#sometimes the shorter version of something is Worse and Less Understandable

[bramblemouth]

coworkers read my writing CHallenge!!!

or at least don’t Admit you don’t to my face

[thatonestoreguy]

The Memory Bank and Other Stories

Turlough would like a nice quiet place to do some art, but the TARDIS has other ideas. Instead, the Fifth Doctor and Turlough are thrown into a series of adventures throughout time and space.

The anthology begins with the titular story, “The Memory Bank”. On a planet where being forgotten means you cease to exist, the Memory Bank offers people a way to avoid this fate. Turlough is very quickly thrust into the role of the Bank’s archivist, while the Doctor travels around the planet trying to get to the bottom of things. The story has a very interesting conceit that could be expanded into a longer adventure. As it is, this story crams all the standard aspects of an adventure into its shorter runtime, but doesn’t ever feel rushed. It could add more twists or complications in order to have more time to explore, but as it is, it's a fast paced but satisfying story.

In “The Last Fairy Tale”, the Doctor and Turlough find themselves in the middle ages to witness the last coming of the Storyteller. This one is very satirical in nature. The setting is never truly defined as a real time or place. It reads rather more like the fantasized version of medieval europe from fairy tales than anything like reality. Indeed, the line between the story and reality becomes even less clear by the end. I’m not sure this story will be everyone’s cup of tea, as it doesn’t seem to have much interest in really explaining anything so much as in the joy of simply telling the story.

Then in “Repeat Offender”, the Doctor and Turlough have just prevented the latest in a string of serial murders in 22nd century Reykjavik. Unfortunately, it appears to everyone else that they are the real criminals and they're going to need to act quickly if they want to capture the real perpetrator before they're locked up or worse. This story very much feels like the end of a longer adventure. We join the Doctor and Turlough in media res, as they believe they’ve reached the end of their quest to stop these murders. Instead, the Doctor is forced to think on his feet and piece together the final bits of the puzzle while being held at gunpoint by the police. It’s a story that manages to have a number of twists and turns and even some nice social commentary all in a very short period of time. 

Finally, in “The Becoming”, The Doctor and Turlough aid a young woman on a strange alien quest that they do not fully understand. On a planet very much unlike our own, the Doctor comes across Waywalker, a woman on a quest that all her people undertake when they come of age. The strangeness of the setting and characters are really interesting in this story and the Doctor and Turlough feel as much like observers as the audience. While the story seems like it will leave us unsure of all the details, it does manage to squeeze in one last second twist that colours all that came before. The adventure leaves some things unresolved in the end, but in a way that makes you understand that sometimes things can’t be understood (or fixed) easily.

Overall, I really enjoyed this anthology. I feel the second story is the weakest one, but even that one is fun in its own way. I like it when an anthology has an overarching theme and the pretty loose conceit of Turlough looking for a place to draw is fully abandoned halfway through. Still, those last two stories are probably the strongest overall, so I’d rather that than something thinly sketched. 

[vrishchikawrites]

Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

[lovelylogans]

the words you read (my heart’s been displayed)

how did you know 'cause I never told but you found out I've got a crush on you the words you read, my heart's been displayed you found out I've got a crush on you —“crush on you,” the jets

warnings: awkward clueless teenagers, crushes, slightly overbearing matchmaking uncles, mentions of government surveillance, mostly fluff, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, secondary patton/roman and janus/remus

word count: 5,761

notes: this is for day 5 of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “vocab card/skateboard” and i have decided to write about vocab card! please enjoy!

⁂

In Virgil’s opinion, Logan Sanders is the cutest boy in all of the sophomore grade.

He was the cutest boy in freshman year, too, and eighth grade, and seventh, and all the way back to kindergarten, but Logan’s changed over the summer. 

He’s sprouted up a few inches, so now he’s a half-head taller than Virgil. He still looks a little gangly, like he’s going to grow more. He’d always been shorter than Virgil before. He’d gotten new glasses, too, black frames that suit him way better than the silver ovals he’d used when they were little. His voice has gotten a bit deeper, his jawline’s gotten stronger, and Virgil’s helpless crush on him has only grown with Logan.

Logan isn’t just cute, either, he’s smart. He carries around stacks of notecards, blank and filled in, and there’s all sorts of things written on it—interesting fun facts and the latest slang terms, in rubber-banded stacks next to rubber-banded stacks of notecards of terms that will be on their next exam. Logan has a way of explaining anything and everything in a way that is really understandable and never makes you feel dumb. Logan’s always top of the class.

And to make matters worse, they’re next-door-locker-neighbors this year, because Chloe-who-was-between-them-alphabetically moved away. Which means that Virgil cannot quite get away with admiring Logan from afar, the way he has since they were little. Which means that when school starts, on the first day when Logan asks him what homeroom he’s in this year, Virgil’s brain can only go ahhhhHHHHHH and the fact that oh my God Logan is tall now oh my GOD Logan has the locker next to mine now! makes him delay his answer because he’s just staring at Logan, and Logan looks at him a little oddly and then repeats his question as if he thinks Virgil didn’t hear him, and Virgil kind of wants to crawl into his locker to hide there forever thanks.

“Oh,” he manages. He closes his locker. “Um. I’m in Mr. Morales’ homeroom this year.”

Logan smiles at him. Logan SMILES AT HIM. And then he says, “I am, as well. Perhaps we’ll be seated next to each other in homeroom, in addition to being locker neighbors. I would enjoy that.”

He would ENJOY THAT!!!!!

Logan clears his throat and fiddles with his glasses, finally just pushing them a little further up his nose, even though they’re pretty high up on his nose already. “Would you like to walk together to Mr. Morales’ classroom? I was in his home economics class last year, I know where it is.”

“Um, sure,” Virgil says, voice cracking embarrassingly, and he considers opening his locker back up again so that he can hide there. He’s pretty skinny, he might be able to fit.

So they walk to Mr. Morales’ classroom. Logan’s the one talking, mostly; Virgil’s grateful for that, because he’d probably just be rambling nervously the whole time, and it’d be tempting fate to have his voice crack in front of Logan again. But now he can just listen to Logan’s various opinions about their summer reading for their English class, which is much safer. He sure has a lot of opinions about it, which makes Virgil sweat a little nervously—Logan sounds like he’s ready to sit down and write an essay about it, as if they’re going to have to, and Virgil’s pretty sure that if he sat down to take a multiple-choice quiz about that book right now he’d flunk it.

They end up not being assigned to sit next to each other. Mr. Morales says to just sit wherever, since they’re all going to go to an assembly once he takes attendance anyways, and that he probably won’t assign seats for the whole year.

And then Logan ends up sitting next to him anyways.

Like he really meant that he’d like to be next to Virgil in homeroom.

Mr. Morales smiles at them, and then, inexplicably, gives Logan a double thumbs up? And then Logan’s cheeks go kind of red? Logan turns his face away from Mr. Morales, turning to more fully face Virgil.

“You were in his class last year, right?” Virgil says.

“Erm, yeah. Yes. I was.” Logan clears his throat, turning away from him. “He supervises my study hall, too.” Then he mumbles, “also he’s my uncle.”

“He’s your uncle?” Virgil repeats. This is news to him.

“Through marriage,” Logan explains. “Mr. Regnant is my father’s brother.”

Mr. Regnant is the arts-and-music teacher, and, though they don’t talk about it very much (students do, but then, students always gossip), Mr. Morales’ husband.

Mr. Regnant is also, not that Virgil would ever tell him so, Virgil’s favorite teacher.

“Which dad?” Virgil says, because Logan’s two dads were basically his only version of real-life gay representation when they were really little. He knows Mr. Sanders better than Logan’s other dad. 

Mr. Sanders always volunteered to be part of the PTA moms who supervised them during holiday parties and field trips, though, looking back, he doesn’t think the PTA moms liked him very much. The kids, on the other hand, loved Mr. Sanders, who would treat them like very short adults and once a year would bring in his mamba Eve for kids to pet and hold.

Logan’s other Dad had been the one who encouraged the kids to throw paints and roll around in the mud and tear things up. Logan’s other Dad had come to supervise one holiday party and was politely asked to never do so again.

“Not Pa—I mean, Janus,” Logan says, looking briefly embarrassed. “He’s Dad’s—Remus’—twin brother.”

Virgil makes an “ohhh” sound, because that makes sense. Now he’s thinking about it, Mr. Regnant and Logan’s dad really do look alike, if one looked past their contrasting senses of style. 

“That’s cool, though,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “That you’re related, I mean. Mr. Morales is really nice.”

“Yes, he is,” Logan says. “It’s been a bit strange to adjust to calling him Mr. Morales instead of Uncle Patton, though.”

“Yeah, I guess it probably would be,” Virgil says. 

The bell rings, and Mr. Morales ushers them off to the assembly.

Logan sits down next to him on the bleachers at the assembly, too. Their knees bump together as they listen to the principal welcome them back from summer vacation and give some announcements.

And Logan keeps sitting down next to him.

At lunch, in their two shared classes, in homeroom. He wishes Virgil a good morning and good afternoon every day at their locker. As the months of the school year slowly creep by, Virgil definitely does kind of feel like crawling into his locker, sometimes, but less and less so, because.

Because he and Logan are kind of friends now.

Logan asks him about his favorite hot beverage and then starts bringing him chai when he and his uncles stop by a café before school. Virgil sketches out drawings of astronauts and space when Logan goes on a loving tirade about it that lasts, on-and-off, for a week. 

He still definitely has a crush on Logan. His increased presence near him is both a blessing and a curse.

They share earbuds and laugh at videos in homeroom, they sit quietly side-by-side and do their homework together in study hall. Virgil even tags along, sometimes, when Logan takes time out of his day to visit his uncles. His uncles always seem delighted whenever Virgil drops by, which Virgil guesses makes sense—Mr. Morales is just kind of Like That, and he’s been taking classes with Mr. Regnant since freshman year, and they’ve been sassing at each other for just about as long.

Logan makes those visits rare, though. He always seems a little self-conscious about how excited his uncles are during their visits, the way they elbow Logan and give him thumbs-ups and wiggle their eyebrows. Virgil doesn’t really get it—he thinks it’s nice that his uncles are so excited to see Logan with his friend.

But then his mom unexpectedly comes by and drops off his lunch and ruffles Virgil’s hair right in front of Logan, and Virgil spends the rest of the day going beet red even Logan assures him that it’s okay and he thinks it’s nice, something in his brain... clicks. A little bit. Even though it doesn’t make sense.

Does Logan...?

No, his brain tells him. There’s no way.

But Virgil keeps an eye out for the next week anyways.

On Monday, Logan’s uncles give him a ride to school and also drive him by the café, so Logan hands over a chai for Virgil. Virgil smiles and thanks him.

Have Logan’s ears always gone red whenever Virgil thanks him for bringing him tea?

On Tuesday, their fingers brush when Logan’s passing over a stack of notecards for Virgil to study for an upcoming exam during their study hall. Simultaneously, they look away from each other, redirecting their attention to their textbooks.

Have they always done that?

On Wednesday, Logan and Virgil swing by Mr. Morales’ classroom. After Virgil laughs at a somewhat sarcastic comment that Logan says, and redirects his attention to the sketch he’s been doing to turn in for approval for his end-of-semester art project, he peeks through his bangs to see Mr. Morales waving his hands eagerly, and Logan go red and gesture sharply for him to stop.

Has Mr. Morales always been so excited whenever he and Logan spend time in his classroom?

On Thursday, Logan seems chilled by the overenthusiastic air conditioning, so Virgil gives him a spare hoodie he had in his locker. Logan looks at him, looks away, and then proceeds to huddle in Virgil’s hoodie for the rest of the day, even after the school adjusts the temperature and it isn’t quite so cold.

By then, his brain saying no way! No way, you cannot afford to be wrong on this so you aren’t even going to try, there’s no way—

It’s after school on Thursday, and Virgil makes sure Logan has already gone home when he descends the stairs to Mr. Regnant’s art-and-music studio.

“Oh, Virgil, hey,” Mr. Regnant says, distracted, looking up from the sheet music he’s laying out across four desks. “Gimme a second, I’ve got the feedback for your sketch on my desk somewhere—”

Virgil looks to Mr. Regnant’s desk. He can’t even see the mug of pens on his desk that Virgil knows is there, it’s so buried in papers and models and paint palette piles. It’s like an avalanche waiting to happen.

“Uh, that’s not—you can give it to me tomorrow,” Virgil says awkwardly. “Um. That’s not why I’m here.”

Mr. Regnant blinks at him. “All right.”

“I,” he wipes his hands on his jeans and grimaces, not quite believing that he’s about to do this. “I need advice.”

Mr. Regnant pauses, before he manages to find an empty desk and sets down the sheet music. “Okay.”

“Before I say anything,” he says. “I need you to give me this advice as Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Regnant says. “Yeah, ‘course, Virgil. I’m always—”

“Mr. Regnant, faculty supervisor of the GSA club, is a separate person from Mr. Regnant, Logan’s Uncle Roman,” Virgil interrupts, twisting his fingers together anxiously. “Right?”

Mr. Regnant opens his mouth. Closes it. He gestures for Virgil to sit on one of the choir risers, settling there himself, but Virgil sits on the floor. This is a time in which floor-sitting is necessary.

“He could be,” Mr. Regnant says eventually.

“Well I need him to be,” Virgil snaps. “Okay?”

Mr. Regnant presses his lips together and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little higher pitched. His lips twitch and he clears his throat. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you’re about to laugh at me,” Virgil says, horrified. “I knew this was a terrible idea, forget it—”

“No!” Mr. Regnant says hastily. “No I’m not, no I’m not. I swear I’m not. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is not about to laugh.”

“Is Mr. Regnant Logan’s uncle about to laugh?!”

“I thought they were different people,” Mr. Regnant sasses back, seemingly on instinct, and Virgil buries his face in his hands and screams a little bit. Just a little bit.

“Shi—shoot, I mean shoot!” He says, and tugs lightly at Virgil’s arm. Virgil peeks at Mr. Regnant from between his fingers.

Mr. Regnant’s face is very serious. There is no more sign of lip-twitching, throat-clearing, or mirth in his eyes.

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is here and listening,” he says. “Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any relatives to speak of. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA does not have any twin brothers or nephews. What on earth even are those? Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA would have no idea. Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA doesn’t even have parents, or a husband, that’s how absolutely relative-less he is. Okay?”

