#this is a joke but JESUS FUCK I HATE THIS DAMN PLATFORM.

[essektheylyss]

I know it's old news at this point but good god, Outlook is such a shitty platform.

[xarrixii]

Chapter_03 : "Acquisition" ━━━━━━━━━━━━━

CW: drinking previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

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“So, yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Alph had been reluctant to wake up and start today. When they’d woken up, they still hadn’t found the words to properly explain what had really happened.

“If this is your version of a joke, it’s not very funny.” Urban stared at them for a few irritatingly long moments. “You said you weren’t going to continue doing this much longer. Your apprenticeship ends in like, a few months.”

“I know.”

“There’s really no other way to get the money?”

Alph picked up a whiteboard marker, spinning it around in their hand. “Either way this could’ve gone, we were fucked. Those assholes who tried stealing my truck or my mother. There wasn’t much of an in-between. Just, believe me when I say I think this is the better end of the deal.”

“How is this the better end? Shit, Raiden, I probably could’ve covered up a murder if you really needed me to. It’s not like we haven’t before.”

“How was I supposed to explain the truck to my dad? He knows when I’m lying straight to his face.”

“How do you exactly expect to tell him that you’re now roped in—in whatever your mother’s going to make us do? I mean, Jesus, the only hint you’ve ever been given is that she’s walking on an illegal tightrope much higher above the ground on six-inch platforms.”

With a sigh, Alph leans back on the couch. “Arguing over my mother has always been a waste of energy. We’ve got time to kill until she gets here, so…”

“You want to play Flash Fire?”

“I want to play Flash Fire,” Alph gives off their cheekiest grin.

“I’m going to beat you one day. I know I will.” Alph nudged Urban, eliciting a quiet laugh.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“He’s right,” Alph’s mother says, opening the garage door. “And I made a promise for you two to be the reason someone rises the ranks today. So get in the car.”

Alph and Urban went silent, Urban standing up with unusual elegance before relaxing again. He waited for Alph to get up and go with, making sure to turn the light off behind them both.

“It’s Amaterasu.” She holds out her hand for Urban, who responds by keeping his own close to his chest.

“Pleasure.”

The insincerity was surprisingly plain, Alph’s mother—better as Amaterasu—getting into the passenger seat. And it was way too quiet. Alph stopped before they’d fully gotten into the car. “You said you would explain it more here, at the garage. Where are we going?”

“A bar,” their mother replied in an instant. “More private than your junkyard.”

“Something tells me you’ve never been to a bar you couldn’t buy out.”

“You do seem to hope you can place more dissonance with me than you already do, don’t you? It’s not a real bar…” She hesitated, thinking. “...Raiden.”

“We get to keep at least something, then.”

“Get in the car.”

Alph didn’t move.

“Rai, just, come on. Let’s go. Get it over with as soon as we can.”

They grumbled, finally stepping into the car and closing the door. Damn thing sped straight into gear before they managed to get buckled in. Smoothly rolled into a parking space later, though.

“I thought you two were at least semi-competent, managing to conceal yourselves for this long with so many public records. Seems all you really do in your free time is prance around playing video games you stole names from. In hindsight, I should have expected as much.”

“Yeah, thanks. You too.”

“Therapy expenses are included in being part of Cinder, if it convinces you any further.”

“Cinder?” Urban cut in. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

“That’s what it’s always been called.” She beckoned them over through the empty bar to a booth, a few sheets of paper sprawled out.

“Hate to burst your bubble, Mum,”

“They aren’t legal documents. They detail your living quarters, missions, and supervisor. Who I’ll let take the reins now.” She strolled over to the bar, leaving them and Urban with whatever blonde prick had been driving the car.

“Listen, usually Cinder gives off their whole spiel, y’know, welcome to our not-so-legal crazy murder psycho condemning organization, it’s a real big opportunity, but I don’t think you two really need to hear that. I know you’re picturing this whole year-long contract thing, but it’s really just dependent on how much you fuck up within that year. More you fuck up, longer you stay, yadda yadda. You’ve been expected to fuck up a decent bit like most starter operatives. I hope I didn’t shatter your ego because my telepathy doesn’t put that back together. Capiche?”

“A name would be nice,” Urban picked up a few of the papers strewn along the table.

“Liam. Bauer. Don’t try to look it up anywhere, you won’t find it. And congratulations, you get to skip the entire Cinder training program and hop straight into your first objective, which is what this lovely briefcase is for over here.” Liam slammed the briefcase not so lightly onto the table and clicked it open. “Did you two understand anything I just said in the past minute or so, or do I have to say it again in a slightly more monotonous voice?”

Alph’s grip on their arm was tighter than they’d like it to be.

“Fantastic. Your first objective is to not kill yourselves integrating into Cinder for the first time after your training program, which you, again, did not do, but alas. Any questions?”

“Yeah, are you gonna continue?” Urban shook a hand through his hair. “We’ll just cut in on your monologue when we want to speak. Kinda how conversation works nowadays regardless who you’re talking to. Especially in the whole rich ass society department.”

“You’re smarter than you look, kid. I’ll give you that.”

“Right.”

Liam cleared his throat. “Well, first things first, credit cards. Designed for when you’re on the job. There were a few incidents years back where agents had to buy things while they were out and about. Like, for example, a hydrokinetic buying a water bottle makes sense. Warning, they do look at your history. They once got mad at me because I bought a few bagels. Please don’t go off the rails, they have two hundred each before they cap out.

“Second, fake ID cards. It would really suck if you got arrested because you got pulled over and couldn’t prove your identity to an officer. Don’t use them until it’s been confirmed we’ve gotten you into the system⸺”

“Woah, what?” Alph put their hand down on the ID cards, standing up. “How the hell are you supposed to do that?”

“Pardon my security efforts not to explain that to you. Your little seeking justice for everyone who’s never wronged you thing is spilling out of your mind like you just slashed through the Jager Dam. The more you use these, probably the better. Makes it less likely anyone looks into you.

“Third and finally, your Cinder sleeves! The design represents you being under good old Amaterasu’s branch of the organization. Don’t lose these, it gives you access into Cinder complexes.”

Alph watched Urban grab his from the table, examining it. 

“At least it’s not spandex,” he said wearily. Urban had definitely been more tired than usual today. He always studied little things the more tired he was. “Would hate walking around looking like some generic supervillain whose only real goal is to take power.”

“One,” Liam kicked their feet up onto the table, leaning back as much he could. “Not Cinder’s goal. Two, there is a separate uniform, but we’re not going to mug you while you’re sleeping for your pant size.”

“How noble of you,” Alph replied, smile finally forming on their face again. “So what is Cinder’s goal, exactly?”

“To keep generic supervillains in check, in the simplest version. It’s just easier when you don’t have to follow the law to do that, so we paint ourselves as criminals. Don’t worry, you probably won’t deal with many cops. People we fight aren’t exactly their best friends either.”

“So you’re the neutral pilot force controlling the galaxy.”

“No.”

Alph leaned forward, taking their sleeve and whisking it up their arm, flexing their fingers. Then they looked over at Urban, who had also pulled theirs on after taking off their glove that had been there. Calmly, “Ours are red and black, assuming that means we’re pyrokinetic. Yours has green and purple. What kind of shit color scheme is that?”

Liam glared over at Urban. “If I had an answer to give you, kid, I’d give you it.”

“So there’s two colors for telepathy?”

“No⸺ Green is telepathy, purple is telekinesis.”

Urban scrutinized Liam’s face for a moment before grabbing the other stuff Liam had thrown onto the table and putting it away.

“Given the telepathy, please don't go writing fanfiction in your head near me. Especially since neither of you have learned how to set up blockades past religiously thinking about marbles.”

Amaterasu strolled back over, setting a few bottles of alcohol and empty glasses on the table. “I hope he’s finished his monologue so I can detail you on making yourselves look mildly competent in front of your soon-to-be colleagues.”

“If you think we’re that useless, why’d you employ us in the first place?” Urban moved the empty glass in front of him to the side.

“I think you misunderstood my intentions. I think that you are useless, darling. Raiden has the kind of potential I’m looking for, you’re more or less here so you have less excuses to run down to your local police department.”

“Mum,” Alph’s patience was running thin.

“He’s legally a D-class. Pardon me that he can’t do anything without a flame to manipulate.”

Alph generated a small amount of fire to blossom in their hand, putting one foot onto the table before Urban put a hand on their shoulder. “It’s not worth it, Rai. She’s right.”

“Yes, now get your feet off the table. Both of you.” She flicks Liam’s arm, who shrugs, chuckling. “Recently, Storm—well, I suppose. Storm has been a long dormant enemy of Cinder, and they’ve recently been jumpstarted by some of our old personnel. We’re trying to deal with it as fast as we can. Without the resources we have, they rely on other factors, like businesses in plain sight. They can’t put all of their money into one checking account or a few measly dropoff points, not if they’re smart.

“That’s how we found the bank they’re running. Little kickstart just off main. Bunch of falsified accounts, spread out money, and they can get it all insured. You two are going to help take it down. Every part of it.”

“Wait, Hayton Deposits?” Alph snatches the file from their mother’s hand as she’s setting it down. “Seriously? But⸺”

“I know it’s a major upgrade from terrorizing loan sharks, but you’re also not alone anymore and you’re not going to fit in very well if you’re sitting recon all the time. Make it out of this alive, and you’ll integrate into Cinder. Nobody would ask any questions from there. I’d like to make it clear this opportunity is a privilege to quickly get you in.”

“So fighting your jumpstart enemies and the cops is considered a privilege?”

“Told you they wouldn’t take kind to that, Matty,” Liam is quieted with a glare.

She clears her throat, pouring a glass of champagne for herself. “It’s this or a prison cell, Raiden.”

Alph glances over at Urban, who began picking at the edge of his sweatshirt. Then they bit their lip and suppressed their anger into a clenched fist. They couldn’t keep putting Urban into rehab, and they couldn’t get on too bad of terms with their mother.

“I take it you understand that premise?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Meet Liam at the armored truck parked in the vertical lot on 34th after your apprenticeship this Tuesday. Text him when he needs to be there.” She gestures at Urban. “If it helps, I’m the only one who wanted you on the mission. I’ll be your enemy number one.”

next chapter

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i'm writing story content for... tumblr. what am i worrying about as i write it out on google docs first? page count. (help)

[allywritesforfun]

{God I Fucking Hate that Kid} Wilbur Soot x Reader

summary: ew Logan Paul. aka just wilbur complaining about Logan Paul 

pronouns: not mentioned 

word count: 1064

trigger warning: swearing 

a/n: this is basically my vision of the day that Wilbur comes home from recording with Tommy and Logan because I personally think that Logan went too far with some jokes /srs. almost everything in here is from my perspective and I clearly have no understanding of what went down. 

regular masterlist wilbur masterlist

The door slammed shut, you turned, “Jesus fuck! Wil-”

“I FUCKING HATE THAT KID!” He yelled, sitting down at the kitchen table.

You walked over to him. He was staring at the center of the table, hands folded in his lap. You could tell by his look that he was trying not to lash out. You gave him his time and stood behind him. Slowly you reached over his shoulder and rested your hand on his heart. It took him some time, but he eventually placed his hand over yours, rubbing it gently. He grabbed it for a second to kiss the back, then returned to it where it was resting.

“I’m sorry,” He said, a lot calmer this time. “Logan is just-”

“It’s okay, Wilbur,” You assured him. “I can tell you’ve had a rough day. Wanna talk?”

Wilbur nodded, standing up. He kept his hand in yours and guided you to the bedroom. He had you sit down against the bed frame, that way he can lay in your lap. He positioned his body perpendicular to yours. His head rested in your lap, his left hand over his belly and right one up holding yours.

“Talk to me,” You whispered. Your hand threaded through his hair.

“Why can't Tommy stop chasing clout and meet up with good, uncontroversial people?” Wilbur asked, staring at the celling. “I try so fucking hard to get this kid on the right track, then he just throws it all away and gets with the wrong people.”

“He’s almost eighteen you know,” You reminded Wilbur. “In a couple months, he might not ask you to go with him. Don’t get too controlling.”

He shook his head, throwing his left hand in the air, “First James and now Logan. I get what you’re saying, I do. I just can’t help myself.”

“You see him as a little brother, nothing wrong with that. What did Logan do?”

“What didn't he do?” Wilbur asked. He brought your hand to his lips before starting his rant. “The first thing he says about me was something like: ‘you’re so tall. I wanna fight you.’ Like, what a great fucking introduction that was.”

“You could've kicked his ass,” You joked.

“Damn right I would’ve!” He exclaimed. “If he would've said that later in the day and kept being a little bitch he would be on the fucking ground.”

You laughed, knowing that Wilbur would never fight anyone. And even if he did fight Logan Paul, he had no chance. Still, you nodded your head in encouragement. 

“So then we take him on the bus, the two story one. It was so embarrassing y/n. He just had no bus manners at all and encouraged Tommy to do the same. Then Tommy starts his whole ‘how do I get girls bit’, which was funny for a little bit. Logan told him to use some harmless pick up lines on some girls, but then Logan just pushes Tommy aside in his mind and starts straight up cat-calling these girls. I mean, it wasn't like BAD bad, but bad enough. I hid because I couldn't let my rep get ruined like that. I called him out and he just laughed. How could he laugh at a time like that?”

You sighed, “That’s horrible, but you have to remember that his culture. He’s lived that way his whole life. And don't think I’m saying what he did was okay or justifying it, but it is the truth. He made a platform off of it. But, I’m glad you told him. Did he stop?”

Wilbur nodded, “It was really awkward afterwards. I think I made him uncomfortable.”

You shrugged, “That’s just pay back. He made you uncomfortable.”

“Then we stopped at this candy shop,” Wilbur told you. “He bought the entire candy cane stack and told Tommy to hand them out to people but... Logan only gave some to people in front of the store and his crew. Tommy tried to give more out, but Logan insisted on moving on. It’s all just manipulative y/n. I feel terrible.”

“If you want, we can go out and do something like that if it makes you feel better,” You offered.

“Maybe,” Wilbur agreed. “Then, I don't know if this was a joke or not, I’m sure it was, but he told me that I did a horrible job with Tommy. Like, that hit home for me in a way. I just wish he would’ve ran some jokes by me first. It took me really off guard.”

You rubbed his cheek with your free hand, “Awe, Wil. You’re doing a great job with Tommy, you know that. Don’t let anyone get in your head.”

He turned his head into your palm, kissing it, “Tommy wanted to go into the Lego store. So we did. Tommy tried making a few jokes but Logan interrupted telling Tommy to grow up and that he shouldn't be excited by Legos anymore. Like what the fuck? That was totally uncalled for, especially when he knows Tommy’s audience is preteens-teens. I really hope that Tommy leaves that out because that’s gonna hurt a lot of people.”

“But if he leaves it in and people see Logan say that, they’ll turn against him and you’ll get second hand revenge...” You suggested.”Is that mean? That sounds mean. Oh well.”

“If I had the time, I would be doing Legos every day. They’re therapeutic you know.”

You scoffed, “Wilbur, you don't have the patience for Legos. You would be spending too long on it just to realize you messed up and need to start over and then I have to hear about how your day was ruined.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Just one more thing he did- he left us.”

“Huh?” You asked. “Like just got up and dipped?”

Wilbur nodded, “He found a strip club and told his crew to follow him. We were down for the bit but about ten minutes later we called him and texted him and he wasn't picking up. He just straight up left.”

“What a dick!” You yelled. “So he was using Tommy for clout? That’s life I guess.”

“You don't use me for clout, do you?” Wilbur looked up at you.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I barely use social media? What are you on?”

He smiled, “Just making sure.” 

[cosmicjoke]

Jesus, now I know why everyone’s afraid to speak up about anything on this site, or any other.  Bunch of fucking disgusting bullies here, just like every other social media platform.  I’m done.  The so called enlightened left are some of the most hateful, vicious and ugly people I’ve ever had the deep, DEEP displeasure of EVER interacting with.  I don’t associate with any political party, both sides are completely corrupt and interested only in maintaining the status quo, so I hope nobody mistakes me for a conservative or a progressive.  I’m neither.  The uncompromising, pig headed refusal to listen and learn and understand from so called progressives though, the vicious, hateful attacks from the so called more accepting party, it truly astonishing in all the worst ways.  Moronic, mob behavior possesses the lot of them.  None of these people realize at all how truly despised they are by the vast majority, all because everyone’s too afraid to stand up against them with their sickening, badgering harassment.  They converge on you like god damned locusts the moment you express an opinion not pre-approved by the standard of their wokeness.  Reblogging posts so they can get all their idiot, like-minded friends in on the action of badgering people into submission.  And then they advertise themselves as caring, compassionate and loving.  What a twisted, perverse joke they all are.  Judgemental, self-absorbed, self-obsessed, professional victims who trade in the currency of oppression, loudly proclaiming which marginalized group they’re a part of as proof of their worthiness and importance, as if any real victim would ever treat their victimhood as a badge of honor.  Absolutely sickening.  Never had to block so many assholes in my life.

[euphoricethan]

Alpha’s Kingdom - G.D

Summary: Grayson and Y/n have been friends since high school; a little before that to be exact. They had a not-so-friendly altercation 8th grade graduation, but began a spark with polar opposite attitudes. A typical college party turns to the most surprising nights of their lives.

A/N: this is an old, old, old draft from the beginning of last year that i never finished but now it’s done & i hate it so enjoy! (also lmk if i need to add more tw warnings just in case)

Warnings: smut, mentions of abuse, language, underage drinking, public humiliation(?), violence (blood)

Word count: 5.6k

That evening, Y/n (typically) would be in her dorm blasting music so loud in her earbuds that her introverted, comic-loving roommate would yell at her to turn it down as she studied for a big test the next day.

But, instead, she was called to "haul her ass" over to the Alpha Kingdom —which was what Grayson and all his buddies called the frat— to help with their party they were having for the reason she didn't know.

Y/n was against it, but she had no other choice since she was close friends with Grayson and owed him a favor. (Not to mention that he couldn't hang up streamers to save his life.)

So there she was, resting one hand on his broad shoulder while she pressed the white streamer into the ceiling.

"Hold still." She said under her breath, while Gray was moving around a bunch in hopes his knee's wouldn't give out.

"I can't, my knees are about to give out Y/n," he was looking up at her, watching her shove the dainty piece of paper up into the ceiling.

"'s not my fault." Y/n licked her lips, concentrating hard.

Sooner or later, she came down from the wobbling ladder and took a few steps back to look at her work.

"Looks good kid." he awarded.

"Kid" was always Y/n's nickname; no matter who was older. She was always "kid" and he was "Blue".

Ever since last year or so, Grayson has grown into a huge Godzilla look-alike, and Y/n thought it was hilarious since the reason behind it was that he wanted to impress some girl he met the beginning of the school year and claimed she liked guys who were "bulky."

Then, Blue Whale was introduced. But Y/n got tired of adding the Whale, and Blue just kinda stuck.

"You should help me and Brandon grab the kegs from the back." Grayson folded up the ladder, and whether Y/n was following or not, he walked away to place it back where they got it.

"You know, you really are the impidamy of a typical college frat boy!" she called out.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Brandon, another frat member who was just as dumb as the rest of them, said.

The fact that they didn't even get the joke just claimed to prove her point to where she just shook her head and proceed to the backyard to help the two twin towers carry the one-hundred sixty-five pound keg into the house.

They were all soon lifting, Y/n rather struggling while the two other boys grabbed it with ease.

"God, where do you guys even get these?" she was generally curious, she hadn't seen an actual beer keg in person before. They've only been in movies...

"Brandon's friend's uncle who worked at the bar downtown."

"Worked?"

"He got fired when the manager started realizing that he was missing a bunch of kegs like every week." Grayson said this with ease as him and Brandon finally set the huge keg onto the kitchen floor.

"Kid, pass me that thing over there will you? It's over there." Grayson pointed with his head.

"Grayson, you can't just tell me to hand you something and point with your head and just assume I know exactly what you're talking about."

He was apparently fed up with her, as: he stood, reached behind her, and pulled the hose and nozzle with a sly smirk on his stupid face.

"If you guys need any help, I'll be on the couch." she told them both and exited the kitchen before they said anything; if they hadn't already decided she was no help to them.

Shortly after, Brandon was walking into the living room to sit next to Y/n and place both of his legs over her's.

She let out a small grunt, letting her phone slip from her grasp and leaned into his legs.

"Jesus." she went to retract her phone, but he had beat her to it and was holding it above his head trying to see what she was doing.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked, flashing the screen on his face.

Y/n was now reaching over him, still just reaching for her phone. "Brandon, I swear to god." she muttered.

"Who's Bryson? Ooh yikes, he has a B name..." he gave Y/n a hard look with his eyebrows raised slightly.

"You have a B name." she shoved his legs off her and was now even more invested on getting her belonging back.

"Yeah but that doesn't count," he was now facing away from her, pulling the phone close to him and reading her most recent text word for word.

"Don't think i'll be able to make it tonight, big test tomorrow. Y/n, what is this!" he showed her own screen to her as if she didn't know what it said.

