#this is jarring for my brain actually....

[bitchin-beskar]

not sure if you're still down for writing for them but can i ask for more sub!soap? that pussy drunk one has me slightly feral, just a lil foam out the mouth, ya know?

I am always down for writing for any of the cod bois. just because my brain decided to be mean and not allow me any motivation to write for like three years doesn't mean it didn't let all the thots marinate in there like delicious jar of pickles ready to be opened at a moments notice.

ANYWAYS

here's more sub!John 'Soap' MacTavish (with a heaping dose of praise kink and pussy worship on the side)

When your phone lights up, it’s late, far later than any of your friends usually text you. That’s the only reason you even check it, so unused to the sound of a text at this time of night.

But as soon as you see the name on the screen, you’re leaping to your feet. It’s from Soap, a little smiley face and soap emoji next to his name that you’d originally put down as a joke, but that quickly changed when you saw him blush bright red the first time he saw the contact you’d made for him.

The text is short, simple. He just landed, but in the mess of going on leave, forgot his keys back on base, and if it wasn’t too much trouble, could he stay at yours?

Almost as soon as you finish reading, another text pops up, and your heart sinks. It’s another message, Soap backpedaling as he apologizes for how late it is, that he didn’t realize with the time difference, and that he’s just getting a hotel, he’s sorry to have bothered you, and he hopes you have a good night.

You’re immediately calling him, already putting on your shoes and grabbing your keys.

“Bonnie, I’m so so-”

“John MacTavish, don’t you dare apologize.” You cut him off, striding out the front door of your flat and locking the door behind you, “Are you at your flat now?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, and you actually check the phone to make sure you didn’t disconnect on accident.

“You don’t have to-”

Once more, you cut him off. “I want to. Are you at your flat?”

A sigh.

“Yeah, ‘m at my flat.”

You nod decisively, even though he can’t see you. “Okay. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

He’s quiet, too quiet, and you feel a knot start to form in your stomach. “M’kay, bonnie.” He sighs softly, the tone of his voice almost… defeated. “Thank you.”