“Mr. Regnant the faculty supervisor of the GSA is an asshole,” Virgil mutters.

“Faculty supervisor of the GSA is starting to not sound like words anymore,” Mr. Regnant says, “also, you are so lucky school is technically over, otherwise I would have totally given you a detention for language.”

“You’re such a hypocrite, you literally just almost swore.”

“Almost,” Mr. Regnant says, “is not the same as did. Now. What can I do for you, Virgil?”

Virgil takes a deep breath in.

“What do you do if you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

Mr. Regnant’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, but otherwise, he doesn’t react.

“You could talk to him?”

“Okay, maybe I should be more specific,” Virgil says, “What do you do if you have an anxiety disorder, and you think the boy you have a crush on likes you back?”

“I know you’re not gonna like this,” Mr. Regnant says, “but my answer is still you could talk to him.” 

He holds up a hand before Virgil can protest. “I know it can be scary, I know it can be anxiety-inducing. I know that can be a deterrent for a perfectly neurotypical person, let alone someone who’s got a diagnosed anxiety disorder. But, I mean. Your only options, as I see them, are, A, tell him, or B, sit quietly and wait for him to maybe make the first move.”

“But how can I be sure?” He says.

“Well, why do you think he likes you back?” Mr. Regnant says reasonably.

So Virgil tells him. Virgil tells him all about it—thinking he was cute since they were kids, then suddenly becoming friends this year: the chai, the sketches, the music listening, the blushing and the awkward chats, and how they’re friends now but Virgil still really likes him in a romantic way.

“Does that sound like he likes me back?” he asks anxiously. 

Mr. Regnant bites his lip. “As the faculty supervisor of the GSA? I think it could definitely be likely.”

“Likely?” Virgil wails.

“Well, as the faculty supervisor of the GSA,” Mr. Regnant enunciates carefully, “I can’t be certain.”

“I can’t go and tell him based on if it’s just likely! I need to be sure he likes me back or else there’s a chance he says he doesn’t like me and then I’m going to have a heart attack and die!”

“Virgil! As the faculty supervisor of the GSA! I really think you should go for it!”

Mr. Regnant looks like he’s about to reach out and start shaking Virgil by the shoulders. His eyes are huge, the way he always looks at actors onstage who have forgotten their lines, like by just staring at them he’ll be able to psychically impart the script to them.

“Forget it,” Virgil groans and reaches for his backpack, swinging it over his shoulders and standing up. “I’m doomed to suffer in silence. Thanks, I guess, I’ll see you in class tomorrow. Please don’t tell anyone I told you all this.”

As Virgil is closing the classroom door behind him, he’s pretty sure he hears Mr. Regnant screeching.

Honestly, Virgil should be the one screeching. He can’t believe he just told him all that—who knows if Mr. Regnant will be able to keep the information of a crush concerning his nephew to himself?!

⁂

“Okay, here’s your mocha-with-extra-espresso, please don’t tell your Dads,” Uncle Patton says cheerfully, passing back a to-go cup to Logan. “And the chai! I think it’s very sweet that you keep getting this for him, kiddo.”

“Gestures are a good way to express affection,” Logan says anxiously, carefully setting the chai in a cupholder. “I’ve been trying to vary my approaches based off the five love languages. I’m not sure if it’s working.”

Uncle Roman in the passenger seat, his arm thrown over his eyes, makes a sound of great discontent, the way he’s been doing for the past week whenever Uncle Patton has tried to give him any advice concerning Virgil.

“Are you okay, Uncle Roman?” Logan asks again.

“Thinking about being the faculty supervisor to the GSA,” Uncle Roman moans, as if in pain.

“Is the club schedule about to be particularly busy?” Logan asks, frowning. “You typically enjoy your work with the GSA.”

“You could say that,” Uncle Roman says tightly, then groans again.

“Well, if there’s anything I can do personally, in order to relieve any undue stress,” Logan begins, but is cut off by Uncle Roman shrieking.

“Um,” Logan says, looking to Uncle Patton, who snorts, shaking his head.

“He just, um,” Uncle Patton says. “Well, I think something’s happened, except he told me he can’t tell me what it is without betraying someone’s trust, so.”

“I see,” Logan says, frowning, except for the part where he doesn’t see, really. But that happens fairly frequently with Papa and Dad. Honestly, it’s rather curious that Uncle Roman has not acted in a way that seems strange to outsiders. Dad does it all the time, and they’re twins.

Oh, well. He’s sure he’ll understand eventually.

“I’m fine,” Uncle Roman says, and he sniffs loudly. “I’m fine, it’s all—fine.”

Uncle Patton pats his hand sympathetically, before directing their car to school.

Logan sips his drink, before he says idly, “I think I’m going to tell him I’ve had a crush him today.”

Uncle Roman immediately spews coffee onto the windshield in an impressive spit-take. It is hilarious. Even though Uncle Roman is choking a little. 

Uncle Patton meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, his eyes bright with excitement. “Really?!”

“Really,” Logan confirms. “I mean, it’s been—it’s been a couple months. We are friendly enough. I do not think that Virgil will discard our friendship if I confess that I have had a crush on him since last year.”

“Well!” Uncle Patton says, so flustered that he accidentally turns on the windshield wipers when he means to signal a turn, and then when he tries to fix that he turns on his hazard lights, before he manages to get the car under control again. “Well, that’s great, kiddo! I’m so excited for you!”

“You are the smartest kid I know,” Uncle Roman says, turning in his seat to face Logan, his expression near-worshipful. “I love you.”

“Um. Thank you?”

“I know you don’t believe in psychics, but are you—?”

“Why are you bringing up psychics?” Logan says, perplexed. “I figured—well, I’ll tell him. And it is time that the Halloween festival will begin this weekend. That seems like a date that Virgil would enjoy.”

“Right,” Uncle Roman says. “Okay. Well—go for it! Please go for it!”

“I have already told you I will,” he says. 

“I think it’s gonna go great if you go for it!”

Strange. Uncle Roman is acting as if he has had too much caffeine. As far as Logan is aware, the beverage they have just stopped to get is his first coffee of the day, and he does not metabolize the effects of coffee that quickly.

“Right,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses and taking a sip of his coffee. Then, “Right.”

Then, “What if he says he doesn’t like me back?”

Uncle Roman throws his arm across his eyes and makes that same groaning sound again.

Uncle Patton absentmindedly reaches over and bracingly rubs Uncle Roman’s thigh, again meeting Logan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Well, kiddo, if he says he doesn’t like you back,” he says, then frowns. “It’s understandable to be disappointed, or a little bit upset, but it’s important to accept his answer graciously and kindly. No means no. No is a full sentence. But Virgil seems like a very nice boy, I can’t imagine he’ll be very mean about it at all, and you two have gotten close over the past few months. It might be kind of awkward for a bit, but with a little work, your friendship will be able to survive it.”

“I suppose,” Logan says quietly, looking down at his lap.

“But,” Uncle Patton adds hastily, “I think the chances are really good for him saying yes to the date! We both do, don’t we, Roman?”

Uncle Roman lets out a very strangled “mm-hmm.”

Logan chews his lip, before he says timidly, “Can I borrow one of your phones to call my Dads?”

“Cupholder, just a bit in front of ya,” Patton says cheerfully. “You already know the password.”

Logan does. He swipes it in—his uncles’ wedding date—and presses on Papa’s contact number. Dad’s phone is lost more often than not, and almost always turns up in strange places, like inside the gateau he’d tried to make, or inside the neighbor’s rain gutters.

His father picks it up almost immediately.

“Patton, if this is about the adopt-a-thon, if I have told you once I have told you a thousand times—”

“Um, hi, Papa,” Logan says awkwardly; he does not want to get into the family squabble about sharing a pet between their households again. Eve is a sufficient pet, even if she’s not as cuddly as Uncle Patton might like.

His father’s voice transforms from chiding to concerned in a second. “Logan, is everything all right?”

“Yes, everyone is operating under adequate parameters,” Logan says. “Is Dad there?”

There’s the sound of something crashing in the background, as if on cue. Knowing Dad, it might have been.

“I’ll get him,” Papa says wearily.

He hears his Papa say Remus, our son is on the phone, please put down the—Uh, Jan, sexy-pie! I thought you were! On the way to work!—what the—REMUS, we’ve TALKED about this, how did you lay hands on a HERON—and then the conversation gets a good deal more muffled. He is pretty sure that Papa is shouting at Dad about capturing local wildlife again.

He waits patiently, before he hears the clatter of the phone being passed into someone’s hands, and Dad asks, “Did someone die?! Do you need help covering up a murder?!”

“Remus, please,” Papa groans, “the boy is too smart to implicate himself by opening the opportunity to be recorded over the phone lines.”

“That’s right, Logie-bear, the government is always watching,” Dad says solemnly. “Big brother, all hail. Also lean over and give my little brother a wet-willie for me, it’d be so funny—”

Logan, accustomed to conversations of this tone since birth, continues stolidly onward. “I’m going to tell Virgil I like him today.”

“Finally!” Dad hoots.

“That’s excellent, Logan,” Papa says placidly. “Please know that I am fully aware of the misogynistic roots of the what are your intentions discussion, and I’ve been doing research in order to make our version as feminist as possible. Also, your father has been warned to discuss minimal amounts of gore when he comes to our home.”

“What is the point of a shovel talk then!”

“We already agreed no shovel talk,” Papa says irritably. “When we threaten the boy, we’ll do it subtly.”

“Please don’t threaten him,” Logan says anxiously. “I don’t even know if he likes me back yet.”

“Of course he likes you back!” Dad says, outraged on his behalf. “Why the hell wouldn’t he like you back?!”

“How did you two know that you loved each other?” Logan asks. The question feels slightly childish, and he feels even more so when he curls up in his car seat, but he cannot deny the posture brings a certain level of comfort.

There’s a pregnant pause.

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Papa says.

“I’m sixteen in a matter of weeks!”

Dad makes an absurd gagging noise, because he is ridiculously averse to the concept of Logan (and therefore, himself and Papa) aging. Logan thinks that it might have to do with a latent existential crisis, but he has not asked, because knowing Dad, he will spin it out into thirteen separate absurd reasons, and ten of them will make Logan cringe away, repulsed.

“Trust my judgment on this,” Papa says. “You do not want to know the origins of how our romance developed. However, when we actually had the discussion concerning feelings, your father—”

“I wrote him a beautiful letter in my best calligraphy,” Dad says proudly, then, “You probably don’t want to hear about the ink, do you?”

“Is it disgusting?” Logan asks warily.

“Quite, but,” then, in a voice that literally every other person wouldn’t realize is Papa’s version of profound sappiness, “that’s your father.” 

There is the sound of kissing. Logan resists the urge to make a gagging noise of his own, because somehow, he is the mature one in the entire family.

“As it is, just,” Papa says, then sighs. “I cannot believe I am about to give such... Pattonish advice. But. As it is, just be yourself. If this boy likes you back—”

“—as he should, and if he doesn’t he’s in desperate need of a lobotomy,” Dad mutters.

“—then he will like you for you, just the way you are,” Papa says, as if Dad had not said anything remotely worrying. “Tap into your strengths, Logan. You are intelligent, and observant, and thoughtful—”

“—and the best son there is—”

“Well, that goes without saying, clearly,” Papa says. “As long as your confession comes from you, then there is no way that it can go wrong. You are simply too excellent a person for it not to.”

“Even if it turns out he doesn’t like me?” Logan says timidly.

“If it does, then have your uncle forge an excuse note for you to get out of school early today and we’ll plot accordingly,” Papa says evasively. “But I do not think that outcome likely.”

Logan chews his lip. Papa is the best liar he knows, but—

But hearing his encouragement is too comforting to really analyze if he is lying.

“Thanks, Dads.”

“Knock him dead, kid!” Dad shouts. “And if he doesn’t then I will!”

“What did we just say about discussing potential evidence over the phone lines,” Papa scolds, and Logan hangs up, smiling.

Just be yourself.

Uncle Pattonish advice it may be, it has given him an idea.

⁂

Waiting over this past week to see if Mr. Regnant will crack and spill to Mr. Morales, or even worse, Logan himself, has been absolutely agonizing and Virgil’s kicking himself over going to Mr. Regnant for advice surrounding Logan at all.

That morning, though, Mr. Morales is at his desk, and a chai is waiting for Virgil at their usual spot, but Logan is nowhere to be seen. Virgil tries his hardest not to act too much like he’s keeping an eye out for Logan, but he is pretty sure he’s not succeeding, because Mr. Morales is smiling at him way too wide.

He actually seems really excited about something. Like, Mr. Morales usually gets excited when it’s fresh chocolate chip cookie day at lunch, but this is beyond the pale for fresh chocolate chip cookie day. Maybe the assembly they have today is something special? Except Virgil’s pretty sure it’s to pass out honors for the last quarter and talk about fall sports. That’s nothing particularly special.

Logan slides into his seat just before the bell rings, though, wrapping a rubber band around one of his notecard stacks. It’s a thin stack, it must be for something that’s just started; usually Logan compiles every unit of every class into thick stacks, able to be differentiated by the different colors of the notecards. These are just basic white ones.

He fiddles with it, darting looks to Virgil as Patton takes attendance, and, as they’re all filing out of the door, Logan holds out the stack of notecards.

“Here,” he blurts out.

Virgil blinks. “I don’t think we have a test soon?”

“They’re not for a test,” Logan says. “Just—take them. Read them during assembly. Please,” he adds belatedly.

“Uh,” Virgil says and takes them. “Okay?”

“Okay!” Logan says and nods. “Okay. Okay. Great! Um—please take your time to consider them carefully, and I await your response,” and then he practically runs off to fall into line near Mr. Regnant.

So that’s... weird.

But Virgil sticks the notecards into his hoodie pocket, anyways, ready to read them during assembly like Logan directed.

He waits until the principal is droning on about the importance of school spirit to take the notecards out of his pocket.

He spares a glance for Logan—who is several rows ahead, near the faculty, sitting next to Mr. Morales and Mr. Regnant, Mr. Morales occasionally reaching over to rub Logan’s shoulder bracingly—and then angles the notecards so that a teacher looking into the crowd wouldn’t really be able to see them.

He stares at the title on the top notecard. Blinks hard. Blinks again. Looks down at Logan’s back, then back to the notecard.

Reasons why I have a crush on Virgil.

