFM partook in.

And if the Monkey King’s doing it, then all of demonkind kinda peeks their heads over to see what it’s like. And it’s fun! Having a nice, big feast and the two (or more) demons that are getting married get to spend a day to themselves and exchange gifts and love on each other.

So, mate day grew into what it is now over time. I wanted to show that societies change to give respect to not only the world-building, but to time. It’s a great way to show how things came to be. And I just don’t think that, with demonkind being so close to mortals, they wouldn’t pick up on the fun stuff they’re doing.

And they just add their own flavor to it! Demons have their own foods, drinks, things they do for fun, etc., that they bring to the mate day celebration. It’s a great time to try new things with magic as they light the sky with fireworks or put on shows or play music. It’s an opportunity for advancement.

Demonkind is also like. A fully thought of thing in Constellations, though we haven’t had time to go that deep into it. But when the Gold and Silver demons were hiding in that cave with an illusion — demons hide in plain sight, they’re always looking at humans (to eat them but whatever). But demons have their own marketplaces hidden in the mountain trails of certain peaks, their own towns and cities that have been created with magic and hidden. I wanted to give respect to that and how demonkind is its own society with its own rules.

They hate (some respect) the divine. Some of them hate each other. But most are just trying to live, and doing mate days like this allows for so many more demons to live and thrive and it allows unions to lead to bonds being forged between families and clans, etc.

I wanted there to be this structure, and it was perfect for Wukong to have this place in it, because FFM didn’t have a defined set of rules. That’s why Macaque said he proposed because he was taking inspiration from mortals and from demons, smashing the two ideas together. The concept of “mates” is a demon thing and has existed forever, but how two demons became mates? That was ever-changing. So, Macaque went the proposal route (at that time, some demons were still doing courtnapping, but it was getting phased out). And also, Wukong brought that idea home and told it to his family with excitement that humans had ALL THESE DIFFERENT WAYS to celebrate things, etc.

I think it’s a cool way to tie multiple things together: Wukong’s journey of learning about humans + how demon society changes just like every other society (and also just giving demons more respect toward their customs, etc.) + giving history to the world and showing how things can change + maybe having some characters that prefer the old ways.

[3584-tropical-fish]

Guess who just remembered this really old document they have sitting in their notes. Anyways woe empires smp season 1 dance style headcanons be upon ye

Pixandria: Dancing on sand is hard, so dances are specifically meant to be done on stone. Because of this, Pixandrians started dancing with the intent of making sounds with their feet and dance with a sort of tap shoe. Since the Anthill has the hardest rock of Pixandria, structured dances are done there. The Anthill has the added bonus of being the place closest to the sky, and dance is heavily associated with the winds and the storm. Dances are mostly calls for rain or a celebration of it. They are accompanied by drums, which mimic thunder, and the dance is very percussive and grounded. Wearing copper jewelry is also a large part of the dances, since it is so important to Pixandrian culture, calls the storm, and adds extra noise when it clinks together that sort of mimics rainfall

Mythland: I’d imagine partner dances are a very big part of their culture, and large group dances even more so. A lot of interlinking arms and Maypole style dances, because connection is very important to Mythlanders. This probably stems from the blood magic, and a major theme of Mythland blood magic is feeling connected to those around you. Mythland dances are grounded, and often done barefoot

Gilded Helianthia: Like Mythland, they have a heavy emphasis on partner dances, but group dances are less of a thing there. Duets are a large part of their culture in general. They’d dance a style similar to Irish, and their music is also in that style. Their dancing has two major styles: a down-to-earth, grounded style often done barefoot or with hard shoes, and a more lifted and airy style meant to praise the sun and mimic sunflowers

The Overgrown: The Overgrown dances are incredibly airy, they use a lot of flowing fabrics and include the fabric in their movement. Dances are always performed outside because it’s a celebration of the flowers and magic around them. Dances are often done solo as a coming of age rite. There are a series of set dances that everyone learns that are done on important days. Typically fast paced

Rivendell: Think French aristocracy, court dances. Performed with small steps on the balls of your feet, typically as a partner dance. Slow, measured, and lifted. There are very strict guidelines for how these dances are done, and are often meant to be a display of power. Ornate costumes are an important aspect of the dances

The Crystal Cliffs: Dancing is incredibly informal here, and not done often. Because the Cliffs are mainly a place of study and not a proper sovereign state, there are students from all over the world. So, styles from all different empires mix as the students share their native styles during their free time. The dance styles that have evolved here are short and quick, since students often fit them in between other things the need to do

The Grimlands: Like in Mythland, group dances are important to Grimlands culture. However, instead of dancing together, dances are done like breakdance cyphers where steps are exchanged in a turn based system. The Grimlands style stems from an older, more syncopated version of Mythland dance. It is grounded, and a major aspect of it is the way that their boots scuff across the ground to provide accents

The Undergrove: Shrub doesn’t dance much, but she tried to teach the wolves a gnome dance once. Gnome dances are known for their use of dizzying turns and focus on arm movement. It’s common to sing/play an instrument and dance at the same time, though when that occurs the steps are less complex than when one can put all their effort into just dancing. Dancing together is important to gnome culture

The Lost Empire: There are four very spiritual dances, one for each of the temples. Each has a slightly different style, but they’re not overly difficult so no one dies due to the heat of the jungle. These dances are only done by the emperor and the ones who upkeep the temple, and there are many rules surrounding these dances that apply to attire, where the dances are done, when they are done, as well as the importance of knowing why the dances are done. Secular dances focus on stomping rhythms out with your feet and a lot of improv, as well as up and down movement with the arms and torso which mimics bird wings

Mezalea: Dance isn’t a major part of Mezalean culture, since the entire population is Joel and his clones and Joel wasn’t much of a dancer. Instead, Mezalea focuses on visual art more than performing art. For the scattering of Mezaleans that do dance, dance is a means of creating art by painting the soles of their feet and dancing across a canvas or slab of terracotta with the sole purpose of creating patterns. So, Mezalean dance is categorized by the dancer dragging their feet across the floor and many repeated motions

The Ocean Empire: Dances here are very swing, there are a lot of weight shifts and partner dances where on person spins another around. Since it’s the Ocean Empire, most dance is done underwater, which leads to a very unique way of dancing that can’t be done anywhere else. Vertical height is played with a lot, as well as the use of loose clothes and long ribbons held by the dancers

The Cod Empire: The dances in the Cod Empire are quick and lively. They also use swing rhythms, as well as many dances that are meant to be performed in canons. Cod Empire dancing is very informal, and spontaneous challenges are issued from one person to another which starts off a round of dancing that may last for hours

Bonus, Mangrovia: Mangrovia is the home of refugees from all over, and the dancing reflects that. Like in the Crystal Cliffs, there is no one clear style, and instead an amalgamation of shared dances from all over. It is common for musicians from one empire to start up a song and dancers to match the feel, then another group of musicians will jump in and take over in a sort of call and response. Many people in Mangrovia know not only their native dance style, but also pick up many other styles so they can jump into any dance

[cabeswaterdrowned]

Was looking up every mention of Aurora in the books for the char study piece I want to write about her and my jaw dropped here because I had been misremembering that “She was the only person who he could not dazzle, and he loved her for it.” line as being a Bluesey quote when it’s about Niall and Aurora… yikes @ myself. But really when you isolate just that line it is very romantic and fits the definition of romance we see for the other main couples. Bluesey Pynch and Jordeclan are all structured as 

character A (Gansey/Adam/Declan) who is a social masker and disconnected from the ‘real them’ to some degree in a lot of interactions with the world around them x character B (Blue/Ronan/Jordan) who in Blue/Ronan’s case especially is very authentic and blunt and fearlessly themselves, that’s a little more complicated with Jordan who also has to perform as a version of Hennessy and then kind of find herself outside of that at the same time she starts her relationship with Declan, but she’s imaginative and creative the way Blue and in a less artistic way Ronan are and that proves an “authentic” contrast in a similar way, and she’s a helpful relationship for Declan in some of the same ways as Bluesey/Pynch.