“Don’t gotta thank me for this, Johnny,” you murmur as you start up your car, pulling out of the parking garage and starting the familiar drive to his flat. “I’m on my way.”

~~~

When he gets into your car, Soap is subdued. He’s still in the rough canvas pants and scratchy shirts that are typical of base attire, and there’s scruff on his jaw, showing that it’d been some time since he’d shaved. But the most striking thing is how tired he looks. Soap has always been so energetic, even after the most grueling of missions. He’s usually a seemingly endless well of positivity, but now it appears that the well has run dry.

He greets you with a quiet voice. “Thanks, bonnie.” You can’t help the way you keep sneaking glances at him on the drive back to your flat, but he’s staring out the window at the passing streetlights, lost in thought. His hands are still on his thighs, and that makes you more concerned than anything else. Soap’s hands are never still.

The drive back seems like it takes twice as long, but eventually, you’re back inside, locking your front door as Johnny stands in your small entryway, looking somewhat lost, duffle dangling from his fingertips.

You carefully step around him, grabbing the straps of his duffle and tugging it from his weak grasp. Again, it speaks volumes about his mental state that he doesn’t protest. You press your fingers gently against his chest, urging him to look at you.

“Go shower, yeah? I’ll leave some fresh clothes out. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

A weak smile crosses his lips, and before you can pull your hand away, he’s leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Wha’ would I do without ye, love?”

You smile softly back up at him. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out. Now, go shower, Sergeant.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says softly, turning and making his way towards your bathroom. You watch him walk away before heading towards your bedroom, setting his duffle inside the closet to be unpacked later. You grab his favorite t-shirt and sweatpants from your drawers, and set them on the toilet inside the bathroom once you hear the shower running.

It doesn’t take him long, it never does. When he emerges from the bathroom, cheeks flushed pink from the heat, clean shaven, and dressed in his comfy clothes, he looks the most like himself since you picked him up at his flat.

As soon as he sees you, he’s striding across the carpet, gathering you in his arms and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You respond eagerly, albeit slowly, not wanting him to feel like he has to rush this. You’ve missed him in the months he’s been away, and you’re not afraid to admit it.

You slide your hands through his soft, damp hair, the scent of your shampoo filling the air and sending a thrill down your spine at the thought of Soap smelling like you. You tug gently at his hair, and a low groan escapes his throat, his arms tightening around your waist.

“Love, please,” he whispers against your lips, hands slowly growing more frantic as he pushes up your shirt to feel your bare skin beneath his palms, like he needs more proof that you’re here and in his arms. “I can’t-”

“Shh,” you whisper back, going up on tip toes and pressing your body more fully against his, using your grip on his hair to tilt his head just so, kissing him deeper. “Take me to bed, John.”

A soft whine is pressed against your lips before he’s gripping your thighs and picking you up, holding your body tight against his as he quickly moves towards your bedroom. He moves with purpose, a soldier’s stride, quickly and efficiently navigating your flat without taking his lips off of yours.

It makes something warm curl in your belly, that he knows your home so well, that he’s so comfortable here.

He gently lays you out on the bed, eagerly crawling on top of you, resting in the cradle of your thighs as he trails kisses down your neck. You keep running your fingers through his hair, tugging gently and making him let out all manner of delicious noises.

“That’s it, baby,” you coo at him, slowly rolling your hips against his as you feel him harden through the sweatpants. “Go on, take what you need.”

He whimpers again, his own hips rutting desperately against yours as he tries to relieve the tension that must’ve been building for weeks. It’s abundantly clear that he’s reacting on instinct alone, and you use your grip on his hair to drag him up to you, kissing him deeply. He’s sloppy, messy, dazed, and you feel a swell of affection at how quickly you’re able to get him to start relaxing.

“Good boy, Johnny,” you sigh into his mouth, hooking a leg over the back of his thigh, encouraging his frantic grinding. “Come for me, yeah? I know you need it, so bad. Do as I say, baby. Let go.”

The high pitched whine that escapes his throat sounds like it hurts, but he obeys orders and comes in his pants, twitching violently as he clutches at the sheets on either side of your body, trying to keep his head above the tidal wave of sensation wracking his body. You don’t even care that you’re barely close, all you care about is getting Soap off as soon as you can. He needs this, you can tell, and you wanna give him everything.