"Can I please just have my phone back? You're being a dick." she told him.

"Hey Grayson! Y/n's got a boyfriend!" he called out, causing him to walk into the room with his face slightly scrunched in confusion.

"Huh? What'd you say?" he ran his hand though his hair before placing both on his hips.

"Look." he said.

"I don't have a boyfriend, he's just my parter for a class, now can I please have my phone back?!" Y/n was reaching over him again but he had moved his hand.

Just then, Grayson grabbed a hold of his wrist and took it from him. "Dude, don't be a cunt."

"Here kid." his eyes flashed over to her, handing it over as their fingers came in contact with one another.

Grayson found his way back into the kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh as he walked away.

She had followed behind him, seeing his behavior shift and his shoulders drop.

"What's up?" she said, leaning over the counter and watched him rinse off the dishes.

"Blue? what's wrong with you?" she said now, furrowing her brows.

A small sigh left his nose while he just placed the dish in the rack.

Grayson had always been protective over Y/n—ever since they were 11 and some kid made a joke about she smelt like cigarettes because of her father.

He always stood up for her, always. Even though he knows she can defend herself he feels the tightness in his jaw and in his fists when someone mentions her in the conversation.

"Are you mad about something?"

He sighed again, moving from the dishes to the restocking of the fridge.

"Can you talk to me? Like I don't know why all this sudden you're having a pity party..." she cocked her head forward to try and get something out of him.

"It's nothing. It's fine."

"Well no, obviously something is bothering you. You can tell me. Like did I do something? Was it the phone thing? What?" Y/n slid her hand across the counter, standing up now and walking towards him.

"You shouldn't told me if you had a boyfriend." His eyes were harsh on her, leaving them to look at her until she turned her head.

"He's not my boyfriend..." her eyes were to the floor.

"Doesn't sound like it." he closed the fridge and started smashing the cardboard boxes the drinks came in.

"Blue, it's not like that, like at all. We're just parters, he wanted to work on our project tonight but now i'm here so..."

"Why don't you go, since you don't wanna be here." he smashed the final box hard against the counter, causing Y/n to flinch and blink quickly.

"I wanna be here! Damn Grayson why are you being like this holy fuck! Are you drunk already?" Y/n cheeks were getting warm and she gave Grayson side eye until she scoffed and turned on her heel.

She didn't know what he was thinking, getting mad about something like that and telling her to just go home?

She didn't know the reason behind why he said it either... because if she knew now she probably wouldn't hook up with him later that night.

-

It's 8th grade graduation. Ethan and Grayson are about to get called up to get their "diploma".

But as soon as the kids who were seated in front of them had to get up and wait to get called up left, Grayson was no where to be found.

Along with Y/n who was a few rows behind them.

Where were they? Good question.

Behind the Gymnasium drinking a Mike's Hard Lemonade Y/n had snuck from her dad before they left.

"Y/n, we're gonna get in so much trouble!" Grayson whisper-yelled, watching her lean over in her dress and press the top of the bottle on the jagged wall.

The top had popped off and she giggled before taking a gulp and holding out for him to hold.

"Shh! We'll only get in trouble if we get caught, now take this before I spill it on my dress. My dad will shit his pants if I ruin it."

Grayson took the bottle from her, awkwardly holding it in his hands.

"Take a sip, it's so good!" she told him, her smile wide and her eyes filled with adrenaline.

This was the first time he had seen Y/n in girl clothes and makeup. Her Aunt was in town for her graduation and helped her pick out a dress and did her makeup.

She complained about how the mascara felt weird on he eyelashes, but he thought she looked beautiful.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't always think Y/n was beautiful. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his whole life.

He trusted her with his whole heart too. Took everything she said serious and was so gullible it made Y/n laugh so hard she lost her breath.

He loved her laugh too. Making her laugh was his favorite thing he could do, it was like a super power to him.

Which is why when she caught him staring at her in her puffy dress and little platform heels, his cheeks turned bright red and he couldn't stop himself from putting his lips on hers in a quick peck.

He tasted the Mike's Hard Lemonade on her lips, and she was right... it was good.

So good that the peck lasted longer and longer until Y/n placed her hands against his fiery cheeks he let his hands go numb and the bottle shattered onto the concrete.

She pulled away, quickly opening up her eyes to see how dilated his were.

But then, almost at the same time, both of them turned their heads around the corner to see one of the teachers coming to inspect.

Grayson took her by the wrist and they sprinted around the corner until it was safe to quickly walk back to the ceremony as he was called up on stage.

And there he was, walking across the stage in front of almost a thousand kids and parents with the biggest boner ever as Y/n sat in the crowd, her cheeks red and holding the bottle cap in her palm.

-

They never talked about it after that.

And that summer, going onto freshman year, Y/n had gotten her first boyfriend... who wasn't Grayson.

His name was Tony, and he was a Sophomore.

Grayson was supportive of their relationship of course, but his little heart broke almost every time he saw them together or every time Y/n brought him up.

After September, he had finally broken up with her because she wouldn't give herself to him. She was heartbroken.

But again, Grayson was there for her. Always.

She never knew why he cared so much, because unlike her father, he didn't give up on her— he didn't tell her how much he loved her and then disappeared to get drunk for days at a time.

She really only had Grayson if were being honest here. Her mother moved out of state when she was little, and shortly after that they moved and she met him.

She knew there was always something there. She just didn't know what was stopping her from doing something about it.

Until tonight.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." Grayson said walking past Brandon to quickly walk up the stairs two at a time.

By now, Y/n was now back at her dorm with a million thoughts cursing her brain.

"What's up with you?" her roommate asked, sitting at her desk while finishing up a project for her class.

"I hate men." Y/n said.

"Same. I'm just saying, girls are so much more fun."

Y/n collapsed on her bed, curling up in her jeans and t-shirt as she spoke her thought out loud.

"Should I go?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Go where?" her roommate asked.

"Graysons having this party tonight at the Alpha Kingdom or whatever and I think I kinda wanna go." she was now sitting up in her bed, watching as she turned around.

"You should go. Why not?"

"Well he had a fucking hissy fit earlier because his roommate or whatever took my phone and that Bryson guy kept texting me and— whatever. He's just being overprotective for no reason & told me to go home."

"But I low-key wanna piss him off s'more."

"You should. You can wear that like skirt thing you got and be all slutty. Plus I met this girl yesterday at the coffee place by the L campus and I think we're gonna..." she gave Y/n a raised eyebrow glare and pointed with her head towards her bed.

"Well first of all, I'm not gonna dress slutty; that's like asking for it. Second of all, T.M.I."

Her roommate scoffed. "It is not asking for it, it's called having confidence and if they take it too far that's on them. I say you wear it."

So that's what Y/n did. She put on that dress she had just bought with the red little cherries printed all over, slid her shoes on after brushing out her hair & sprayed her favorite perfume.

"See, told you." she told her once Y/n had grabbed her phone off her bed and jumped down.

"Yeah see and I even put on those pair of thongs I got too. Look!" Y/n lifted her dress slightly, showing off the dainty piece of material.

She gave her wide eyes before saying, "Don't get pregnant now." as Y/n opened the door.

"Same for you."

-

When Y/n arrived at the "Alpha Kingdom" she was greeted by the heavy smell of beer and blaring music from outside the front door.

As she entered, she made her way to the kitchen where her and Grayson's altercation took place to grab a red solo cup and fill it with punch.

Just before placing the ladle back into the bowl though, someone was grabbing her arm and dragging her with her cup to a secluded area away from everyone else.

She met his eyes with confusion laced in them.

"Ethan, what the fuck man! You made me spill my drink everywhere!" she told him, looking down at her arm as the red colored drink slightly stained her skin.

"Shh!" he told her, gently placing a hand over her mouth before she stuck her tongue out to retract his fingers.

"What do you want." she was shaking the drink off her while putting the cup in her opposite hand.

"Does Grayson know you're here?"

Her brows were furrowed, and she gave him a look that simply answered his question.

"Why-"

"Just come with me." his hand was gently wrapped around her wrist, now taking her out back where at least a hundred people were scattered about.

"What are you doing? And let go of my hand!" she pulled her wrist away from him harshly and placed both of her hands around her cup.

"Fuck! Where'd he go?! Fuck." Ethan muttered to himself.

"E, what's going on?" now Y/n had a worried pitch in her voice, watching Ethan's eyes as he scanned over the back yard desperately looking for his twin brother.

"This guy. He wants to fuck Grayson up or something." he was running his hands though his hair, looking a frantic mess and acting like he was having a bad trip.

"Are you high?" she asked, quickly watching him snap at her.

"No Y/n I'm not fucking high! I don't want someone to beat the living shit out of Grayson, okay?"

"Have you seen him? He's huge. Plus, why would anyone wanna beat-"

"Because of you okay! Some shit went around that you were with this guy and you cancelled to come hook up with Gray. Now he's pressed and is probably gonna kill us both."

"Wait— who? Who said that? Ethan?"

His head along with almost a hundred others spun around when a loud "Dolan!" was called out from the deck above us.

"Fuck me." he said under his breath.

Bryson made his way down, taking the steps two at a time and skipping the last three to land hard on the grass with his heavy work boots.

"Hey Y/n." he spoke, vial in his tone and liquor on his breath.

Y/n and Ethan stood there both in shock. For two different reasons. Ethan was shitting himself, thinking this was how he was gonna die because he hates conflict; and Y/n thought back to the last three hours catching up to her wondering why she came over in the first place.

"So, this the guy you came to fuck tonight? Because it's certainly not me." a chuckle escaped his lips as he took a few steps closer and now having everyone's attention.

"Look man, we don't wanna start anything. I'm sure whatever's going on can be resolved peacefully, alright?"

Bryson took one look at Ethan before retracting his eyes back to her.

The crowd was starting to form around them and soon peoples phones were pulled out filming every second.

"What do you want, Bryson." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I just came for the show. You know."

Y/n scoffed at him, brushing the hair away from her face.

He took a deep breath in, now interacting with the crowd that was formed and made eye contact with a few people.

"Y/n can be kind of a slut—" the ooh's and small gasps got him willed up, so he continued. "Don't get me wrong, girls who dress slutty and act it in the bedroom is hot... but when you go to a study session and she begs to suck your dick in the library; see, that's I guess that's just the price you pay when you go to school with the Y/n Y/l/n."

"Dude—" Ethan tried stepping in now, getting in front of Y/n and looking Bryson dead in the eyes. "Don't be a fucking dick."

"Don't act like I'm wrong. Well all know she's a slut! Just look at her!"

Everyone's eyes were shifted upward, looking past Bryson to see Grayson standing by himself in a white plane T-shirt with a green olive jacket on top some jeans.

His tall shadow was standing behind Bryson, causing him to turn around and now face him but he couldn't even get a single word out before Grayson took his balled up fist and forced it against his jaw.

In seconds he and Grayson both were on the floor while Bryson took multiple punches to his face as Y/n's screams for him to stop muffled out.

How dare he say something like that about Y/n? How could he say that to her when she's such an angel? Did she really do that in the library?

The questions were sprinting around in Grayson's head as he took punch after punch to Bryson before the ringing in his ears faded away.

"Grayson! Stop, please!" Y/n's desperate scratchy screams were loud enough to where he looked up at her only for him to be pressed up against the grass.

Bryson was punching Grayson now, and with all his 175 pounds on him, Ethan and some random guy was holding him up and had his arms behind his back.

Grayson stood— only with a bloody nose, split lip, some some small bruising around his eye and both of their blood on his knuckles.

He spit blood out onto the grass, looking around into the crowd —including Y/n— and walked inside while shaking his hands as if they were wet.

Back in the kitchen, Grayson had placed the frozen carrots on his hand and let his head fall between his shoulders over the sink.

He felt her presence approaching, the familiar smell she carried around with her everywhere. "What the fuck was that about Grayson!" she screamed, stomping in the room with her eyes staring at him hard.

"Nothing Kid." his jaw was clenching. He was about to explode again.

"Nothing?! That was nothing!" she was already gone. God, why did she even come in the first place?

"I told you to go home." his eyes were digging into her and he placed his finger to his lip to wipe the blood away before he disappeared up the stairs.

Y/n was about to be death of him.

"You can't just ignore me!" Y/n said while banging on Graysons bedroom door after repeatedly trying to turn the nob.

Inside the four walls Grayson had trapped himself in, he was alone with his thoughts and Y/n desperate to come in and give him company.

Then there were four knocks on his door. The same four knocks they did when they wanted to apologize to one another in 8th grade but we're too ashamed to say the words aloud.

It was their only promise they held to this day. Which is one of the only reasons Grayson sighed heavily and opened up the door for her.

He closed the door behind her, now both of them standing in awkward silence.

Y/n's eyes were glued to her feet while Graysons were softly looking at her in all her glory.

As mad as he was, and the fact that he was breathing hard from his nose to subside how much he wanted to finish Bryson off, when his eyes fell on Y/n he was in awe.

He hadn't noticed how nice she was dressed until now. With a soft white dress, curled hair, and her favorite sneakers that didn't quite match. It made him chuckle.

Her eyes were on him. "What?" she asked, placing her arms across her chest.

"Nothing."

"No, what. Now you have to tell me."

Grayson shook his head in disapproval.

"C'mon Blue, I tell you everything!"

Her words stung him like a bee, because she could see his jaw tense up again and walk away from her.

"Just like when you told me you didn't have a boyfriend?"

"So this is what that was about? Because he is and never will be my boyfriend— or anything remotely like that, ever."

"But you still sucked his dick in the library? See, Y/n I don't understand you sometimes. You can be the nicest girl i've known since we were 13, or the complete opposite."

He was inching closer to her now, his vile words building up to protect himself from slipping his biggest secret.

"Why are you being such a dick! So what if I did?! It's none of you're business anyway. You're so protective Grayson... so manipulative and controlling. You spend all you're time worried about me you can take one second to see what you've done. For fucks sake you just beat the living hell out of some kid in your backyard!"

"He was harassing you!"

"He was drunk. And so are you? How much have you had to drink? Huh?!"

"This isn't about me— it's about the fact that—"

"It's about me! Always my fault, isn't it?! It was my fault I got us in trouble in middle and high school, my fault I caused you to almost lose you're scholarship... is it my fault my dad was a drunk and used to beat me?!" she shoved his chest, causing him to stumble backward a little.

"I never said that." he sighed.

"No but you've thought about it. C'mon admit it! You've once thought about how I could have ruined you're big dreams. And now you wouldn't be here now right?" another shove to his chest.

And that's when Grayson is pressing Y/n against his bedroom door, his hands surround her cheeks and her arms fall to her sides only to be gently placed against his torso seconds later.

They were so close. So close just like the time they kissed in the back of the Gymnasium when they were younger. Her lips were the same to him, still holding onto that Mike's Hard Lemonade, but this time it was more fruity due to the punch Y/n had drank.

But to Y/n it was different. It was so different.

She was taken back almost six years to when she took that lemonade from her Dad's outside fridge and got so much shit later that because he found the bottle cap on her dresser.

She never regretted it though. She felt alive, being rebellious, being secretive and her adrenaline pumping through her veins. She haven't felt the same since... until now.

Grayson opened his eyes, slowly pulling apart and watching her eyes flutter open to look up at him.

"Gray..." he was scared of what she might say next.

"You're drunk." her voice was soft, but it still cut into him like butter and he pulled his hands away from her and took a step back to sit on his bed.

"I'm drunk? That's all I am Kid! Because last time I checked I was in love with you." his mouth formed the sentence and spit it out before he even had a chance to think it over in his head.

"Grayson..." Y/n was still against the door, too afraid if she moved he'd have her back where she was.

"Do you realize how long I've liked you for?! Go on ahead I wanna hear what you have to say." the tone in his voice was something she had never heard before.

"I-"

"The first day I met you Y/n! The second I laid my eyes on you I- I- I had this feeling in my stomach- butterflies. That never happens. Ever. And you know what else?"

She stood there with her arms pinned to her side waiting for him to speak again.

"You'd always flirt with me, all the time. Do you remember that? Remember all those times in the library when you'd drag me down an empty hall and hold my hand until class was over? Or after school when we went to the park and you convinced me to write on the playground? I even wrote our initials under the slide!" he took a deep breath in before he stood up and started pacing the room.

"Oh yeah! And the endless times we would skip class to hid in the locker room and take people's locks and switch them around! You did that shit to me all the time Y/n! And I let it happen..."

"It's not like that," her voice was just a whimper compared to his.

"It's not like that?! What is it like then? You fucking led me on all the time for years and I still stuck around because you're Dad was a drunk and I was the only friend you had and I liked you so much it wouldn't even matter if I wanted to leave!"

"And when you kissed me, behind the Gym at our graduation, I went home and looked at rings because I was so delusional that I thought I'd marry you." Grayson's hands came up to ruffle through his hair, and the tears had started to form in his eyes before he could do anything about it.

"Will you please just listen me to me!" she had raised her voice now, her hands talking with her while her eyes locked with his.

"I like you Blue. I just- it's complicated."

"Right. Because you don't like me like that. Right?"

Y/n sighed. Both of them were too fucked up to be having this conversation right now. "No, because I'm fucking scared! Okay?! You're the only man in my life who hasn't treated me like absolute shit and- and what happens if we do this? Then what? I lose you too? Jesus Grayson do you ever think about anything through before you just go on a rampage?"

"Y/n, just shut up." and that's when Grayson's hands were pressed hard against her cheeks, pulling her close enough to feel him through his jeans.

Y/n still didn't know how it had happened, how they had gone from fighting to her being pressed up against his twin-sized bed in his room with him between her legs.

He hovered over her with his hands on either sides of her face while they locked the eye contact with silent consent.

Grayson's hands found Y/n's waist and slide down slowly until both of his hands were holding her legs open.

"Lift your dress Kid." he said, and she could feel his breath against her clothed clit while doing as he said quickly.

His hands rubbed slowly on her smooth thighs while he watched her do as he said before he pulled the dainty, thin piece of fabric Y/n was wearing to the side.

While doing so, Y/n's breathing caught in her throat to the touch of his rather large fingers grazing against her.

She was nervous, but the adrenaline she craved took over and followed every order that was asked of her.

There was another moment of consent, and that small nod was all Grayson needed as his tongue came in contact with Y/n's wet core.

He started off slow, trying to see how long it would take before she was begging for more, asking him: "Please, Blue... please."

The thought of it made him groan as he felt himself grow in his jeans that caused them to fit a bit more tight.

"Oh," Y/n moaned as Grayson made eye contact with her, just to pick up his pace.

He could hear the light taps on his comforter, and so he took it as another sign until she was slightly arching her back due to his work between her sweet folds.

He didn't realize he was burying himself in her until he loosened his grip on her thighs and stopped quickly to get a breath of air.

But Y/n's breathing was a bit harder now, and she croaked out a small "Gray," to beg him to continue.

But that's not what he wanted to hear. Blue.

His right hand let go of her leg, only to reach down and lightly trace along her silky folds to her pearl. "Hm?"

Y/n reached forward a bit at the sudden touch, and he found two of his fingers slowly dancing around her small numb that made her beg.

"Ple... please," she breathed out feeling him between her with a playful look on his face just knowing he'd get her to say it.

"Pleaseeee, what?" he mocked, opening his fingers just slightly to find her small, tight opening.

Grayson's mouth was just near an inch away from her core as he blew cold air into it making Y/n squirm just to have him grip onto her thigh.

"Gray," Y/n had a hard time finishing her train of thought before he had taken the two fingers and slid them into her wetness as they disappeared in her.

She gasped now, gripping onto his bed sheets and pulling her brows together to help keep the moan in.

She could fight it for as long as she could, but if he kept doing this to her, the whole neighborhood would know what they were up to.

Once again Grayson sped up, now moving his fingers in and out of Y/n while also swirling his tongue around her numb before kind of kissing sloppily and mixing the fluids around slightly.

"Fuck," she said, trying for reach for him as he moved her hand away.

"Say it Kid, go on." Grayson continued while he waited, listening to the sound of fingering his best friend.

And there were the magic words. "Blue, please... shit,"

This time Y/n successfully reached up for him, grabbing onto his brown locks and pulling him close to her core and using both hands to hold her still.

Grayson's mouth was open against her, and when he heard her screech as he felt her legs start to shake, he knew he was doing something right.

This continued, and he loved the sounds that he made her make, and he was nearly coming to his breaking point when he heard one last moan and felt the warmth on his chin.

He took a small collection of Y/n with his tongue and pulled her even loser while she whined and breathed heavy, her grip on his hair still strong.

Once she finally let go of Gray, and before he could even say a word to her, she said: "Fuck me Grayson."

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Nicole's Rambling: The Avengers Problem (for PS4)

Let's start with the usual chanting: ❗this is my opinion, it's biased as hell (since I grew up with Marvel comic books and movies) and you don't have to agree❗

I was wondering why Avengers game gets so hated... So I took a look and I played it myself. Let’s have a look.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First off: the game isn't in any way horribly bad. It's just a button smasher with a story that has its good and bad beats. It's not memorable at all, but it could've gone way more downhill in my opinion.