 So understanding that’s a notion and type of dynamic this verse generally paints as romantic, Niall and Aurora’s relationship being a warped take on the formula is pretty interesting! Niall wants to be with someone who sees the truth of him and wants the truth of him, which was Mor who is also too complicated and sharp-edged for him to understand or to give him the type of love he wants, so he has to craft someone both much sweeter who is a more conventional housewife for him, but she couldn’t be someone who agreed with him 100% of the time because she had to be fundamentally different from him and also provide him with the faintest, most easily controlled glimmer of what he liked about Mor’s challenging nature, without any danger of her actually leaving or overpowering him. So Aurora can contradict him or call him out when she says he’s lying about the way Ronan was born, but she can’t truly Challenge him there’s a difference. I do get the sense from the way the brothers talk about her and the few flashbacks to her in that time she was more dynamic and complex pre Niall’s death than the Aurora we meet in trc present, which makes sense based on the mythology, and I don’t see a reason for her to not have an individual personality the same way Mathew and Jordan do although it would still be comparatively muted by her role. 

But basically, Niall wanting the same thing Gansey/Adam/Declan do but not being willing to actually build a recirprocal connection with someone with autonomy and offer them support too. There’s no Gansey comforting Blue after Persephone passes or Bluesey connecting over their similarly curious natures and wants and strange-loving relationship with Henrietta, and also none of their arguments which are honestly quite integral. If Niall’s… well does Niall have friends probably not, but theoretically if he had a male friend who made a comment like Henry’s very unfortunate r*pe joke in BLLB Aurora’s wouldn’t take Niall to task for putting her in that situation at all she would probably just smile along… None of Adam and Ronan’s conflicts or their viewing each other as equals would be able to occur same for Jordeclan.

I feel like seeing how that desire to have someone unconditionally understand you can be warped to the point of not respecting your partners agency or seeing them as a person outside of what they provide you really puts the main relationships into perspective for how they’re different, is what I meant to say. That’s not to say they’re without flaws (and they would be boring if they were), and I think some of the notion that perfect understanding is possible is one I would have liked to see questioned a little more than it is in canon, because I think these relationships provide the chars with types of understanding they crave and Might know them better than anyone else, but that doesn’t mean said understanding is absolute. As much as I love Bluesey I do think it’s fair to point out there’s sometimes a gap between how much Blue is encouraged by the narrative to understand Gansey and how much he has to reciprocate because of some misogyny and classism in the narrative, so there’s that. Or rather I’d say he reciprocates the understanding but less so when it comes to gendered conflicts. I think the ideal version of the Pynch arc in TD3 would be that it’s meant to challenge the notion we should rely on one person / our partner to always understand us fully by making it clear how terrible their communication has become and the gaps in their understanding related to their contrasting life goals and desires. It would actually be a really fascinating thing to deconstruct with them and if it had panned out I think that storyline could’ve been something truly special, but then either because of an audience feedback loop or just Maggie getting cold feat about some concepts, there’s a major backtracking to actually-love-solves-everything, Like, in isolation Adam telling Ronan that he’s the only Real thing in his life at this point and that’s worth too much to let go of is really romantic …. but then if you truly think about everything in the text around it and where Adam is at this point, and your reading a tad more cynically, you could also say that it reads less as high romance and more as a sunk cost fallac- but I digress the point was that Aurora & Niall’s relationship functioning as a mirror to these protagonist relationships is interesting, and there’s more to be said about the Mor&Niall/Adam&Ronan parallel and how it intersects with the comparison but I don’t have the energy.

(Also worth noting that while comparatives exist the m/m relationship is obviously never going to operate under the same gendered lines as the m/f romances and so any of those comparisons would be imperfect). 

TL;DR Niall and Aurora’s romance is a warped mirror of the protagonists (Bluesey Pynch Jordeclan) romantic dynamics in that they show how a relationship built on a similar dynamic premise of desire to be understood could be horrifying if one stops respecting the other party as an autonomous being outside of the understanding they offer them.

[mapileonxputellas]

Best Christmas Present (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Loved this Christmas one! Please send in anymore Christmas ideas... Requests 1, 2 and 3. 3k words x

“Final question for Y/N before we move onto Alexia.”

The joys of being the vice-captain of Barcelona meant joining Alexia for the press conference before the final game of the year. It felt like the middle of the night as you pulled up at the training session, hours before the training session all to face the questions of the media.

Having Alexia with you made it bearable, the two of you having been in a relationship for over four years now. The 7am wake up didn’t feel too bad when you were greeted with the love of your life in your shared home with Nala asleep at your feet.

“Y/N, how would you assess the season so far and what plans have you got for the Christmas break?”

A seemingly meaningless question to probably everyone in the room but one that brought up a touchy subject for yourself.

“In terms of the season so far I am pleased with both my own performance and the team overall but we know we cannot rest on that going into the new year. We’re more determined than ever to keep that unbeaten record in the league and reach the Champions League final again. We miss Alexia and others on the pitch at times but we’re trying to find alternative ways to break teams down effectively.” You answered, feeling your heart almost beat out of your chest as you thought about the second part of your answer. “I’m going to take the Christmas break to rest up and recharge ready for the new year in Spain.”

Out of all the things you loved about being Australian, the distance between there and your now home in Spain was not one of them. Christmas had never been an issue before, with the long break in the league you usually had time to travel there and back but this year the league structure meant that wouldn’t be possible and your parents’ health problems meant they couldn’t make the reverse journey.

“So you’re not travelling to Australia?”

“Sadly not.”

A simple answer but saying it out loud every time made it more real for you. Feeling a little nudge of your feat you slightly turned your head to find Alexia almost assessing you, making sure you weren’t going to breakdown so you sent her a weak smile accompanied by your blurry eyes.

Her smile immediately dropped noticing your mood and slightly scooted her chair over so her hand could grasp your own and draw patterns on your hand to calm you down.

The rest of the press conference was a blur for you, just focusing on the hand connected to your own and vaguely listening to Alexia. All you could think about was the new-found reality that you would be celebrating Christmas alone this year. This was your favourite holiday and it wouldn’t be the same on your own with no-one to celebrate with. This time the final question was a blessing as you quickly thanked the media before shuffling out of your seat.

You could feel Alexia’s eyes on you as you walked out the door but you didn’t have any time to talk about what had happened as you were thrust into a full changing room ready for the training session.

“Here come the love birds.” Claudia shouted as you entered. Trying to distract yourself you went straight over to your cubby between Ana and Jana. “Can’t even keep your hands off each other for twenty minutes.”

“Leave them alone.” Ana defended you. “They’re just in love.”

“What are you talking about anyway?” You questioned, quickly trying to change into the training gear.

“Let’s just say you weren’t as subtle as you thought you were.” Jana teased as you sat down. The young girl had spent a lot of time with both you and Alexia and often referred to you as her team mum.

“What?”

“Alexia getting handsy.” Mapi interrupted her. “You should see twitter honestly it’s like you’ve got married never mind just held hands in a press conference.”

“I thought it was cute.” Ingrid added. “Don’t listen to them.”

“I always preferred your girlfriend Mapi.”

“Right back at ya.”

Just as you finished tying your boot laces a hand came and rested on your knee before your girlfriend came into your vision, kneeling down in front of you. Her glances around the room gave away that she was waiting for the room to clear before she spoke.