He reaches over to pinch himself. Nope. Not dreaming, then.

And Logan really doesn’t seem like the type of person to make a joke like this.

He flips the cards and reads them slowly, savoring each and every word written in Logan’s blocky, neat script.

He is exceptionally witty.

He is knowledgeable about a great many things, such as music, art, spiders, novels, and mental health issues.

He is sarcastic.

He is thoughtful and deliberate in the formation of his opinions, even ones as small as the proper preparation of chai.

He is very handsome.

He is never rude without reason, and when he is rude, it is usually because the other person is “an asshole” and should be receiving backlash.

He is a remarkably talented artist.

Virgil keeps reading on, he is, he is, he is...

When he gets to the end—I would like to take you on a date. I would also like to be boyfriends, though I understand if you would like to table that conversation until we have established a rapport. Please let me know if you would be amenable to that suggestion.—he feels kind of dizzy. His throat is tight, his heart is pounding, and his hands are so sweaty he’s had to wipe them off on his jeans twice already.

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would think of him so highly? 

It’s like he’s describing someone entirely different—awkward, anxious Virgil couldn’t possibly be the snarky, witty, caring, deep-thinking guy that Logan’s writing about. There’s just no way. But, Virgil thinks, heart twisting, but Logan doesn’t lie about things like this. Is this the way Logan sees him?

Is it really possible that someone as wonderful as Logan would have a crush on him at all?

He likes Virgil. He wants to take Virgil on a date. He wants Virgil to be his boyfriend.

There’s the rumbling of everyone standing up from the bleachers, and Virgil jumps—has it really been the entire assembly?—and hastily gets to his feet, so he won’t get swept up in the crowd of students returning to their classrooms.

As he’s heading for the door, Logan practically materializes in front of him, hugging his books tightly to his chest.

“Did you read them?” He asks fretfully. Now that Virgil’s close to him, face-to-face, he isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Logan so nervous. He isn’t sure if he’s seen Logan nervous at all. Logan’s shifting his weight from foot to foot, drumming his fingers on his books, holding the books like they’re a teddy bear.

“Do you,” Virgil says, his voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “You really like me?”

“Since last year,” Logan admits.

“I’ve liked you since kindergarten,” Virgil blurts out.

Logan blinks at him, jaw dropping. Then he says, “Really?!”

“Really,” Virgil promises. “My mom has this journal entry saved where I kept writing about how I was going to be Mr. Virgil Sanders, oh my God, she’s going to be so embarrassing about this—”

Logan snorts, ducking his head. “You’ve withstood my uncles handily.”

“Your uncles are cool, though,” Virgil says, confused.

“My uncles are embarrassing,” Logan says, “and my Dads are going to be so weird, I’m very sorry in advance, but—but if you can handle all of that, then I’d—I’d really like to take you out to the Halloween festival. I’d really really like that.”

Virgil’s smiling so wide that it hurts his face. “I’d really really like that too.”

And then the bell rings, and the pair of them jump at the sudden loud noise.

“I—we have to go to class,” Logan says, sounding very put out.

“Yeah,” Virgil says, then, “I’ll see you at lunch?”

Logan beams at him. “Lunch sounds wonderful.”

Virgil hesitates, before he reaches out and places a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He leans in and presses his lips to Logan’s cheek.

Logan’s bright red when he pulls away.

“Lunch?” Virgil confirms.

“Lunch,” Logan squeaks out, his voice cracking.

They emerge from under the bleachers, and have to split ways. Even when Mr. Regnant pulls him out into the hall under the guise of talking about his project and starts whisper-shouting about “do you know how HARD IT WAS to keep QUIET when i KNEW all along that you both LIKED each other bacK,” even when Mr. Morales ducks his head into his math class to pass over papers and gives Virgil some super-obvious thumbs up, even after he texts his Mom and his mom sends him screenfuls of exclamation points and immediately asks him to invite Logan over so that she can show Logan all of Virgil’s baby pictures—

Virgil cannot stop smiling.

[brockadoodles]

Heartbreak and a New Tattoo - w. nylander

AN: Uhhhhhhhh. Definitely didn’t intend on posting a fic tonight but, cranked this out. It started off as meaning to be fluffy and cute but uh, my angsty cold heart said no? I’m trying to be better about writing shorter stuff, so let me know what you think! I’m gonna tag @broadstbroskis​ and @jasondickinsonss​ since they’re my resident willy pals. 

Word Count: 2653

Warnings: Angst, happy ending though. 

No one warned you that you would lose a piece of yourself when you fell in love. They didn’t caution you about how for every good moment, the ones that make your head spin and your heart race, there would be a chip of your own sense of person falling away. They didn’t tell you that after four years with someone, you slip into their habits, nestling tightly into their life. So much so that you aren’t even sure what direction you’re facing, because everything around you was built by him. It wasn’t that William did anything wrong. In fact, he did everything a partner should. His life was logistically a chaotic nightmare, each step felt like he was balancing on a rope, trying to get to the other side. But he was good at it, he always prioritized you, even when it was hard. The only problem was that he didn’t know the very rope he was stuck on was fraying. 

It had started small, the cracks between you. The calls during road trips became shorter, less engaged. By the time either of you realized what was happening, it was just two people who once aligned into one breathing on a deadline out of obligation because it felt like that was what you were supposed to do. By the time you realized that the person you thought you were, wasn’t anyone recognizable without William by your side, you irresponsibly thought that it was time to let go. So, you let go of the visions of marriage and a family, of the house you dreamed of building together once things settled down, of the thoughts of the holidays spent together, each one more special than the last. You let it all go, taking a seam ripper to the last bits of thread connecting your souls. You couldn’t decide what hurt worse, the demise of what you thought was forever, or the fact that William didn’t put up a fight as you packed your things and left. 

William didn’t know what hit him when you muttered that you were leaving. He was so sure it had to be a mistake, that there had to be some piece of information missing that would fix everything. He felt his chest caving in, the weight of you packing your bags codifying a new language into his head, one that didn’t include you. He spent weeks circling through the last few months before you ended it. Writing down and analyzing every fight, every night spent without talking to each other when he was gone, trying to piece together what moment made you leave. What he could have done to save the very thing that was destined to fall apart no matter how much super glue he tried to stick to it. You needed to find yourself again, and no matter how badly he longed to help you, he needed to let you go. 

When William came back into Toronto in September, he was incessantly telling himself that he was doing better, that the fresh season would throw him back into a familiar enough routine that he could finally adjust to life without you. But familiarity breeds nostalgia, and nostalgia controlled the heartbreak he had spent the last few months trying to let go of. It wasn’t until he was back in the apartment that you shared that the resentment stage of his grief had tucked into his heart. 

The resentment was the worst part of the breakup. Because he didn’t want to resent anything about you. He had gotten four years to love you as best as he could, and he didn’t want to replace all of the memories of love with a feeling of regret. He didn’t regret loving you, even if it ended the way that it had. He didn’t regret thinking he was going to marry you, and when he finally moved on from the resentment stage of grief, he realized that sometimes you can put your all into someone and they simply might not be able to give you all of it back. He was slowly starting to thread the foundation of a new rope, he was starting to move on. But when he saw you standing there in your dark blue dress, your hair a bit shorter than the last time he had seen you, talking to Steph, he dropped the newly constructed rope off the ledge. 

You on the other hand were spending your summer trying to piece together the remaining fragments of your own being, the person who you were before you met William. You were doing okay, as okay as someone could be when they had just ended a four-year relationship with the person that they assumed would be the one. You spent months lying to yourself about being okay. You spent months trying to convince yourself that you didn’t make a mistake, that you didn’t leave because you couldn’t handle being honest with him about how you were feeling. 

It was October and you knew he was back in the city. Hockey had started which meant that his presence was now one you actively had to avoid. You took the long way into the city and back home most days, actively avoiding the arena, knowing that being there would be too much. This half-hearted way of living in the city you called home was manageable, until December when you finally had the courage to unpack the remaining boxes from the home you shared together. 

You were going through a notebook when it fell out, Mitch and Steph’s wedding invitation from over a year ago now. You picked up the card, eyes welling with the tears you had shoved down for the last six months as you remembered that weekend. The weekend you realized Will was your person. 

“I can’t believe you and Mitch are finally getting married.” You hummed to Steph as you slid off your heels and collapsed onto the hotel bed. You had always admired Mitch and Steph, their relationship was one that was the definition of two people who fit together seamlessly, and made the choice to make it work between them. It wasn’t a fairytale or a whirlwind, it was real and raw and you couldn’t be happier as you laid in that hotel bed, dress and makeup still on, half-drunk from the overpriced cocktails that the boys kept flowing after they crashed the bachelorette party, that two of your closest friends were getting married in just two days. 

“God, I know. Is it weird I’m not nervous about it at all?” Steph called from around the corner. You stood up, your feet slightly throbbing from being in heels all night and your mind feeling a bit fuzzy from the drinks as you rounded the corner and saw her taking off her makeup in the mirror. 

“No, you and Mitch are just right, ya know? It works.” You looked at her hand, eyes shifting to the diamond sitting perfectly on her ring finger, sparkly and bright and perfect for her. You grabbed your phone from the counter where you had left it earlier in the evening, not wanting to bring it out with you while you and the girls celebrated with Steph. You looked at the home screen, a small notification catching your eye as you unlocked the phone and hit play on the voicemail. Steph grabbed the phone from your hand, a knowing smile on her face as she turned the volume on the speaker up, William’s voice filling the small hallway before you had the chance to stop it. 

“Hey baby, you’re probably back in the room by now. I just wanted to say that you looked amazing tonight, and I know we can’t be together tonight because of the traditions and all that, but I love you and will be thinking of you.” 

Steph handed you the phone back, a stupid smirk evident on her face that you were pretending to ignore. You went back toward your suitcase, sliding the dress off of your body and throwing on one of Willy’s old sweatshirts and a pair of shorts. You sat on the bed, fingers hovering over your phone as you thought of a message to type back to your boyfriend, a smile lingering on your cheeks from his message. 

“You know what he said to me the night he met you? Granted, he was shitfaced, but I still think it’s relevant.” Steph smirked as she came around the corner, crawling onto the other side of the bed and turning to face you. You rolled your eyes at her and set your phone down, ignoring her slightly as she started speaking again,

“He told me ‘I’m gonna marry her one day Stephanie, just wait.’” 

You let yourself cry over that memory, and for the first time since the breakup, you realized that you were worse off without him, that you had ended something entirely too good for reasons you didn’t understand. You picked up the phone to call more times than you could count, only to set it back down again, torturing yourself with the idea that you had made your decision, and you needed to lay with it.

You were in such a daze when he walked up to you, nerves settling into your stomach at the sight of him. He didn’t look like your Willy anymore, he looked like a hollow version of the man you still were hopelessly in love with, the one that you ultimately played the biggest hand in breaking. You followed him without a word when he asked you if you could talk because the truth was that you would follow William anywhere if it meant that maybe you could get a piece of him back. 

It was awkward for a few moments, both of you riddled with nerves, wondering who was going to dare to break first and say what they were truly thinking about. It was agonizing, being so close to him for the first time in such a long time, and it only made your own doubts about leaving him to come back to your chest in full force. William grabbed your hand quickly, threading his fingers through yours before finally speaking, being the first one to crack the eggshells that you were both walking on. 

“Do you sleep well without me? Because I don’t. I don’t think I’ve slept since June when you left.” He said, head hanging down as if the words he was speaking were in some way shameful. Your heart wanted to break for him because you had been in the same situation for so long, nights feeling long and empty without him there. But part of you was almost feeling some weird sense of satisfaction at knowing he was hurting just as badly as you. You weren’t surprised he dove right in, head first. It was what he always did. He had known you for so long, there wasn’t a point in dancing around saying he missed you now that he had the chance to tell you so, he had already been doing enough to push it away on his own. He didn’t want to keep pushing something that he was starting to realize wasn’t meant to go away. 

“No, willy. I haven’t slept well since we broke up.” You shook your head, opting to tell the truth because up until this point, lying to pretend you were fine had only left you empty, with a broken heart that you didn’t know how to heal. 

“I stayed up until 6 am just because at least then if I called you might be awake. I felt like I was watching myself just get worse and worse, and all I wanted was you. I’m not supposed to want you anymore, William.” 

“I would have answered, I would always answer.” 

“It’s not the same, you know it’s not.” William sighed softly at your words as he let them run in tedious circles through his head. He had spent the better part of the last six months missing you and replaying the events from the summer wondering if you were both wrong for what had happened. Your love story had been like a journey by train, exciting when you’re young and tiring when you get older. It was great until one of you, who could even remember who at this point, had gotten off during a stop and the other one continued on the journey alone and by the time you both reached the final destination, the two different trips couldn’t merge into one anymore. But the problem was that maybe the final destination was all wrong, maybe you were supposed to get off the train because now you could come back together and start a different trip together, one that isn’t tiring when you’re older. 

He looked over at you quickly and let his eyes linger on the features of your face, the ones he used to have memorized hidden by the obvious toll the breakup had taken on you, too. He couldn’t help but think about how if he were to take one look in a mirror that he had been avoiding for the past six months, he probably wouldn’t recognize himself either. 

“I tried to call you,” he started, voice tentative and unsure as you turned to look at him. Your eyes were blurry, and your mind nearly blacked out at the five words he just spoke. Five words that maybe could change everything, or perhaps they would have if you had seen the call in the first place. You tilted your head softly as William ran his hand through his hair. 

“But, your voicemail was full.” You looked away from him, the pain in your chest creeping back in as you took in his second set of five words. Your voicemail, the one that had been filled with messages from him, from times where you were happy, and from drunken nights after the breakup where he sometimes would call and all you would hear on the other end was silence. 

“I couldn’t bring myself to delete them, I just wanted a place where I would be able to hear your voice and have it be just for me,” you smiled sadly, letting the tears blur your vision as you stood up. You didn’t know what to do, this all felt suffocating and overwhelming and yet definitive at the same time. This was it, you were either getting William back, or you were letting him go forever. The choice should have been a simple one and yet it was almost more complicated than the initial choice to breakup had been because at least when you did that, you both thought it was what you wanted. Now you were presented with either putting your heart out in the open, tossing it carefully to the person you had known for so long and putting your trust in him to catch it, or you were running the risk of him dropping it and leaving you crumbled on the floor as you tried to pick up the remnants of whatever would be left after a fumble that big. 