At the start of the game, you meet the mighty Avengers through child fan's eyes - it's pure fanservice and let's be honest, it's dope. It was sweet, but pretty dragged, to be honest. I really didn't need to play as all five Avengers (HAWKEYE IS MISSING, AGAIN) in the first hour of the game, but sure, why not?

For the most part, you see the squad through Kamala Khan's eyes. For those who might have not a clue who the hell Kamala is; I am not wondering about why you don't know who the hell she is. She's a Marvel heroine who outed in 2013 and who will have her own spinoff on Disney+.

And again, Ms Marvel is fine, but not memorable at all. I've never, until this day, met anyone who would say that 'Ms Marvel is my favourite superhero'. I was halfway through the game before I even realized it's Ms Marvel - AFTER SHE PULLED HER DAMN COSTUME OUT. That can be due to my utter ignorance or because I heard of her so little that I can count it on my fingers. In all honesty, I loved Kamala as the story progressed, the gal's not bad at all - but as the whole game, she had good and bad beats. There were times where I wished to play as Iron Man and the game forced me to play as her... Whatever.

Let's look at the three problems I have with this game and three positives I found in the game:

0. (Technically zero since it's a personal problem of mine) The soundtrack and the voice actors:

By any means, I am not trying to say they should hire RDJ for the role of Iron Man and Mark Ruffalo for the role of Banner... But it was so hard to distinguish the voice of Nolan North (For example: Nathan Drake x Iron Man) and Troy Baker (Samuel Drake x Bruce Banner). For me, as for a PS4 gamer, it's annoying to hear the same voices again and again in every game I am genuinely excited about (Idk how Xbox players are familiar with them). Of course, there's even Laura Bailey as the Black Widow; I feel like these are the three only people who do voice acting for games these days and sure, I should've seen that coming.

Side note: Nolan North is not a good fit for Iron Man in the slightest in my opinion, but if you like his Iron Man, that's cool as well!

The soundtrack... M A N, the soundtrack. When I heard Marvel gave a green light to the Avengers game, I expected to hear at least the iconic Alan Silvestri's 'The Avengers'. Problem with this is simple: Marvel had spoiled its consumers with good and memorable soundtracks (don't you tell me you don't remember as they all gathered for the first time). Since it was Marvel itself who gave the green light for this project, which was supposed to be based loosely on the movies' and comic book success, I hoped to get all of it.

It's not Iron Man when AC/DC song isn't playing in the background as he flies through a canyon for his life. I mean, Iron Maiden are fine; but come on. COME ON. It's not the same. It's not the Avengers (WITHOUT HAWKEYE) without their significant theme.

1. IT. BUGS. ALL. THE. TIME and the combat is incredibly repetitive:

When I was little, I was a rage gamer. I could barely play Crash Bandicoot or Rayman without losing my cool. Since then, I grew up, skilled and etc. I try not to rage when playing games since it's simply not worth it.

But when you're replaying a boring mission for the tenth part and you're almost over and SUDDENLY, the game bugs out and you lose control over the character (it starts running in circles, etc.) it sucks shit. And don't let me start on the minor bugs. Like when you don't cross the platform by one pixel and the game doesn't let you make combos when you're in the air and bug into a tree when you bug into a wall, a rock, fucking nothing... Bruh. It was released in August, shouldn't these bugs be fixed by now? The game is fucking broken, hoes. It barely feels like a game ready to launch at times.

When you're so lucky that you don't bug out in the middle of doing something, the combat... It isn't bad. It's not terrible, but the Avengers deserved something better. It didn't deserve mediocre combat that repeats itself in every level. Once you find yourself good combo, you're done for. You can use it to finish the game if you will.

2. There's too many missions, too much information and too much things player has to understand if he wants to play the game properly:

Okay, this might seem to be a little confusing; I didn't understand the game system at all when I first ran it on my PS4. There's story missions, HARM training sessions, daily missions for particular heroes, faction missions (SHIELD, Pym, Stark, etc.) and character-side-story missions, and a lot more.

Trust me, it doesn't sound that hard, but once you open the map menu for yourself... Oh boy, that's a different story. And if it only was the map menu. The inventory and such aren't too collected all together either. Before you can safely tell what is what, it will take you at least a whole afternoon. Also, the fact that game just spills it on you just like that, one thing after another, it doesn't help the overall feel.

On top of that, there are MULTIPLE currencies in the game; some even involve microtransaction. It mostly is involving the customization of the Avengers, so it's not THAT big of a deal; you can get one currency by collecting boxes and stuff, but it takes ages before you can buy one single thingy.

Also, if you would like to get stuff (very useful stuff) from factions (SHIELD and Pym mainly), you have to do in-factions daily quests, which usually require to do a certain amount of things as a particular hero (you can do some quests with Ms Marvel only, some with Black Widow, it usually involves the damage dealt while playing as a character etc.). And if you forget to fetch these minies? Well, no faction points for you, bucko.

The system feels overall too complicated in the begging and even after finishing the game, I am not certain by some.

3. The gameplay of the one and only... Natasha Romanov, and the entirety of Steve Rogers:

Right off the bat: IT. SUCKS. SHIT.

This was your shot in opening our mouths and showing why Black Widow BELONGS to the Avengers in the first place. Like, sure, storywise you proved the point, but gameplaywise... That's a different story.

Out of the bunch, Natasha feels the slowest, most clumsy and overall not too pleasant to play as. Mainly is because her attacks do... Nothing. The gun reloading is basically constant when I have to put it simply and it takes about 3-5 seconds for her to even reload; which can be a matter of life and death inside the game. Sure, she can make herself invisible; but that's like... It. It's not that it would be suffering when you are forced to play as Nat... But not a pleasant experience either.

On the other hand, maybe it's just me. I have friends who told me the same about her gameplay, but maybe there's someone who enjoys the Black Widow. It's my personal with the entirety of the gameplay.

Steve, on the other hand, isn't hard to play as. It's just fucking boring. At the start of the game, I couldn't wait to play as Steve's character. He seemed to be awesome - Jesus fuck, how could I be so wrong? As I said, he's incredibly boring and dry, his skills would do the same amount of work if they even weren't there. I think that Rogers is there just for the shock value (as a value that doesn't even work in the slightest) and nothing more.

As you learn to do the tricks and combos with them, it gets slightly better and skill tree and equipment upgrades can help almost unnoticeable... But really, Steve and Natasha are the absolute worst.

Now the reasons why the game convinced me it isn't a hot mess as I initially thought:

1. The characters, dynamics, chemistry and the overall story:

Sure, it is mainly a basic plotline, a cookie-cutter one, full of cliché - Avengers have to regroup after a traumatic event and you're the one who has to find them and bring them together.

Yet it is quite interesting; the game leads you to believe that Steve Rogers is dead after an event called the 'A-Day' (which you won't believe even if the game does the hardest to make you to, constantly remaining you that 'Oh boy, Cap died, did you know that?') and the Avengers had left to exile because they were considered as big bad for the people and the country. They have their emotional baggage and the banter between Banner and Stark (though it ends too soon), is just the thing that makes them human and relatable.

Even the villains are quite compelling; not like ultra super convincing, but the game can turn around when you least expect it to; which is definitely a huge plus.

The characters were done GOOD. The dialogues are full of personality and jokes you'd expect from each one of them; Banner is a wallflower cutie, Tony fishes for compliments all the time, Natasha is the big independent woman she always was and Thor? CHEF'S KISS, I swear. It hits the Shakespearean vibe perfectly and at the same time, he still is charming and quite funny to hang around.

Every time you can listen to a chit-chat between two characters, it is a great pleasure for you as a Marvel fan. Also, I need to say that regardless of my personal issue with the dub (regarding Tony and Bruce; since they're the people you spend most of your time with), the dialogues for these two characters are on point without a doubt. And I kinda grew fond of the in-game Bruce Banner throughout the course of the game, to be honest.

There are references, jokes, inside jokes, one-liners... The dialogue was done amazingly and that's a huge   T H A N K   Y O U  to the developers.

2. The mind-blowing gameplay of... Tony Stark and Thor and AI, while not being too bright, getting stronger as you do:

In what the Natasha gameplay lacks, these two give you exactly what would you expect and way, way more than you'd ask for. Again, it mainly reflects the personal gameplay preferences of the player; let me tell you why I think these gameplays are, in my opinion, the best.

a) Tony's gadgets and weaponry: The suit itself is bloody brilliant. Once you master the ability to attack and fly at the same time, you have the moments when you can not only feel like Iron Man - but really be Iron Man. It's not even that your gameplay would suddenly become 10x easier; it significantly becomes funnier.

b) Thor's heavy fist-to-fist and Mjolnir preferences: the Mjolnir is bloody brilliant as well. Thor's combat is mainly physically based, but when you want to throw the hammer around like the madman you are, you can suit yourself. You can use the lightning if you please and you can fly if this style of combat suits you. It's all in your hands. Thor can take quite a bit of damage, which is significantly supporting you in this style. If you accidentally drop Mjolnir? Well, call it back and smash them!

Also, regarding the AI... As I said, they're certainly not the brightest sparks in the flame; yet thanks to the power getting bigger as you level up and continue with your story and a huge variety of enemies - from turrets to flying men with flamethrowers. It is just button smasher, but a pleasing one in this regard, I must say.

3. The fanservice to comic book fans, movie fans and loyalty to the property:

As one IGN review once said... "This game makes you feel like Batman." And this game more or less accomplished it as well, but diluted and stripped down. Of course, in no way I can compare this to the masterpiece to the Arkham saga; these games are brilliant.

But there are moments when the game can just drag you inside the story and tell you: "You're Iron Man now, boss. It's in your hands." And it's there. I think the only issue was that the team of devs just took too big of a bite. I wouldn't mind stand-alone titles emerging into one and big Avengers game. That would be fun as well and I would spend my time with it gladly.

To end it: it's a mess, but a good mess you might like. If I was to rate it, would be 5.1/10 Wait until it is on sale, don't rush it. I'm overall disappointed and I most likely will forget I have ever played it.

[moviegroovies]

so i know i’m breaking like, this unspoken vow of silence re: the movie by making this post but this IS a movie blog and i did watch the last airbender. and can i just say. holy fucking shit.

y’all know i like a lot of bad movies. knowing that, take me seriously when i say: this is a BAD movie. and not in a good way. i went into it with no expectations except morbid curiosity and i was STILL let down. i wanted to hate watch it, and yeah, i hated watching it, but it wasn’t even fun to hate. i just hated it. 

don’t watch the last airbender.

if you’re like me and you just wanted to know exactly how bad it was, please benefit from my mistakes. read my fun funky rant and then never think of that movie again. put it out of your mind. rewatch boiling rock. love yourself.

anyway.

pretty much the one and only thing i knew about why it was bad going in was that it was whitewashed; that’s like the only thing anyone ever mentions in conjecture with this movie, when they mention it at all. knowing this, going in knowing full well that the casting department did crimes against humanity, i was still shocked and disturbed at the sight of white katara and white sokka. literally... that casting choice was a hate crime. look them up (or check out my last post) if you need to see it for yourself... it’s bad y’all. somehow i had braced myself for white aang, but before i saw it with my own two eyes i couldn’t believe that they would actually whitewash katara and sokka, And Yet. the really stupid thing is that it’s not even “””justified””” IN UNIVERSE; most of the members of the southern water tribe are played by asian actors, meaning that they didn’t even pull a pan and make the WHOLE southern water tribe white, they just made sokka and katara mysteriously “special” in a spectacularly poor judgement call.

actually, that’s another thing. outside the northern water tribe (which is also mostly white... i’m wondering if sokka and katara are white because gran gran--a white woman in the movie--is from the north? anyway it’s a moot point either way because none of them should be white, there are NO WHITE CHARACTERS IN THE SHOW AVATAR, jesus FUCKING christ), most of the extras and background characters are played by actors of color, particularly asian actors, which would be accurate to the show’s canon. maybe m night shyamalan or someone else involved in the making of this shitshow of a movie thought that this would somehow absolve the whitewashing of the main characters, but in reality i’d argue that it makes it even worse; by having characters mostly played by people of color continuously being saved by three little white bitches, the movie goes HARD on the white savior trope, and also just generally uses these actual, living people as exploitative, orientalist set dressing for this 1 hour and 43 minutes of special hell.

with one notable exception: prince zuko is played by an actor of color--specifially, dev patel. (who is himself miscast, considering how zuko and the fire nation are japanese-coded, but the second they opened on that veruca salt looking ass bitch calling herself katara any hope that the makers of this movie gave any consideration to the racial coding avatar introduced went right out the window.) which adds Another layer of racism to this already inconceivably bad fuckup of a movie; how strange, that the movie’s racebending made all three heroes white, but the primary antagonist (as well as the secondary antagonist, zhao, and the mostly-off-screen-but-still-present ozai) is a man of color. what an odd coincidence. hmmmm.

i hate this movie. i do want to note, though, that dev patel’s inclusion was the only thing that actually got me through the whole thing; i have no idea why he was in this film (he’s FAR too talented for the content he was given and no one else in the entire cast went even one sixteenth as hard as he did) but he was its one saving grace. still, though, even he couldn’t save it. he was so cute and he did his damn best with probably the worst script in the history of film... but he was still in THIS film. since the release of this movie, patel has spoken out against his role in it and the world of hollywood blockbusters in general, and to that i say... good for him. 

i was going for zuko though. this time it was like YES baby CAPTURE that avatar. full stop.

so yes, it was horribly miscast, whitewashed to hell and back, and went with a racist white hero/villains of color cast as a backdrop. all of these things, in themselves, are enough to completely condemn the movie, and my work here might as well be done... except to end it there would be to leave one million other glaring flaws unexamined. and i refuse to let any rock be unturned.

because, like, it’s NOT just bad because of the whitewashing. the whitewashing and the other racist elements are huge PARTS of why this is a bad movie, but even if this movie was made with an accurate and un-whitewashed cast, it would STILL be a bad movie, and i need you all to know this. 

starting from the top: they ruined katara and sokka. 

well, they ruined them the second they cast them the way they did. but again, let’s say they cast someone else. let’s say they cast appropriate actors for the rolls, but the level of acting skill and the script they used was the same. even in this case, they would have RUINED katara and sokka. none of the characters in this movie are 100% recognizable (and i’ll keep repeating it: the casting DID NOT HELP), but katara and sokka got hit the hardest and the worst. the things that sokka should have brought to the table (his goofy attitude, his intelligence) were erased, and the “sokka” we were given instead was a jerkass buzzkill who might have occasionally been the butt of a joke, but was never actually intended to be funny in his own right. reflecting on the series, it’s kind of as if we got his characterization from the first episode (before sokka got any development and was, i guess, kind of a jerkass buzzkill) and never strayed from that, which would be bad enough, but i think even episode ONE sokka was more fun and dynamic than White Sokka™. mistakes were made.

but it was even WORSE for katara. katara’s righteous anger was all but erased. SOKKA was the one who broke the avatar out of the ice, and only because they accidentally happened upon him--katara didn’t get to be angry at sokka’s jerkass sexism and unconsciously fuck up an entire iceberg. katara NEVER got to be angry. in fact, most of katara’s moments were taken and distributed between aang and sokka; aang, for instance is the one who inspires the earthbenders to break out of prison. we don’t even see katara train with master pakku, and SHE was the one who actually became a waterbending master when they went to the north pole. in this movie, katara mostly existed to talk about ~hope~ (very ember island players, lmfao) and hug aang when he went into the avatar state. 

by the way, that prison? it’s not the metal platform in the middle of the ocean we got in the show. it’s just... an enclosed village. surrounded by dirt and earth. and the earthbenders never tried to break out until aang came along and told them to? hmmmm.... 

Unfortunate Implications™, but what did you expect. 

other than that, idk. the writing was so fucking bad, y’all. a significant chunk of the plot relies on the “as you know” trope, in which characters have an expository discussion about something everyone present should already be aware of and wouldn’t need to get into. this normally wouldn’t bother me THAT much, if i noticed it at all (exposition is essential, after all, and you only have so much time in a movie, so i guess it makes sense when you’re trying to compress an entire season of a show into one), except like... it’s ridiculous. i couldn’t ignore it, they just hit the hammer so hard. “as you know, this is what the avatar is. as you know, zuko was exiled after fighting an agni kai with his father. as you know...” 

bleh.

after that, i guess all my complaints are a little more pedantic. some smaller things that made the movie unwatchable: the bending motions were super weird and i think sped up? there were perfectly good martial arts moves right there waiting for them, and shyamalan fucked even THAT up in an effort to... what? make it look more “mystical?” bitch i’ll kill you. also, for reasons completely unfathomable to me, some of the names were pronounced oddly despite being said one million times in the show. “aah-ng” “ee-roh” “soh-ka” “ahvatar.” literally... why.

i’ve been thinking “soh-ka” in my head for like two weeks. hideous.

and one last thing, which really DOESN’T matter in comparison to what they did to the human characters, but like... what fucking happened to appa?? why did they do that to him?

don’t watch the last airbender.

[crimsonbluemoon]

My Tumblr Birthday!

Sooooo according to my archives and such, exactly one year ago today I became a member of the bbs fandom! It’s been a hell of a year, I will tell you that. 

So just some thoughts about this weird ass journey, if you’d be so kind to humor an old woman.

I kind of remember coming into this fandom not really expecting much? Like I kinda squirmed my way in thinking that it’d be really cool to like, read other peoples stories and get to know everyone. I don’t really know how, but I got attention because of my Cops AU idea that sort of caught wildfire. Then I posted my first little stories about Christmas and such before my bigger story, Want You,  and I was so amazed by the love and affection it got on this platform (I put it on Ao3 but it just wasn’t the same). 

I also remember how stunned I was with 100 followers? I felt like I had reached my peak and I couldn’t really go any higher. Again, I managed to get lucky by making some really good friends at the start of my fandom life and kind of being able to joke around and gain attention from them. It wasn’t any super big, but I was thankful for the time they gave me. Watching Deli draw, getting to know Kiwi, admiring Bels and Ether and Grace’s works. It was all so wonderful! 

Then around January, Sherry sent me a message asking me to help with an idea about a BBS shipping server. And it was crazy how that changed my life. The server brought good and bad things out, and I won’t say I never thought of just tossing in the towel and leaving. But I’m so happy that I stayed! I met people like Sei and Shorty and Pandy and Cana and Moon through my server. I got to see them grow as people and shared laughs with them. I also got to open up a bit and learn that it was okay to not be perfect. Because damn do I want to be perfect. But they supported me there, and evern at my darkest point,those who I never thought would stick up for me did. 

I learned what it felt like to be hated. I learned what it felt like to have people who didn’t know me, know my story, know my past and know my insecurities, rip me apart and make me feel worthless. I learned that sometimes, simply having a different opinion about a ship or a boy could make the nicest of people reject you. I learned that sometimes, people you thought would always be supportive and understanding of you could turn on you and never speak to you again. It was weird, knowing that despite the followers numbers that grew and the asks/fans who reached out to me and told me how ‘inspiring’ i was, I could feel so empty. To this day, I’m still struggling with this concept. I wanna figure myself out, and how I got to where I am while also not knowing who I am.

I started up one of the coolest projects in my life here; Libahunt. I’ve written stories before, don’t get me wrong. I’ve written stories for bigger fandoms, with more comments, more kudos, more views. BBS is a small time fandom, so I knew what I was getting into. But man, for such a little place, y’all have big hearts. The love, support, and just damn attention I got for this story was amazing. The fanart? I cant even begin to tell you how much that all means to me. Every time I see a piece, my heart melts to think I got to inspire someone. Hearing people freak out in discord, seeing the reblogs and comments you make...that’s all I want in life. So honestly, thank you all for making me realize how much I love this story and helping me get my ass back in gear to write it properly. 

Kind of on the same topic, I really got to thank some super important people for just...being there for me. I can’t list EVERYONE because jesus I would be here forever, but these ones just...they really stick out for me.

@firstaidquarters: My writing wife, half of my brain, my HC partner in crime, honestly one of the best people I’ve met. Ever. Like, do you get how much you mean to me? How you just make my world a better place? If I’m mad or sad or hyper or just being fucking stupid, you’re there. You literally spent 28 hours helping me write a story without ever asking anything in return. I wanted to quit, I wanted to throw my computer and never look at it again. But you just...sat there and kept me going. And now? It’s fucking amazing because of you. And I never have to explain myself to you. You just get it. And God I can’t even say enough how much our HCing has been a blessing. I don’t even think you realize that without you, I wouldn’t still be in this fandom. I cannot thank you enough, even if you created that wretched Minibat. 

@kihorri : We weren’t close originally but jesus you came in like a wrecking ball, eh? My life has been crazy since I did that Banana Bus Tales thing with you. You helped get my name on the map. And for the past couple months, I’ve really adored the frienship we’ve created. Our DM messages are probably enough to get us sent to hell, but I’m okay with that. Each time you tell me you’re reading my story, I melt. Like to think you’d waste your time on me? To get to joke with you about ‘certain’ types of stories and watch you draw silly pictures...it makes my world! You drive me up a wall every way you can, you make me cry from your beautiful art, but you could put the pencil down and never draw again and I’d still wanna talk to you every day. Even with your horrible sleep schedule. 