“Are you ok?” She whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me….”

“Can we do this later? Please.” You almost begged, not wanting to get upset and then have to go out into the cold.

“Promise you’ll talk to me later.”

“I promise.” You replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for back there.”

“Anything for you.”

….

You avoided the conversation for as long as you possible could by busying yourself around other people. Offering to give Jana a lift home who lived round the corner from you both, taking the longest shower possible and busying yourself with making tea before you sat down together for dinner, ready to face the music.

The silence was overwhelming as you both sat down, twirling the pasta round your fork as you avoided eye contact. Slowly making your way through the meal.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Alexia broke the silence.

“It’s complicated Alexia.”

“What’s complicated for me is the fact that you didn’t want to tell me.”

“There’s nothing you can do though, your family is here and mine’s not.” You wiped away the sole tear that was slowly trickling down your face. “I thought they were going to come here but then with their latest problems the health insurance wouldn’t cover them. But it’s fine, I’ve got everything I need here and we can celebrate together the day after.”

This time though it was Alexia who was confused. “What?”

“It’s fine at least you’ll get two Christmases.”

“Babe take a step back, I’m not letting you spend Christmas day alone.”

“I mean what other choice do I have?”

“Spend it with us.” She reached over to grab your hand. “My mum always cooks enough for the whole village and she loves you.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s your family Ale.”

Well and truly before this year you’d never even had the option of celebrating Christmas together with the distance between you all. “They’re your family too and before you ask whether they’d be OK with it, my mum will be just worried the whole day if she knows you’re spending the day alone.”

“I feel like I’d be intruding.”

“I promise you wouldn’t be, this past year you’ve been a rock to me and my family and we owe you this at least.”

“You don’t owe me anything Ale.”

“I do, you gave up so much of your time watching me playing football, all those nights you stayed with me in hospital and then you’ve been the brunt of all my mood swings.”

“I did it because I love you.”

“And I love you so let me do this for you now.” Ale slipped out of her seat before gently sitting on your lap. “You know one day we’ll have both our families together, little ones running around and we won’t be the guests anymore. Consider this the first step in that, I don’t want to spend Christmas apart from you any longer, I’ve done that for four years and that’s long enough.”

“You’re a good persuader Miss Putellas.” She was getting to you and the smirk on her face said she knew that as her fingers gently dragged back and forth on your exposed collar bone.

“Please, I won’t be able to celebrate if I know you’re here all alone.”

“I’m calling your mum tomorrow and double checking this is alright with her.”

“Is that a yes?”

Reaching up you gently grabbed her chin to draw your eyes together. “Yes Ale, I’d love to spend Christmas with you.” The only way to seal the deal was with a kiss which you almost immediately pulled away from as a thought came into your head. “I need a full list of who will be there so I can add them to the Christmas present list.”

“Babe I’ve already started just putting both our names on them.”

“Really?”

“Well the shit ones I just put your names on.”

“Very funny.”

Moments like these cemented how much you loved the woman on your lap, throughout all the moments her newfound fame had given her she was still your Ale. As your lips gently caressed each other’s you thought of the perfect way to thank her for all of this to truly show how much you loved her and thankfully you knew exactly how you could do that.

….

Christmas with the Putellas family was definitely an experience. You knew how much Eli loved being a host and that showed on Christmas day.

From the beginning you were made to feel just as much a part of the family as Alba and Alexia: from the stocking embroidered with your name on to the heap of presents for you. It almost made you emotional thinking about the family that you had gained from your love for the Spaniard.

The day however only grew from there with family member after family member being welcomed into the house. Even though you had met everyone before it was still quite overwhelming so you tried to help Eli as much as possible in the kitchen. Cooking was definitely your other passion away from football and it helped you to forget about all the craziness going in the other room.

“How is my favourite daughter finding today?” Eli asked as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder before dropping down into a whisper. “Have you got a plan yet?”

Before you could even answer though another voice piped in. “Wow mama you could at least pretend not to have favourites.”

You loved Alba like a sister and you knew she was only joking, further shown as she joined you in a group hug. “Alba is just jealous.”

“No me and Alexia always knew you was the favourite. Alexia sent me to get you by the way, we’re playing games with the children.”

“Tell her I’m helping mama.”

“No you go.” Eli almost pushed you out, giving you her best authoritative look. “You’ve helped me more than enough today.”

“I’ll be back.” You promised.

The living room was far from the quiet serenity of the kitchen, both the sofas were filled with extended family, children were scattered across the carpet playing all sorts of different games and you found your girlfriend on the armchair trying to work out the latest game they wanted to play. You couldn’t help but watch as she tried to answer the questions of her young cousins all whilst looking incredible in the black blazer set she’d settled on, a stark contrast to your red dress. Your thoughts were interrupted though as Alba bumped your shoulder knocking you out of the daydream.

“Having a bit of trouble there.” You teased taking a seat on the arm of the chair. “These are supposed to be for children you know.”

“Shut up.” With one arm still holding onto the instructions the other tugged your waist causing you to slide down the arm of the chair onto her lap. You couldn’t help but press a kiss to the top of her head as she still tried to wrap her mind around the game.

“How about I do the next game?” You announced getting the attention of all the kids. “Count to twenty and I’ll be back.”

Scrambling to go to your backs you left in Alexia’s old room you found the parcel in your overnight bag ready for this exact scenario. Coming empty handed was never an option for you.

“Here it is.” You announced getting everyone’s attention. “Who wants to play pass the parcel?”

Your suggestion was met with a round of cheers as everyone got into a circle to include all the adults on the sofas. Taking a seat on the floor you were ready to start when one of Alexia’s cousins, Ana, sat down on your lap. Your arms instantly wrapped around the young girl as you started the music, each time letting the girl pass the parcel on to Alexia.

“Why did you not sit with me?” Alexia asked Ana dangling her hand over the chair to tickle the girl, pouting to feign her hurt.  

“Want Auntie Y/N.” Even just her calling you Auntie made your heart skip a beat, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to now call these people your family.

“Yeah Auntie Ale.” You teased sticking your tongue out.

“She’s my favourite too.” Ale admitted to the little girl, faking a whisper. “Don’t tell her than though.”

“Secret.” The little girl whispered, thinking this was a real secret even though you could obviously hear both of them.

“Yeah keep it a secret.”

“What are you two talking about?” You asked gaining the attention of Ana who simply curled back into your lap.

“Nothing.” She answered. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Alexia couldn’t help but just look the at the two of you together. Your attention split between a conversation with her uncle and trying to soothe the girl in your lap.

“You’re so whipped.” Alba whispered teasingly into her sister’s ear. “Stop staring.”

“Shut up Alba.”

…..

Your moment didn’t come till after the meal had finished and everyone was still sat around talking. Alexia was curled up on the chair next to you, both of your hands intertwined on your lap as you mixed with everyone. But the box in your bag upstairs could no longer be ignored and now felt like the moment.

“I’m just nipping to the bathroom,” You whispered to Ale before slipping out the room.

Quickly refreshing yourself in the bathroom before retrieving the little box hidden in your overnight bag. You’ve played in front of nearly one hundred thousand people in your career but this is the most nervous you’ve felt before.

You couldn’t stop your hands from shaking as you slowly made your way into the dining room again. Stopping behind Ale’s chair your hands rested on her shoulders as you cleared your throat to gain the attention of the room, all eyes suddenly focused on you.

“Sorry for interrupting all your conversations but I just wanted to say something in front of you all. Firstly I want to thank you for today, you’ve all welcomed me into your family and took me in as one of your own. To Eli, thank you for being an amazing host and for the amazing food.”

“Which you helped with.” She pointed out. “We’ve all loved having you here, plus Ale would have spent the whole day being miserable without you.”