Immediately, you’re whispering praise, stroking fingers through his hair and down his back as you try to calm his shaky breathing as he comes down from the abrupt high. He buries his face in your neck, and you can feel as tears drip from his eyes onto your skin, tension bleeding out of his muscles as he lets the cradle of your body support him as he can finally fully relax.

For a long moment, the two of you lay there, Soap crying silently against your skin as you run your fingers over every inch of him you can reach, as though your touch can wipe away all the pain and suffering he’s been dealt over the months he’s been away from you.

Eventually, his tears dry up, a few shaky inhales and exhales before he pushes himself up and away from your body, propping himself up with his hands. His eyes are bloodshot, but his face is less tense, the lines of stress that had been present on his brow cleared away.

“Bonnie, I-”

You press a gentle finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare. There is absolutely nothing to apologize for. You did exactly as I said.”

Even with the reassuring words, he still looks troubled. “You didn’t come,” he murmurs against your finger, silent apology clear in his tone.

You sigh, only slightly exasperated. “John, you know I don’t care.”

But he’s not to be dissuaded, not this time.

“But I do,” he says, pressing reverent kisses down your chest as he slowly makes his way down your body. “Wan’ ye ta come, love.”

“Johnny-”

But he won’t be dissuaded, and you honestly just don’t have the heart to turn him away, not as he finally seems to be coming back to himself.

It’s simple, lifting your hips so he can slide your shorts down your legs, a routine the two of you have done hundreds of times before. He still gets that same dazed look he gets every time, eyes flicking up to yours for permission.

You cradle his face with your hand, thumb brushing over a faded bruise on his cheekbone.

“Go on, baby,” you murmur, a small, sad smile playing at your lips. “Whatever you need, love.”

A broken groan escapes him, and he wastes no more time. You’re spread out so beautifully, just for him, and fuck, he needs this so bad he can’t even breathe.

His tongue slides through your folds, a deep rumble escaping him as he finally gets to taste you again. It’s been far too long since the last time, he fucking missed this.

You let your head tip back, whimpering quietly at the pleasure that surges through you as Soap seals his lips around your clit and sucks. He knows exactly how to drive you straight towards the edge of insanity, and it’s knowledge he shamelessly abuses.

He feasts on your cunt like he’s on the cusp of starvation. He hooks his strong arms under your thighs and then up over your hips, hands flat on your belly as he buries his face between your thighs. You couldn’t squirm away if you tried, as though you’d want to.

His mouth is warm and wet as he fucks you with his tongue, the sound of his feasting absolutely lewd in the quietness of your bedroom, but the only thing it does is turn you on even more. He’s entirely focused on you, and the intensity of his attention is almost stifling.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you,” you whine, fingers curling into his hair, tugging gently as you grind your hips against his face. “Missed your mouth too- oh!, yes, Johnny, just like that, please!”

As soon as you start talking, he doubles down, focusing his attention on your clit, sucking rhythmically on that senstive bundle of nerves until you’re damn near suffocating him with how tight you’re pressing his face into your needy cunt.

It’s clear he’s in heaven, though. Every time you try to loosen your grip, or pull him back, he whines, this pathetic little noise that vibrates through the very core of you, making you gasp and squirm.

“J-Johnny, fuck baby, you’re gonna make me come. Fuckin’ missed you, baby, missed how good you are to me, fu-uck!”

His pleased little hum makes a different kind of warmth spread through you, as you realize he’s finally coming out of that dark headspace he’s been in since god only knows how long. He takes your words to heart, stops teasing you and instead focuses on trying to get you to tip over that edge. He releases one of your hips, only to gently press a thick finger inside you, clearly delighting in the way you gasp and clench around the intrusion.

It doesn’t take long for him to be able to add a second finger, your slick absolutely drenching his hand, making the slide of his fingers far easier than it has any right to be considering how long it’s been. He’s quick to find that spot inside you, crooking his fingers in that come hither motion and stroking in time with your sobs.

“S-So close, baby, please!”

He lets out a moan, the vibration adding just the right amount of stimulation to make you come with a sharp cry, your legs tensing and your fingers twisting in his hair. Your back arches off the bed, but Johnny’s arm across your waist keeps you anchored to the mattress as you ride out your release against his face.

There’s a soft buzzing in your ears, and it slowly disappates as you come down from your high, and you can hear yourself babbling frantic words of praise and adoration at John.

“Good boy, fuck, good boy Johnny, thank you baby, oh shit you make me feel so good.”

He lets out a muffled sob, and begins to tentatively suck and lick at you again, careful not to cause you pain, but physically incapable of stopping yet.