@mssjynx : YOU! God you are a menace. Sneaky other writing wife. But like, one of the best writers in the BBS/Misfits fandom. You make me wanna read angst. Do you know how hard that is?!?! Like jesus man, you were so amazing with your cute stuff and your sad stuff. And you’re just as wonderful outside of your stories. I give you shit, I pull your tail, and we bicker like old women, but you are one of the sweetest people I got to meet in this fandom and even if I threaten it, I’ll never divorce you ( I mean you killed all the lawyers so...). 

@piwiskiwi: My libahunt artist! Your work is AMAZING. And you are just so prescious? I dont get to talk to you as much as I want to, but you were one of the first people I really connected to in this fandom and you don’t understand how much joy your art brings me. Like, you’re a rock star. You helped me at the start of Libahunt when it was just an idea, you helped create these pictures that others now use as references. You’re kind and funny, and even if you feed into Bel’s crazy ship, you’re the best partner for Libahunt I could ask for. 

Honestly, there’s so many others! I wanna write you all something because you all have changed me in one way or the other. But I’d be here all night and I don’t wanna take up all of your time. So just know this: You all made me who I am. Without you, the person reading this right now, I wouldn’t be Crim. That means the world to me. So, you mean the world to me. Thank you for being around for my first year here. And I don’t know if you guys will care, or if anyone even remembers memories with me or if I’m just an author you read, but I just...thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. <3

And also thanks for letting me reach 1500 followers. (Eh its closer to 1600 now, cause this happened like 3 weeks ago but I just wanted to wait until my 1 year to say it all at once. No need for two sappy posts.)  

Sincerely,

CrimsonBlueMoon <3

[rocketpowerreg]

beneath the milky twilight → rackie

TAGGING→ @acupp-jp​ @rocketpowerreg​ TIME→ February 20th, 2019, late night/early morning LOCATION→ A park in Brooklyn NOTES→ Nursing their heartbreaks, Jackie and Reggie decide to bar hop until the morning and wind up on a playground alone, sharing more than just a bottle of Jack Daniels between them

REGGIE CLIFFTON

It had been a long while since Reggie had felt any kind of heartbreak, which was likely why this one felt the deepest despite being a short lived relationship. Reggie had closed herself off to the idea of relationships and being with someone, only for Harper Clarington to of thrown that all for a loop. Now that she had opened herself to it again, she was having to re-learn the ups and downs that came along with it. Luckily, she had a friend in Jackie Puckerman to help ease the pain and provide a much needed distraction for her. Which, given Jackie was in a similar boat, Reggie was hopefully providing the same amount of comfort for her right back. The pair had gone out on the town, Reggie going to Jackie's earlier in the day to make some edibles for them. Which were then taken before going to the bars. Reggie couldn't go out and dance much with Jackie, but she could drink with her, joke with her, and have fun all the same. It was hardly anytime at all before they at that level of carelessness they both wanted. Maybe even needed.

It was getting to be later into the night with some bars starting to close, though rather than call it quits, they went to a liquor store to buy one more bottle to share. Finding the nearest park, Reggie and Jackie posted up on an empty playground, sitting side by side on the highest platform and looking at the view of the park and city surrounding them. Despite how alive New York City was, at the moment, it seemed rather still. It made the thoughts Reggie was trying to get away from creep in, and so she was quick to open the bottle of whiskey they for and take a drink, "Jesus Christ, why didn't we get a chaser?" Reggie asked, feeling the burn of the alcohol go down her throat and make her wince, though then her shoulders relaxed a little more.

Handing the bottle to Jackie, dark eyes landing on her with a shrug, "I mean, I can't complain too much right? at least it gets the job done because I am... already fucking drunk." She laughed, smirking over at Jackie before the expression faltered. Did she like running away from her problems? No, not really, but given how heavy her heart felt at the moment, Reggie thought maybe it was deserved. Or perhaps she was just hoping that it was, "Thanks for offering to take me out tonight, Jacks... I needed it. Bad, apparently."

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

The last week or so had been a bit of a blur for Jackie, purposefully so. Kitty dropped her. Kitty wasn’t happy. Kitty didn’t want her. The whole thing gutted Jackie.  She’d never thought love was a thing she go for, it wasn’t for people like her. She’d fallen hard for Kitty a long time ago and it scared the shit out of her so she instead dated Marley. Dating someone, because you’re afraid to date the person you want to be with is a shitty thing to do, but Jackie honestly thought she could make it work, but of course she fucked it up and hurt a person that she loves. Something she’ll never truly forgive herself for, but maybe this is Karma? Working for months to prove she was worthy of Kitty’s attention and honest affection just to be dismissed without a fight?... Kitty didn’t fight for her. Fuck! It all just hurt so damn bad.

Spending an entire week drunk or hungover may seem like a terrible way to deal with your problems, but who said Jackie wanted to deal with this shit? Whenever she really stopped to think about what it all meant, that maybe all the people she loved the most would leave, maybe they couldn’t love her, maybe this was how it was going to always be… That was too much to bare, so fuck it, she wouldn’t bare it. Jackie was going to party. When she’s drunk she almost forgets Kitty and Puck and the Sperm donor and the contentious yet slightly phony relationship she has with her mother. All she has to do is push a little harder and she’ll forget it all.

Luckily for Jackie she did have friends to help her forget. Reggie had been having a difficult time in general lately and on top of all the physical stuff the other woman was dealing with, turns out something had gone wrong in her relationship as well. Jackie honestly hated seeing her friends in pain but didn’t know how much of a support she could be in her current state, so she offered the only thing she thought she could, a night of fun and forgetting. They’d started out the night with some of Jackie’s favorite pot filled treats, proceeded to drink a few dude-bros under the table at a couple bars and ended the night with a last hurrah bottle at a park. Jackie laughed so much that night. Real genuine laughs that made her stomach hurt and in those moments she was so grateful to Reggie.

“Don’t be a baby, throw it back like a boss.” Her words came out with a slight slur because she was very very drunk, but she was halfway decent at hiding just how much. Jackie accepted the bottle from Reggie and took a long drink coughing a bit as she pulled it from her lips. “You are good company, Reginald, so I wanted to hang with you.” She ran the back of her hand across her lips. “I want to help with your sads. I hope I helped with your sads.” She grinned and shrugged before taking another quick sip and giving the bottle back.

REGGIE CLIFFTON

Reggie couldn't help but shake her head and laugh at Jackie's urging for Reggie to boss up. It was classic JP, as she had been one of the friends Reggie had who could push her to be a little more social. To put herself out there a little bit in the fun department. Sometimes Reggie needed that, and it seemed that she especially needed it at the moment, "Now I never claimed to be some sorta an expert, but I'd say you're fucking drunk, too, Jacks my dude." She teased in a loose tone. Sitting on top of a playground while shitfaced wasn't exactly how Reggie figured they would end up, yet somehow, it was fitting. It was soothing. The two of them were both running, yet the stillness of the night was providing a certain comfort, and bitterness somewhere deep in there.

Taking the bottle back from Reggie, she took another drink before handing it back at Jackie. And as the burning sensation happened again, Reggie sighed, laying herself back onto the cool surface of the playground. Her eyes wer looking up at the ceiling of the structure, only to close them with a hand resting lazily on her stomach, "I think that you... and the many, many, many Jack Daniels we met tonight did help with my sads... at least as much as you guys can, right." Reggie mused, trying not to let her usual world view put a damper on the night. Swallowing down the thoughts swirling in her head, Reggie's head fell to the side to look over at Jackie with a soft, inebriated smile, "How about you, Jacky P? This night helping out with your sads, too, or do we gotta find another store open in an hour?" She joked, knowing full well she hit her limit. But she'd remain good company for Jackie.

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

Turning her head a bit too quickly at the accurate accusation caused Jackie to have to steady herself. Placing a flat palm down next to her, she fought the giggle trying to escape. “I resemble that remark Reginald!” She waved one hand around, one finger pointing to the sky. “I am not... not drunk. I’m a little wasted that is all.” The giggle that followed was too strong to be contained. No one would remember the details of this night, especially not the fact that Jackie Puckerman giggled when drunk. Right? and with that thought she shivered. It was so cold out. Her teeth chattered faintly, but she barely noticed. What she did notice was a slightly snow covered monkey bars set that she had decided to climb before they went home.

Jackie tapped her finger to a melody that only played in her mind for a bit before realizing Reggie was handing her the bottle. She looked at it, admiration on her face before grabbing it and hugging it to her chest. The words “Old Friend” escaped in a hushed tone. She sways slightly as the melody gets a bit louder in her mind. Music helped drown out the painful memories too. Suddenly the unnamed song was replaced by Reggie’s voice and a whimsical smile danced across Jackie’s lips. “You’re a little cutie cute friend!” It took another moment for comprehension to come. And Jackie nodded, smile growing wider. “I’m glad. I wanted to make sure you we’re smiling sometime too. The real kind not the ‘see everyone I’m fine, so stop asking, Damnit!’ smile”. She nodded in a matter-of-fact way, mentally patting herself on the back for helping as she took another sip. Jackie thought about Reggie’s question. Her own sadness was the other reason they were there. She huffed and laid back beside the other woman. “Right now…” Jackie looked over at Reggie and a small smile appeared. “... Sads are mostly at bay… Score for Jackie!” She pumped one fist in the air. “I’m glad you’re here. Here where we are right now. Even though I don’t know where we are right now.” Her brow scrunched for a moment. “Reggie, people are hard… that’s what she said…” she laughed at her own ridiculousness. “No but really, I think I’m done with people.”

REGGIE CLIFFTON

Watching Jackie fumble and stumble through her thoughts while in her drunken state only provided entertainment for Reggie. The both of them were a little far gone beyond the realm of needing to make sense for there to be an understanding between them. They were both at a low point in their lives. Despite the fact one had been broken up with and the other did the breaking up in their respective relationships, it seemed almost too fitting for them to be finding a comfort in each other. Along with the bottle in hand, of course. When Jackie laid back, Reggie's head turned to have eyes meet with Jackie's own. Yes, her head was spinning, her eyes were a little glazed over, and her mind still felt heavy even if the thoughts that actually weighted it down weren't being considered. She was focused on Jackie, smiling back at her only for it to falter at the mention of people. Of being done with them. Reggie's first reaction was to do a chuckle that was paired with a snort of sorts. It sounded so easy to say, even Reggie believed it for a minute, only to remember calling it quits on anything wasn't easy. But she had been forced to do it many times before. What was one more heart break in her life, right?

"You know what? I could absolutely, positively start rattling off some bullshit about how you shouldn't give up on people, and that it's bad to. That you should keep faith because people change and it gets better and all that..." Reggie started, not intending to go off on a tirade but that was the level of drunk she was at. Propping herself up on her elbow, Reggie let her head move freely to fall to the side, attention on Jackie as she continued to slur out, "but you know, honestly? I'm right fucking there with you. It's better off that way." Reggie declared, lifting her head to haphazardly look out into the distance. Her vision was a little too unfocused for that, but she still was staring off, "It's shitty, you know... like knowing it's basically in your genes suck for all of eternity and that's just the hand you've got," Reggie spilled out, clearing finding her stride in terms of what emotional damage she felt like revealing, "It's like... no matter what you do, you're gonna wind up doing the same shit you don't wanna be doing. Or hoped shit wouldn't end up blown up in your face. But like... deep down, you totally knew it was gonna end up the same way. So... are you really just stupid for even trying to fight it?" Reggie rolled her eyes, only to then have them search for the bottle to take another drink. They were barely breaking it in, and yet by now, the burn was becoming much more a dull sensation Reggie wasn't having an issue with.

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

Jackie listened as Reggie spoke, nodding along, taking in what she could. “Don’t rattle off nonsense right now, ‘cause I don’t think I could tell the difference.” Genuine concern covered her face before quickly dissipating. Jackie honestly felt every word the other woman said. Each one hit her in such a way, that in her drunken state she was a bit confused as to which one of them was actually saying the words. Reggie somehow knew exactly how she felt. “Get out of my head sorcerous.” Jackie whispered, unsure if her night’s partner in crime heard. “You could have said ‘don’t give up on people ‘cause everything is gonna work out in the end’ and I would just call bullshit. And I’d kick you… just because.” A small grin slid across her lips and slowly fell from her face as the words began to settle in again.

“I AM stupid. I’m a fucking idiot. I did know, Reg, I knew how this shit was going to turn out but I convinced myself, tricked myself into thinking this 22 yrs of shit relationships would stop. I mean, when you’re abandoned as a fetus it’s def the universe giving you serious warning of how life is going to be, right?” Jackie closed her eyes squeezing them tightly, trying to push away everything that hurt. “I fight the loser piece of shit in my genes on a regular, but maybe I should just be who I am because trying to be something else ain’t fooling nobody.” She thought about how much effort she put into being “better” and how she always fell short. Was it even worth it?

Jackie turned and laid on her side, facing Reggie. “Is it supposed to be this difficult? Are some of us supposed to fail? Can you stop hogging that?” She reached for the bottle and put it to her lips, underestimating the difficulty of drinking while laying on her side. “Shit, don’t you spill that alcohol, as my King Bey would say.” Jackie chuckled before setting the bottle down, only partially disappointed half her gulp ended up on her cheek. Her gaze found Reggie’s face again and she pouted. “I’m sorry Reginald. I’m supposed to be cheering you up? Want me to do some naked acrobatics or something? I will.” She wasn’t supposed to be doing this, drinking and dope hot company was supposed to distract her from everything.

REGGIE CLIFFTON

"Oh c'mon Jacks, since when are you ever not cheering me up? You don't gotta even do naked acrobatics to make it happen. Not that I'd complain if you decided to try otherwise. I'm pretty sure I saw some monkeybars down there..." Reggie pointed out with her eyes on Jackie's, and knowing smirk on her lips. The two of them were friends, though things mainly started as a friends with benefits situation. It had been a long time since that had been their relationship, but among other things, it was likely one of the reasons they felt comfortable enough to be open. Which only continued on as Reggie, with all her might, tried to prop on her elbows so she could point her chin down to the ground at another structure nearby, "Yes. Cliffton scores. There they are, monkeybars waiting for climbing." She boasted, lazily attempting to lift a fist up as her eyes closed and she did a faux freezeframe. Her arm dropped back down, Reggie's body needing it for balance as she composed herself. Thought. mulled some memories over before slurring them out, "I haven't been on the bars in forever you know? Like... since I was a kid... I'm talking at least like seven or-or eight or maybe.... actually, I never really played on playgrounds now that I think about it." Reggie started to laugh at herself in a breathy chuckle, head falling to the side and loking at Jackie with a drunken smirk and eyes clearly thinking of another time.

"I was always that kid running around on the fields. Because back then I actually had two, that's right folks, two good legs. Oh man, I had no idea how good I had it then... we never do when we're kids." Reggie mused, her tone getting a little more distant near the end though her hand reached over wiped a drop of still wet whiskey from near Jackie's lips. It was a soft touch, with Reggie's eyes glancing at the familiar lips of Jackie's and knowing the many reasons why it was tempting to kiss them. Especially given the day she had of officially ending her five month relationship with Harper for reasons more complicated than Reggie cared to think about. Licking her lips, Reggie looked back up at Jackie's eyes and let her hand drop onto floor in the space between them, her own lips still in a small smile, "I know we keep getting all... this with the talking and shit but... I'm glad we did it. I'm glad we're friends, Jacks. I don't even care that we're both losers and have loser genes and make stupid mistakes... because we're fuck ups together. And that's pretty dope, right?" She rambled, her hand at some point having risen to Jackie's shoulder to ensure she had her friend's attention as she smiled, "I don't know... I think it's pretty dope at least."

JACKIE PUCKERMAN

“I mean I will, but if I do we gotta go inside, my nips can’t handle this cold temperature.” Jackie looked down at her itty bitties and laughed. “I am excellent at naked cartwheels.” Another laugh fell from her lips before her eyes fell onto Reggie’s face. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. “But I’m glad I always cheer you up, Reginald. I want to see you smiling and what not. You deserve some smiles.” Her mouth literally dropped open at the mention of Monkey Bars. “Yoooo, I was just thinking, well when we first got here I was thinking I needed to climb those damn things. You ARE some mind reading sorcerous! I knew it!” This was fun. There was ease with Reggie that was nice, a calm. There was no pressure to be anything but herself, no pressure to pretend to be okay but there were moments, like this, talking about climbing monkey bars when she in fact felt almost okay. “You’re such a freaking dork, did you know that?” Jackie shook her head and laughed at the ridiculous pose the other did. “ A cute one but a dork nonetheless.” She smirked and thought about the last time she was on a playground. “Don’t judge me, but I go to the park all the time. It was the one place in my neighborhood that got taken care of growing up. Like the the city couldn’t give a shit but the people in the neighborhood kept it up for us. Kept the grass cut and the rust away. So now even as a grown ass woman, because know that I am a grown ass woman,...” Jackie smirked and winked at Reggie before continuing. I go to the park sometime and swing  and slide and climb monkey bars and remember moments of happy.”

Jackie looked down at the gentle hand on her cheek and took in a sharp breath. Touch, it was something she craved, connection, affection. She licked her lips and sighed softly before shaking off the desire to lean in. “Reggie with the two legs! Don’t worry though, because you’ll get it back. You’ll be running around here like a badass little kid in no time. I want to help. How can I help?” Jackie furrowed her brow, thinking of looking up physical therapy videos on youtube, because she was going to fix Reggie’s leg, and yeah, she was still pretty drunk. She quickly abandoned that train of thought as the other woman’s words rang out in her ears. “I’m glad too, Reg. I’m glad I got you, and I hope you know you got me, babe. Like Sunny and Cher. We’re fuck ups together...” The last words came out in a hushed tone. Jackie placed a hand on Reggie’s cheek resting it there as her thumb gently caressed the soft skin. It was familiar. Something she’d done long before. Her body just remembered. “Your cheek is cold.” She smiled softly before leaning in and pressing a kiss on Regina’s lips, a kiss so soft that their lips barely touch, until she leaned in a bit more fully connecting them. The tip of her tongue ran along the other woman’s bottom lip before she nipped, and soothed the spot once again with the swipe of her tongue. Jackie pulled away and held out her hand. “Come on, Let me push you on the swing instead of the Monkey Bars. I promise to be gentle.” She winked and chuckled.

REGGIE CLIFFTON

"Like Sunny and Cher... 'cept I think we're just two Sunny's and no Chers. I don't have that chick's kind of energy. Or hair, for that matter." Reggie rambled, a giggle escaping her lips a bit with closed eyes. Her stomach was starting to hurt, and she had to wonder if it was pain from all the laughter or from needing food. They had eaten, but with all the hours of the night having been nothing short of a blur, it was hard to remember when that was. Reggie's body was relaxed back against the cool metal surface of the playground, her eyes opening slowly to upon feeling a weight on her cheek. As they opened, she felt Jackie's kind touch and there was a look in her eyes that was mirrored in Reggies own. The witty remark of ‘then why don’t you warm it up’ was there on the tip of Reggie's tongue, but she couldn't quite say it. It was too similar to a thing she'd say to Harper, and luckily, Jackie took the initiative of connecting their lips. That kept Reggie's lips busy in a better way than talking could have done. The simplicity of it was exactly what the moment called for between two friends feeling lost. There was a want for intimacy that had been lost due to their respective break ups. While their months long relationships had come to ends in different ways, that didn't change the need from existing for them both. Reggie sighed into it, the hand on Jackie's shoulder gripping slightly and pulling herself closer to the source of comfort she needed at the moment. The source in the form of her friend, with whom this wasn't their first kiss, and likely not they're last.

As the pair pulled back, Reggie glanced at Jackie's hand and a child-like grin broke out, "The fun just never stops with you, does it, Jackie P?" Reggie playfully stated, her hand enthusiastically though sloppily grabbing Jackie's as she also tried to get herself to her feet, "And you know as well as I that Reggie C don't do anything gentle." Reggie pointed out between chuckles and grunts as she rose to her feet. Truthfully, Reggie was more successful than expected in the task, apparently the physical therapy she had stuck enough to be transferred to her drunk state. Thus now Reggie was dragging her friend along by the hand, laughing for no reason other than the world wasn't so heavy. She hadn't broken Harper's heart. She hadn't broken Lola's heart. She hadn't broken her own heart. No. She was just there in the moment with someone who cared, and that she cared for, about to swing on the monkeybars as if the world hadn't beaten them down. That felt like enough for the night.

[god--baby]

nice to meet you ch 1 (sfw)

eventual belch huggins x ambiguously gendered reader

word count: 2040

“If you don’t stop playing with that, I’m going to make you take it out and put it on my desk.”

You looked up from the notes you were taking to see Mr. Oliver looking right at you, pointing at your face where you were playing with one of your snake bites, pushing at it with your tongue.