“Whining even more than usual.” Alba teased her sister.

“As you all know I’ve been with Ale for more than four years now and they’ve been the best of my life.” You started, Alexia turning to face you. “We’ve been through more struggles than anyone will know, with injuries and the pressures of being who we are but we’ve always had each other and I know I wouldn’t have come this far without you by my side.”

“What’s all this for?” Alexia asked.

You ignored her question to continue. “You’re my best friend. I love everything about you even when you keep me awake snoring at night or when you burn my toast in the morning. You’re always the first to offer to give me a massage after a match, you always remember my green tea in the morning but more than that you make me feel more loved than I’ve ever felt before.”

The realisation of what was slowly happening was dawning on Alexia as tears streamed down her face.

“I’d love nothing more than to have the rest of my life to continue to show you how much you mean to me and stand by your side to share every moment together.” You said, slowly getting down on one knee, opening the box to reveal the ring you’d chosen. “So Alexia Putellas Segura, will you do me the greatest honour and be my wife?”

“Yes, yes of course I will.” Immediately shooting out of her chair she wasted no time in gathering you in her arms, spinning you around in the air. “I love you so much.” She whispered, planting you back down on the floor to kiss you.

“I love you too. I hope you like the ring.”

“It’s perfect. Everything you choose is perfect.” Taking the simple but elegant diamond ring in your hand you slid it onto her finger like a glove.

It’s only then that you realise you’re not alone in the room, both of your eyes immediately turning to Eli and Alba. Tears uncontrollable streaming down their faces as they gathered you in a group hug.

“I’m so happy for you both.” Eli whispered, kissing both of your heads. “No-one deserves this more than you two.”

“You’re both made for each other.” Alba added, first hugging you as Eli took Alexia in her arms. “That ring as well, wow.”

“You should thank Eli for that as well.” You admitted as you swapped to get your hug from Eli. “I can’t take all the credit for that.”

“You knew?”  Alexia turned to the both of you.

“Y/N came to me a few months ago and asked for my permission which I of course gave her. I didn’t know she as planning on doing it tonight though.”

“It just felt right.” You admitted. “All your family here and we both love Christmas. Of course I’d love to have met your father and ask him but I felt this was only right.”

That again set Alexia off as the tears started again. “I love you.”

“I love you too my fiancée.” Bringing her into your arms the cheers started as you sealed it with another kiss. “Forever.”

“Forever with you.”

[autumnalfallingleaves]

Question, in the first few chapters on WondLa, before Rovee gave Eva the translator, were you able to decode what Besteel and Rovee were saying? I’m still having a hard time trying to figure out what they’re saying. Still wondering what Shee-na means.

*spreads arms dramatically* My time has come.

Lmao. I love conlangs, so I've definitely tried to translate the non-human dialogue a couple times over the years, so I'll give it my best shot!

First, I think "shee-na" probably means "quiet" or a variation thereof, given that Rovender makes a shushing motion when saying that. As for book dialogue:

"'Ovanda say tateel?'" (pg. 69, Rovender)

Likely "What are you doing?" I'd be inclined to translate as "Who/what are you?" instead if not for the fact that Rovender says this same thing to Eva when she's hiding under Otto on pg. 94. They're sort of familiar with each other at this point, so it doesn't make any sense to ask who she is again.

"'Daff effu Cærulean?'" (pg. 77, Besteel)

Possibly something along the lines of a snarky greeting, or "What are you doing, Cærulean?", or even "We meet again, Cærulean?". From context clues, I'd say Besteel and Rovender have crossed paths before (they seem slightly familiar with each other; Besteel knows Rovender by name) and have a history of not liking the other/Rovender keeps messing with Besteel. This is also why I'd posit a snarky greeting.

"'Tuda neem,'" (pg. 82, Besteel)

"Don't worry," meant in an extremely worrying fashion.

"'Kap und gabbo.... Ta, broog iffa yu nabba,'" (pg. 83, Besteel)

Context seems to suggest "ta" is "yes" in the common Orbonian language. The whole thing is perhaps "You can't escape [or you are scared].... Yes, you will be perfect [or: you will live]," possibly as a reference to his mission to capture specimans to free Redimus.

"'Oeeah. Te banga nee peezil,'" (pg. 83, Rovender)

"Oeeah" is an exclamation, so has no translation. Possibly "see what he's doing there"?

"'Dot, dat.'" (pg. 83, Rovender)

"Stop, no." "Dat" appears to be "no".

"'Peesa van shuuzu,'" (pg. 84, Rovender)

"Going up is the only way out"; "peesa" is "up".

"'Ta! Ta! [...] Peesa.'" (pg. 84, Rovender)

"Yes! Yes! [...] Up."

"'Pra! Dooma boffa!'" (pg. 85, Besteel)

"Back! Stupid animal!" (translation note: what an asshole)

"'Dat, dat, dat. [...] Te,'" (pg. 85, Rovender)

"No, no, no. [...] There,'"

"'Tasha, zaata,'" (pg. 87, Rovender)

"Alright, go,"; "zaata" is "go".

"'Bluh, sizzu feezi,'" (pg. 88, Rovender)

"Bluh" is an exclamation and has no translation. "Feezi" means "nymph"; this seems to be a word Orbonians-- or at least Cæruleans and/or Halcyonus-- use for children. Eva is referred to as "the nymph" and-- I believe-- "the nymph of the forest" and, in the 200 years later epilogue, the language blend of English and the common Orbonian language gives us "'Feezi, known as Eva'", providing a direct translation. This whole phrase, then, could be "Bluh, ridiculous nymph."

"'Feezi meed! [...] Ya battee meer de hagrim Ruzender. Wha seesha?'" (pg. 88, Besteel)

"The nymph is gone! [...] You're to blame for this, Rovender. Where is she?"

"'Grazeet! [...] Zaata! Zaata! Zaata!'" (pg. 90, Rovender)

"Move! [...] Go! Go! Go!"

"'Nassa Ruzender Keet!'" (pg. 92, Besteel)

"Goddamn [or Orbonian equivalent curse word] Rovender Kitt!"

"'Tista baffa fooh!'" (pg. 94, Besteel)

"Get back here!"

"'Gabu Baasteel!'" (pg. 94, Rovender)

"[insert Orbonian curse word] Besteel!"

"'Feezi! [...] Zaata! Zaata!'" (pg. 96, Rovender)

"Nymph! [...] Go! Go!"

"'Dat, dat, dat, [...] Feezi zaata. [...] Ruzender zaata.'" (pg. 96, Rovender)

"No, no, no. [...] Nymph go. [...] Rovender go." Sentence and grammatical structure are likely heavily simplified due to neither of them being able to understand one another and Rovender being like "what is the most simple thing this weird kid could understand"

"'Grasset de fugill Ruzender!'" (pg. 97, Besteel)

"You're dead, Rovender!"

"'Ewa seetha tadasha,'" (pg. 99, Rovender)

"That was exciting," said by someone who wishes this never happened.

"'Ta! Feezi!'" (pg. 99, Rovender)

"Yes! Nymph!"

"'Zuzu, zuzu,'" (pg. 100, Rovender)

"Wait, wait,"

"'Kip! Kip!'" (pg. 100, Rovender)

"Talk! Talk!" The transcoder later has Rovender say "Tes, continue kipping" as it calibrates, so "kip" is probably "talk".

"'Dat, dat, dat, feezi, [...] Doot, doot, ba kip!'" (pg. 100, Rovender)

"No, no, no, nymph, [...] Closer, closer, and talk!"

"'Dat, [...] Peesa tobondi feezi, ta kipli.'" (pg. 101, Rovender)

"No, [...] Keep it up close, nymph, and talk."