Even as sparks fly up your spine, even as your body aches in protest, desperate for a break after such an explosive release, you stroke your fingers through his hair, and spread your legs even wider around his broad shoulders.

“That’s it, baby boy,” you whimper, eyes slipping closed. “Just take what you need. ‘m gonna give you everything.”

[timetravellingkitty]

i have never come across your blog before but i'm so thankful for your recent posts, the bar is on the floor but it is cathartic to see indians with an actual conscience and principles that they stand their ground on. it's not like i'm ignorant of the fact that 90% of the people i meet irl claim to be "progressive" and "open-minded" but are really just that until their personal bubble of comfort feels threatened in any capacity (the public opinion on reservations and casteism at large alone are proof of that) but the way that everyone in my life has gone full mask off hitlerite genocide mongering bloodlust ridden brain-dead freak mode is fucking terrifying like i'm not saying this brand of person wasn't absolutely soulless before too (plenty of them talked about muslims like this before too but i mean the ones who at least appeared to be against it) but it's fucking jarring seeing how easy it is for people to say shit like That like they truly have no fear and think they inherited the earth by virtue of being born in the BigGest DemoCracY of ThE WorlD i'm unsettled at every moment i cannot even fathom a fraction of what kashmiris will be going through rn.

long ass ask over i just needed to throw all of this out somewhere sorry if this was a drag to read </3

the bar is in hell in the motherfucker of democracy

[jijournal]

WORSE THAN VERITASERUM! | H.P

Summary: Something went wrong while you and Harry were brewing Veritaserum—the potion you created now causes you to read each other’s minds.

Word Count: 900+

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It was another day of potions class. This time, instead of dreading every lesson, you were quite excited to attend, because it wasn't gloomy, greasy-haired Snape teaching potions anymore.

The classroom was slowly starting to fill up as you sat down. Professor Slughorn soon followed, wearing a cheeky grin on his face.

"Today, we will be making Veritaserum! Would anyone tell me what—" before he could continue, Granger immediately raised her hand.

"Sir, Veritaserum is a potent truth serum. A few drops are enough to cause the drinker to reveal their innermost secrets, even those they may not be aware of. It's odorless, colorless, and tasteless, making it easily concealed in drinks.”

Slughorn beamed. “Spot on, Miss Granger! Ten points to Gryffindor.”

You tucked your quill behind your ear, glancing around as he gestured to the instructions now appearing in silver script across the chalkboard.

“Pair up, everyone! You’ll be brewing the base today—no accidental truth-telling just yet!” he chuckled.

You were just looking around when—

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced up. Harry Potter stood beside your desk, that boyishly shy smile on his face, his messy hair sticking up in every direction like it always did.

“Oh—sure! Yeah, go ahead.” You shifted over to give him space, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

Harry took the seat beside you, setting his textbook and ingredients down. You tried to focus on measuring out the root of valerian, but your arm brushed his and suddenly your brain wasn’t working right.

Halfway through preparing the bicorn horn, both of you reached for it at the same time.

“Oh—sorry—”

“No, you go—”

The jar tipped.

A bit too much of the powder dumped in.

The potion hissed. A strange pop! sounded from the cauldron, and a faint puff of purplish smoke swirled directly into both your faces.

You blinked. Harry coughed.

And then—

“Blimey, she’s pretty up close. No, shut up, Potter—focus. You’ve only been obsessed with her since third year, no big deal.”

You froze as you slowly look at him.

Harry stiffened beside you.

“Wait. She heard that. SHE HEARD THAT—oh no. Oh no. She can hear me—can I hear her?!”

“Holy Merlin, he likes me? Wait, don’t think anything stupid. Don’t think about how nice his arms look when he rolls up his sleeves. DON’T THINK ABOUT—ugh, too late.”

Harry choked on air. “My arms?!”

You slapped your hands over your mouth. “That wasn’t out loud!”

“I know!” he groaned. “This is going to kill me. Or make me cocky. Honestly, maybe both.”

You scowled. “He’s smug. Why is smug so attractive on him?”

Harry grinned, victorious. “Stop that!”

“I can’t help it, I’ve been bottling up these emotions for years, Potter! YEARS.” you whisper yelled.

“Okay, okay, truce,” he said quickly, hands raised. “Let’s try not to think too hard.”

You both went silent.

For exactly two seconds.

“Her eyes are unreal. Like… how does anyone focus when she looks at you like that?”

“His smile is unfair. He should come with a warning label. Or a fan club. I’d be in it. Wait. That’s weird.”

You both groaned in unison.

“This is worse than Veritaserum,” you muttered.

“Way worse. At least Veritaserum doesn’t broadcast your every embarrassing thought.” Harry ranted.

You glanced up at him, cheeks burning.

“She'd be the president of that fan club.”