“No, you won’t,” you said, defiant. “My parents fought tooth and nail for me to wear these, and the principal won’t be pleased to hear about you doing that.”

He rolled his eyes. God, you didn’t like him before, but now, you hated him.

“They didn’t fight for you to distract yourself and the rest of the class,” he said.

“I’m not distracted — it helps me think,” you said, holding up your notebook, showing off the notes you’d been making up until he started being so rude. “Besides, no one else is distracted by my piercings. Right?”

You looked around at your classmates. No one made eye contact with you, embarrassed. One boy, a bigger guy who sat at the back of the room, actually looked away when you caught his eyes.

Traitors, you thought.

“Either take them out or go sit in the hallway for the rest of the period,” said Mr. Oliver. “I won’t have you disrupting my class.”

“You’re the one disrupting class over my piercings. I was minding my own business,” you pointed out.

“Out,” he said sharply.

You heaved an enormous sigh, determined to continue pissing him off. Asshole. You gathered your things and went out to the hall, slamming the classroom door closed behind you, sitting on the floor beside it.

You took your notebook out and started drawing all over the last page of notes, since you weren’t going to finish it anyway. Crowns and bleeding hearts and swords and things, soothing yourself by tonguing at your piercings.

After ten minutes — you’d been sent out fairly early in the class period — you gave up on him coming out to actually acknowledge your existence. You got up and started walking toward the front of the building, intending to go out to your car and smoke.

You passed Patrick Hockstetter, infamous asshole, being escorted by Mr. Cleaver — the incredibly brawny and handsome Chem teacher. You held back a sigh. He was too dreamy.

Patrick, however.

“Hey, there,” he said, giving you a scummy once-over.

You rolled your eyes.

“Move along, Patrick,” said Mr. Cleaver. He sent you a sympathetic look.

You wondered what Patrick had done, this time.

You were new enough to the school that you didn’t know much about anyone, but you’d have to be dead to not know about Patrick Hockstetter. Last week, he’d started a fire in the girls’ locker room. Today — well, you were sure you’d hear about it, eventually.

Not that anyone would tell you. You’d have to eavesdrop for that.

Once you got out to your car, you checked your reflection in the side mirror. Your eye makeup and lipstick were still going strong. Black and deep, both of them. Your hair was looking a little deflated, but you couldn’t care less at this point.

You felt how your hair looked. No air left in you.

Why did adults have to be such assholes?

Some people just couldn’t handle how you looked.

You lit up a cigarette, grateful for the short rush you got with the first drag.

A new school, and you were already making enemies with the staff. A new school, and again, people singled you out and made you feel like shit. You couldn’t make friends because no one wanted to hang out with someone who tried to look dead, with someone, well. Goth.

You sighed and finished your cigarette.

The bell rang, signaling for the whole school to go to lunch. You went back into the building to your locker, getting your lunchbox and going back outside to sit on the steps and eat.

More tofu. Your parents, raised by hippies and not going to ever let that go, had made tofu lo mein last night for dinner, and you liked it so much that you’d packed it for lunch. Would’ve been better if you could microwave it, but oh well. It was still damn decent cold.

As you ate, a group of guys pushed past you, knocking your shoulder with their knees.

“Freak,” one of them spat.

You looked up. It was the blonde one, the one called Henry.

You glared and flipped him off, one chipped fingernail in the air. He laughed, and you laughed back, cruel and unforgiving.

You knew you were soft on the inside, but on the outside, you were scary. You knew it, and you used it when you had to.

The other guys followed him, Patrick and the boy from your last class pulling up the rear.

What was his name, the one who’d looked away when you’d tried to catch his eye?

You went back to your food.

It didn’t matter.

After school, shit hit the fan. For about a minute after you pulled out of the school parking lot, everything was fine. Then, your steering wheel started shaking violently. You swore and pulled over.

You pulled out your cell phone and called your dad first, then your mom. Neither of them picked up, probably too busy with work. You understood. Running a thrift store took a lot of time and energy.

You swore again, though.

Then, you looked up the nearest mechanic shop.

You drove there, refusing to go any faster than ten miles an hour, despite people honking at you.

You pulled into the parking lot, next to a beautiful blue car you recognized from school.

“Reggie! We got another. Clock in and get your ass over there!” a man called.

You waited by your car, and a boy walked up to you. No. Not a boy. The boy — the one who’d looked away in class.

“What’s the problem?” he asked, rubbing his hands on his jumpsuit, giving you a once over. His eyes seemed to get caught on your boots, tall platforms with buckles all the way up to your knees.

“Reggie. That’s your name?” you asked, not answering him just yet. “I’ve only heard Oliver call you Mr. Huggins.”

“Yeah,” he said.

He looked a little uncomfortable, so you decided to stop giving him the third degree.

“Well, nice to meet you. My steering wheel is shaking. It sounds like a motorcycle in inside my car,” you said.

“Jesus,” he said. “Can I take it for a spin?”

You handed him the keys.

“Knock yourself out,” you said.

He got in your car, turning off the radio when the Cure started blaring from the speakers. You smiled. He drove it around the block, returning quickly.

“Jesus,” he said again when he got out.

“I know. Any ideas?”

“Not a clue,” he said honestly.

“Fuck,” you said.

“Lemme ask one of the guys. Dom!”

A man walked out of the workshop towards you.

“Black lipstick,” said the man — Dom. “Nice.”

He gave you a look that reminded you of Patrick. You made a note to stay away from this guy as often as you could.

“Keep it in your pants, Dom,” said Reggie. “Steering wheel’s shaking. Really bad, but worse over like, 20. Any ideas?”

Dom thought for a moment, raking his hands through his short, curly hair.

“Check the tires,” he said. “Might be missing a bolt.”

“’Kay.”

Dom walked away, and Reggie went around your car, crouching next to the tires, looking closely. At your front left tire, he made a small noise.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re missing two bolts. Easy.”

“Cool,” you said. You held up your pack of cigarettes. “You mind?”

“Nah, go ahead.”

You lit up as he walked away. He came back when you were halfway done with your cigarette, holding two bolts in his big hand.

He screwed them on and stood, slapping the hood.

“There you are. ‘M gonna take it for another drive, see if that’s it. But it should be. Dom’s a creep, but he knows his shit.”

“Okay,” you said, ashing your cigarette.

He took your car for another short drive, and came back, smiling.

You took a deep breath but kept holding his eye. God, what a great smile this guy had.

“That fixed it,” he said.

“Great,” you said. “What’ll it cost me?”

“Eh. It was just a coupla bolts. This one’s free.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. Consider it me saying sorry for Dom creepin’ on you.”

You smiled.

“Thanks, man,” you said.

“And here,” he said, pulling a card out of his pocket. He held it out for you.

You took it, reading the front. Flusche and Sons, it said. You turned it over. In a messy hand, there was a phone number.

“That’s my number,” he said. “Something happens again, you call me.”

“I’ll just come here,” you said.

“Well, then. If you can’t drive, call me.”

You let out a short laugh.

“Never had a guy try to pick me up so fast,” you joked.

His cheeks tinged red.

“That’s — that’s not —”

“Hey, I was joking,” you said kindly. “Sorry. I’ll see you ‘round.”

“’Kay.”

You drove home, grateful that things were okay again.

When you got home, neither of your parents were there, yet. To be expected, of course. The shop didn’t close for another couple hours, and they’d be home even later than that.

You called your mom. She picked up.

“Hey, starchild,” she said, pulling out her special nickname for you. She must be having a good day, then.

“Hey, Mom.”

“I saw you called. I’m sorry, I had someone right in front of me. What’s going on?”

“My car — something messed up. The steering wheel was shaking really bad. I took it to Flusche and Sons and they fixed me up.”

“That was fast! What’ll it cost us?”

“Nothing. The guy just put a couple of bolts on my wheels and let me go.”

“Ooh, he must have noticed how cute you are.”

“Mom. It totally wasn’t like that.”

“Then why can I hear you smiling, my sweet child?”

You laughed.

“Oh, ‘cause I am.”

“Was he cute?”

You thought about it. In a way, yeah. Reggie was cute.

“Sure,” you said. “I never noticed before, but yeah. Kinda cute. We go to school together.”

Then you grimaced.

“One of my teachers threatened to make me take out my snake bites today,” you said.

“Oh, honey. I’ll talk to the principal.”

“You don’t have to —” you started.

“Oh, but I will. Listen, someone just walked in. We’ll talk more when I get home, okay?”

“Okay, mom. I love you.”

“I love you too, starchild. ‘Bye, now.”

“Bye.”

You hung up and went upstairs to your room. You opened up your laptop, choosing to ignore your homework for a while. You got on Skype, finding that your best friend, Raven, was already online.

Hey, you typed

Hey yourself. How’s school?

Raven was homeschooled. Lucky bitch.

Sucks. Teacher got onto me for my snake bites.

Asshole

I know

Anything else?

Car fucked up. Had to take it to the shop

Fuck. Meet any cute mechanics? ;)

You laughed. Typical Raven. She saw the whole world as a playground, constantly looking for new toys.

Actually yeah. I guess. There’s this guy who works there I go to school with.

Oh yeah???

Yeah. Nice smile

Oooh nice!

You talked for another hour, unwinding. You blasted your latest playlist, relaxing until you were little more than a puddle on top of your bed.

You said goodbye to Raven when you heard your parents come in, and you went down to help them make dinner, talking about your collective day, how Mr. Oliver got onto you, what you could do about it.

When you went to bed, you laid there under your covers, thoughts wandering.

They kept coming back to Reggie. His smile, the crinkles next to his eyes.

You sighed.

You probably were going to have a crush on him.

That was okay, as long as it didn’t become anything else. You weren’t ready for another — something.

Your last something had just ended, and you weren’t ready for something new.

[blatherkatt]

Title: The Calm Is Terrifying When The Storm Is All You Know [Homestuck]

Chapter 22: Intervention; or, Two Assholes Crying On A Roof

Summary: There were two kinds of trolls who went to Earth: rich shitheads with too much money and free time, and desperate assholes who couldn’t survive on Alternia, even with the best efforts of the young Condesce. Karkat hated the planet almost immediately, but with his home planet too dangerous for mutants, he really didn’t have any choice but to hide out on this weird little diurnal planet. At least he’d be safe. Or so he thought, right before blundering his way into an accidental friendship with the son of an anti-troll terrorist.

Rating: M

Chapter Warnings: Mentioned/implied abuse, internalized homophobia/gay jokes, idk how to warn for this other than ‘How Not To Help Your Loved One With PTSD’ so lets go with that; Illustrated 

FIRST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

The next morning started with another tightening of the already dangerously coiled spring.

Not all at once — in fact, at the very start, things had been promising; Dave had voluntarily joined Rose and the trolls downstairs for breakfast, apparently having already been locked in some conversation with Karkat and not wanting to end it to retreat to his room. There was something slightly defensive about his posture over the plate as he pulled up a seat to join the rest around the kitchen counter, but he was still downstairs being social, and over a meal, no less. Even Mom hadn’t spoiled the mood, managing to keep her usual overbearing drunken displays of affection to a gentle hand on Dave’s shoulder and a subdued (albeit hungover-sounding) “good morning.” She’d taken a plate of (slightly burnt, on account of cooking never being Rose’s strong suit) pancakes and gone about her own business elsewhere in the house toting a flask of red wine, and that was that.

For about five minutes, Rose was reflecting on how she’d be able to tell Roxy that, troubles with Dirk aside, Dave really was making some progress.

Then Dirk came upstairs.

As with before, Dave had immediately fallen silent and still upon seeing his brother. Rose found herself internally begging him to stay, please, it was going so well, Dirk wasn’t even talking to them, just shuffling about picking up his morning coffee. She tried to keep conversation going, and the trolls seemed to catch on, but Dave’s eyes stayed fixed on Dirk behind his sunglasses. She caught the barest hint of tension relaxing in Dave’s shoulders as Dirk turned to leave, but he stopped, snapped his fingers, and turned right to look at Dave.

“Shit, right, Dave,” Dirk said, and Dave tensed up all over again, “I need to talk to you for a minute.”  

“Yeah?” Everyone else had fallen expectantly quiet.

“Can you come over here? It’ll take two seconds, I promise,” Dirk said. “Just wanna address something, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Dave swallowed audibly and slipped out of his seat. Rose groaned.

“Dirk,” she said, “can this wait?”

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” Dirk said, looking at Dave rather than at her. “It’s about last night.”

Dave, now standing near Dirk on the other side of the counter, mumbled, “What about last night?”

Dirk gestured at the side of the fridge. “I’ve been thinking. About what you said. That pad of paper on the side of the fridge is what we use as the grocery list, and whenever we’re out of something, someone can just write what it is on the list, and I’ll pick it up next time I head out.” Dirk paused for a moment, and when Dave said nothing, he continued, “I thought that, uh. You could maybe draw a line down at the bottom and write anything you want for your room under there. That way you can have your own little stash and not be waking up scared in the middle of the night, and there’s less of a problem with things just disappearing.”

“…Kay,” said Dave.

Dirk stared for a long moment, expectantly, and when nothing else was forthcoming, he sighed. He didn’t seem to notice Dave’s slight flinch when he did so. “Alright, well, that’s all I wanted,” Dirk said. “I’ll leave you be, then.” With that, he took his exit.

Dave stood still in the kitchen for a long moment afterwards. Rose shared a worried look with the trolls.

“Dave?” said Karkat.

Another pause.

“Nope,” said Dave, quietly but firmly. He flickered, and was gone, the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut following after.

“Damn it.” Rose cupped her face in her palm. “Damn it, things were going well, for fuck’s sakes…”

Karkat stared at Dave’s still mostly full plate where it sat abandoned before his now empty seat at the counter. “I’m going up to check on him,” he said, picking up the plate as well as he own and carefully heading upstairs.

Kanaya fidgeted awkwardly in her chair, tapping her fork against the side of her own dish. “Um,” she said, biting her lip, “What time did you say that Roxy would be here, again?”

“Not soon enough,” said Rose.

Figuring out how to knock while holding two circular nutritionplanes was a bit of an ordeal, but Karkat managed without spilling too much syrup. “Hey, Dave?” he called out. “Are you alright in there?”

“Nope,” came Dave’s reply. “We are closed for business. Come back again some other time. We’re sorry for any inconvenience, our business hours are ‘not the fuck right now,’ we hope to see you again soon.”

“Dave, open the fucking door or I’m dumping your weird sticky human food right here in the entrance for you to clean up later.”

He was rewarded with a loud, overdramatic sigh, and the usual sliding sounds of Dave dealing with the chair he still always used as an extra layer of security before the door clicked open. “I don’t know what to tell you, man,” Dave said, “you came up here for nothing. I’m not hungry.”

“Like hell I did. Let me in.”

Dave shrugged, and stepped aside. Karkat dropped Dave’s plate down on the table next to his sleeping platform, and plopped his own ass down on the door, shoving the weird delicious human flatbread breakfast into his mouth as cantankerously as he can manage. Dave reblocked the door and flopped heavily on the bed, groaning into his hands.

“That was a fuckin’ nightmare,” he said. “Sorry for taking off, but, ha, yeah, naw. You get me? Just. Nah.”

He was twitchy as hell, Karkat could see that much. It looked almost like he was charged with electricity. He was only on the bed for a few seconds before he was up again, pacing almost manicly. “I mean, Jesus, I dunno what the fuck that was…whatever.”

“Dave, either calm down and figure out how to express what you’re getting at in words that I can understand, so we can have a productive conversation,” said Karkat, “Or eat your fucking food that I so graciously bothered to bring up to you.”

Dave snorted. “Told you, man, I’m not hungry, and I’m…I fuckin’ dump enough bullshit on you as is. Don’t sweat it. I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. Talk to me.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, dude, lay off,” Dave said. “Why can’t we talk about something else? What’s the fuckin’ weather doing, I dunno.”

Karkat rolled his eyes. “Dave, I didn’t come all the way up here to check on you just so you could jerk me around! I’m worried about you! This Dirk thing is getting scary as hell!”

“Well, gee, sweetheart, I didn’t realize you cared so much,” Dave said, a sarcastic edge creeping into his voice. “Wish you woulda at least taken me out to dinner first, since we’re apparently fuckin’ married now. Was the ceremony nice? Did I look good in my dress at least?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well, we musta gotten married, with how fuckin’ entitled to my personal thoughts you think you are. Put a ring on it first, motherfucker.”

Karkat narrowed his eyes. “Is this — did you somehow turn this into your weird fucking human sexuality bullshit on me? Dave, what the fuck, I’m trying to help you, I’m not flirting!”

“Aren’t you, though?” Dave said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Like, I do listen when you ramble about your bullshit movies, man. Is this that one weird quadrant shit, the bro one?”

“The wh— for fuck’s sakes, Dave, not everything is about quadrants! I’m not that shallow, you great, screeching assblister!” Karkat snapped. “I’m asking as your fucking friend! Remember that whole conversation we had? About how you’re my fucking friend and your wellbeing matters to me?”

“I mean, that one was pretty gay too, but —“

“I will walk right the fuck out of this room, is that what you want?!”

“No!” Dave startled. “No, shit, dude, I — I’m sorry, fuck, I’m being an asshole, god. I just. I really don’t wanna talk about the Dirk thing right now.” He was twisting his hands together, biting his lip as he shifted his weight.

“Why not,” Karkat said.

(Don’t let it get to you, he told himself, it’s fine. It’s a stupid pale crush, and, okay, so his hangups mean that probably won’t happen, but you can still be friends. It’s fine. This is fine.)

“I don’t…I can’t figure it out for myself yet, man,” he said. “It’s a bunch of fucked up emotions and shit that I haven’t sorted out into words yet, and I don’t know what it all means, and it’s…I’m not ready, okay? But I don’t…want you to be mad at me, either, I just. I’m trying to change the subject.”

Karkat took a big bite, finishing off his breakfast. He swallowed carefully, and neatly put aside his mealplane on the table next to Dave’s. He took a deep breath, carefully folding his hands in his lap, and looked at Dave, keeping his face neutral.

“And your way of doing that was to go straight to your fucked up human sexuality bullshit?!!” he yelled, gesturing wildly.

Dave snorted. “Fuck, sorry, yeah,” Dave said. “I mean, in my defense, some of the shit we talk about gets pretty gay.”

“Say that word one more time and I’m shoving both our goddamn mealplanes up your ass,” Karkat said, and was left blinking in confusion when Dave responded with a burst of helpless laughter.

Roxy had reeeeally been hoping that things would maybe be marginally better by the time she got there. Like, just the teensiest bit on the up compared to the situation Rose had texted her about the night before. Judging by the swarm of new texts she saw when she checked her phone upon reaching the big Lalonde house driveway, that was not the case at all. Fuck. Dirk, come on, dude.

Today was gonna be a day.

Well, nothing else for it, Rose was right and something had to change.

She went through the usual routine on first arrival — or tried to, at least. Dave wouldn’t come out of his room yet, which meant she couldn’t hug him. Judging by the muffled sounds coming through his bedroom door, he and Karkat were up to some sort of nonsense bickering, but the kid wasn’t willing to come out. Kanaya’d apparently decided to avoid the whole mess, and had retreated to her own room, promising to come out if she was needed. So Roxy barely got to say hi to anyone, which sucked super hard, but at least it made talking to Rose a little easier.

Not that Rose had much to say. Soon as Roxy was aware of the situation and had been gently turned away at Dave’s door, Rose had turned to her and said, full of pleading and exhaustion, “Fix this.”

“I dunno if I can, girl,” Roxy said. “I’m not a miracle worker, here, and this sounds like it’s gettin’ pretty ugly.”

“You fixed things between Dirk and Jake,” said Rose, “So you should be able to get this sorted out, too. Just do whatever you did back then!”

Roxy winced and took a deeep breath. Hooboy.

“Couple of things,” she said, clasping her hands together. “First of all, I would not personally describe my involvement with the Dirk-Jake, ah, situation as ‘fixing’ it. Like. That would imply that I smoothed everything right over and they were able to start being happy boyfriends right away, and that’s hells of not what went down. I at best got them talking to each other again, which was a miracle in and of itself, lets be real, those two self destructed hard and it’s a wonder they’re talking at all. And, like, let’s not forget, Jake still immediately went off to study abroad for a buncha months right afterward, which, sure, might have been super unrelated, except he responded to approximately zero of me, Dirk, and Jane’s messages over the time he was gone. He’s talking to us now, at least, and I think that ‘us’ includes Dirk, but I sincerely do not know if those two decided to try dating again or just to be friends, and I’m not sure they know, either? So, uh, that’s still kind of a mess.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “It’s less of a mess, though,” she insisted, “And at this point, I’ll take what I can get. Dave keeps making progress, he’s so close to some real breakthrough, I can feel it! But every time we get close to him having an actual, honest to God good day, Dirk strolls in and Dave bolts!”

“Whiiiiich brings us to problem number two,” Roxy said, “which would be the fact that if I do to Dave what I did to get Dirk and Jake talking, Dave is going to hate me.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “A bit of anger now is worth some long term peace, I’d think.”