"'Zazig. I try to peebla foo,'" (pg. 101, Rovender)

"Sort of. I try to make it easier,"

"'If you do, [...] you hret graaveem my speech.'" (pg. 102, Rovender)

"If you do, [...] you understand my speech."

I think that's all the Orbonian language we get; I hope this helps! :)

[chuuyadelune]

now that i have recovered from the emotional shock of seeing *that* akutagawa scene from chapter 88 animated in HD 4K (i thought i’d have another week to emotionally prepare myself LMAO), i just wanna be a little bit of a nerd and say that i really liked the cinematography/composition this episode.

in particular, i really enjoyed the anime’s decision to draw visual parallels between this fight and previous fights (in particular, the fight against francis, which is important because it is the first time they worked together).

after all, this fight is the culmination of everything they’ve done together. from the combining of their abilities, coming to an understanding with each other, realising the potential of beast-beneath the moonlight-rashoumon… bringing back similar shots that were used in previous fights is SUPER effective at highlighting the parallels and how far they’ve come, in my humble opinion.

here are a few things i noticed:

- first of all, both of them activating their abilities one after another is an explicit nod to S2’s fight;

- the confrontation/conversation in the hallway from S2 (to an extent! they’re on the same sides, which caught my eye);

- akutagawa blowing up the engine room on the ship, and kyouka doing the same during the first fight between him and atsushi (S1);

- and a similar angle being used for black tiger claws / koukko zessou as a nod to the fight in the S3 finale.

the parallels — though maybe less explicit, *are* still there in the manga? like, the entire “structure” of the fight so to speak is very similar to the francis fight in S2 — akutagawa finding atsushi, taking place on a(n air)ship, breaking away from the fight to strategise before confronting the final boss (then, francis, and now, fukuchi) is undeniably a nod to that fight? i love that this is given its due in the anime as well.

another thing about the cinematography this episode i loved was them using the clock as being the indicator of fukuchi’s fuckass space-time sword doing its thing. that was a really nice touch, in my opinion; the cuts in between were jarring and disorienting and really helped put us into sskk’s shoes.

and as for the background design alongside the clock itself — there were a couple of things about them i enjoyed:

- the number of floors / levels of the ship in the back (5, as a nod to the five ways an angel decays, the DOA)

- the blue of the clock is meant to be reminiscent of fukuchi’s sword, i’d argue, with the way both of them pops out of the sunset/orangey-red lighting

- the clock’s design being super ornate and gold plated reminds me a *bit* of a tabernacle (where they keep unused eucharist in a church) — and thus brings up connotations of sacrifice. that white bridge-thing beneath the clock as well reminds me a lot of an altar, too (see the image above the last to see what exactly i’m referring to, because image limit)

okay, yeah, that one might be a bit of a stretch, sure. but its placement as being above them, combined with the two tables/boxes to the left and right of the ship’s bow (which looks very much like a cross, btw) gives it a distinctly religious, altar-kinda feel, i’d argue. and crosses have been used in S4 as symbolism as well!

(tbh, there could even be a bit more imagery i’m missing, because — the angels of the DOA refers specifically to the buddhist conception of an angel. i’m not too familiar with buddhist imagery, but i thought that this was worth pointing out regardless!)

the last thing i want to say is that the red and blue symbolism went CRAZY this episode. i don’t have much else to say because it was super obvious — they even reused the same “black tiger claws” shot from S3, after all — but i do wanna point out that the symbolism even went into the carpets. the fucking carpets.

like, the shift: it’s red when akutagawa’s leading the conversation but changes to blue after atsushi’s suggesting of the submersible as a strategy? i mean, i don’t know if this (or anything i’ve said, to be fair) was intentional or not, but it’s a cool detail anyway!

personally, i enjoyed this episode, the action was great, and all of this too was a really neat addition as well! and now… uh. we wait for the chaos to get worse i suppose !? (laughs nervously)

[triscribeaucollection]

(Fiddling around with a new MCU time travel idea)

There are a couple of kids in Tony’s living room.

Well- there’s one bonafide child, early elementary school age, and then one teenager somewhere on the cusp of young adulthood. But Tony would bet if he put their ages together and divided by two, he’d get a number in the realm of ‘should probably still have a babysitter when the parents go out for an evening’, ergo, kids.

They’re still asleep, for the moment. Or, unconscious, rather. Not awake, at any rate, and they haven’t been since falling through a big glowing circle into his living room, teenager curled protectively around the little girl. Which is a little annoying for two reasons; first and foremost, Tony has questions, but also he’d rather not have Pepper or anyone else walk in and demand to know why there are two unconscious children lying on his sofa.

That’s just such an awkward question. Though he does at least have proof in the form of security footage that the pair arrived by means entirely beyond Tony’s control. Speaking of which; Tony flicks a finger, and JARVIS dutifully rewinds said footage to the beginning, and plays at an again-reduced speed. Ultimate slo-mo doesn’t reveal any answers, however. There’s no prior warning before the light flares, startling video-Tony into spilling his coffee as he crosses the room, and no hints to be found beyond swirling white and orange as the kids fall through. The light vanishes as soon as they’re clear, then the boy hits the floor, hard. There are honest to goodness cracks in Tony’s floor, he had JARVIS run a scan on the structure beneath his lovely thick carpeting just to check.

No cracks in the kid’s bones, though. And- okay, in all honesty, questions and unknowns and everything else aside, Tony does prefer it that way, rather than the reverse.

As far as JARVIS could tell with further scanning, neither kid bore any injuries - just some lingering traces of quantum energy, fading further with every minute. With any luck, as soon as that finishes up, there’ll be some waking up and answering of questions.

Though of course Tony couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while he waited.

The little girl is definitely wearing designer brand clothing: durable sneakers, high quality shorts and collared shirt, a lightweight jacket that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine for children’s spring collections. Also, just to hammer home the fact she comes from money, JARVIS detected extremely sophisticated tracking beacons inside every single garment. Even the socks. Tiny devices, clearly some kind of advanced nanotech... With a mini Stark Industries logo etched onto each one.

Trouble is, Tony’s never made beacons this small and impressive before.

Her watch is a similar conundrum. It’s red and yellow, clearly meant to look like any other cheap Iron Man themed child’s decoration, except for housing what Tony would swear is the same sort of satellite connection he puts into all of his suits for JARVIS to link up with. Top of the line encryption, tiny hologram projection, more tracking software with options to send specific distress calls, and all of it bio-locked, which- which should have been a problem. Even without an AI present in the device to fight him, it should have taken Tony significant time to crack through the locks and get a good look at the watch’s internal circuitry. Instead, it- recognized him. Recognized his bio-signature, and let him in.

He’s still mulling over the implications of that one.

Now, the teenager, there lie some other mysteries. Far shabbier clothing, for one thing. The ragged shoes alone look like they’ve picked up grime walking from one side of NYC to the other and back. Jeans with a faded appearance that’s not artistic enough to be artificially crafted; sweatshirt that has some amateur stitchwork patching up the elbows; t-shirt with holes in the hem and a cartoon character Tony didn’t recognize on the chest.

Thing is, JARVIS didn’t recognize the character either. Not even after running a search through the whole dang internet. And it wasn’t an indie creation, there was very definitely a Disney logo on the shirt’s tag, where it stuck up from the back of the collar.

And then there’s what the kid’s got under his clothes.

No, Tony did not undress him, but peeking out from under the cuffs of that sweatshirt and visible in the gap between pants and shoes is a very different sort of material. Durable, flexible, extremely form-fitting to be hidden so well by regular garments. Physically rifling through the kid’s sweatshirt pockets turned up a pair of gloves and mask, too. Very Halloween-y, Tony would probably jump out of his skin if he turned around to find those big white eyes looming out of the dark. Attached to the gloves, he also found a couple of small gadgets, fairly sophisticated, capable of spitting out an atrocious substance clear across the room. A large, sticky web still occupies the far wall by his bar as proof.