“Stop talking! You’re making this worse!” You scold.

“I’m not talking—you’re in my head, remember?”

You glared at him, cheeks burning.

He smirked. “She’s cute when she’s mad. Ugh. No. Don’t think that. She heard that.”

“I heard that!”

He looked mortified. “Yeah, I know. It’s a nightmare. A dream and a nightmare. A dreammare?”

You buried your face in your hands.

“Oh my God. I can’t believe I used to fantasize about this. Actual real-life Harry Potter noticing me. And now here we are—brain-melding during potions.”

Harry tilted his head. “She used to fantasize about me? Wait. Is she serious? Am I dreaming?”

You peeked through your fingers, lips twitching.

“And he smells so good. Why does he smell good?! It’s not fair. I wasn’t prepared for the olfactory part of this trauma.”

Harry looked scandalized. “My smell?! What even—?”

“I don’t know, it’s like—cedarwood and Quidditch and… and a boy.”

He burst into laughter. “I smell like a boy? That’s descriptive.”

“You smell like handsome boy, okay?! Leave me alone!”

He leaned closer, chin resting in his palm, eyes twinkling. “I think I could get used to hearing what you really think.”

You gaped at him. “Don’t get cocky!”

“Too late.”

You groaned. “This is so unfair. I spent years being subtle. I was a mystery. I had mystique.”

“Yeah, and now I know you think about my arms and my smell and want to join my fan club.”

You glared. “You want me in your fan club.”

“Damn right, I do.”

There was a beat.

A small, soft silence beneath the chaos of other cauldrons bubbling and parchment rustling. A glance that lingered longer than it should’ve.

And then Harry's voice, quieter in your mind now, came again:

“Okay. But seriously. Now that I know she likes me back…”

He caught your eye and grinned softly.

"Maybe now she’ll finally let me take her to Hogsmeade.”

You blinked. “Are you… asking?”

Harry's breath hitched "Yes."

"Unless she thinks that’s lame.”

You smiled shyly. “It isn't, but I never thought you'd be the shy one here.”

“Only with you.”

And somehow, despite the chaos, the lingering smoke, and the fact that Seamus' cauldron had just exploded across the room, you realized something:

"This might be the best Potions class I've ever had."

"This might be the best Potions class I've ever had."

You both looked surprised for a moment, then burst into laughter.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

masterlist!

[plantcrazy]

Dr Bruno White & Experiment 1354 [Theory]

I was writing a completely different theory in relations to MOB's latest trailer, when this realisation hit me like that hardest ton of brick ever.

You guys know, recently I studied the Ch.4 ARG for my story writing. I wanted to know more about Dr. White for writing his character, and in one of the emails from Harley he says: '[A bad memory]' and I interpreted it as Harley saying White has a bad memory. I think it's actually Harley having bad memories of White, and what he did to him after he became 1354.

Eg. The full email the above reads:

(The emailer asked)

Dr White?

(Harley replies)

'[Eyes peering from behind a pane of glass] He always did have a certain drive, didn't he? [A bad memory] But what good did it do him? None. He's dead.'

I initially thought the in brackets stuff was Harley, but it's EYES. Two eyes. He only has one as, 1354. But eyes peering from being a glass pane would refer to how he was being watched in an observation room, like the other experiments.

This robot-man has trauma. Trauma from Dr White.

When asked by another emailer what he remembers, all he says is:

Bruno

Another good example, an emailer asks:

What did he do to you?

(Harley replies)

The footage is archived (more bad memories) I won't dwell on it.

We also know throughout the email, Harley speaks negatively about White, implying he doesn't like him. (I think I mentioned somewhere,) my theory that they had a less negative relationship pre-1354, and I'm still inclined to believe that based on his whole:

White?! White is that you?!

He sounds hurt, and him complimenting White's drive could show one of his few lingering positive memories of White. Cause, like, take it from me, as someone with trauma relating to a person I had a good relationship with once in the past, when I think of said person, none of those positive memories come to the surface. Only the traumatic ones. (I'm fine folks. This was years ago, I'm healed & good now. This was just a great example of the feelings Post-1354 would have towards... the abuser?).

We also know the admin account & password belonged to Dr. White (, with the password being a mocking jab at something Harley use to say all the time). So White was fully in control over Harley. Sure. That's one reason to have some trauma, but...

I also was looking at the red text again, with this new point of view about Harley & White in mind. I think the red text is 1354's thoughts being displayed on a screen.

Leith says in the 1354 tape:

You'll be like an open book to us whenever we want.

I think he meant this quite literally. That's why he tells Harley he can fight or give in. It doesn't matter because they can read his every thought regardless.

More evidence to back this up, with the red text being Harley's thoughts:

I can see you. You aren't welcome here.

And