“‘A bit of anger’ is what Dirk’s gonna have,” said Roxy, “I’m not worried about that. No, I mean that if I use the patented Roxy Strategy (tee em) for dealing with Dirk’s anti-communication bullshit on Dave, he is going to fucking panic and will probably never trust me again and Rose I don’t wanna not be able to hug my cousin, do you get me Rose, I mean I’ll do it if it comes down to that but I will die of not bein’ able to hug on Dave anymore and it will suck.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he’s not going to react that dramatically —“

“Rose, I got Jake and Dirk talking to each other again by shoving them into the same room and holding the door closed until they started talking about their feelings.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s all you did?”

“Yeah. And, again, if I do that to Dave, he’s gonna feel like I just threw him in with the fuckin’ lions. You’re the one who pointed out to me how much he hates getting cornered, remember?”

Rose ran a hand through her hair. “Damn it,” she muttered. “No, I understand, that’s…definitely something to be left as a last resort.”

“We can try persuasion and shit first,” Roxy said. “Like. I dunno how effective that’s gonna be, but we can give it a shot. Give them both a gentle shove in the right direction before we try dragging them off kicking and screaming, right?”

“Right,” Rose said, nodding. “What’s the plan, then? We need to do something, before things grow to the point where there’s no relationship to be salvaged.”

“Yeah, totes,” said Roxy, tapping a finger against her chin. Hopefully Dirk would be less stubborn here than he had been with Jake, since Dave was his little brother and all.

Then again, he might be even more stubborn because of that. Roxy tried not to worry about that for now. Gotta stay optimistic. Gonna face this shit with the biggest smile. Yeah.

Unfortunately, Rose and Roxy’s patented plan of ‘Roxy talks to Dirk and Rose talks to Dave’ didn’t work out very well. Roxy tried about everything she could think of, from the super subtlest of hints (“Hey, so. You and Dave. How you guys doing?”), to more up front and blatant lines of questioning (“No, but seriously, have you hugged your brother yet? Dirk. Dirk holy shit it’s been months! No don’t go hug him now but like. Holy shit dude.”) to the very up front (“Okay for fucks sakes would you just talk to him?”), to no avail.

(“There’s nothing to say,” Dirk said, like a fuckin’ tool. “I don’t have anything to say to him. I’ve got no problems with him. He’s scared of me, I get it, I’ll just try and keep out of his way.”

“Tell him you love him, dumbass! He needs to hear it!”

“He knows that already, Rox. There’s no point. It’d probably just make him uncomfortable.”

Roxy’d had to hold her breath to keep from screaming.)

Rose hadn’t had any luck, either, when they reconvened. The way she described it, Dave had just been super evasive on the whole topic, constantly changing the subject and starting Karkat up bickering to dodge the topic of The Dirk Thing. So. That hadn’t worked either.

Balls.

Nothing else for it. She was gonna have to force the issue.

Uuuuuugh.

“Well, fuck,” she said, grimacing at Rose, “I think I’m gonna have to bite the bullet here, cuz. Give me a nice funeral when I literally die of hug deprivation, will you?”

“I’ll do what I can to help you smooth things over afterward,” Rose said. “Mom’s room, right?”

“Yeah,” Roxy sighed. “If we do it in Dave’s room it’ll feel like an invasion, but in Dirk’s it really will feel like we’re throwing him into the lion’s den. But theres gotta be only one way out, don’t wanna do it in someone’s room that’s occupied and it’ll be easier to convince Dirk to get in there…” She sighed again. “Gooood, Rose, why are your brothers so stubborn? This sucks.”

Rose frowned sympathetically. “Hopefully, this’ll all be worth it,” she said.

“Right,” said Roxy. “Go get Dirk, then.”

Rose dipped her head once and headed off to go trick the big dumb stubborn screwdriver to get his butt into Rachel’s room, leaving Roxy to figure out how to maneuver Dave down the same way.

She waited a minute or two, then, praying for that miracle that probably wasn’t going to happen, knocked on Dave’s bedroom door.

“Heeeeyy, kiddo,” she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders as best she could, “Can I borrow you for a second?”

Dirk grumbled and got up from his desk. “What, so you’re hearing things, now?” he said, looking at Rose. He was too tired for this shit. He’d tried, he really had, to give Dave something — he didn’t mind at all, he could absolutely just grab an extra bag of groceries when he went shopping, and if it made Dave feel safer then it was no trouble, but the kid had acted like he’d been suggesting he set his most prized possessions on fire and dance on the fuckin’ ashes.

He was tired, and frustrated, and really didn’t want to deal with this shit. Roxy, much as he loved her, really hadn’t helped. And now Rose was having an issue, because of course she was.

“It might have just been a mouse,” Rose said, “But I doubt that Mom will be happy about it if that’s the case, as it was her room that I heard it in.”

“So put your fucking cat in there.”

“Dirk, please,” Rose said. “Better that we deal with this now, before it frightens Dave, don’t you think?”

Dirk groaned. “Alright, fine,” he said. “I’m going, Jesus.”

Mom’s room was the same as ever. Same old boxes of junk shoved into a corner, same haphazard dresser and disastrous closet, same excessive bottles of booze and tacky wizard shit everywhere, and no signs of any mice or rats or what the fuck ever. He was bent over, checking under the bed, when he heard Roxy’s voice coming up the hall.

“Hey, so, I’m really sorry about this,” she said, and then Dirk heard someone stumble heavily into the room, followed by the door quickly shutting. It didn’t take too long for him to formulate an educated guess as to what had happened. Right. Sure it was a mouse, Rose. Sure.

“For fuck’s sakes,” he muttered, sitting up to look over the bed. Yep, that was Dave, because of course it was.

“Roxy, what the fuck —“ Dave started, and then he spotted Dirk. Dirk watched him freeze, and then start desperately trying to pull the door back open, switching between banging on it and yanking at the handle.

Dirk ran a hand down his face and stood, walking closer to the door. He left space for Dave to do whatever he thought he was achieving, and said, “Jesus, Roxy, not this horseshit again.” This was fucking ridiculous.

“Sorry, Dave,” Roxy was saying, “this is the only way I know how to get your brother to talk about things —”

“There’s nothing to say! This isn’t like with Jake, we’re fine.” Well, that was kind of a lie, there were obviously problems — that was kind of hard to miss, especially with the quiet, incessant stream of ‘no no no no no’ Dirk could now hear from Dave. But really, he had nothing to say to Dave that wasn’t going to be absolutely, mortifyingly embarrassing for the both of them. Nobody needed to hear that shit.

Roxy evidently disagreed. “Like hell you are! Talk to your brother!!”

Dirk rolled his eyes, even knowing Roxy couldn’t see. “Fine,” he said, arms folded, voice dripping with sarcasm, “What should I say? ‘Crazy weather lately?’ ‘How about those —’”

Dave whirled around, face contorted into a snarl, and snapped, “I sure as hell don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Wh-”

Before Dirk could even form his thoughts back into coherency, Dave was back to frantically trying to get the door back open. For a long moment, Dirk couldn’t even process what had just happened. It was like the night before, except worse — that had been defensive, but this was pure aggression, an injured dog baring its teeth in a final warning.

That…that had to be what it was. Dave was scared, that was all. He was trapped in a room, and freaking out. He’d been pretty freaked out when he was chained up in the interrogation room, too, so it only stood to reason. Dirk tried to reach out, to put a hand on Dave’s shoulder, offer some comfort…

His hand was slapped away before even making contact. Dave’s back hit the door hard as he pressed himself up against it, attention now fully on Dirk. He was breathing hard and shaking, mouth slightly open and almost baring his teeth, every muscle tensed and ready for…Dirk didn’t even want to finish the thought. His mind rebelled at the notion of ever trying to harm his baby brother, it was fucking inconceivable, and yet Dave was here, ready to fight.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” he hissed, voice shaking more than his body, somehow.

“I’m not…Dave, I’m not going to hurt you,” Dirk said.

“I’d fucking prefer it if you did, at this point,” Dave snapped, feet scrabbling to push himself back harder against the door. “I don’t know what you want out of me, but I’m fuckin’ — just stop fucking with me, already!”

“I — when have I been fucking with you?”

“Constantly! Don’t fucking play dumb with me, you know exactly what you’re fucking doing! At least when Bro went all elusive and mysterious and shit, I could figure out what he was going for, what he wanted me to do or what he was trying to teach me, but you’re — one minute you’re being all fucking nice for no reason, then the next time I see you I might as well be a rat that just crawled out of the toilet or a fucking stain on the wall to you! You’re the one who kept going on about how much better off I’d be here with you guys, but at least with Bro I knew where I stood with him! Just — enough of the mind games, already! You fucking suck at them and I’m sick to death of it!”

“I…I,” Dirk tried to say. Again, Dave was too quick, hand reaching for the doorknob without taking his eyes off of Dirk, but by this time, it seemed, Roxy had left them alone, and, feeling the knob turn in his hand, Dave darted out of the room.

Dirk heard a muffled sound from Roxy out in the hallway, but for a long moment, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. With an entire train, maybe.

He’d assumed Dave’s fears were…were just vague associations, not…not him being worse than…

Panic welled up in him, forcing his legs to move. He burst out the door and tried to give chase, but Dave was long gone. He skidded into the main room, where the trolls had both come downstairs, and Roxy was slumped in a sad heap on the couch.

“Yyyyup, he hates me,” she whined. “Wouldn’t even look at me, augh, poor guy — Dirk, please tell me you talked to him, please tell me I didn’t just blow everything for nothing.”

“What did you even do?!” Karkat yelled. “That was like, two minutes, I was barely out of his room when he fucking raced back in, and now he won’t even answer me!”

“Roxy and I attempted what is colloquially known as an intervention,” Rose said.

“He — no,” Dirk said, finding his voice, “I didn’t — I couldn’t think, he didn’t give me a chance to respond, he just —I need to talk to him, there’s gotta be a way to — please, I need to fix this.” Dirk almost wished he hadn’t found his voice, if only so he could stop babbling, now. Fuck, couldn’t think clear enough to keep his cool, though — Dave had looked so fucking angry and scared, he’d fucked everything up…

Karkat whirled on Dirk, mouth open like he was ready to shout, and stopped, his expression turning startled upon seeing Dirk’s. Karkat’s eyes softened, and he sighed.  “Okay, well, I want a full fucking explanation later,” he said, “But. Look, if you really want to actually fucking fix things, then we can try and help.”

“Please,” said Dirk.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuck shit goddamned hellfucking fuck.

Dave couldn’t even think at first, Jesus fuck, why the hell did Roxy do that?! He felt — betrayed, almost, like he still figured she must’ve had a good reason, and she’d apologized for it a lot, but, god, she might as well have tied a raw steak to his dick and thrown him into a shark tank!

He was hiding in his own damn closet. Jesus Christ, this was pathetic.

It helped, though, at first. The darkness and cool and quiet was enough to get his pulse down a little bit, help him steady his breathing. Until it wasn’t. Until it turned claustrophobic, and he felt trapped, trapped in another room, trapped in this house, trapped in his own skin — he had to get out, fuck. Kicking the closet door back open, he heaved his bedroom window open and scrambled up onto the roof.

It was sunset, and, shit, the sunsets up here in upstate New York were a lot prettier than the smoggy ones he was used to back in big-city Texas. There was nothing but forest for miles around, though. Just a shit ton of fucking leaves, turned purple in the light of dusk and blowing in the breeze, lookin’ like some lavender-ass ocean of ‘fuck you, you’re trapped in a foreign place in a house with a guy who scares the shit out of you and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.’

God, panicking was an absolute lead weight on his metaphor skills. Hear that shit plummeting for miles, straight to the bottom.

The fresh air helped clear his head, at least. He sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over his open window, and just….breathed. Closed his eyes, tried to imagine the sounds of the city instead of these wild animal noises. Pretended the sun on his back was hotter, the air heavier.

It…didn’t actually help as much as he thought it was, imagining all that, so he stopped.

Tuned the world out and breathed.

He had no idea how long he was sitting there, letting his thoughts slow down enough that they weren’t chasing their tails so hard they had their noses shoved up their asses, and let himself relax.

By the time he heard someone else climb up onto the roof, he was calm enough to turn to them without jumping.

Realizing it was Dirk brought all that tension roaring right back in, though. Fun stuff. Love it.

Dirk cleared his throat and stepped a little closer. Dave tensed up harder, ready to bolt. He would jump right off this roof. There were trees, he’d be fine. Fuck the house arrest rules bullshit, he’d go off and be feral in the woods or some shit. Dirk seemed to get the message, though. He held a hand up and stopped, then sat down right there. There was still a good few yards between them, which suited Dave just fine.

The ideal distance woulda been ‘the other side of the planet,’ of course, but a few yards would do in a pinch, he guessed.

“I have a, um,” Dirk…said. (Stammered. Except, no he didn’t, Dirk wouldn’t fucking stammer. Would he? Not unless it was another fucking mind game. Fuck off.) “Karkat called it a peace offering, if you want it.”

“Toss it,” Dave said. If Karkat had suggested it, he trusted it. Then again, Dirk could be lying.

What was tossed his way turned out to be a bottle of apple juice, which was cute, he guessed, and definitely the kind of thing Karkat might come up with. Dave set it to the side, for now. His mouth was dry as hell, sure. Shit made the Sahara look absolutely humid, but he wasn’t about to just drink something from this guy yet.

“I wanted to talk,” Dirk said.

“Thought there was nothing to say,” Dave said, and Dirk…winced.

“I thought I didn’t,” Dirk said, his voice soft. He was looking at the ground (well, the roof) near Dave, rather than at him, and his facial expression was soft in a way that Dave didn’t think he’d ever seen, not on those features. “I…made some stupid assumptions, from the look of things. Thought certain things went without saying, just because I wouldn’t need to say them to Rose or Mom, but.” He sighed, and turned his eyes up.

“Dave,” he said, “I’m really sorry I made you think I wanted something from you, or that I’ve…The truth is, I have,” and a self deprecating laugh crept into his voice, one hand running through his hair, “Absolutely no idea what I’m doing when it comes to you. I know how to be Rose’s brother, because we grew up together. I’m not always good at it, but I at least have a general idea of what she needs from me, but I don’t have that with you. I’m.” Another soft, bitter laugh. “God knows I owe you an explanation or fifty, but I don’t really have a good one. I guess I’m just a kind of shitty big brother.”

Dave blinked, then squinted behind his shades.

Dirk was shaking, holy shit. Actually shaking. If this was still an act, it was a better one than Bro had ever pulled off.

“Can I come closer?” Dirk asked. Dave nodded, mutely. He grabbed the juice and scooted over, as Dirk swung his own legs over the edge.

They weren’t totally side by side, but a lot closer, and, yeah, Dirk’s hands were fucking shaking and one of them was gripping his other arm so hard it looked like it was gonna bruise.

Had he suddenly transferred into a new universe or something? What the fuck?

Dirk waited a long moment before talking again, maybe waiting for Dave to say something, maybe just gathering his thoughts. Eventually, he heaved a deep breath, and started up again.

“Alright, so, uh. Explanations. Right. I’ve, um.” He rubbed at the back of his head a moment. “I’ve…basically spent the last ten years building everything on this…this absurd, stupid fantasy of sweeping in to save the day, to be the one who rescues you and brings you home. It was stupid, it was silly, I was the brave knight on a white horse and all that dumb shit, and even when I got older and I tried adapting it to feel less stupid, it was still the same at its core. It…I…” He swallowed. “I always kind of felt like you getting taken was my fault, and this…insane fantasy of being the one to fix everything was the only way I could cope.

“And then…out of nowhere, I got my chance. The old man just handed it to me, and I spent months planning it all out, going over every detail, every sentence I would say, every move I’d make, over and over ad nauseum.” Dirk’s hands curled into fists, face twisting in a mix of anger and pain. “And with hardly any effort at all,” he said, “he smashed my stupid fucking plan to smithereens, made everything I tried to do, everything I’ve trained for, look like a joke, and to top it all off… the universe just drops you in my lap.”

The tension dropped out of his face, and his voice softened, but the bitterness stayed. “I should’ve been grateful, any normal person would’ve been grateful, been fucking happy to have their goddamn brother back, but I’m enough of a fucking disaster that breaking that perfect script I’d constructed meant that I suddenly had no idea what the fuck to do.” He was getting worked up again, and Dave…should have been scared. He wasn’t. “I must’ve thought a thousand times about what the first thing I’d say to you when I saw you again would be,” Dirk said, his face starting to tighten again, “I must’ve rehearsed my carefully controlled version of that scene a thousand times, but none of what I imagined involved Terezi dragging me to the observation window of an interrogation room and you just being there, and I…I panicked. I got scared off by the sight of my baby brother because things didn’t go just how I wanted. Because not having total control over that perfect, idealized reunion meant that I lost all points of reference, and probably also because you’re not my baby brother anymore, you’ve grown up a lot, you’ve spent ten years living a life I’m never going to fully understand, and — fuck, at least with Rose, I have some semblance of an idea of what I’m doing, but I — I fucked everything up, letting that plan fall through, and with that gone I have no idea how to be your brother anymore, and I’m so goddamn scared that I’m going to hurt you by accident that I…figured it was better to just. Keep interactions to a minimum. Because, god, Dave, I could never forgive myself if I hurt you — I can never forgive myself for hurting you as much as I have by trying not to hurt you, fuck. I’m so sorry, Dave, I…”

He swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and it terrifies me.”

Another long pause.

“Roxy was right,” Dirk said, quiet again, “I shouldn’t have taken things for granted. Shouldn’t have assumed that you’d just know, that I didn’t need to say it, but. I.” Another deep breath. “I love you, Dave,” he said (and Dave felt the tightness that had been building in his chest snap and melt into something warm and overwhelming), “And I’m really glad you’re home. And most of all I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t make that clear from the beginning.”

(That melted wave of what the fuck was overriding everything, building up into pressure again, a wall of…of pain and joy and relief, pooling in his chest, in his throat, behind his eyes — oh, god, fuck that, he hadn’t fucking cried since he was a toddler, fuck that — and yet…and yet.)

“Fuck it,” Dave muttered. Dirk tilted his head toward Dave, a question on his lips, but he sure as shit didn’t get a chance to ask it before he had to deal with one embarrassingly sobby little brother getting all up in his grill. Dave buried his face in Dirk’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around his brother’s chest, tried to squish the tears before they had a chance to happen. It didn’t work.

He felt Dirk sort of freeze underneath him, hesitating for a long moment, and Dave couldn’t blame him, this shit had to be awkward as hell, but. Shit, this hug was happening, there was no stopping it. Dirk gave in, too, sort of gently resting his arms across Dave’s back. He kept it light, like he thought Dave was gonna shatter if he wasn’t careful. Joke’s on him, the gentleness was what shattered Dave, haha, fuck, more tears were happening.

“Fuck, sorry, fuck,” Dave sobbed into Dirk’s shirt, like a big fucking loser, “this is so embarrassing, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Dirk said, “yeah, this is pretty shitty.”

“The worst,” said Dave.

“Two assholes crying on a roof,” said Dirk.

“God, I’m — fuck, two?!” Dave nearly choked.

“Yeah,” Dirk said, and, oh fuck, Dave could hear it in his voice now, he totally was, he absolutely was crying, too — “yeah, this is why I didn’t wanna say any of that back in the interrogation room. I, uh,” and he fucking sniffled, and Dave couldn’t stop himself from a helpless little giggle in the middle of all this laughing because it was just. Holy shit. “I thought, for some inane reason, that me having a breakdown on you was maybe not the best way to re-establish a brotherly relationship.”

Dave was laughing a lot, now. And also crying a lot. The relief had intensified, because Jesus Christ, if Dirk was crying then maybe he wasn’t so bad off.

His arms had tightened around Dave, no longer holding him with the fear of shattering, but now clinging to him with the strength of a vice, like he was scared Dave would vanish if he didn’t hang on tight enough. Dave felt Dirk bury his face in Dave’s hair, pulling the two of them closer and closer together, both of them shaking.

Dirk cried more than spoke, between harsh gasps, “I was so fucking scared when that stupid plan failed, that I — fuck, that the only way I’d bring you home was in a box, that it was too late, that I’d lost you forever, I — Dave, I love you so much, I’m so fucking sorry I assumed you knew that, I should’ve said it, should’ve — fuck,”

“I’m pretty happy about being here, too,” Dave whispered.

“I love you,” Dirk said again.

“Yeah,” said Dave.

They sat like that for…a pretty long time. Long enough that the sun had pretty much set by the time they both stopped crying.

Without pulling his head up, Dave sighed, and said, “So, uh. Just so we’re clear, neither of us is ever telling anyone about this fuckin’ trainwreck of a conversation, right?”

Dirk snorted with a shocked laugh, and Dave smiled against his shirt.

“Yeah,” said Dirk, “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Two days later, Dirk accidentally startled Dave in the kitchen, and felt his heart sink as he watched his brother bolt away. Again.