Those, Tony gingerly set down next to the girl’s watch, to be considered later. When their owners are awake, and capable of telling him things like hey don’t touch that button.

In the meantime, he’s finally accepted there isn’t much left to do but wait, idly replaying the security footage over and over, less idly hoping there’s some kind of change before any company arrives.

His luck, perhaps predictably, falls through.

“Sir,” JARVIS announces into the otherwise quiet room. “Miss Potts is on her way up.”

With a long, drawn out, highly exasperated sigh, Tony sets his empty glass aside and stands to face the music.

---

“Time travel,” Pepper says flatly. That’s a very clear, Pepperish tone of you can’t be serious. But before Tony has a chance to voice his defense, she’s already sighing, and bringing up a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. “Why do you think this is time travel?”

So he starts reviewing the data.

The cartoon character that doesn’t exist yet only earns a raised eyebrow - when Tony gets into the particulars of the girl’s watch and trackers, Pepper looks a little less unamused, a little more disconcerted. Pointing out the boy’s suit and gadgets and drawing her attention to the web still occupying his wall even earns two whole startled blinks. “That’s... Tony.”

“Yeah.”

“Tony.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, fully in agreement. “But it’s either time travel, or R&D has been doing some serious overtime tinkering without letting either of us know!”

Pepper rubs a hand over her face, sighing again. When she pulls it away, her gaze goes to the pair of kids, girl still held in the boy’s arms, both of them laying on their sides where Tony managed to haul them up onto his sofa when the whole bizarre event began. “What do we do, then?”

“Not much we can do, besides haul them down to the infirmary and try injecting things to induce an early wake-up call.” Even as he says it, Tony swipes up and enlarges the holo-window with the energy reading and its total dissipation countdown. T-minus eight hundred and seventy-three seconds. “Otherwise, wait to see if anything happens in about fifteen minutes.”

Pepper let loose her third sigh, and went to get a glass of wine.

[shoechoe]

Hiiii attacking your ask box while I procrastinate 😛

So regarding Passione’s structure: Been doing a lot of reading lately on the mafia and have found that interestingly, the Neapolitan mafia is generally much more fragmented than other mafias in Italy, particularly the Sicilian and Calabrian mafias (the Cosa Nostra and ‘Ndrangheta respectively).

That is to say, the “boss of bosses” model seen in other mafias is not really present in Calabria and Naples, where the gangs are instead smaller and more numerous, controlling many minor sectors of criminal society instead of one broad huge, organization blanketing massive swathes of the land.

This makes me think about the odd way that Passione’s hierarchy is illustrated when we’re being given exposition about it in the story. Although Passione is depicted as this pervasive, all-powerful thing, it seems to be very horizontally organized overall, which makes me wonder: Is Passione a singular gang, or is it meant to be more of a replacement for the Camorra in the story altogether, i.e. a loose coalition of clans operating broadly under the same roof, but generally independent from one another?

Or is it some weird mix of both? Each “squad” seems more like its own distinct thing than a unified part of a larger whole given all of the infighting, but everyone ultimately takes orders from Diavolo anyway. I wonder if the Camorra also still exists in this universe, parallel to Passione…

The structure of Passione seems to be rather lacking in middlemen altogether: there aren’t many “tiers” of it to climb. There’s the grunts, then squad leaders like Bruno or Risotto, then caporegimes like Polpo, and then directly above that is Doppio+Diavolo.

The structure at the top is definitely fucked backwards no matter which way you look at it because Doppio/Diavolo is his own boss and his own henchman at the same time and he doesn’t seem to have a consigliere or any other personal advisers—just his personal guard, who seem to mostly just be… hitmen? There doesn’t seem to be much evidence that Cioccolata, Squalo and Tiziano et al. conduct much business for the gang. They’re just… attack dogs, I guess ?

(To note, the official illustration of Passione’s hierarchy says that the position that belongs to Doppio should be a consigliere, but this is more of a non-combative, lawerly, legal-counsel type role which is something that Doppio appears by all accounts to be woefully inadequate for, so this doesn’t really make sense.)

There’s also oddly not much mention of blood relatives within Passione: I don’t think we hear of any gangster characters who are actually related to one another, which is highly unusual for the mafia. Is it because near everyone seems to be a stand user, save bottom-tier lackeys like Luca? Do they put less stock into blood relations in Passione because of this (and maybe also because of the boss discouraging such things)? Do they skip over most of the formalities of being “made” because they find the stand arrow test to serve as a sufficient initiation? This is the stuff that keeps me up at night.

That is some very interesting real-life context. The only gang I've read a book on so far is Cosa Nostra, but organized crime in Italy definitely goes beyond that and varies from mob to mob. Personally, I doubt there was too much thought put into how Passione replaces the real-life mob structures in Italy; Araki was probably just thinking "media-like depiction of an Italian mob" and didn't pour himself into study of real-life mob structures or anything.

I always kind of assumed other gangs were practically irrelevant, since conflicts with other gangs are never mentioned and Passione seems to be so powerful that it's basically the "main" mob in Italy due to its high concentration of Stand users and monopoly on the drug trade. (Though Purple Haze Feedback isn't canon, it does make a point that Passione is powerful beyond powerful in terms of mobs with Giorno in charge.) Though, there really isn't enough info given to tell, just like a lot of things with the mob in VA, lol.

I have also noticed the whole "consigliere" deal before- I made a post about it some time ago. Personally I get the feeling that VA was just using "consigliere" functionally as a synonym for "underboss", since they mention a "right-hand man" in the structure. It's a little annoying and inaccurate, but what can you do?

The lack of family dynamics playing a role is definitely something I noticed Passione strongly breaks away from real-life mobs in. The concept of family is extremely important in most real-life Italian mobs, with gang higher-ups often operating within families and successors being sons of the boss. Passione, on the other hand, seems to have absolutely none of this.

This also makes Diavolo's hatred and avoidance of family really interesting, and indeed, what causes Vento Aureo's attempts to have Passione mimic a "typical mob structure" come out extremely broken. There is nobody planned to take over if something happens to Diavolo because Doppio is his underboss (who wouldn't work as a successor for obvious reasons) and he cut off all potential family and connections to people besides himself. I guess that just goes to show Diavolo's sheer confidence in himself and his distrust of anybody else that might replace him. He also might have just truly not given a shit about what will happen to his empire after he dies.

Passione is, in my opinion, a pretty simplistic idea of a mob. It's written just enough to get a vague idea of what it's like and also to get the plot working, but upon further inspection, you really realize just how vague it is as an organization. It makes me want a prequel to see how Diavolo started all of it even more lol.

[ink-flavored]

Purgatory

BTS Series: ⬅ Table of Contents Also available on Neocities! P&J Taglist (Check out my Google form to get added): @elegant-paper-collection @auroblaze@zeenimf @vacantgodling @foxys-fantasy-tales Banner art by @auroblaze

Traditionally in Christianity, Purgatory isn’t a place, like pop culture depicts. It’s actually a “cleansing ritual” that some people have to go through to be worthy of Heaven. Sometimes it involves literally being cleansed in fire! However, I’m going with the more pop-culture-y depiction of Purgatory because it better fits the tone of the story, and allows me to do a little more sociopolitical commentary. Which I love, and will always do. Anyway, here it is!