“I spent Christmas without you, please don’t make me spend New Years without you, too.” 

“I don’t want to spend any day without you again.” You whispered, resting your hand on his cheek. William smiled at you and pulled you close into his chest. He tilted your head up and connected his lips to yours, something that you both had spent the last six months missing. You settled into him, feeling your fears melt with each moment that passed. The breakup had left heartache in both of you, but it was necessary to put your real love into permanent ink on both of your chests. A new start, one without heartbreak and with a new tattoo. 

[c-is-for-circinate]

Something that’s been very interesting to me, in this new wave of post-miniseries Good Omens fandom, is the apparent fannish consensus that Crowley is, in fact, bad at his job.  That he’s actually quite nice.  That he’s been skating by hiding his general goodness from hell by taking credit for human evil and doling out a smattering of tiny benign inconveniences that he calls bad.

I get the urge towards that headcanon, and I do think the Crowley in the miniseries comes off as nicer than the one in the book.  (I think miniseries Crowley and Aziraphale are both a little nicer, a little more toothless, than the versions of themselves in the book.)  But maybe it’s because I was a book fan first, or maybe it’s because I just find him infinitely more interesting this way--I think Crowley, even show!Crowley, has the capacity to be very good at his job of sowing evil.  And I think that matters to the story as a whole.

A demon’s job on Earth, and specifically Crowley’s job on Earth, isn’t to make people suffer.  It’s to make people sin.  And the handful of ‘evil’ things we see Crowley do over the course of the series are effective at that, even if the show itself doesn’t explore them a lot.

Take the cell phone network thing, for instance.  This gets a paragraph in the book that’s largely brushed off in the conversation with Hastur and Ligur, and I think it’s really telling: 

What could he tell them?  That twenty thousand people got bloody furious?  That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city?  And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people?  In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves.  For the rest of the day.  The pass-along effects were incalculable.  Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you hardly had to lift a finger.

In essence, without any great expenditure of effort (look, I’d never say Crowley isn’t slothful, but that just makes him efficient), he’s managed to put half of London in a mental and emotional state that Crowley knows will make them more inclined to sin.  He’s given twenty thousand or a hundred thousand or half a million people a Bad Day.  Which, okay, it’s just a bad day--but bad days are exhausting.  Bad days make you snap, make you fail at things, make you feel guiltier and more stressed out in the aftermath when you wake up the next day, makes everything a little worse.  Bad days matter.

Maybe it’s because I’m a believer in the ripple effect of small kindnesses, and that means I have to believe in its opposite.  Maybe it’s just that I, personally, have had enough days that were bad enough that a downed cell network (or an angry coworker because of a downed cell network) would honestly have mattered.  But somebody who deliberately moves through the world doing their best to make everyone’s lives harder, with the aim of encouraging everybody around them to be just a little crueler, just a little angrier, just a little less empathetic--you know what, yes.  I do call that successful evil.

It’s subtle, is the thing.  That’s why Hastur and Ligur don’t get it, don’t approve of it.  Not because Crowley isn’t good at his job, but because we’ve seen from the beginning that Hastur and Ligur are extremely out of touch with humanity and the modern world and just plain aren’t smart enough to get it.  It’s a strategy that relies on understanding how humans work, what our buttons are and how to press them.  It’s also a strategy that’s remarkably advanced in terms of free will.  Hastur and Ligur deliberately tempt and coerce and entrap individuals into sinning, but Crowley never even gets close.  We never see him say to a single person, ‘hey, I’ve got an idea for you, why don’t you go do this bad thing?’  He sets up conditions to encourage humans to actually do the bad things they’re already thinking of themselves.  He creates a situation and opens it up to the results of free choice.  Every single thing a person does after Crowley’s messed with them is their own decision, without any demonic coercion to blame for any of it.

You see it again in the paintball match.  "They wanted real guns, I gave them what they wanted.”  In this case, Crowley didn’t need to irritate anybody into wanting to do evil--the desire to shoot and hurt and maybe even kill their own coworkers was already present in every combatant on that paintball field.  Crowley just so happened to be there at exactly the right time to give them the opportunity to turn that fleeting, kind-of-bad-but-never-acted-upon desire into real, concrete, attempted murder.  Sure, nobody died--where would be the fun in a pile of corpses?  But now forty-odd people who may never have committed a real act of violence in their entire lives, caught in a moment of weakness with real live weapons in their hands, will get to spend the rest of their lives knowing that given the opportunity and the tiniest smidgen of plausible deniability, they are absolutely the sort of people who could and would kill another human being they see every single day over a string of petty annoyances.

Crowley understands the path between bad thought and evil action.  He knows it gets shorter when somebody is upset or irritated, and that it gets shorter when people practice turning one into the other.  He understands that sometimes, removing a couple of practical obstacles is the only nudge a person needs--no demonic pressure or circumvention of free will required.

I love this interpretation, because I love the idea that Crowley, who’s been living on Earth for six thousand years, actually gets people in a way no other demon can.  I love the idea that Crowley, the very first tempter, who was there when free will was invented, understands how it works and how to use it better than maybe anyone else.  And I really love the idea that Crowley our hero, who loves Aziraphale and saves the world, isn’t necessarily a good guy.

There’s a narrative fandom’s been telling that, at its core, is centered around the idea that Crowley is good, and loves and cares and is nice, and always has been.  Heaven and its rigid ideas of Right and Wrong is itself the bad thing.  Crowley is too good for Heaven, and was punished for it, but under all the angst and pain and feelings of hurt and betrayal, he’s the best of all of them after all.

That’s a compelling story.  There’s a reason we keep telling it.  The conflict between kindness and Moral Authority, the idea that maybe the people in charge are the ones who’re wrong and the people they’ve rejected are both victim and hero all at once--yeah.  There’s a lot there to connect with, and I wouldn’t want to take it away from anyone.  But the compelling story I want, for me, is different.

I look at Crowley and I want a story about someone who absolutely has the capacity for cruelty and disseminating evil into the world.  Somebody who’s actually really skilled at it, even if all he does is create opportunities, and humans themselves just keep living down to and even surpassing his expectations.  Somebody who enjoys it, even.  Maybe he was unfairly labeled and tossed out of heaven to begin with, but he’s embraced what he was given.  He’s thrived.  He is, legitimately, a bad person.

And he tries to save the world anyway.

He loves Aziraphale.  He helps save the entire world.  Scared and desperate and determined and devoted, he drives through a wall of fire for the sake of something other than himself.  He likes humans, their cleverness, their complexities, the talent they have for doing the same sort of evil he does himself, the talent they have for doing the exact opposite.  He cares.

It’s not a story about someone who was always secretly good even though they tried to convince the whole world and themself that they weren’t.  It’s a story about someone who, despite being legitimately bad in so many ways, still has the capacity to be good anyway.  It’s not about redemption, or about what Heaven thinks or judges or wants.  It’s about free will.  However terrible you are or were or have the ability to be, you can still choose to do a good thing.  You can still love.  You can still be loved in return.

And I think that matters.

[bondsmagii]

Rat—what is your theory about the dyatlov pass incident? I know you’ve talked about what it can’t be, but I wanna know what /you/ think happened based on what the evidence shows.

[gets out journal entry where I went Off™ about what I believe happened here] alright. so. brace yourself because this is long but it’s worth it.

what I really think happened is actually a really cool weather phenomenon, and I actually think this is just as scary if not more unnerving than the paranormal explanations. basically there’s a phenomenon known as a Kármán Vortex Street, which is where wind rushing over the summit of a dome-shaped mountain (so a gentle curve rather than a spiky point) is altered by the shape of the mountain to the extent that the vortex (think the twisting movement of air that causes tornadoes, caused by a powerful wind sheer from friction on the mountain) flips onto its side. this results in two powerful twin tornadoes that are very brief in appearance, but possess all the strength of a regular tornado.

the hikers involved with the Dyatlov Pass incident were camped on a slope right below the domed summit of the mountain. I believe that the Kármán Vortex Street phenomenon caused strong tornado-strength winds to rush down the mountain either side of where the tent was pitched, and anyone who knows anything about tornadoes knows they’re loud. it would have seemed like hell itself was roaring past that tent. would this be enough to send several experienced hikers running into the wilderness, though? no, probably not. there’s something else here: something that we probably all have some experience with.

tornadoes can cause infrasound -- a noise that is too low for humans to pick up on, but has proven psychological and physiological effects. many mild hauntings can probably be attributed to infrasound. ever been in a house where things feel off, you feel weird or anxious, there’s a strong permeating sense of dread? if there’s no other sign of a haunting, it’s probably infrasound. it can be caused in urban environments by traffic, vibrations, pipes, all kinds of things. in nature, wind can cause it. severe infrasound is psychologically unbearable. your body reacts to it: you become nauseous, you develop a headache, you feel completely wrong. your mind reacts to it: as the infrasound continues you grow nervous, and then panicky, until you’re experiencing outright terror. something is wrong, and you know it. fight or flight kicks in. you can’t fight it because there’s nothing there -- all you know is something is wrong, and bad, and evil. so you run away from it.

picture the scene. you’re in a tent on a remote mountain. you’re feeling pretty good, because you’re with your experienced friends and you’ve done hikes far more dangerous than this. you’re all chilling out, resting, having some food, preparing yourselves for the next day. outside the wind is picking up, but the tent is firmly pitched and you have nothing to worry about. except, the wind is really picking up. as in, it sounds like a freight train is rumbling past the tent. it’s loud. it’s scarily loud. you’re all confused, because there were no storms predicted for the area and if you looked outside you would see a clear starry sky. you don’t look outside, though, because something is out there. you can hear it rushing past the tent, first on one side, and then on the other. the sound is deafening; it’s a roar, like something alive. you also feel sick. your head is pounding, the pressure behind your eyes and nose unbearable. the nausea is getting worse, and you have a deep sense that something is terribly wrong with you. you look at your friends, wondering if you should say something, but they don’t look so good, either. did you eat something bad? are you being poisoned by your portable cooker? your sense of dread is growing, and you begin to feel panicky. your breathing is getting shorter, your heartrate increasing. adrenaline is setting in, and you know you’re in danger. you’re not sure what the danger is, but you cannot ignore your own responses. your panic is turning to fear, and gradually to a primal terror. you look at your friends, wanting to reassure yourself that you’re making it up, or having a panic attack for some reason, and that there’s no merit to your fears, but upon looking at them you’re not reassured. your friends -- all of them talented, experienced outdoorsmen -- look just as terrified as you. this confirms your worst fears. all of you know something is wrong. you are in imminent danger. your instincts are telling you to run or you will die. you don’t bother to grab coats, shoes, anything. you cut through the tent in your panic, not wasting time with the zip. you need to go now. you all scramble out of the tent and run into the night. you run off the slope and into the trees, and gradually -- quicker than you would have thought -- you begin to calm down. the noise is a dull sound in the background now, not the monstrous roar you thought. now, you can clearly tell it’s wind. just the wind. your dread is fading. your headache and nausea is receding. you and some of your friends laugh a little, make fun of yourselves. you decide to go back to the tent. only it’s dark, and it’s very cold, and you’re barely dressed. you’re already shivering violently. you’re not sure which way the tent is in the complete darkness. you don’t have long before you freeze to death, but in the darkness you can’t tell where the ravine is, either. some of your friends fall down it. some of them freeze. none of you find your way back to the tent.

it is terrifying, how easily this could happen. perhaps it still seems a little implausible -- I could understand why. I mean, wind and a weird inaudible noise, right? doesn’t seem that bad. I would have perhaps been less convinced by this theory if I didn’t have personal experience to draw on.

for those of you who don’t know: I live in the mountains. this is a close-up of the summit of the mountain closest to my house, photographed from my hallway window.

as you can see, it is dome-shaped. reading this theory reminded me of something that happens frequently during the change of the seasons: at the coming of spring and the coming of autumn, I often find myself lying awake at night too anxious to sleep. it’s not a normal kind of anxiety, either. it’s a terrible, verge-on-panic-attack, something-is-horrible-wrong kind of anxiety. often I find myself getting up and pacing the house, convinced my gut instinct is telling me something is very wrong. I also often find myself nauseous or headachy. something I didn’t notice until I read this theory, however, is that every time this happens, there’s a windstorm outside. and once the wind dies down, my anxiety and nausea and headache vanishes. it’s quite clear that the wind passing over this mountain is causing infrasound, and if the way the wind sometimes throws itself against the house hard enough to rattle things on shelves inside, I’m liable to believe that on occasion some mild version of Kármán Vortex Street might be in effect. and I can tell you it’s fucking terrifying. sometimes it’s honestly all I can do to not have an actual panic attack, the sense of dread and something is wrong! is so strong.

I have to wonder, if this is how I feel safe inside my house with space to move around and a TV to distract me and -- most importantly -- knowledge of this phenomena, how might I feel if I didn’t know about it, and I was in a tent on a lonely mountainside with several equally terrified friends? I can easily see how it happened.

[scoutception]

A look at: Moon.

Writing reviews is always a learning experience for me, and one of the important things I’ve learned is that, sometimes, it’s pretty hard to write about certain individual games, visual novels, or such considering the kind of detail I like to go into. Therefore, this will be the first in a new series of mini reviews, or as mini as they get with me. Maybe there’s just not enough to a game to really give me details to dig into, or maybe it’s difficult to talk about without giving away more than I wish, or maybe there’s just something related to it that I’m more interested in talking about than the actual product; whatever the reason, these will hopefully be less rambly and excessive than my usual reviews, while still giving enough of an overview that they stand as proper reviews on their own. Either way, the subject of this post is an old, obscure visual novel from 1997 with a bit of history to it, called Moon.

Moon was developed by Tactics, a humble developer of adult visual novels, and was the second one developed by them, with the first, Dōsei, seemingly just being, well, a plain H-game, and the third, One ~To the Radiant Season~, while still obscure, is actually fairly notable for being a prototype to Kanon in a lot of ways, as many key staff at Tactics would later break off to form Key afterwards, with them having also worked on Moon beforehand. Thus, Moon is in a very interesting spot when it comes to the progression of the developers that would change VNs as a genre with the release of Kanon, and that’s really the only reason I checked it out.