Had everything been for nothing, then? Were they back to square one?

And then he caught sight of what Dave had been doing.

As he looked at the scrawled writing on the bottom of the list, Dirk couldn’t keep himself from breaking into a smile.

[softlyfiercely]

hnggg i know ive ranted on here before about this but i cant be bothered to go back and find that post 

i just get so angrysad about this stupid tumblr meme ‘you need jesus’ or ‘church is free’ or ‘please pray’ in response to something kinky

like first off i mean im not here to judge but when i started a christian blog here on tumblr i just about got bullied off the damn platform and its fucking impossible to find someone in my ~*~peer demographic~*~ who shares my faith identity soooo i doubt most of y’all are actually advocating church/jesus so it’s just an annoying punchline and i know, i know as a white american christian the whole ‘stop using part of my identity as a punchline’ is really not really my complaint to have but it still hurts my feelings; my sacred is still my sacred

like it feels shitty to be absolutely shut down when i even try to talk about my faith and then have people out here like ‘you need jesus’ if i told that to ANYONE i’d (rightly) be accused of obnoxious proselytizing and shoving things down people’s throats and triggering/disrespecting victims of spiritual/religious abuse so maybe if i’m not allowed to suggest that church or jesus or prayer contribute positively to my life let alone could contribute positively to yours, then maybe you’re not allowed to say it either? 

and secondly and this is the WAY MORE ALIENATING AND AGGRAVATING PART - spirituality is not at odds with sexuality! kinkiness is not “chased out” or purified by christianity! what is this nonsense! stop acting like they’re mutually exclusive! even in service of a joke! it’s bullshit! if you really believe that people expressing kinky sexuality “need jesus” then you’re being shitty and you need to stop; if you’re just being ironic, then you’re also contributing to this weird cultural idea that the two do not coexist and that’s not healthy for anyone and i really just don’t find this joke funny and every time i see it on my dash it just makes me so angrysad

maybe let’s think critically about ‘what has to be assumed about the world for this joke to be funny’ and then decide whether that’s a truth you wanna bring to bear with your language

i know of all the issues in the world this is fucking microscopic, relatively, but it bothers me and this is my blog, so, you know. hateful anons can go fuck themselves (without having to atone for it :D :D :D masturbation is healthy sex is awesome your body is a temple and God is a God of connection and joy)

[thrashff]

Comeback

Word count: 4,300~

A/N: So my friends and I were feeling particularly soft after Yoongi’s post on fancafe, wondering how all the boys must be feeling right now. One of them asked me to write this drabble about the night before their comeback and this is what happened. If you like it then please give @putsugaonme some love on Twitter, and if not then I claim full responsibility on @thrashff! :)

Arranged out of order so it might be a little confusing, but the real sequence is Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Namjoon, then Yoongi.

Warnings: Cursing, slightly (hopefully not!) OOC and might (hopefully yes!) leave you feeling soft as well :3

Taehyung

Storm clouds. They’re all Tae can think about as he stares at the ceiling, the quiet ticking of the clock on his bedside the only thing keeping him grounded because he swears to god if it wasn’t for that sound, that small, stupid, inconsequential sound rushing to keep time with his heartbeat, the storm clouds in his head would have swallowed him whole by now. They’re there every time he closes his eyes to blink; fat, purple-gray monsters roiling over a violent, green-black ocean, their colors bleeding together like a fresh bruise, crackling with so much unshed possibility that he can feel the surge right down to his fingertips, to his toes, to the fucking ends of his fucking hair.

Tick. Thump. Crackle. Tick. Thump. Crackle.

He’s been in this position before, and those same damn storm clouds have always kept him company. Like fucking harbingers of doom, but instead of four horsemen he gets an entire army ushering in the apocalypse. He figures to anyone else they would seem pretty menacing—a threat, even, but Tae just licks his lips, the corner of his mouth quirking into a small smile as he welcomes them into his head and down his chest, spreading through the rest of his limbs like medicine, like poison, like lifeblood. They rush through him, descending like a heavy woolen blanket on his skin. The whisper of fabric on flesh, is it time?

Storm clouds. They’re all Tae can think about, and his entire being vibrates with the electricity from them, with all that unshed possibility.

The clock beside him stops ticking, and in the awful, awful silence Tae’s heart whoops and soars. He swings his legs out of bed, socked feet sparking with static as they touch the carpet. Is it time? The storm clouds roll over in his stomach, thunder, demand. Isittimeisittimeisittimeisittimeisit—

A knock on the door, and Tae’s face breaks into a grin. It was time.

Seokjin

Seokjin doesn’t know how many times he’s played the Bowser In The Sky boss level on Super Mario 64, but he’s played it on every night before a comeback and like hell he wasn’t going to play it tonight. As he steers Mario off a tilting platform and onto another block, effectively avoiding a Piranha Plant in the process, a small part of his brain reminds him that he should be worried that the house was so quiet, that the great room was empty and where the hell is everyone?

The thought is so distracting that he misses his jump from one spinning disc to the next, and he stares at the screen of his DS in disbelief for a few (okay, a lot of) long moments. He finally sighs and shuts it, tossing it onto the cushions like it had offended his mother, rubbing at his face tiredly with one hand. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep, the last time any of them had gotten proper rest at all for that matter, but he doubts it’s going to happen tonight.

The evenings before a comeback were always like this. Everyone would go their separate ways, thinking that they could deal with their nerves and feelings on their own: Namjoon would retreat into his bedroom and listen to music on his headphones so loudly sometimes Jin worried he would go deaf, Hoseok would saunter into the garage and return two hours later covered in sweat, Taehyung would go catatonic in his bed for an hour before flitting from room to room like the freaking Tasmanian Devil come to life, Jungkook would be on his cellphone watching videos of himself as some weird method to self-soothe, Jimin would work out until he injured himself or broke something (sometimes both), and Yoongi would pace tracks into the hardwood of his bedroom floor until he eventually exhausted himself into a near-catatonic state. Eventually, though, each member would find their way here, to the great room where Seokjin was, where Seokjin always was, ready with a joke to lighten the mood.

There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about his housemates in general, owing primarily to the fact that they were all slightly insane, slightly evil musical geniuses, but he especially didn’t understand why they worked themselves up to the point of breaking before a comeback. It wasn’t that he himself was possessed of any supernatural ability to remain calm in a stressful situation; it was just that Jin wasn’t scared. He was nervous, sure, but he was nervous every day that he was with BTS. He was nervous for concerts and performances, photoshoots and hell, even guestings and interviews, but he wasn’t worried when it came to releasing new music because he had the utmost faith that whatever they had come up with was the best version of itself it could possibly be. How could it be anything but, with how much love and devotion each of them had poured into it?

Sure, there would be people who would love it and people who would hate it, but none of that mattered to him. He was happy when people liked it, sure. He loved being able to use his platform to express himself, loved the journey he was on with his Bangtan brothers and every member of ARMY, but all of it paled in comparison to how ridiculously proud he was to be part of the whole machine. He was proud of the way Yoongi obsessively wrote music into the wee hours of the morning, the way Namjoon fretted over every arrangement, how Hoseok would practice the same move hundreds of times before he was satisfied with it, how Taehyung would spend hours digging through the internet for music that would inspire them, the way Jimin would work so hard to keep himself strong because he loved them so much he didn’t want to disappoint them, and how Jungkook worked twice as hard as every one of them to prove himself worthy of his role in a family and in a life that he still had trouble accepting as his.

So Seokjin was content and happy and the farthest thing from scared because he had Bangtan by his side. Everything else was just a bonus.

He leans back into the couch cushions, propping his Mario-slippered feet on the coffee table. He eyes the clock on the wall across from him and waits for his brothers to return.

Jimin

It wasn’t his fault, Jimin thinks as he stares at Jin’s favorite frying pan in his hands. Formerly favorite, he corrects himself. Former frying pan. The handle had melted clean off the rest of it where it was supposed to be attached to the actual pan, because how the hell was he supposed to know you weren’t supposed to pre-heat a frying pan to 350 degrees and that it only applied to ovens?

Jimin sighs, dumping the slightly twisted pieces of metal and plastic into a bottom cabinet, wondering if he could get it to Hoseok to fix before Jin found out and gutted him like a fish. The thought makes him shudder, and he pouts at his reflection on the granite countertop. It wasn’t his fault, he thinks again. All he wanted was a goddamn cookie and to decorate it with the ice cream sprinkles Namjoon had brought home the week before, to take a picture of it and send it to ARMY to reassure them that he was fine, that they were fine, because sugar and sweets made everything better and Jimin was absolutely screwed if he wasn’t going to be fine instead of the mess of feelings he really was right now, raw and bare like an exposed nerve ending.

Because, frankly, Jimin wasn’t good with feelings. Jimin wasn’t good at a lot of things, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, but he was good at working them off in the gym and dancing from his demons instead of with them. Right now he was too tired to work out and too wired to dance with Hoseok and too much of everything, really, to do anything but stand like an idiot in their big, empty kitchen and want, with every fiber of his being, a stupid cookie to shove into his mouth.

He wanders from the kitchen like a lost puppy, unsure where his feet are taking him until he reaches Jungkook’s door. Jungkookie would understand, wouldn’t he? Jimin nervously fingers the ARMY necklace around his neck, chewing on his lip, before shaking his head and continuing down the hallway. He wouldn’t know what to say to him anyway, because sometimes words weren’t enough, couldn’t possibly be enough to explain how badly he needed a hug, how he felt like there were butterflies the size of Boeing 747 airplanes in his stomach and that they were threatening to lurch up his body and escape into the hallway like ashes from a fire, staining everything they touched with soot and fear and maybe the dirtiest thing of all, failure.

Namjoon

The house is full. It’s an odd realization, but it’s the first time in weeks that Namjoon feels like it is in every sense of the word. The analogy is so cliché he almost kicks himself for it, but it’s exactly what it feels like: a pot that’s about to boil over—like Jin forgot to tilt the lid on a pot of noodles and all that starch was coming to the surface, bubbling over and flooding out the fire below it, effectively ruining dinner to a chorus of Does this mean we can get takeaway from Taehyung and I’ll eat it if no one else will from Jungkook and Jesus fucking Christ, Jin-hyung from Yoongi like he could do any better.

If he closes his eyes he feels like he can almost imagine where each member is in the house—like if he reaches for the wall or the floor he can tell just by the vibrations what music Hoseok is dancing his nerves out to, if it’s Jungkook or Taehyung that’s winning their videogame, if Jin is on the couch on his DS or his iPad, how many push-ups Jimin has done to work off his excess energy, if Yoongi has broken anything in his room yet from the stress.

Leadermon, he thinks wryly, face screwing up at the role that had always and probably would always make him uncomfortable. He hadn’t asked for it, yes, of the personal belief that if anyone should be the leader, it should be Yoongi with his proclivity for creative curse words and magical ability to keep even Taehyung in line with just a glare. But after all these years Namjoon had grown into the role to the point that he couldn’t even think about himself without thinking of everyone else in this full-to-the-brim goddamn house. Between the stress and tension and hope and heartbreak and fucking love he wonders how any of them even fit, if they’ve somehow mastered this virtual game of Tetris and the lines at the bottom just continue to disappear, like only an act of God is even allowing them any room to breathe above it all.

He rips off his headphones, the cacophony of bass and treble and how in the hell does that growl even come from Tae echoing in his ears as he abandons his attempt at a nap for a bad job and makes his way to the great room.

Leader, he thinks with each echoing thump of his clumsy feet on the stairs as he hurtles down them. He was their fucking leader and right now the guilt over thinking he could leave them alone on the night before a comeback and nap, of all the impossible, improbable things, instead of be with them is making his stomach twist.

He reaches Taehyung’s door first, and to his surprise the maknae is already standing there, his arm outstretched for the doorknob if only Namjoon hadn’t gotten to it first, the slightly unhinged and manic glint in his eyes sending an involuntary shiver of fear down Namjoon’s spine.

“Is it time,” Tae asks, his voice sounding like it was coming from everywhere but his mouth, and Namjoon nods his head, dislodging the thought as an auditory hallucination from how much sleep he hasn’t been able to get.

“C’mon, let’s get the rest of the boys.”

For some reason, with V at his back, he starts to feel like Dante descending into hell.

Jungkook

Whatever the fuck Hobi is doing, Jungkook wishes he would keep it down because it sounds like he’s dropping hundred pound weights onto a concrete floor in an empty room. He regrets, not for the first time, calling dibs on the first-floor bedroom closest to the garage. At the time, it had been a purely knee-jerk reaction born of convenience: closest to the garage, closest to bed. He hadn’t, however, anticipated Hoseok turning part of said garage into a practice space, or that being next to a big, empty room would send the strangest sounds throughout his.

A loud bump is followed by what sounds like cymbals crashing, but none of that made any sense because Hobi’s space was literally empty and where in the world would he even get a drumset in the middle of the night?

The sound of flesh hitting cement echoes through the wall, and Jungkook decides that he’s just about had enough. While he typically let his hyungs have the run of the house and do whatever they wanted, he wasn’t having it tonight, couldn’t have any of it tonight. All Jungkook wanted was some peace and quiet and maybe even a little room to think about how just when he was getting the hang of things, it was all going to change again, leaving him the only upright thing in a topsy-turvy world. He just wanted to be prepared. Jungkook liked being prepared. He didn’t like being caught off guard and he didn’t like not knowing what he was supposed to do or say and he especially didn’t like not knowing what the hell was going to happen now.

Yeah, he was the youngest, but that didn’t mean he didn’t get tired. It didn’t mean he was as secure as his hyungs in what they were doing, as confident in moving about the world they had created for themselves. It wasn’t his fault that these things came easy for him; they asked him to sing and he sung, to dance and he danced, to rap and he rapped. Seokjin would probably berate him for his hubris, but that was the way it was and so that was the way Jungkook regarded them. He hadn’t fit in in the normal world, where these things came by through hard work and practice. Jungkook was used to trying something a couple of times before getting the hang of it, and if Jin or Yoongi or Tae called him conceited for it and gave him shit then he supposed they could—they were his hyungs and he wasn’t in any position to tell them otherwise.

All of those things came easy for him, but the one thing Jungkook struggled with, the one thing that he could never get the hang of no matter how hard he worked or how much he practiced, was being part of Bangtan. He hadn’t fit in with the outside world, and so to find a place, a home, with six other impossibly talented and skilled men who were all older than him was just something that he couldn’t believe, couldn’t get used to, couldn’t get the hang of. Even on good days he always felt like he had one foot in and one foot out, constantly wondering in the back of his mind what he would be doing, what he could be doing, if he wasn’t with Bangtan.

He had realized over the course of his first year that there was a difference between being good at something and wanting to be good at something. He just so happened to be good at these things and so he did them, and this was the only thing it made sense to be. But being around all of them had infected him with their impossible work ethic and passion, and over time he had learned to love it, all of it, this life and the music and the fans and performing just as much if not more than they did. They had taken care of him, helped him grow, turned him into the man he now was. He worked hard to be worthy. How could he not?

But then he would watch them develop a new skill or discover a new talent and wonder how in the world he was supposed to keep up, if he even could keep up, worried that he had already given the extent of his abilities, unraveled too soon, reached his limit, shown his full potential and now, this, this is where it stops. This is where it would end, and his hyungs would leap even farther ahead and leave him behind.

He groans and flips over to his stomach, burying his face into his pillow and shoving another over the back of his head as Hoseok’s noise turns into a steady thump that makes his walls vibrate.

He just wanted to be prepared, and here was this whole other chapter waiting to be turned and all Jungkook wanted was to slow time down and maybe even press pause if he could, just to breathe and remind himself that he could do this, that there was nothing to be scared of, that his hyungs were right outside his door, waiting for him.

Hoseok

Hoseok isn’t sure if the screaming is coming from inside his head or from somewhere inside the house, but he hopes that whoever or whatever it’s coming from is okay, especially if it’s coming from him. He hasn’t slept in days, only pretended, running on fumes and pasting a brittle smile on his face that has started to look fake, even to him.

J-Hope, they named him, and he always tried his best to live up to it. The past week had been hectic, chaotic even, and he hadn’t been able to help the extra surge of energy it had given him as they flitted like bees from one thing to the next, the possibilities seemingly endless of whether this flower or that would bear more nectar, plant more seeds, bear more fruit. It wasn’t Hoseok’s fault that he was easily (read: a lot) excitable, that he could tap into a reserve of seemingly superhuman energy and drive that more often than not left him feeling barely human after. It was only by sheer force of cheerfulness and well-timed jokes that he even managed to get away with his obsessive-compulsive behavior, when everything had to be perfect and wonderful and happy and okay, because if it wasn’t he would feel like he hadn’t been enough, wasn’t good enough. That he could possibly let everyone down.

He turns up the volume on the television he’s stashed away in his practice space, trying to drown out his own thoughts with the horror movie on the screen. Nobody ever came here except Jimin anyway, and even then he would just sit at Hoseok’s feet and watch him watch other things, quietly decompressing before inevitably asking if he had any sweets or how to do that move he pulled the other day at practice. Hoseok never minded, just glad that he could be this for the other boy because it reminded him that he was still Hobi, that somehow maybe the sum of his parts still equaled to more than just the music or the dance or the photo or, god help them all, the job and the persona itself.

The edges of his vision start to blur, and he wonders if it’s the television or reality before he gets to his feet and does a couple of jumping jacks. It’s no good and his eyes are somehow more tired than the rest of him, how is that even possible, and he decides it’s probably time to head inside and check if everyone has filed into the great room the way they always do; Yoongi managing to look murderous and all of twelve years old at the same time, Taehyung manic and still strangely serene, Jin expectant and relaxed, Namjoon anxious but trying valiantly to be calm, Jimin on the verge of tears but still fighting, Kookie vacant but resigned.

Their faces flash through his head like scenes from the flip-books he used to love as a kid, and for the first time all week he finally feels a strange sense of peace wash over him at the thought of them waiting for him. He takes a deep breath and flashes the first real smile at his reflection in the dead TV screen, steeling himself.

It was comeback time.

Yoongi

Yoongi is the last, as usual, to make his way to the great room, having already broken his newest computer mouse in a fit of frustration by throwing it at the wall. The damn thing just wasn’t working, would any of this even work, what if they hated it, what if it flopped, why did he even feel so goddamn fucking responsible when that was Namjoon’s area of expertise, all fueling the fire in the pit of his stomach that was slowly burning away all of the carefully-placed walls he had built to keep it contained. There was just so much pressure both inside and outside of him that maybe it was the only thing even keeping him whole right now, but he swears to god one wrong word from Tae or one eyeroll from Jungkook and he was going to kill them, he really was.

He needed Seokjin. He needed Seokjin to make a stupid, corny-ass joke to poke fun at and Jimin to make fun of and Taehyung to do something ridiculous and for Jungkook to accept it and play along and for Hobi to hold him and for Namjoon to tell him it was going to be okay and he hated it with every fiber of his being because he hated needing things the way he so desperately needed his bandmates right now.

He hated comebacks, he hated the chaos, he hated the gimmicks and he hated and he hated and he hated almost as much as he loved, because that was the only reason he was doing it; because he loved what he was doing and he loved that he was doing it with them and he loved writing music and he loved performing and godfuckingdammit did anyone in the history of the universe ever love anything more than he did right now—he swears to god he’s going to explode with the sheer force of it running through his veins that if he doesn’t hit something soon he’s going to spontaneously combust.

The first thing he sees is Taehyung with his legs wrapped around Jungkook’s pink-tinged face in a headlock, and the younger boy is somehow breathing and yelling for Tae to let him go at the same time, a feat if Yoongi ever saw one. Jimin is on his stomach, lying on the floor watching them, his eyes slightly desperate when they meet Yoongi’s as he steps into the doorway. Namjoon and Hoseok are on the couch with Seokjin between them, looking for all the world like a poly-amorous couple watching over their dysfunctional brood, except Jin is egging on Tae and Hobi is trying to get Jungkook to listen to him and you idiot, angle your arms behind his knee and push up if you want to live.

Yoongi shakes his head at the tableau, making his way to the armchair that no one else is ever allowed to sit in for fear of a cruel and usual death. He collapses into it, letting out a long breath and already feeling more stable just by being around actual, living people, like maybe his jaw won’t fall off from how hard he’s been grinding his teeth and maybe he’ll even get through tonight without reading every comment before the sun starts to bleed its way into his bedroom.

Namjoon catches his eye, and he shrugs at the question he finds there. Are you okay?, like any of them were on these nights. He can’t stop the growl that escapes him then, and instantly Taehyung stops laughing and Jungkook stops struggling and Jimin is on his feet and Seokjin is fishing for the candy he always keeps in his pockets and Namjoon’s wrist is sprained but he’s still reaching for him with it and Hoseok’s arms are already around him and fuck.

From seven individual men they turn into a tangle of limbs and tears and there’s a lollipop already sticking out of Jimin’s mouth how in the world as they all try to angle their lanky bodies, trying to find a spot on, beside, or around him as they hold him. He’s left wondering where in the world the wetness on his cheeks has come from, where did the pressure that was keeping him together go.