The Structure of Purgatory

In the quilt of the universe, Purgatory is a fascinating square. It holds a mirror to Earth, reflecting it as a plain, unchanging, eerie dreamworld. There are things that look familiar to the souls that wander there, but with a distinct alien veneer that reminds them they are not in the same place they left.

Souls who aren’t worthy of Heaven, but aren’t sinful enough to be sent to Hell, are prescribed time to think and to repent in Purgatory. God gives them a second chance after death to reconcile their sin, and once they’ve atoned to His satisfaction, they’re permitted to take their place in paradise. Those that aren’t forgiven wander until their souls eventually fade to Hell.

Those wandering Purgatory cannot enter or exit of their own volition. The process of forgiveness or fading can take centuries. Hundreds of years of circling in the same empty plane with other souls, just as aimless. Simply put, Purgatory is a holding cell, for those souls who have nowhere else to go.

Wandering Souls

Though they certainly can, the immortal beings of other realms rarely appear in Purgatory. Angels and demons can travel in and out whenever they wish, but angels appear only to bring souls there or relieve others of their roaming, and demons have little use for souls that can’t be further corrupted. The souls of Purgatory have very little company outside each other.

The souls that wander are given little direction as to how they’re meant to appropriately repent. They have not broken their relationship with God, they’re assured, only injured it, and that injury can be repaired with time and atonement. However, many souls in Purgatory are confused as to why they’re even supposed to be repenting. Lying, gossiping, drinking to excess, failure to pray, and suicide are all on the list of venial sins that these lonely souls are meant to be making amends for.

For those confused, they have plenty of time to work through the feeling. Souls in Purgatory are meant to consider their mistakes in life, atone for them, and God would recognize the way they’ve held themselves accountable and offer forgiveness. Eventually.

Some souls, though, become frustrated. Some felt their sin was unavoidable, some felt they didn’t have a choice. Some had no idea they were sinning in the first place, they thought they were doing the right thing. It’s difficult for many souls to capitulate to a God they had never believed in, or to apologize for something they couldn’t have averted.

But even among those that atone as best they can, the resounding silence from above becomes disheartening indeed. After centuries and centuries of wandering, plenty expect that they’ll never be forgiven, no matter how long or how many times they repent. When the angels appear to usher the scant few forgiven souls to Heaven, leaving countless others behind, the demoralization drives them deeper and deeper into despair.

Forgiveness and Fading

The process of being forgiven is, in writing, very simple. Once God has decided a soul wandering Purgatory has repented to His satisfaction, He orders an angel to bring them to Heaven.

In practice, the qualifiers for “satisfactory repentance” are vague. The criteria for one soul might be wildly different from another, regardless of their sin. Some are waiting for a short amount of time compared to the souls that wander the longest, and there doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to which souls are accepted and which aren’t. God seems more determined than ever to smoke out the unworthy, and the length of time it takes for any one soul to reach forgiveness stretches far longer than many of Heaven’s agents think is justified—though these angels are wise enough not to voice their criticisms.

Part of the unspoken concern lies in the fact that souls in Purgatory don’t stay there for eternity. The longer they sit, the more they despair, the closer they are to giving up on the chance of being forgiven altogether. Many don’t see a point, after waiting for so long. God had abandoned them, left them to rot and tread the same ground over and over, waiting for a forgiveness that would never come. When these souls turn their backs on Heaven, there is only one place for them to go.

Hell doesn’t “claim” souls from Purgatory. Demons aren’t sent up to collect them, and it’s not as though the souls from Purgatory are itching for damnation. Instead, God watches these souls slip farther from forgiveness, and eventually He lets them go. Like a fishing line, He stops reeling them in, and releases them to the depths.

And though Hell doesn’t necessarily gather up these lost souls on purpose, Lucifer will accept them happily. After all, what better way to motivate his army than with more fodder to be made an example of? What better way to show them how pointless God’s plans are, than with the very souls He claimed to love so much, abandoned at their doorstep? The constant churning of Purgatory’s lost souls are the perfect talking point—remember how much God loved His creations? This is what He thinks of them now. The only option becomes overthrowing Heaven, and proving themselves righteous.

The angels in Heaven who are brave or foolish enough to speak of this problem openly, do so in whispers. They wonder why God is so concerned with keeping out every soul with even a sliver of impurity. They wonder why so few souls get brought up from Purgatory these days, and even if they do, why they stay there for so long. They worry about innocent souls going to Hell under their watch, suffering needlessly for the sake of holy paranoia.

And then they’re decisively hushed, for fear of joining the unholy ranks.

There it is! Those of you who read Justice’s backstory on Tumblr might have found some of this familiar.

I’m not sure how much of all this lore, from Heaven on downwards, will make it into the full story, but I’m glad I got to share it with all of you to make sure someone other than me gets to hear my thoughts!

Thanks as always for your support!

— Annika

[cartoonrival]

👀Kirishima popular with men and not boruto uglified unhappy married with a woman? Fuck everything else i won(ill take this crumb i was so scared 💀)and my girlss momo, mina, jiro, tsuyu and specially ochaco my fav <3 love seeing them doing ok this is my win, bkdks can have whatever they want idgaf if the girls, some others charas. and my token gay kr (beloved)implied are ok. The rest is to much to unpack i pretend i do not see it atleast it could have been worse, what did you think rival?

honestly i’m really happy with it! i’m really happy that you can tell horikoshi was losing interest in including the obligatory romance and he actually followed through with having uraraka and deku both move on from it, but at the same time in the penultimate chapter they still hugged without it reading as confirmation that they’re in love or whatever. made me happy!! even ships that seemed plausible and like hori was leaning towards them (kamijirou for example, which i actually think is rly cute) weren’t explicitly “confirmed” and i think that’s really refreshing. for such a quintessential shounen manga to move away from the obligatory romance is really dope to me as someone who loves shounen but hates obligatory romance, lol.

especially having just watched naruto, where kishimoto clearly thinks that a person cannot be considered “fulfilled and successful” if they’re not married, despite that not being relevant to the plot up to that point at all, it makes me happy to see hori not falling in the same pitfall. id say the bar is on the floor but it happens literally so often that it’s a genre staple so i think it actually is deserving of a little credit that he moved away from it so completely.

kirishima is gay ☝️ this i know. everyone has known this forever. he’s always been coded gay. it’s one of those situations where whether hori meant it or not (i lowkey find it hard to believe he didn’t recognize what he was doing) it is true, and a hero popular with men is the nail in the proverbial rainbow coffin. i was also glad that he got an aside becuz he’s been sort of left behind by the focus of the story for quite a while it seemed like hori had forgotten that he was such a key player for a while in the middle, so even though i’m still sad his relationship with bakugou was all but forgotten he did still get a nod at the end that most other characters didn’t get.

REALLY LOVE THAT MIRIO IS THE NEW NUMBER ONE AND NOT BAKUGOU. because mirio is literally more talented than him.

pissed about deku getting that tech that lets him be a hero again. i think honestly with the theme of not all people are created equal but we must love and support each other and find our niches nonetheless, it kind of loses its punch of deku to just. have a quirk still essentially. i thought him losing it was dope, and for him to remain the greatest hero of all time but have to pass on the torch because his time in the spotlight was over, whether it was luck or hard work he couldn’t stay a hero forever. because when it comes down to it he was born quirkless, and actually that’s okay, because he still has knowledge and talent and love to offer the world and he still has friends who love him. but whatever. tch

even though they didn’t go through with it, i really loved that all might was the one to suggest eliminating the popularity aspect of the hero chart completely. i think it really demonstrated how much HE has also grown over the course of the series, what he has learned and how his values have changed. i honestly think that would’ve been a better conclusion than whatever mixed bag thing hawks was setting up but it’s whatever. i think more structural changes are necessary and there should’ve been more explicit exploration into what those would look like imo, rather than just “people are nicer now cuz deku inspired them to be nice”. it’s not that it’s BAD because ultimately the structural issues of bnha’s world stemmed from social attitudes, and if those attitudes changed then that’s the first step to uplifting people born with scary or unusual quirks or born as heteromorphs, but at the same time it doesn’t give you the feeling that this peace is going to last.