They can see. away. Don't think it. Hide it from yourself. rwk

(idk what 'rwk' stands for. I couldn't really find anything solid).

I'm about out of steam with this lol. Just thought it was intresting to throw out there into the void :P

Also, really interesting that one of the things he says replies is:

I know my name.

Annoyingly, I can't find the email this came from, to give it context. Interesting regardless. To forget one's own name would almost suggest a level of brainwashing, maybe? IDK.

Not sure on the whole brainwashing thing, but it's a fun idea.

If we assume the first red text we start with is the last time anyone accessed Harley's thoughts (that being White), then their final conversation is intreaging, because it would suggest Harley was more bitter than White (I mean... hard to be bitter when you weren't the one turned into a brain in a jar, lol):

He asks if I still dream? Why? This changes nothing. A broken leash. Casket. I do. What became of her? Theater incident still strange, the things that linger.

[yveni]

post-TEG concept (warning TEG spoilers):

Lucy never knows what to do with the flowers Lockwood gives her so she just sticks them into the cracked parts of Skull.

He makes a lovely centerpiece on the Thinking Cloth.

[perilegs]

i know astrology is fake but i'm not too keen on how a lot of people on this website seem to be clowning on it as a hobby a bit too hard. i swear the woman who thinks it's neat how she and her friends with the same sun sign are all similar isn't trying to say that you are who you are born as and there is nothing you can do to change it. it's a hobby. an interest. what happened to finding meaning and joy in the small things. does it affect you if someone enjoys tarot reading or crystals. does it make you upset someone has interests that they enjoy.

[thestrawberryfool]

Giggling, Cackling even at the tags left on my MAWS gif post

That shirt is NOT approved by OSHA

[theparadoxmachine]

Does anyone else have a rarepair ship that's like "it's not that I want to read fic about them hate fucking, I just think it's weird that there isn't any"

[arttsuka]

Friendly reminder that if you don't like something just, scroll away or block the individual who posted it. No need to be snarky and mean spirited in the comments, being rude is just, no, don't. Also statements like 'I'm retracting my like', ok? You're not doing me a favor by leaving a like (also did someone force you to like the post in the first place? Why would you leave a like if you didn't like what you were seeing?).

Be kind, if you have something to say please do so but don't be a jerk about it.

Also use your brain.

Thank you.

[the-casbah-way]

i HATE you kamala harris i HATE you donald trump i HATE you liberals i HATE you republicans i HATE you america. god bless

[webvampzz]

i want to put him in a jar and shake it then inhale him like coke and then cook him into a nice soup and then eat him

[razzle-zazzle]

wait, what are sandstorm cole and morro doing in sons of garmadon?

Morro and Cole show up after the conclusion of Hands of Time, find out Wu is missing, and agree to help search. It gets frustrating, though, with the complete lack of leads, and so they end up reconvening with the ninja in time for Sons of Garmadon (the season not the gang) to kick off. Still trying to work out how Cole gets dragged onto the infiltration mission, but he does, because a) Morro reacting to Rocky Dangerbuff and b) Cole finding Baby Wu. Yes.

The season continues to progress as in canon, but with the addition of Morro, and oh if it isn't a gutpunch for him when they piece together that the rapidly-aging baby-now-a-toddler is Wu. He is... not as equipped to deal with this as when they still thought it was a random baby Cole was cooing over.

Things are not going to get better for Morro, either, because when the Bounty gets crushed by the Colossus? He's not on it. He's not on it, and Cole is, so while Cole is sent to the first realm with Jay Zane Kai and Wu Morro thinks Cole is dead. And also now Morro kind of has to work with Lloyd and can't just tear off and go be a vagabond instead, no, he's invested now.

So yeah. Hunted's gonna be pretty fun for the Spiritshipping AU.

[harleith-harlot]

Hmm what would be a good in-game reason that Prototype doesn’t use the Ollie voice during the Time VHS?

I’d say the most likely reason is that he hadn’t assimilated Ollie’s voice yet but given that Time takes place post HoJ and that Ollie existed “a very long time ago” I doubt that’s the case.

[psychopomp-namine]

you don't understand how much I felt the slow saline drip of gaining interest in a character, and instead of going, "oooh. interesting. new blorbo?" I instead went, "...really. that guy? oh. oh no."

<- guy with a li tianchen icon ends up blorbofying liu xiao. alas, I have played myself 😔

[reddamselette]

the way my stress about colleges and my future goes away whenever i write valgrace should be studied actually (i’m dying and on my deathbed i actually hate this so bad)

powering through it I GUESS

[daz4i]

>wakes up and sees that it's completely dark out

>"oh man. i hope it's like. 5 am. so that i know i slept enough and i could fall asleep at a normal hour tonight. 2 am would be unfortunate but i'll survive. as long as it's not around midnight i'm fine

>checks clock

>00:27