But then Taehyung is laughing, mumbling something about storm clouds under his breath, and Hoseok’s smile is like sunshine peeking out from behind clouds on a winter day and Yoongi has Jungkook in his arms with Namjoon wrapped around his shoulders and Jimin’s face is on his knee and Jin is complaining about someone’s elbow in his face and there are so many tears and laughter and Yoongi breathes for the first time since they started planning this comeback. Yoongi breathes and Taehyung sings and Namjoon smiles and Seokjin laughs and Jimin tries to hide his tears and Hoseok is burying his face in someone’s shoulder and Jungkook is looking at everyone like they’re a fucking revelation.

Eventually they disentangle from each other, returning to their own bodies. Yoongi breathes and realizes it was never the pressure that was keeping him together but this. Always, above all, this.

[horusath-blog]

A Star in the Desert

"ALI?" The colonel's voice boomed through the crowded hallway. "WHERE THE HELL IS ALI?!" The shout cut through the clamor, and suddenly every face in the hallway turned towards Ali. She tightened her grip on the stack of papers in her arms and quickly pushed her way through the masses, keeping her eyes firmly at the ground the entire way. Slowly, the commotion began to kick up again. "Here, sir", she mumbled when she reached him. The colonel started in an exaggerated fashion. "Christ girl, I told you to stop sneaking around me like that!" "My apologies, sir", Ali deadpanned. The joke was a favorite of his. Ali was barely 5'2, and the colonel towered over her with his 6'3 frame. Though at this point, the colonel was the only one who still saw the humor of it. "Hahaha...no, you're right, no time for jokes. Follow me." The colonel started walking, long strides at a time. The entire E ring of the Pentagon was in chaos and, if Ali suspected right, the rest of the building along with it. Something had happened, something big. Nobody knew the whole picture, but the details were slowly filtering in. Mission failed, targets escaped...men dead. "What do you got for me? I'm being pulled apart here, getting all kinds of interference about what happened." Ali struggled to keep up with his pace, while trying to keep a stack of papers from falling out of her hands. "Sir. It's been confirmed that we've lost Delta Team B." The colonel abruptly stopped and turned around. It was all Ali could do to keep herself from bumping into his chest. He stared down at her. "As the great apostle Paul once said: come again? "It was during the Falluj-" "Yeah, yeah, I know what they were doing", the colonel said, angrily waving his arms as if he were swatting an invisible fly. "Christ Ali, how about I put you on the intercom, let the whole wing know why don't you." Ali didn't say anything. She'd gotten used to the colonel's outbursts. It wasn't the first time she wondered how this man, who was so quick to lose his composure during a crisis, had risen to the rank of colonel. The colonel ran his hand through his hair. "Christ almighty, they're gonna be all over me..." He looked back at Ali. "Tell me you got something. Anything." Ali nodded patiently. "We're not exactly sure what happened, bu-" "Oh, Jesus", the colonel moaned. "BUT", Ali continued, "we have a helmet recording from one of the members of Delta Squad B." The colonels eyes lit up as if Ali had turned into a pot of gold. "Recording? What does it say? Why wasn't I told?" "The tech guys are still working on it", Ali said. "The footage was heavily damaged." "Alright, alright..." The colonel was calming down. "That's good. We got something to go by. Right, where are they?" "The tech bay, sir." "Bring them all to central. I want this done under my watch. Got it?" Ali nodded. "Yes sir." Ali's full name was actually Halimah. Her parents had come to the US when she was two, escaping the regime of the communist hating president Zia. Though not a full-blown communist himself, her father had ties to certain groups that were considered 'subversive'. Better to be safe than sorry. She had a double Masters in International Politics and Law from Yale. They had first approached her during her final year in college. It had all been a very covert affair: coded e-mails, meetings in dark rooms, and of course the dozens of tests they put her through (mostly to root out any potential communist leanings, if Ali were to guess). In the end, she had been offered a job as a desk clerk at the Pentagon. That was five years ago. Then, a position higher up presented itself. They needed someone who could speak Pashto for a highly classified function. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. That's how she ended up with the colonel. The first thing the colonel did was shorten her name to Ali. As he'd told her: "Nothing personal girly, I just don't have the time to run through the whole goddamn alphabet whenever I need to call you." As far as her parents and friends knew, she was still a regular desk clerk. By the time Ali returned to the central command room with the technicians it had already filled up with dozens of people swarming around like a hive of angry bees. The chamber was structured like a large oval. Rows of desks with computers and other technological equipment on them filled the majority of the space. The front wall was covered by a large screen. For the moment, it only showed a rotating American flag on a black background. At the back end of the chamber was an elevated platform, providing any person standing on it with complete oversight of the entire room. That was where the colonel was standing.  He looked up when Ali and her group entered the room, and clapped his hands twice to draw the attention of the room. "Alright folks, the tech crew is here. Let's get them set up and get this party rolling." He addressed the technicians directly. "I want that recording up and running on the double. Got that?" He was answered by a few diminutive "yes sirs" and some nods. The colonel beckoned Ali. "Ali, with me." When she reached him, he was just signing off on a document. "Get that to Nelson", he told another aide. He turned his attention to Ali. "What's the down-low? How much time they gonna need?" "From what I gather, they've finished most of it, sir", Ali said. "Need to clean it up a bit and it should be ready to go." The colonel nodded. "Alright...alright. That hound Nelson has been breathing down my neck all day. Won't be able to hold him off forever, need to give him something solid." Nelson Frankman was the chief of staff. He was the highest authority the colonel had access too. Ali knew that, with a case like this, Frankman would take over sooner or later. Hopefully they would be able to get the recording running before that. The colonel looked at a tall bespectacled woman who was hunched over a table with a group of other people . "Sarah? What's the status on the media?" Ali recognized her as Sarah Brands, head of public relations. "Nothing yet sir", Brands said, her head never rising. "We're on the lookout for any leaks. So far so good." "Good, good... " The colonel's hands were gripping the chair in front of him, the white on his knuckles clearly visible. "Still can't believe this shit", he murmured at no one in particular. "Goddamn lost an entire Delta squad. How the hell does that even happen?". His right index finger started tapping on the plastic of the chair. "Leak in the intel...? Can't be. Maybe...no...FUCK!" Ali took a step back at the sudden outburst. Every head in the room turned towards the colonel. The colonel glared at them. "The hell you all staring at?" Instantly, everyone tried to appear as busy as possible. "Anything I can do sir?", Ali asked, trying to help him get his bearings back. The colonel looked at her like he'd seen her for the first time. "Ali? Yes...yes, get me a list of Delta B's members and their backgrounds." Always prepared, Ali pulled out a sheet of paper from the stack she was holding and handed it to him. "Right here, sir." The colonel quickly scanned the document, nodding while reading. "Andrei Moretz, Clancy Johnson, William Bard, Ahmed Khu...Khuda..." "Kudiadadzai, sir", Ali helped. "Right. And Tom Harris, squad leader. Christ, they're some of the best we got. If we lost one of them it'd be bad enough. All of them? Might as well send me to the firing squad right now." The colonel had a penchant for dramatics, Ali knew. It was best not to push when he had his moments. Still, to lose an entire Delta Squad...perhaps he was right to be so anxious. "I'll go check on the techies", Ali said. The colonel nodded absentmindedly, turning to read another document that had been shoved under his nose by an aide. Just as Ali was about to make her way to the front of the room, one of the technicians, a tall, spindly man with a cartoon t-shirt, stood up. "It's done." The words cut through the commotion in the room like a knife through butter. Slowly, the room grew to a quiet. The colonel was gripping his chair so hard that Nancy could see it's legs vibrate. "Alright", he said, a barely perceptible tremble in his voice. "Let's see it." The technician quickly returned to his seat and started clicking with his laptop mouse, all the while mumbling to himself. "Just...upload it here...broadcast it to...there...here we go." The flag on the screen flickered, before disappearing entirely. Images briefly flashes across the screen, but they were too unclear for Ali to make out what they were. She could feel butterflies in her stomach. Finally, the footage stabilized, and the recording began to play. It seemed to be taking place in a dark alleyway. The ground was covered in sand and dirt. Ramshackle buildings lined the street, many showing signs of battle; bullet holes, or partially collapsed roofs. Two figures in specialized military uniforms were quickly making their way through the alley, their bodies hunched and their rifles help up in front of their faces. Ali had to remind herself this was footage taken from a helmet cam, so there were three people there. But Delta Squad B had five members. They must be behind the camera. Suddenly a voice spoke up. "Damn this shit." "I heard that Clancy", another voice snapped. It seemed to be coming from the lead figure at the front. "One more beep out of you and I swear I'm calling in a friendly fire incident." "That's Harris", the colonel said to no one in particular. "But this ain't right, top", the voice that was identified as Clancy Johnson continued.  "These folks, they didn't do no-" "Fucks sake...", another voice from behind murmured. "Hey man, up yours Bill" The colonel nodded to himself. "Bard. That makes four" The squad leader spoke again. "That don't matter shit Clancy. Boss says we go after their families, that's what we do. End of. Now shut up and keep your eyes open. We're almost there." Suddenly the other man at the front raised his hand to signal a halt. "Contact." "Moretz", the colonel mumbled, but his tone made the statement sound like a question, as if he wasn't sure what he was seeing.  Ali barely heard him, her attention wholly taken up by what was happening on the screen. A figure was standing roughly fifty feet ahead of the soldiers, in a small patch of shadows out of the moonlight. The front end of a rifle came into view just beneath the camera. The squad leader raised one finger and bent it to point at the figure. "Ahmed." Sounds of movement came from behind the camera. A figure hurriedly passed by the camera's right side until he'd reached the front of the group. He started addressing the figure in a foreign language. Ali realized it was Pashto. She felt the colonel's hand grip her shoulder. "What is that, what's he saying?" "He's demanding that the individual step out and indentify himself." The unknown individual began slowly walking forward, until he was fully out of the shadows. Ali could hear a low murmur begin to rise in the room. The pressure on her shoulder increased, but Ali hardly felt it. The figure was clearly not of Afghani or Pakistani descent, or even Iranian for that matter. He had a vaguely Asian look to him, though if someone had told her he was an American she strangely would not have disagreed. He wore a simple red shirt with a loose fitting blue vest over it, but they were ragged, as if they'd been torn apart and sewn back together several times over. But what really startled Ali were his muscles: they were unbelievably large. The man looked like he could lift a truck with one arm. "What...", Ali heard the colonel mumble beside her. In the footage, the soldiers were trying to keep their cool, but Ali could hear a similar level of confusion. "The fuck...", Bard breathed. "Top? What do we do?", Clancy asked, his voice low and urgent. The squad leader motioned them to be quiet. "Ahmed, again.", he said to the squad member to his left. Ahmed repeated his demands from before. The man before them did not react, staring at them motionlessly. "What is he, stupid?", Moretz demanded. Ahmed shrugged, in so far as his equipment allowed it. "Guess he's not a local." "I could have told you that much", Clancy murmured. "Shut it, boy scout", Harris snapped. "Alright, we don't have time for this. Moretz, take him out. Headshot only, don't want to wake the whole street" "Sir", was the curt reply. The figure to the right of Harris took aim, and then fired a single round at the stranger. The sound of the shot echoed through the streets. Again, the man failed to react. There were no signs of impact, no blood or staggered movement. Suddenly Ali felt the colonel lean forward. "What is he holding?" Ali hadn't even noticed the fact that the man had two fingers raised before his face. Something was wedged between his middle and index fingers, something small and dark and... Ali felt her stomach turn. "It's the bullet." Slowly, more and more people in the room came to the same realization, and the murmur began to rise in volume. "Goddamit, keep it down, or I'll haul you out myself", the colonel roared. Despite his bravado, Ali could see his hands shaking. The commotion in the room had made Ali miss some of the dialogue between the members of Delta Squad B. "Top?", Bard said. "I'm thinking", was the response from Harris. "I say we go full auto on this Houdini motherfucker", Moretz snarled. Clancy scoffed. "And get the whole village down on our heads. What are you, stupid?" "One more time, Clancy, I swear to god..." "Can you sons of bitches shut up", Bard hissed. "We got bi...oh shit!" The unidentified man slowly started walking towards them. "Ahmed, again", Harris said, his voice grim. "But top, he's no-" "Just do it, dammit!" Once more, Ahmed addressed the man in Pashto, but like the last time, the man gave no signs of understanding any of it. He continued his march unabated. "Alright, that's it", Harris said. "On my mark, turn this fucker into Cheddar." The man was now thirty feet away from them. He had a look of cold determination on his face that gave Ali goose bumps. "Hold it", Harris said. Twenty feet. Ali could make out a canvas of scars on his body. The most prominent of these were a series of puncture marks  on his chest that looked like he'd been shot multiple times over. Ten feet. The man put his hands together and cracked his knuckles, the sound oddly loud in the quietness of the alley. "Take him out!", Harris shouted. "Hyooow" Just as the bullets started flying through the alleyway, the man leaped with a shout, rolling and turning in the air like a trained gymnast, going high, too high to be humanly possible. For a second, the camera lost track of him as he vaulted over their heads. And then he was right in the middle of the group, and chaos broke loose.   "Hold your fire, HOLD YOUR FIRE", Harris was shouting. They all scrambled to get away from him, but the man had already grabbed Bard. In one quick motion, he pressed his index fingers on the sides of Bard's helmet, breaking through the reinforced material as if it was cheap plastic, and hit his temples with his fingertips. Before any of them could react, the assailant jumped away again. Bard stumbled in place like a drunkard, trying to get his bearings back. He was still wearing the remains of his broken helmet. "Fuck, where'd he go?! Bill, you alright?", Harris said. Bard had stabilized his movements. "Yeah...yeah I think so." He raised his rifle. "Alright, where is that fu-". Before Bard could finish the sentence, his head exploded. Ali remembered accidentally eavesdropping on a conversation her dad had with an old friend from Pakistan. She had been twelve, and she'd been trying to sneak into the kitchen for an afternoon snack. The living room door had been left slightly ajar, and just as Ali was trying to worm her way by, her father's friend was telling him about what had happened to an acquaintance of them who had been captured by the Pakistani government. The details had been gruesome, and suddenly Ali hadn't felt so hungry anymore. She'd quietly made her way upstairs, back to her room, and laid on her bed for hours, staring at the ceiling. She never told anyone about it. Now, fifteen years later, she felt that horribly familiar feeling come back as she watched William Bard's head explode in a rain of flesh and pieces of bone. The conference room erupted in a whirlwind of commotion. People were shouting and screaming. Some had jumped out of their seats, or fallen on the ground, as if a flash bang had been set off . Ali saw one of the technicians throw up all over his laptop. In contrast, the colonel stood motionless as a statue, his eyes fixated on the screen. Ali forced herself to continue watching as well. In the footage, pandemonium had similarly broken loose. Bullets were flying everywhere, as all the while Harris was shouting at them to close ranks and hold their fire. The video feed was getting erratic, as Clancy's head was turning a different direction every second, trying to find their target. A muffled grunt behind him made him whirl around. Moretz was kneeling on the ground, gripping his stomach. Clancy moved towards him, constantly looking around him. "Andrei? What's going on?" Moretz had an anguished look on his face. "I...I don't know. He...he was here, and...I..." His stomach started expanding furiously. He started screaming and clawing at his midsection. "Fuck! Clancy, Clancy help me man, I ca-" A second later, his stomach burst open in a deluge of blood and intestines. "Jesus fucking....oh dear Jesus." Clancy fell to the ground as the blood rained over him. He desperately scrambled back on all fours. The camera was dotted in bloodstains. "What the fuck top, what the fuck is going on?!" Ahmed was heard shouting off screen. "I...he must be carrying some kind of miniature explosives", Harris said, his voice sounding like he'd just run a mile. The camera frantically tried to locate his position as Clancy was trying to get back on his feet.  "Just fucking don't let him get nea- uahaaaaaa" The sentence transformed into a scream, and seconds later the by now all too familiar sound of erupting flesh echoed through the alleyway. When the camera finally found him, all that was left of squad leader Sam Harris was a shredded pile of meat. The camera abruptly lowered two feet as Clancy fell to his knees, hurling violently. "Fuck this...Clancy, I'm sorry man, I got a wife and kids man." The helmet cam jerked up. Ahmed was running back the way they came, disappearing into the shadows. Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice came from the dark. "Atcha!" The sound of Ahmed's boots on the dirt stopped. "NO. Please, I got a family man, I...I...pa..pwaghuuuu." The clatter of his rifle hitting the ground could be heard, followed by a low thud. All the while, Clancy hadn't moved. The camera was fixated on the pile of vomit on the ground. The sound of feet hitting the ground came from behind him, and a small cloud of dust sprang up. It must have cut through Clancy's haze, because he stumbled back and jumped up. He raised his rifle at the raggedly dressed man before him, his arms unable to contain the shaking anymore. "Why man?!", he screamed hysterically. "Why the fuck are you doing this?!" The man didn't answer. He slowly started walking towards Clancy, one step after the other. Clancy frantically started shooting, not even trying to maintain accuracy as his rifle swung all over the place. "Hyooow" The man leaped through the air and landed behind Clancy. As Clancy frantically turned around, his face ran right into the man's outstretched finger, which hit him right between the eyes. Clancy quickly jumped back. His left hand was feeling around his face, picking at his brow. "What the fuck did you do to me?!" The man didn't say anything. Clancy frantically raised his rifle again."FUCK YOU MAN. YOU'RE FUCKING DEA-" Finally, the man spoke. His voice was cold and monotone. "Omae wa mou...shindeiru." Clancy's arms started shaking more heavily. "What?! What was that? What did you say? Fuck you want, man?!" The man slowly turned around and started walking away. "Wha..." Suddenly, Clancy dropped his rifle. His hands rose to his head. The camera flailed around wildly as Clancy started screaming. "No...no...je-bluaerghh" The helmet cam flew through the air amidst a rain of blood and brain matter, before it landed on the ground. A heavy thud followed shortly after. The man could be seen walking back down the alley he came from, until he was swallowed up by the shadows. From there, the footage stayed the same; a dark, dusty alleyway in between a series of war-torn buildings. For a moment, there was absolute silence in the central command room. A sense of general unease hang in the air, clinging to Ali like a second skin. What the hell had they just witnessed? Rather than be panicked or frightened, Ali felt oddly numb. It was all just so...surreal. Eventually, one of the technicians broke the silence. "It uh...it kind of goes on like this for a while", he said, indicating the screen. The scenery had not changed. Every now and then, a small gust of wind would blow up some sand. The colonel didn't react. He was still staring at the screen, his jaws clenched firmly together. A small pool of blood began to appear on the ground surrounding the camera. Someone stood up. It was an older man. His white hair looked disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through them repeatedly. He began power-walking his way to the door, keeping his head down. Others, galvanized by his example, similarly rose from their seats to exit the room. "NOBODY LEAVES THIS GODDAMN ROOM TILL I SAY SO!" The colonels voice boomed through the room with the force of a fighter jet's engine. Instantly, everyone stopped moving. Finally, the colonel let go of the chair he'd been holding on to throughout the ordeal, and stood up straight. "Sit", he growled. "You, techies. Cut the feed." After a brief shuffle of movement, everyone was back in their seats, and the screen at the front of the room once again showed the static image of the American flag. The colonel took a deep breath. "I don't know what the hell we just saw", he began. His voice was impressively steady, Ali thought. "But I damn well know this: nothing of what we just saw leaves this room. Zero. Zilch. As far as everyone's concerned, Delta Squad B were killed by an IED. They'll be given the works: posthumous purple hearts, state funerals, recompense for the families. Not a goddamn beep about any of...this."  He looked over at the technicians. "Send me a copy of that video. Then destroy the rest. Got that?" The group mumbled their confirmation. The colonel turned his attention back to the rest of the crowd. "Some of you might be thinking that this is a matter of national security. That we need to inform the higher-ups pronto. Well, here's the deal; that's none of your goddamn business. It's mine. So if any of this gets out, any of it, not only will you get fired, I will personally see to it you will never get employed anywhere outside of your local 7-Eleven. " He let the words simmer for a bit. Everyone seemed to be avoiding each other's gaze, like students avoiding a teacher's attention for a difficult question. Finally, the colonel spoke again. "You may leave." As people slowly started filtering out of the room. he turned to Ali. "Ali, go with the techies. Make sure those little rats don't blindside anyone. I want any copies other than mine gone." Ali nodded. "Yes sir." The colonel had already turned away to talk with the other senior officials that had stayed behind. When they stood outside in the hallway, Ali closed the door to the central command room. Then she turned to the technicians. "Head back to the tech bay. I'll meet you there. No wandering, got it?" Despite the fact that they were all significantly taller than her, they kept their eyes down and nodded. After they had left, Ali found a secluded corner in the hallway and pulled out her cell phone. After double checking to make sure no one was around, she pulled up her quick dial menu and chose the third option, and then put the phone to her ear. A male voice answered. "Daniel Selzer, New Tork Times." "Dan? It's Ali. You're not gonna believe what I got for you."