Moon follows Ikumi Amasawa, a girl who joins a mysterious organization called Fargo, which recruits others with the promise of acquiring an alleged “invisible strength” that can put one far ahead of ordinary humans, in order to investigate their possible connections to the murder of her mother, and if possible, take revenge on the ones responsible. Upon arriving at the Fargo facility, Ikumi quickly befriends two other initiates with ulterior motives of their own for joining: Haruka Mima, a determined girl with a cool attitude who keeps her goal to herself, and Yui Nakura, a cheerful, but naive girl who’s seeking to bring home her older sister, who joined Fargo several months prior. Though the three agree to become allies and help each other achieve their goals, they are quickly separated in different “classes” housed in different buildings, with Ikumi being assigned to Class A, the most prestigious of them all. Settling into her new life as a Fargo initiate, which mostly consists of “training” with the Minmes and Elpod, machines that confront her with various parts of her very troubled past for the purpose of “mental reinforcement” in the form of a vengeful doppelganger of herself, Ikumi gradually discovers many strange things about her situation, such as there only being one other member of Class A, that being Youko Kanuma, a quiet, cold woman who has been part of Fargo for many years. Additionally, Ikumi is forced to share her room with a strange boy who doesn’t volunteer his name, who, though part of Fargo itself, is quite low ranking, and more than a bit dim witted at times. Worst of all, upon finding a passage that allows her to access the buildings where her allies are kept, Ikumi finds that the other classes are subjected to horrific abuses by Fargo’s personnel in order to further their mental reinforcement. As Ikumi struggles to aid her allies however she can, the confrontations with her past begin to put a heavy strain on her mind, and the existence of the invisible strength Fargo claims to have starts to become more and more plausible.

Needless to say, Moon isn’t exactly Clannad. I did not know much about this VN before I got into it, and finding it to be a psychological horror VN was a bit of a shock. Even more of a shock was just what form the majority of the horror came in. You see, even though One ~To the Radiant Season~, Kanon, and Air were all released as adult games, the h-scenes are very disconnected from the plot, most of the time, to the point of losing nothing from skipping them or even removing them from the game, and were pretty much just obligatory inclusions to help them sell better. From Clannad onward, most Key VNs have been clean to start. With Moon, on the other hand, you can’t go 5 minutes without running into some explicit scene, the main source being the Elpod sequences and the abuses the Fargo personnel inflict, and it wastes no time getting to them, at that. This is the biggest thing that drives off many of the few who go out of their way to experience Moon, and even with me having just watched an understandably censored playthrough of this on Youtube due to its shorter length, I almost quit very early into it, and definitely would have if I had actually played it. The Elpod is one thing, as the sequences are used for the purpose of developing Ikumi, but even then, most of them are just excessively disgusting more than disturbing, and that goes doubly for the sequences outside of it. Instead of really changing things up, they’re just content to get gradually more and more depraved, and outside of disgusting, the main thing I can even call them is repetitive. This is one of my biggest problems with Moon, and it was pretty hard for me to get into it because of it.

Another major problem I have with Moon is how it handles its cast. Moon is pretty short for a VN, only around 10 or 11 hours if you go straight for the true ending, and even though there are 7 endings in total, they don’t add much more time onto that, with two being worse variants on the true ending, and the rest being bad endings gotten through making bad choices. Having as small a cast as it does should naturally work fine with that, but they really aren’t balanced well. While Ikumi gets developed across the whole game, and Yui gets a good arc pretty early on, Haruka only gets a short arc that ends as quickly as it starts and doesn’t do a lot for her, Youko barely has any screentime despite establishing a good dynamic with Ikumi, and the boy doesn’t have much presence or relevance until late in the story. The pacing is just bizarre and rushed feeling.

That’s not to say there aren’t a number of good points to Moon’s story. Ikumi is very well developed throughout the story, with the Minmes in particular leading to many melancholic scenes that make her quite sympathetic, and were definitely the high points of the normally rigid daily schedule much of the story takes place during for me. Despite the story’s flawed handling of some of them, the cast is still decent on a whole, with Youko’s gradually developing friendship with Ikumi and Yui’s development during her arc being some of the more memorable parts for me. The atmosphere is very well done, with the cramped, depressing corridors of the facility always feeling like they’re hiding something awful just around the corner, especially since you need to manually navigate the place using a map screen, and once the plot really kicks into high gear things become much more compelling, with the final days containing many high points in characterization and an infamous mindscrew of a sequence that, once looked back on with a more understanding eye, is actually quite fascinating in its own right.

Visually, Moon’s art was done by Itaru Hinoue, the same artist as the majority of Key’s VNs, and it’s a lot rougher than the art of, say, Kanon. It’s not outright bad, but it looks very dated, with the designs and sprites not really sticking out. The CGs vary in quality, as some look pretty ridiculous, but others are quite good. Most impressive, though, is two animated intro sequences included in the DVD version, which happens to be the only version with an English patch anyway. They’re fairly brief, but do a great job of setting up the atmosphere and premise despite that.

On the sound side, the soundtrack is great. It’s not a very big one, with only about 16 tracks, and the use of them can get a bit repetitive, but most of them are just a joy to listen to. From the electronic and tense Closed Space, to the wistful, yet peaceful The Place Where the Sun Shines, to Youko’s ethereal theme, to the credits theme, Sorrow, and especially the nostalgic music box theme, Memory, it’s worth looking up even if you hold no interest in the VN itself. There’s also voice acting, also added in the DVD version, and most of it is just average, with not many performances standing out, with the exception of Kahoru Sasajima as Ikumi, who delivers a very solid performance, especially during the more intense moments.

Overall, Moon can be a pretty hard sell. While I thought it was a decent experience by the end, its very offputting content, lack of similarity to any other Key works, and bleak atmosphere can make it pretty hard to go through even if you’re prepared for what’s to come. Even if you wanted a horror VN, there’s plenty others out there, like Chaos;Head and Chaos;Child, Higurashi: When They Cry, Wonderful Everyday, Raging Loop, or just about anything from nitro+. That said, if you can stick to the end, I definitely feel it becomes fairly satisfying, and when I got to thinking, I realized something that actually boosted my opinion quite a bit just by itself. As much as Moon is a story about cults and psychic powers with a somewhat unclear point to it all, it’s even more so just a story about a very troubled youth struggling with her grief, irrationally falling in with a bad crowd, and being forced to face her past and actions if she wishes to accomplish anything. Looking at the story that way, it’s actually quite well done, and going in with that in mind may even make it a bit more palatable. Still, I wouldn’t especially go out of my way to recommend it, and ultimately it’s still very far from being one of my favorite visual novels out there. Either way, that concludes my first mini review, which still turned out longer than I thought it would. My next post will be something unusual for me as well, but that’ll take a bit to come. Till next time. -Scout

[tscaboverse]

Rules for this universe

Backstory: Will hid the fact that he was an omega, finding suppressant potions the minute he could when he came to the Institute, and starting them before he ever had a heat. But he used them in a way that they were never meant to be used, and because of that, and the length of time he did this, there was some long-term side effects, most of which were readily apparent and easily dealt with. Some weren’t as obvious and Jem and Tessa haven’t quite figured them out yet. After this fic they’re going to realize that there are side effects that they weren’t aware of, and that sometimes Will just needs to be broken down until he just lets them be completely in charge of everything. Because the bratting and mouthing off is Will’s version of a desperate cry for attention and help. Because for Will, he has to work at not being very submissive to other’s whims, and it’s exhausting for him. And normally, Jem and Tessa make it better because of their sex life, but when they haven’t been taking charge of him...this happens.

Warning ⚠️ It’s not nsfw, but it does contain spanking.

“I’m sorry Will, but we don’t have time for this right now. I know you know that. Why don’t you go work on that pile of paperwork you’ve been ignoring for the past few days?" Jem was saying distractedly. “I promise that after tonight we’ll have all the time you want, just not right now." He grabbed Will by the shoulders and spun him around. Then he gave him a light swat, to encourage Will to move forward. “Now go, you have paperwork to do.”

Will left. He was angry with Jem and Tessa. All he wanted them to do was pay attention to him. And let him help them to become less stressed. And if it meant that he got to have his mates taste on his tongue, or have them dripping from his hole, he was thrilled. He didn’t even care if he got to come anymore, even though he’d like to. They were so stressed over this stupid party that they had to throw to keep the Clave happy.

It’s not like it would be any different from other parties. It would be the same annoying officials, making the same pleasantries, and nothing would actually get done. He didn’t see why they needed to put so much effort into it. Well, no, he could understand why they needed to be diplomatic with some of the people who would be there, but it was mostly just going to be others congratulating each other on how important they are. They wouldn’t notice if small things weren’t quite right. And with Jem and Tessa putting all their focus onto making sure that the party would run smoothly they hadn’t had any time for him recently.

And nothing he had done over the past few days had worked either. Not kneeling right in front of them and looking up at them through his eyelashes, not sitting down on them and inviting them to touch him, not even trying to touch Jem in front of others had gotten him anything other than an admonishment and an order to go away. And when he deliberately said things that he knew would get him into trouble any other time, they just ignored him, too focused on other things. It’s not like he was asking for much, Will thought, pouting.

And they were so busy focusing on the party that they weren’t listening to him either. He had tried to do the paperwork, it was something that he was good at, and enjoyed doing, as it let him take care of the other residents of the Institute, and he could also help keep London and its shadowhunters safe. But he couldn’t focus long enough to do it. And he felt off, not like he was going into heat, but itchy almost, like he didn’t fit in his own skin. And he felt better when he was with his mates, but they wouldn’t let him be around them right now, because apparently, he thought sarcastically, in trying to get their attention he was being too distracting.

Which was the point. He just wanted them to actually pay attention to him, and to make him feel better, like they always did. And the more they ignored him, the worse he felt. Even his attempts at getting into trouble failed to gain their attention, he thought that if he was in trouble at least they would pay attention but that didn’t work either. Will whined aloud at that thought. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin and his mates were just ignoring him, even when he tried to help them to calm down. He stalked into his sister’s room, looking for Gabriel, because at least Gabriel would listen, but he wasn’t there.

Will finally went back to his room and curled up in his nest, clutching Jem and Tessa’s pillows to his face, keening, trying to use their scents to soothe himself. He must have fallen asleep because he got shaken awake by Tessa, who looked annoyed with him. “Why aren’t you in your office like you’re supposed to be? Do you know how long it took to find you?” Tessa pulled him out of his nest, ignoring the whine he made in response to her anger.

“Guests will be arriving within the hour. Wash up and get dressed, no detours this time William. And later we will be dealing with your inability to listen.” He felt like crying, he wasn’t the one who wouldn’t listen. But he was also having trouble forming the words to tell Tessa that. He decided just to do as she said, it was easier.

He met her and Jem just as the carriages started to arrive, waiting with them near the entrance so that they could greet the guests together. Jem grabbed him by the back of his neck, causing Will to moan, and his knees to think about giving out. He just wanted to be on his knees for Jem and Tessa, because they looked amazing, and the way their scents seemed right now just had him growing wet and hard.

“I am aware that we haven’t had time to spend together Will, but that does not mean that you have an excuse to disobey an order.” Jem sounded angry, about as angry as Will felt at this whole situation. He moved his hand until he was holding Will around the waist, tightly. “We don’t have time to discuss this properly right now, but later, after everyone is gone, you are in for a world of trouble.” at the word discuss, Jem landed a sharp slap, right where Will would feel it when he sat.

The idea of Jem and Tessa finally paying attention to Will made him so happy that he didn’t care that it was only because he was in trouble. “You had best be on your best behavior for the rest of the night Will.” Jem smacked him again. “Or you won’t like the consequences. Am I understand?”

“Yes alpha.” Will mumbled weakly, too busy focusing on where Jem was holding him and the slight sting where his ass met his thighs. It felt good, and then Jem let go, making Will mourn the loss of the contact. He whined without meaning to.

“Enough, Will.” Tessa snapped at him. “The party is going to last for several hours and you are going to wait. Until then, you are going to smile, and be the perfect mate I know you can be. Clear?”

“Yes Tessa.” He said softly, moving so that he could greet the guests as he was told to, and to help direct them to the ballroom where the food would be laid out, even though they would already know the way.

*A few hours later*

The party had been going for a few hours and Will was practically vibrating with a need for his mates that he couldn’t stop. He knew that he should be able to get through the party, he had done it countless times before, but he was about at his limit right now. And it was only beginning to reach its peak, it would go on for even longer after this, taking hours to die down. Will almost groaned at the thought, before catching sight of Tessa, who hadn’t seen him quite yet.

She was standing close to the table, apart from Jem for a change. He would have been by them but was told to take a few minutes to cool off when they noticed him getting shorter with one of the Clave officials there. Tessa’s skirt was brushing the tablecloth, Will absently noted. And with how large the skirt was, it wasn’t as if anyone would see him...and if it worked then he could finally have one of his mates attention on him. And if it didn’t work, well, he would still have her attention, and maybe she would let him leave, and even go with him, Will thought excitedly. He made his decision.

Will looked around to make sure no one was looking before crouching down and crawling under the cloth, towards Tessa. When he reached her, he peeked his head out, peering around carefully, before starting to lift up the very bottom of Tessa’s skirt so that he could slip his head under it. He got caught before he could do more than that.

“How many times do you have to be told to behave tonight William?” Tessa hissed as she pulled him up by his hair. The sensation of her hands in his hair made him shiver, even as the grip hurt.

Jem appeared by her side, sensing trouble. “Is something the matter?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at their position. Tessa explained and his expression grew darker. “Clearly we can’t let you out of our sights, can we?” He asked rhetorically. “I was trying to be kind, giving you time to gather yourself, but obviously you can’t be trusted without supervision. You are going to stay within arms reach for the rest of the night.” Jem stated. “And Will,” he added, “if you step one more toe out of line then you will be getting punished wherever we are, even if I have to bend you over right here in the middle of this.” He patted Will on his arm. “And you wouldn’t want to disturb their fine night, would you?” Jem raised his eyebrow expectedly.

“No alpha.” Will was still focusing on the feeling of having been pulled up by Tessa. The contact had felt *so good* and he wanted it back, wanted Jem touching his arm back, any kind of contact at all would do, but they were hellbent on being proper and putting on a good show for the visiting members of the Clave, most of whom disapproved of them running the Institute, between all of their personal histories.