LOVED DEKU’S FINAL CONVERSATION WITH SPINNER. I LOVE SPINNER AND I LOVE HIS WHOLEHEARTED LOVE AND DEDICATION TO SHIGARAKI AND I LOVED THE FOCUS HE GOT AT THE STORY’S TAIL END AND SEEING HIS REACTIONS TO HOW SHIKAGRAKI WAS CHANGING UNDER ALL FOR ONES INFLUENCE

anyways not perfect by any means, but i’m happy with it ^_^ horikoshi bit off a lot and i think i’m okay with how he decided to tie it off. i think platonic bakudeku is fun and interesting but i think it was better when it was bakugou crying suddenly cuz he thought he’d never be able to compete with deku again since he lost his quirk. if deku gets his quirk back it’s like okay. whatever. would’ve liked to see him continue to respect deku when he was quirkless again. but it’s fine. i still maintain that ppl who think they’re romantically involved don’t get it at all

[theunbonded]

10

Hazel eyes bore into the back of my skull. I didn’t dare turn around and flip him off in the middle of Battle Brief. Instead, I kept my attention on my notes.

I still sat with my squad, but I kept a barrier between us. Clipped responses to questions, declining extra study sessions, avoiding their pitying glances. It wasn’t completely out of the norm for me, and they didn’t press for more.

It made it easier as I watched them all develop the smaller magic. As I watched them all discover their signet powers.

As soon as class ended, I threw my belongings into my bag and made to leave. Sawyer opened his mouth to say something but I shoved past him into the aisle of the auditorium. He had tried for the past couple of weeks to get my attention. I just couldn’t do it.

I had made it into the hallway and almost out of the building before my arm was grabbed and I was pulled behind one of the giant pillars holding up Basgiath’s stone structures.

“Missed me?” I asked Garrick Tavis, but my voice didn’t have its usual bite.

“You haven’t shown up to our training sessions in weeks,” he hissed, keeping his voice low.

“Didn’t realize you were waiting for me to show up.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay after everything that happened.” His grip on my forearm tightened. We both glanced down at it, having forgotten about where his body still touched mine, and he slowly released his grip. 

“I’m fine, Tavis.”

The corner of Garrick’s mouth turned upwards. “Back to the last names?”

“Are we done here? I have things to do.” I attempted to push past him, but he put his arm up, blocking my exit.

“Beatrice.” He said my name as if it was a reverent prayer, low and quiet just for my ears like I was the only god he prayed to. A flush of heat snaked its way up my spine and across my chest.

“I’m okay.” All of my bravado disappeared around him. He had pulled me out of the water, sputtering and gagging around the lake water in my throat, and flew us back to Basgiath in the early morning. He had seen the aftermath of my meltdown and still wanted to come check on me. “I feel lost and I’m struggling to refind my place here, but I’m figuring it out day by day.”

“I heard they assigned you to deliver Markham’s reports to the infantry quadrant. They’re not giving you any trouble, right?” His tone promised death if they were.

“No.” It had actually become the highlight of my day. Lidia and Divya gave me hell each time I crossed the bridge, their taunts and teasing a respite from the stifling walls of the rider’s quadrant. They didn’t look at me with pity or think that I was less than them; I was a worthy opponent. Our verbal spars were the only times I could feel normal. 

It was messed up that those were my breaks from being an Unbonded. 

“Good.” Garrick lifted his hand. Slowly swiped his fingers across my brow, brushing a flyway curl behind my ear. “Come back to training with me.”

I swallowed. Hard. Then took a step back. His hand wavered in the air before he placed it back at his side. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay. I can wait.” For some reason, I don’t think he meant just for training.

I stepped around him, and this time he let me. In the narrow corridor, my chest grazed against his. Still so warm. Still the same sharp scent of eucalyptus. 

Still those two swords strapped against his back.

“You can do me a favor though.” I turned back around on my heel, leaving little room between us. “The shortswords that are regulation in the infantry, could you get me one?”

Garrick stilled. “Why would I be able to get it for you?”

“You have two impressive swords of your own. I’m assuming you know how to get other ones.”

He shook off whatever had come over him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

⤧⤧⤧

Lidia and Divya were leaning against the wall when I approached, gossiping about something. Divya was waving her hands wildly in the air, and Lidia was laughing at whatever she was saying. They kicked themselves up to meet me halfway. 

“Don’t stop on my behalf,” I said, throwing Lidia the satchel. 

She caught it with one hand. “Wish you weren’t in that stuck-up riders quadrant?” 

“Wish you had the balls to even try?”

Divya laughed. The sound was musical, the sounds like the keys of the piano I used to play in my father’s parlor, warm and resonant. It was more carefree than anything I had heard as a rider. “Yeah, sure. I’m quite happy not being eaten by a dragon, thank you very much.”

I shrugged. “Can’t blame you. They’re scary as hell.”

Lidia cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that, like, sacreligious for riders? To talk bad about the dragons?”

“I’m sure they talk bad about us too.”

“You don’t know for certain?” Divya crossed her arms.

“Aren’t you all supposed to be buddy-buddy with your dragons by now?” Lidia copied the motion.

I became the third in a circle of girls crossing their arms. “You guys are smarter than you look.”

“Don’t get fooled by our looks, Beatrice.” Divya flipped her silky, long hair over her shoulder.

Lidia cocked a smile, but nodded her head at me to continue. She wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. 

“I didn’t bond this year,” I explained. It was my first time saying it out loud to anyone besides Garrick. It made it feel much more… real.

“Which means no dragon, right?” Divya asked, and I cringed at her wording.

“Yes.”

The two girls looked at each other, then shrugged. “That must suck.”

“Understatement of the year,” I muttered under my breath.

“Doesn’t mean much on this side of the bridge,” Lidia said. “Just puts you on the same playing field as the rest of us.”

“About that.” I reached behind me and gripped the hilt of the short sword Garrick had left on my bed last night. There had been no note, but I knew it was from him. It was light in my hands as I brought it in front of me. “I need help using this.”

“You want us to help you?”

“The person I was learning from wielded much longer blades. I want to learn how to use the shortsword. Since you all are required to use them, you’re my best bet. Plus you are more equipped for ground combat. Whatever is in your rucksack, I want to know”

The others in my year had begun flight training. Leaving me hours of free time the professors couldn’t fill. Leaving me in the sparring gym, thinking how vulnerable I was compared to whatever lurked on land. I never thought I would be grounded, and like a dog with a bone, I wouldn't stop until I felt prepared. It was the one part of myself that I could depend on.  

“And what do we get from this arrangement?” Lidia asked, already assessing how I was holding the sword in front of me.

I nodded my head towards where the Parapet loomed in the distance. “I’ll help you get your legs underneath you in the air.”

The two girls shared a glance.

“Our courtyard is empty at night,” Divya began to explain. “Beat us both in a spar. Then we’ll consider it.”

“And don’t get your hopes up. We’re the best in our year.” That wicked grin from Lidia. 

“Deal.” I stuck my hand out, and the two girls each shook it. “Bring your swords. I’ll want to start right away.”

They both rolled their eyes.

But that night, they brought their swords, and both walked away with bruised ribs and swollen jaws. Nothing but a scratch on my face marred my skin as they used each other as dummies to teach me how best to approach an opponent with the shortsword. 

We met again the next night.

And again.

And again.

--

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