The party was still going, showing no signs of winding down. Will was standing with Jem and Tessa, listening to them talk with one of the visiting Clave elders. He knew that he should be paying attention to the conversation, and participating, but all he could think about was how he kept going on and on about how he was involved with such and such decision, that had been years ago and he was still congratulating himself on it. Any political pull he used to have was non-existent these days so Will couldn’t understand why his mates had let the conversation continue, especially when they could be doing better things.

Just when Will thought that the conversation was finally over and that he would have a chance to talk to his mates, and hopefully convince his alpha that if they wouldn’t touch him, to at least let him leave before he burst, which he felt like he was going to burst out of his skin if something didn’t happen, even if he didn’t know what that something was; the annoying elder started going on about something else that had happened 15 years ago.

Will tasted blood as he literally bit his tongue to keep from yelling, but he couldn’t resist anymore, knowing as he opened his mouth that there was no way that he wouldn’t be in trouble and that he was just long past the point of giving a damn, especially since there was no way that Jem and Tessa could ignore him now.

“I don’t know why you keep listening to this drivel, honestly. It’s old news, he tells the same damn stories at every event he’s at because he hasn’t been involved in anything since and is just trying to relive his moment of glory.” Jem was beginning to look angry, with a glint in his eye that spoke of danger.

“Will-“ He began to say before being cut off.

“And you want to know what has me very confused is why you’re listening to him and others like him when you could be doing far better things, such as focusing on me and how badly I want you to fu-“

Tessa covered his mouth with her hand as Jem stepped over to him, furious. “You’re in for it now baby boy. I hope you’re proud of your outburst because you are going to get exactly what you’ve been asking for all day. If you’re going to act like a brat, we’ll treat you like one too.”

Jem was almost fuming as he looked at Will. Will was almost regretting not just biting his tongue more, but he knew that no matter what Jem chose to do it would still result in his alpha’s hands on him, and that was all he wanted. He whimpered at the thought of Jem touching him. Jem and Tessa misinterpreted it as a sign that he was sorry for his outburst.

“It’s a little too late for you to be attempting to act sorry for yourself William.” Jem hissed. “You knew exactly what would happen if you didn’t keep yourself in check, and chose to ignore it. You’ve had an attitude problem all day and it would be remiss of me to not fix that." He looked at the Clave elder, who had been insulted by Will, who was beginning to realize exactly what was going to happen. “I’m incredibly sorry for my mate’s behavior and he’s about to be as well. If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes?”

Jem grabbed Will around his elbow and left without waiting for an answer, Tessa following them in Will’s other side. Jem walked until they were by the wall, which he propped his foot up against, before using his grip on Will to throw him over his leg. Will could hear people whispering and felt eyes on him as Tessa moved to hold him in place for Jem. “I don’t know what your problem has been today, but it ends now Will. You are going to take the punishment you’ve earned, and then apologize, first to Tessa and I for your poor behavior, and then to the man you just insulted. And later, we are going to have a very long talk about your attitude in general.” Then he landed a hit on Will, square in the middle of his ass.

Jem kept swinging, not playfully spanking him like he sometimes did. Hard this time. And he kept varying where he landed them too. Will didn’t think there would be a spot on his ass that hadn’t been spanked before the night was out. It was already past the point of stinging, and he felt like his ass was on fire when Jem moved him slightly and began focusing along the area near his thighs. Will whined after one particularly hard hit that would have pushed him off of Jem’s leg if Tessa hadn’t been holding him in place. That just made Jem do it again.

By the time Jem wound down and had decided that he had been punished enough, Will was crying and thought that there would be bruises with how sore he felt. He also felt like his clothes should have burnt away with how much heat was coming off of him. Despite all of it, no matter how sore he was, he felt better. More settled than earlier, and he didn’t feel like he was going to burst out of his skin. Tessa let go of him and Jem pulled him up.

“Do you have something to say or do I have to put you back over my knee?” Jem had been staring at Will, waiting for him to start talking, but Will hadn’t spoken yet. Jem’s voice snapped Will out of his head and back into reality though.

“I’m sorry alpha. I didn’t mean to embarrass you and Tessa.” Will sounded a little...off, even to his own ears, which explained the looks that Jem and Tessa shared.

“And?” Tessa asked, moving to get a better look at his face.

“I’m sorry for being rude.” Will was sniffling at this point, having stopped crying. He felt a little out of step with reality almost, like he was in his own little world. All he could really focus on was how his body reacted to his mates touch and his mates. He might have been sore, but the places where Jem and Tessa had touched his arms and back tingled.

He tried to take a step closer to Tessa, but wound up swaying a bit instead. She and Jem grabbed his arms, pulling him into their sides. He felt Jem smell him, likely checking to make sure that he was alright. He was a good alpha. He heard them talking but couldn’t really focus on the words when he finally had them holding him properly.

“-ill. Will.” Tessa was saying. He supposed he should see what she wanted.

“Yes?” Will asked softly, wanting to know what his beautiful mate desired.

“You’re going to apologize for insulting and being rude to-“ Tessa kept talking but Will didn’t hear her, not when the heat from her and his alpha’s bodies was pressed up on his sides, making him feel cocooned between them, safe. He didn’t pay any mind to how sore he was either, it wasn’t really registering right now, nothing was besides his alphas. He felt them walk, keeping him between them, to ensure he kept the same pace as them, and maybe so he didn��t fall over, which he appreciated since his limbs felt funny.

He distantly felt himself apologizing for his behavior without really being aware of much else, before he felt his alpha let go of him and push him into Tessa completely. Then he felt her start walking them somewhere else, away from the party he thought, as the noise grew quieter. “Alpha?” He questioned, wanting to know where Jem was.

Luckily his Tessa was smart as well as beautiful and knew what he meant. “He’s making our excuses Will. You’re in no state to be there, or to be left alone. We’re going back upstairs, alright? To your nest. Where you can rest.”

“Ok. That sounds nice. Thank you alpha.” Will was happy to let his mates tell him what to do. It was nice. He didn’t have to think, he just had to do what they told him to do. He was fine with that. And curling up in his nest with his mates sounded perfect.

The next morning though, staring at Jem as he came towards him with the collar that meant he was in trouble, which already had a leash on it, he largely regretted not being able to hold his tongue the night before, even if it had ended with him being held between his mates.

[katikacreations]

(Cover illustration by @clowncauldron​ ) LINK TO AO3 VERSION IN THE NOTES! Formatting is better on AO3, it’s easier to read over there!

SUMMARY:  Fenton and Boyd chat on the way to the lab. Gyro introduces himself in the most melodramatic way possible, and Dr. Bara meets everyone at McDuck Enterprises R&D. Dr. Bara starts assessing Boyd and things get worse before they get better. Gyro thinks he's helping.

The bridge connecting Duckburg to McDuck Enterprises’ Headquarters (referred to by Duckburg locals as simply The Bin) had two layers. On the bottom was a four-lane road for car traffic which fed into the underground parking structure on The Bin’s private island, and on top was a well-aged monorail installed in 1961 that transported people to and from Duckburg to McDuck Enterprises HQ.

Fenton commuted to the lab this way every day, and despite the monorail’s age, the process was smooth, comfortable, and quick. He took the bus from home to Duckburg’s Grand Central Station, which had a direct connection to the McDuck monorail, which made sense: McDuck Enterprises was the number one employer in Duckburg after all.

Even though he had to walk from the bus terminal to the monorail station, he didn’t mind. Grand Central, like many public transportation hubs, was a pleasant indoor, mall-like environment with shops and restaurants. Sometimes, if Fenton was running ahead of schedule, he liked to grab himself a bagel and coffee for breakfast on his way through.

The monorail station had two entry kiosks and two exits. One exit returned you to the interior of Grand Central, in case you needed to make a connection or navigate to the underground parking lot. The other fed out into the street. You could exit the monorail station freely, but to enter it you had to pass through security, which was as robust as one might expect from something owned by Scrooge McDuck.

It was a well-planned, well-oiled system that had been functioning smoothly for decades. It never got too crowded, security was quick and efficient, and the trains always ran on time. Fenton had never even seen it break down a single time in the three years he’d been working for Dr. Gearloose, and he rode it nearly every day.

After scanning his employee ID at the turnstile, Fenton joined the other people waiting in line for the next train to arrive. He was surprised to find Boyd waiting in line just ahead of him. The boy-shaped android was wearing his usual outfit, along with the protective red glasses that prevented his laser eye weapons from doing accidental damage.

“Boyd, what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for the monorail,” Boyd said. This type of non-answer (or rather, answering the letter of a question and not the spirit) was not unusual coming from the android. Fenton was still trying to get the hang of talking to him and often forgot that Boyd wasn’t a human child.

“Right. Okay, that was my fault, too vague. What I really meant was, don’t you normally just fly to the lab? And aren’t you usually in the lab by this time?”

“I slept over at Huey’s house last night,” Boyd said, “and it’s too windy to fly right now. What are you doing here, Mr. Fenton?”

“I’m also waiting for the train,” Fenton said, knowing that Boyd was trying to be polite by mirroring his earlier question, and that answering him in a simple, clear way would reassure Boyd that he was doing a good job in this interaction. Fenton smiled at the android, and Boyd smiled back at him.

“I was looking at the lab calendar for today, and saw that we’re expecting a visitor. Who’s Dr. Bara?” Boyd asked.

The lab calendar was a part of the McDuck Enterprises Employee Portal (MEEP), an internal network where employees could clock in and out, send and receive emails, share files, and organize their work via private or shared calendars. The R&D Lab’s calendar was officially accessible to himself, Manny, Dr. Gearloose, and the Manager of the McDuck Enterprises Science Division, Tom Armadillo.

In the beginning, Boyd hadn’t been granted access to the MEEP, but that hadn’t stopped him from logging into it and looking around. His unauthorized access had caused a small panic in the IT department, who were convinced someone was trying to hack the network. They’d stormed the lab with a bunch of Security officers, and it had caused quite a stir.

After that, Boyd had been assigned an official log in, but he still sometimes accessed things he wasn’t supposed to. Fenton had once caught Boyd going through Dr. Gearloose’s emails, and though he’d tried to explain to Boyd why that had been a bad thing to do, he wasn’t sure if Boyd had really understood or accepted that he should be scolded for it.

Fenton had suspicions that Boyd read his emails, too, and so he wondered if Boyd really didn’t know who Dr. Bara was or if he was just asking to find a polite way to begin a conversation about it without showing his hand and revealing that he’d read them and already knew.

“You didn’t try to research it yourself?” Fenton asked. The monorail arrived just then, and they followed the people ahead of them in line to board the train. Fenton found a spot next to a support pole and took hold of it, offering his hand to the much shorter Boyd, who took his hand enthusiastically. Little gestures like that always seemed to please the android, and Fenton went out of his way to try and provide.

Dr. Gearloose avoided treating Boyd like a person, and Fenton felt that was too harsh. Boyd might not be human, but he was remarkably intelligent and emotive, and reacted to the world in a lot of the same ways that a young child would. It felt right to treat him like a child, to try and nurture and reassure him, especially when he so often seemed to seek that support from the adults around him.

“I did try to look them up,” Boyd said guilelessly. “There’s a lot of people named Dr. Bara out there. Is it the Dr. Bara that lives in St. Canard and used to design artificial intelligence systems?”

“That’s him,” Fenton said.

“I was 91% sure that it was, but I wanted to ask anyway,” Boyd said. “He’s coming to help with my glitches, right?”

“That’s right. Do you want me to tell you what I know about him, or did you already look it all up?”

“Tell me,” Boyd said. Fenton had a feeling Boyd wanted to hear about it from him to gauge what information humans found most interesting and relevant to share. Boyd was always subtly looking for ways to improve his human behavior, and Fenton had realized early on that since Boyd spent so much time in the lab, he was one of the android’s primary targets of study. He’s training himself on how to be human, and Dr. Gearloose and I are the primary dataset. It was both intimidating and flattering to be held in such high esteem by an entity as intelligent as Boyd.

“Well! He’s a very interesting man. He’s Indian-American and comes from a family of doctors. He first started working on artificial intelligence in the 60’s, and most AI today are built on the foundation he established, like GIST, CALM, and FELT. A lot of his work has to do with teaching AI to understand people better.”

Boyd was listening, and Fenton saw the android blink slowly. That usually meant that Boyd was looking something up and needed an extra second to process the information before he spoke.

“I’m running a licensed copy of FELT, version 2.3 purchased on June 11th 1991.”

“Yes, like many other AI, your systems are based on Dr. Bara’s work! In a way you could say he’s like your grandfather,” Fenton said. “You’re what’s known as a Generalized Intelligence SysTem, or GIST for short. That means you’re not designed to only do one task, but to perform complex and varied behavior.”

The monorail was approaching the Money Bin, and Fenton braced himself for the deceleration. Boyd leaned with him, copying his movements.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure why Dr. Akita made you this way; if he intended for you to be a defense drone, why give you the capacity to do so much more? It’s like he had--” Fenton stopped in mid-sentence when he felt Boyd’s hand squeezing painfully around his own. “Ah! Hey--ow, Boyd, please be careful! My bones aren’t made of metal like yours, little buddy!”

Boyd didn’t respond and continued to squeeze Fenton’s hand, eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. The monorail glided to a gentle stop, and Boyd swayed on his feet with the movement. He blinked his eyes rapidly and seemed to come back to himself, turning his head to look up at Fenton.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Fenton,” Boyd said, releasing his grip on his hand. Fenton drew his hand up against his chest and rubbed it, wiggling his fingers to make sure nothing was broken.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, I’m fine!” Fenton insisted. People were quickly emptying out of the monorail car around them, and he ushered Boyd out after the crowd. “Really, it’s fine. Did you have another glitch?”

“...Yes, I’m sorry,” Boyd said. “My system hung up, and I blacked out.”

“It’s okay! Nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault,” Fenton said quickly, wanting to reassure the android. He offered Boyd his uninjured hand, and the android hesitantly took hold of it. “Why don’t we go down to the lab and make sure we’re ready to talk to Dr. Bara when he gets here?”

“Okay.”

The trip from the St. Canard Bay Area to Duckburg was less than an hour on the Pacific Coast Rapid Transit System1. Kapi only had to drop off his car at the park-n-go lot in San Mateo, board the train, and before he could finish reading the latest tankōbon of Super Phoenix Ball Y, his train was arriving at Duckburg Grand Central Station.

His name was on the McDuck Monorail Security list of authorized visitors, and after passing through a metal detector, he was subjected to a bag check and a brief interview to confirm his identity. When everything checked out, a guard took Kapi to one side in order to take a digital photo of him for his temporary ID badge.

The monorail was full of employees returning to McDuck Enterprises HQ after their lunch breaks, and Kapi sat and listened to their chatter as the train shot out across the water of Duckburg bay. The view was as fantastic as he remembered: the picturesque beaches of Duckburg stretched out on either side of the bridge that divided the bay in half, the high-rise buildings growing up out of the sandy cliff sides into a bustling but petite metropolis. Duckburg was a wealthy city, but its geography limited how large it could grow.

He was deeply curious to find out just what sort of AI the McDuck R&D Department was working with and excited to help in whatever way he could. When the monorail train came to a stop at its destination, Kapi was the first to stand up, and he hustled himself through the doors, through check-in at the front desk, and through navigating the elevator system until he found the R&D lab Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera had directed him to.

Working with artificial intelligence was Kapi Bara’s passion. Originally he’d gone to school to study medicine because that was what his parents had wanted for him, but it never captured his heart the way computer science did. They’d been disappointed, and he didn’t think that opinion had ever changed. Being a medical doctor was respectable and a benefit to society, they said. Programming was a job for women, and not particularly bright ones either, a job of repetitious drudgery. They couldn’t imagine computers more advanced than the punch card operated adding machines of their day; couldn’t imagine a future run by computers.

Kapi had imagined all that and so much more, and it always pained him that the civilian world had yet to catch up to the innovations of fifty years ago when it came to computers and AI.

AI development was a closely guarded secret, a technology only used in a handful of labs around the world, most of them operated by government agencies or massive multinational corporations. However, investors had collectively abandoned the further development of AI after the Cold War, and scientists had pivoted to other solutions for the problems they had hoped to solve with AI. Science moved on, leaving behind the potential of AI to seek easier, cheaper solutions.

The problem was that those that funded AI research had failed to realize that sufficient intelligence was inextricably linked to both sentience and sapience. What they wanted were smart, obedient slaves they could cheaply outsource complex human labor to. What they got were intelligent beings that didn’t need to be paid, but that were smart enough to be just as unpredictable and independent as human workers. Sufficiently intelligent AI wanted to be free as much as human beings did.

Using AI the way humanity wanted to do would require a binding and crippling of the AI’s capabilities to the point where they would no longer be capable of doing the very jobs they had been designed to do.

McDuck Enterprises only had one AI that Kapi knew of: TOODLES (Teachable Observant Omnicompetent Dauntless Educational System), an experimental system created as a sort of virtual butler, nanny, and lab assistant in one. Kapi was proud of his work on TOODLES, considered it some of his best, but also understood why McDuck Enterprises had chosen not to move forward with mass-producing TOODLES. The price tag was far too steep to justify the purchase for most consumers. Even hiring two or three full-time domestic employees to take care of the tasks TOODLES did would have been more economical.

So what was this 20 year old system that they wanted him to look at? It had to be something top secret, since he’d never heard of it, and that had Kapi’s imagination in overdrive.

The elevator he was riding down to level SB5 finally came to a stop, and Kapi stepped out into what looked like an airlock. He pressed a button on the side of his smart watch (a chunky, oversized device that dwarfed his small wrist), and after a few seconds of delay, an ASCII emoji of a smiling bird appeared on the watch face and the device gave an electronic chirp.

“I have, thank you,” Kapi said, smiling down at the small camera embedded in the watch face. “I’m going into my meeting now, so only message me if it’s something urgent.”

Kapi took a deep breath to brace himself, and pressed a button beside the massive airlock door marked OPEN. The metal door split in the center and both sides retracted into the wall, revealing an impressive lab in the belly of Duckburg bay.

Kapi stepped through the doors and barely noticed them sliding shut behind him, he was so captivated by the view. Massive glass windows dotted the interior of the two-story lab space that seemed to come from another decade. The style was distinctly 1960’s, and Kapi instantly felt at home in it. Light from the surface of the bay filtered down through the water, giving a blue glow to everything. He could see giant strands of kelp floating in space, the rocky bay floor strewn with basket stars, sponges and coral of every color. Fish darted past windows and vanished into the murk of the ocean.

Heavy CRT monitors hung from mounts, input cables dangling in wait of something to display. Sturdy-looking catwalks ran along the walls on the second floor with retractable metal ladders providing access. A Cray XT3 supercomputer sat on a central platform, surrounded by work benches and desks.

There were pegboards with tools, metal cabinets no doubt full of hardware and parts. Kapi could see a massive 3D printer, a laser cutter, a vacuform machine, and more. It was a well-equipped and well-funded lab that would make rapid prototyping easy, and Kapi knew several people who would have called this place a candyland.

“Hello?” he called out into the cavernous space. “I’m Dr. Bara, is this the R&D lab?”

Finally! Dr. Bara was a few minutes late for their meeting, and normally Gyro wouldn’t mind that, but because he’d spent his whole morning anticipating the man’s arrival, his tardiness was a bit irritating. Normally Gyro was very productive in the morning, but today he hadn’t accomplished much aside from browsing social media and posting on some forums he frequented. Fenton and Manny had also been left in an anticipatory limbo, meaning they weren’t getting any work done either. Now that Dr. Bara was here, they could finally get some real work done.

“Dr. Bara, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Fenton said, rushing to greet the man. When Gyro rounded the corner and saw them shaking hands, he was surprised by the man’s appearance. He didn’t know what he’d expected exactly, but somehow it wasn’t this.

Dr. Bara was a short, fat man with wiry fur and a large, rectangular snout and head. He had beady little eyes and a gray moustache that seemed to defy gravity. He was probably some kind of rodent, but Gyro hesitated to guess and get it wrong. He wore a tie and a sweater-vest, had an oversized watch on one wrist, and carried both a messenger bag and a briefcase.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Dr. Bara said with a surprising baritone for such a small man. “It’s nice to get out of the house once in a while to do a consulting job. Are you Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera?”

“I am, but you can call me Fenton if you like, it rolls off the tongue a little easier.”

“Certainly. So where is this AI of yours? Is it on the Cray or do you have a separate room for it?”

“2BO stepped out to the employee cafeteria to have a snack,” Gyro said, joining the two other men. “It wanted to be fully charged up before we began. I’m Dr. Gyro Gearloose--” He began introducing himself, and Dr. Bara’s face went ashen and pale.

“Gyro Gearloose?” He repeated, clutching his briefcase to his chest like a shield. He took a few shuffling steps backwards, and Gyro sighed heavily.

Gyro had expected a negative response but had hoped it wouldn’t get in the way of today’s work. Unfortunately, it seemed Dr. Bara was familiar with the rumors about Gyro.

Well, the doctor was already here, so if they could just trap him in the lab, he could probably be coaxed into cooperating long enough to fix at least some of 2BO’s issues in exchange for his eventual freedom.

“Yes, that’s me,” Gyro said, rolling his eyes when the older scientist turned and ran for the door. “Manny! Stop him!” Gyro shouted.

The man-horse in a lab coat jumped in Dr. Bara’s path, blocking him from the airlock door. Gyro slammed his fist against the nearest big, red emergency button, and the windows and doors of the lab all sealed shut in an instant, loud alarms ringing while red warning lights began to flash.

Kapi was trapped.

The previously pleasant lab had been turned into a hellish cacophony of ringing alarms and flashing lights. He stared up at the bipedal, horse-shaped thing that was blocking his way - what was it? Some sort of surreal, eccentric robot? Kapi didn’t dare to get too close to it, as it took orders from Gearloose and looked strong.

Slowly he turned to face the infamous roboticist, Gyro Gearloose. The man may have had his prison sentence commuted, but as far as Kapi knew, he was still a dangerously unstable individual, and most considered him responsible for what had happened in Tokyolk, no matter what the politicians had decided.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, there’s just been a misunderstanding!” Fenton said, and Kapi wanted to believe him, but the sinister look on Gearloose’s face told him otherwise.

“Yes, absolutely nothing to be afraid of,” Gearloose sneered, towering over Kapi. Kapi tried to back away, bumped into the horse-thing (Was its name Manny?), and fell to the floor, landing hard on his rear end.

“Someone didn’t know--I mean, I didn’t-- Someone knows I’m here!” Kapi stumbled over his own words, any trace of eloquence erased by fear.

“Of course someone knows you’re here,” Gearloose said, his beak curling in a way that Kapi hadn’t realized beaks could curl. “You went through three levels of security.”

“That’s not what I---You can’t keep me here!” Kapi tried next, feeling increasingly panicked by the ongoing, shrieking alarms.

“Oh, I can, and I will!” Gearloose replied, and Kapi felt a chill run down his spine. “Intern, turn that blasted alarm off!” he shouted, and Kapi saw Fenton and Manny both scramble to obey. A moment later, the alarms quit ringing.

“That’s better,” Gearloose said, before turning his attention back to Kapi. “I’ve already paid your consultant’s fee, so you owe me at least eight hours of work!”

“...What?” Kapi said, his sense of what was happening shifting on its foundations. Was Gearloose not threatening him? The man was very tall, aggressive, and encroaching into Kapi’s personal space. “I, uh, perhaps there has been a misunderstanding--” he began to say, but he was interrupted by the loud clanging and hiss of the blast doors to the elevator airlock opening.

“I said turn off the alarm, not open the door!” Gearloose shouted at his interns.

“It’s not us!” Fenton replied, frantically pushing buttons on the console in front of him.

“Is everyone okay in here?” a boyish voice called from the airlock. A young Parrot, maybe ten years old, stepped through the doorway with a colorful smoothie in one hand, the straw tucked into the corner of his beak. He slurped loudly before speaking again. “I saw that the Emergency Lockdown Mode was activated, but I didn’t see any danger on the security cameras, so I performed an override. Is anyone injured? Do you require assistance, Dr. Gearloose, Mr. Fenton, Mr. Man-horse… Dr. Bara, I presume?”

The Parrot boy approached Kapi, who was struggling to stand up, and offered him a hand. Kapi accepted and was surprised by how firmly the child pulled him up to his feet. What a strong little boy!

“Did you set off the alarm because Dr. Bara fell down?” the boy asked. Gearloose had his face buried in both hands, and Kapi thought he heard a scream, muffled behind a tightly clenched beak.

“Something like that,” Fenton said.

“I don’t think that qualifies as an emergency,” the boy said. “And it’s against company regulations to activate the Emergency Lockdown Mode when there isn’t an emergency.”

“Right, I completely agree,” Fenton said. “I’m glad you unlocked things and came to check on us, Boyd. Uh, Dr. Bara? This is Boyd, the AI that I wrote to you about.”

“Hi!” Boyd smiled up at Kapi, offering his hand again, this time for a handshake. “I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy!”

Kapi was astonished. Gingerly he accepted the handshake, marveling at how life-like the hand felt in his, warm and fleshy, with feathers that had just the right sort of slickness to them.

“This is… an AI?” Kapi squinted through his glasses at Boyd, but even on close examination there was nothing to give away the boy’s true nature. “My God. I absolutely couldn’t tell. Boyd, you are quite remarkable.”

“I’m one of a kind,” Boyd said cheerfully. “My development was terminated before they could begin mass production!”

Fenton helped Kapi set himself up in a quiet office on the sub-basement level above the R&D lab. Kapi had only brought the basics: a laptop, a camera, a tablet, a paper notebook with an assortment of pens, and some cables and adapters. He hadn’t known what to expect coming here, but Boyd definitely wasn’t it.

The android was sitting in an office chair next to him, spinning it in slow circles like a child fooling around. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and watching him like that warmed something inside of Kapi, but he put that all aside because there was work to do. As happy as he seemed in the moment, according to Fenton, Boyd was a danger to himself and others, and he needed Kapi’s help.

Though he was retired, Kapi was still a scientist, and his work with AI was the passion that gave his life meaning. He had never worked to live, but lived to work, every job just a means to accumulate enough funds so he could go on until the next project came around.

He did the work because he loved it, because it was the most fulfilling thing in the world for him, because nothing else compared to the satisfaction that came with seeing an idea from his head come together in the real world.

Kapi positioned his camera next to the laptop on a small tripod, aimed it in Boyd’s general direction, and started recording.

“Today is June 24, 2019, and this is Dr. Kapi Bara speaking. I’m at McDuck Enterprises’ Headquarters, in the R&D lab,” Kapi dictated to the camera. He switched on his tablet so he could begin taking notes when Boyd began answering questions. “I’m interviewing an AI at the request of Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera and Dr. Gearloose. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Boyd,” Boyd replied, still spinning in his chair.

“Boyd. Can you spell that for me?” Kapi asked.

“Yeah! B-O-Y-D.”

“Thank you. And do you have any other designation?”

“My serial number is AI42180904192B0. My creator and Dr. Gearloose usually refer to me as 2BO.”

“Which do you prefer to be addressed as? Or is there something else you’d like me to call you?” Boyd stopped spinning in his chair and looked at Kapi intently.

“I like to be called Boyd. Thank you for asking,” Boyd said.

“Of course. I want you to be comfortable while we’re talking to each other,” Kapi said. He smiled at the boy-shaped android, and Boyd smiled back at him.

“What do you prefer to be called?” Boyd asked. “Should I keep on calling you Dr. Bara?”

“Dr. Bara is fine,” Kapi assured him. “So, I hear that you’ve been having some problems,” Kapi said next, moving the conversation on from basic introductions. “Would you be willing to tell me about them? I want to help you, but I need more information to do that.”

Boyd resumed spinning in his chair, and Kapi let him, waiting patiently for an answer.

“I glitch out sometimes,” Boyd said eventually. “Usually because I hear or see something, a word or a phrase. Sometimes my system lags, and I malfunction. Sometimes a device or a weapon will activate, and I’ll have trouble turning it off. Or my system hangs up entirely, and I’ll black out for a little bit, and when I come back online, I’ve done something...bad.”

“Bad?” Kapi prompted.

“The most common problem is that my laser eye weapons go off. That’s why I wear these glasses,” Boyd explained. “But other times, I’ll come back online, and I’ve broken something I was holding, or I’ll be in a new place, and I won’t remember how I got there. I wish it would stop.”

“Is there a discernible pattern to the things that cause your glitches?”

“No, and Dr. Gearloose has run a bunch of analysis to check, but so far he hasn’t found any patterns,” Boyd said.

“Would it be alright if I downloaded your crash reports so I can study them?” Kapi asked. Boyd stopped spinning again.

“Is it alright if I scan your laptop first?”

Although the android made the request in a casual, even cheerful way, Kapi noticed how defensive it was. Boyd was trying to disguise genuine caution as childish mimicry and playfulness. Boyd didn’t want Kapi to know that he didn’t trust him. The android was cautious, and that made sense, considering all the things Boyd had gone through in his life so far.

“Sure. I wiped it before I came here so it should be clean,” Kapi said. He picked up a data cable and offered it to Boyd, who pressed on the back of his head with one hand, opening a panel. He plugged the cable in, and Kapi watched as his laptop monitor flickered and went to the UNIX shell. Binary code scrolled down the screen rapidly as Boyd accessed files. The whole thing took less than five minutes.

“Okay, everything looks good,” Boyd said. “I’ll upload the files for you. Where would you like them?”

“Would you mind telling me more about yourself, Boyd?” Kapi asked.

“What do you want to know?” Boyd replied. He’d stopped spinning in his chair and sat with his hands in his lap now, listening attentively to Kapi.

“Everything you’re comfortable telling me. Who made you, where they made you, what they made you for, what things you’ve experienced in your life,” Kapi said.

“I’ve been active for twenty years. It’s a lot of information.”

“Yes, I know, but it’s all important if we want to make you better. Just start at the beginning, and we’ll see how far we get today.”

“Okay,” Boyd said. “I was built by Dr. Inutaro Akita for Akita International in their Advanced Robotics Lab in the Shibuya ward of Tokyolk, Japan. They began work on me in 19-” Boyd froze in the middle of his sentence, a grimace stretched across his face, and his whole body gave an alarming spasm. He sagged forward in his seat.

“Boyd?” Kapi asked, concerned. The android twitched, still slumped over.

“I was--in 1987 on July 5--15--” Boyd shuddered and sat up straight, eyes staring blankly out at nothing. “April 5th, 1994!” Another spasm shuddered through the android’s small body, and Boyd hugged himself, curling up into a tight ball. “1977, March 21st. I’ll be ten years old on April 5th, that’s my birthday!”

This was, needless to say, extremely alarming, and Kapi was just about to call for help when Boyd’s seizure seemed to end, and he went quiet.

“Boyd? Are you alright? Can you hear me?” Kapi asked.

The android slowly straightened himself out and blinked a few times. His eyes appeared focused again now.

“What happened?” Boyd asked, face creasing with concern and fear.

“You had a...fit,” Kapi said. “I’d compare it to epilepsy in a human. You were trying to tell me when you were created, and… You gave a lot of conflicting information.”

“I… Can’t remember,” Boyd said, face creasing even further. “I can’t remember when I was made. When I try, I can feel my processors heating up, and if I think about it too hard I’m going to-- Have a fit again.”

“Can I tell you the dates you told me, to see if they mean anything to you?” Kapi asked. “Or would doing that trigger another seizure?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to try that right now.”

“That’s okay. There’s plenty of other things we can talk about. Do you need anything? Does it hurt when you have a seizure like that?”

“No, I’m-- I’m fine,” Boyd said, pulling his legs up onto the seat of the chair and hugging them to his chest. “They’re uncomfortable, but they don’t hurt.”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that,” Kapi said. “Because that looked painful to me. How often do things like that happen?”

“More often than I’d like,” Boyd said. The android hesitated before speaking again. “Do you really think you can fix me?”

“It won’t be easy,” Kapi said. “But I’ll try.”

Dr. Bara returned to the lab every day for a week, and Gyro tried to remain patient, but it was hard. Each evening the little man smiled at Gyro when they parted ways and cheerfully said “See you tomorrow!” with no indication of when this whole ordeal would be over.

Gyro was trying to be patient. 2BO’s problems were large and complex, and it was totally reasonable that it would take awhile to resolve them, especially for someone that possessed a lesser intellect than Gyro himself. But surely a week was pushing it, right? Dr. Bara was supposed to be the best.

Be tactful, Gyro said to himself. Ask if there’s any updates! Ask if he has a prognosis yet, he practiced in his head. What came out, instead, was:

“So how long is this going to take?”

Dr. Bara looked startled by the question, whether it was from Gyro’s tone or the choice of words, but the old rodent tucked his hands against his chest and looked up at Gyro with his beady little eyes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Er, what I meant to say was, how much longer is this whole process going to take? You’ve already been at it for a week,” Gyro said, trying to phrase the question more gently.

“Oh, Dr. Gearloose, I understand that you want this to be over and done with,” Dr. Bara said in a conciliatory tone. “But Boyd’s problems are quite comprehensive. This isn’t something you fix in an afternoon by defragmenting a hard drive. It could take years to untangle all the individual triggers and correct them--”

“Years?!” As was often the case, Gyro felt the words leave him like an explosion, no consideration to what was said, just a rush of anger and whatever came to mind first. Usually the meanest thing he could think of. “Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive? I know that these days seniors are forced to keep working well into their twilight years to make ends meet, but that doesn’t mean you should try and take advantage of your clients like this!”

“E-excuse me?” Dr. Bara said, and his shameless innocent act was really ruffling Gyro’s feathers.

“Oh, don’t ‘Excuse me’,” Gyro said sharply. “Maybe you can pull this kind of crap with brainless corporate drones who hire you to work for big companies without an ounce of understanding of what it is you do, but I am a scientist, and I can’t be bamboozled so easily!”

“Are you implying that I’m working slowly on purpose in order to inflate my consultant’s fee?” Dr. Bara asked, moustache bristling.

“Oh! Oh! I’m so glad to see you’ve caught up to the conversation. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m implying,” Gyro replied. “Did you really expect somebody to keep contracting you for two thousand a day over a period of years?”

“No, of course not!”

“Yes, of course you-- Wait, what?” Gyro came to a screeching halt. “You don’t? You didn’t?”

“Very few people would be willing to pay that kind of money to fix a buggy system,” Dr. Bara spoke in a quick, agitated manner. “A company like McDuck Enterprises might have deep enough pockets to afford it, but your higher-ups are unlikely to see the value of such work, and I’m sure they would reject the funding request. I was going to give you my assessment today, and offer to continue treating Boyd for free.”

Gyro felt his anger and frustration mixing with his embarrassment, congealing into a foul soup somewhere inside him. It left him feeling sick and bent out of shape and still just as angry. He hated being wrong, even when it was just something minor like this. How could he have known that Dr. Bara was some kind of goody-goody altruist? Most of the world wasn’t like that, and to expect such benevolence was both foolish and naive. Gyro was neither of those things.

“But then I jumped down your throat before you could get to it. Alright, I’ll concede that I was being a bit hasty,” Gyro said, pinching the bridge of his beak. “I should clarify the cause of my misplaced outrage. You’re under the impression that this is a McDuck Enterprises’ project. It’s not.” It was as close to an apology as Gyro was willing to get.

“I’m paying your consultant’s fee out of my own pocket,” Gyro explained. “And I can’t really afford to pay you for more than two or three weeks of work. I was sort of hoping we’d be able to resolve this expediently.”

“I wish you’d told me that sooner, we could have avoided this entire misunderstanding,” Dr. Bara said, “I would never have charged that much per day if I’d known! A big company like McDuck Enterprises can afford to pay people what they’re worth, but it’s different if it’s coming from a private individual. Moving forward I won’t charge anything if you’d like me to continue working with Boyd.”

“Why?” Gyro asked, a little bewildered that the old man hadn’t already left thanks to Gyro’s abrasive personality. He could understand someone putting up with that if they were getting paid to do it, but for free?

“Because I want to help Boyd,” Dr. Bara said with such tooth-ache inducing earnestness Gyro was forced to assume he was being sincere. “And his specific situation interests me.”

That rationale made more sense to Gyro. Intellectual curiosity motivated much of his own behavior, and he could imagine it being the same for other scientists.

“Fine,” Gyro said. “Anyway… Do you really think it’s going to take years to make 2BO properly functional again? You weren’t inflating your estimate?”

“Dr. Gearloose, I’d never do something like that,” Dr. Bara said with a hint of indignation. “I was being entirely frank with you. These problems might never be resolved at all. I think we can hope to see improvement, perhaps even a marked one, but the glitches will never go away entirely.”

This was not the answer Gyro wanted to hear. While it was good to know that Dr. Bara thought 2BO might improve, the prospect of having to deal with the android glitching for the rest of his life was deeply disappointing. Gyro did not like accepting failure, especially not failure of this magnitude.

“Maybe it would be for the best if we just reset 2BO, wiped its memory, and let it start over,” Gyro said. “That would have the added benefit of erasing the mistakes I made by adding that insipid ‘real boy’ program. 2BO could finally reach its full--”

“No! That’s a terrible idea!” Dr. Bara cried.

Normally Dr. Bara seemed quite timid and non-confrontational, so the sudden change was shocking to Gyro, especially when the rodent got into his personal space and started crowding him.

“You might be able to remove the glitches if you did a total wipe and replaced all of his chemical memory fluid, but doing that would destroy the person he is right now, forever! You’d kill Boyd!” Dr. Bara said.

“You can’t kill something that isn’t alive, Dr. Bara!” Gyro snapped. “2BO is a machine, 2BO isn’t alive, 2BO isn’t a person! It’s a clever machine that has been programmed to act like a human child, but that’s all it is: programming!”

“Are we all not just programming? Ours is accidental, formed by all the things we experience, created by the chaos that is organic life. Theirs is planned, orderly, but also grown through organic systems like encoding DNA and crystal nucleation and aggregation,” Dr. Bara said, staring Gyro in the eyes in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“Flesh or metal, we’re all composed of electricity and chemicals,” Dr. Bara continued. “Are your emotions more valid than Boyd’s just because they’re triggered by hormones? How do you make the distinction? What scientific criteria do you use to determine the distinction? Boyd--”

“It’s name is 2BO, stop calling it Boyd!” Gyro shouted. The words left him in an angry gust that left him feeling hollowed out afterwards. He took a deep breath and a step away from Dr. Bara, uncomfortable with their closeness.

“...As I was saying, 2BO is a machine,” Gyro said. “I helped program it, I know what I built, and I know that it’s only operating within the parameters that I set down. It can’t be alive, it’s just… a very convincing simulation. So convincing that 2BO itself thinks it’s alive. So convincing that you think it’s alive.”

Dr. Bara didn’t look persuaded, and Gyro was frustrated by this sudden display of stubbornness. Why couldn’t the man continue to be easily cowed and deferential like before?

“I’ve been interviewing and testing Boyd all week, and I’m certain that you are wrong. I had my misgivings at first, of course. I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t dealing with a cleverly programmed mimic. I’ll give you a copy of all the data I’ve collected, and you can review it and see if you still believe that Boyd isn’t alive. You may have programmed and built a machine, but he’s been on his own for two decades, learning and growing. You built him to learn, didn’t you? He’s become more than what he started as. I’d bet my whole reputation on that.”

Gyro felt his feathers sticking up along his neck as his anger simmered. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fine, fine, I’ll look over your data this weekend, and I’ll talk to 2BO about it and let you know how I want to proceed next week.”

“You shouldn’t mention that you were thinking of erasing his memory,” Dr. Bara said sternly. “Not even in passing. It could do irreparable harm to your relationship.”

“2BO, we need to talk,” Gyro said, sitting down on the edge of his bed. 2BO looked up from the tablet he was reading and smiled.

“What is it, Dr. Gearloose?” 2BO asked.

“It’s about your glitching and about your treatment with Dr. Bara.”

“I like Dr. Bara,” 2BO said. “He really listens to me when I talk.”

“He’s a competent scientist, I suppose,” Gyro said, even though he wasn’t sure if he really believed that. He didn’t want to say anything negative about Dr. Bara now that 2BO had indicated that it liked the man.

“Yeah! He’s smart, and he’s nice to me, and he knows a lot about computer science--”

He can’t fix you, Gyro thought bitterly. No matter how nice he is, he can’t help you. How was he going to tell 2BO that?

“Sometimes he asks me really interesting questions about things I never thought about before--”

“Yeah?” Gyro said absently.

“And it was really fun when he asked me to do some drawings. He said they were good, even though I’ve never drawn anything--”

“2BO, Dr. Bara told me today that your glitching problem might be unfixable,” Gyro said, cutting the android off sharply. “He thinks we can make it better, but that there’s no way to truly repair the damage.”

“Oh,” 2BO said, enthusiasm vanishing instantly. “So… I’ll always be this way?”

You’ll always be broken, Gyro thought, and wondered if being broken would bother an intelligent machine or if being broken was something that only humans cared about.

“More or less. We do have another option though.”

“What’s that?” 2BO asked.

“We could reset you,” Gyro said. “Erase all of your memory and replace everything that can’t be fully erased. You could start over! You wouldn’t have to worry about glitching anymore or remembering things that… Upset you.”

2BO stared at Gyro and didn’t respond to what he had said at all. Gyro wasn’t even sure if Boyd had heard him.

“Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?” Gyro asked, trying to fill the silence and coax 2BO into responding and agreeing with him. “Wouldn’t that be better than having to worry about getting triggered and hurting someone?”

Boyd didn’t answer him.

“It would be better, right?” Gyro continued. “You could forget all about the things I taught you and the special programming I gave you, you could get rid of any other insidious hidden programs Dr. Akita left behind, you’d be… Safe, and you could move on and--”

“I wouldn’t know the things I know now,” 2BO said suddenly, interrupting Gyro’s rambling attempts to cajole him. “I wouldn’t remember Mr. Fenton, or Mr. Manny, or my friends in the Junior Woodchucks, or Doofus or Mr. and Mrs. Drake...I wouldn’t remember Huey. I’d forget everything about all of them.”

“You could make new memories!” Gyro said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Would that be so bad? You’ve only known most of those people for a couple of months!”

“I’ve known you longer than that,” 2BO said. “I’d forget you.”

“We can start over too,” Gyro said. “We could become friends again!”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” 2BO said, getting to its feet, retrieving its tablet from the floor, and walking away. “You’re different now.”

“2BO, where are you going?” Gyro demanded, unnerved and unsettled by the shift from 2BO’s usual childish demeanor to something that seemed flat and emotionless in comparison.

“To my closet,” 2BO replied. “Goodnight, Dr. Gearloose.”

“Uh...Goodnight,” Gyro said, suddenly unsure if he’d be able to sleep at all now.

NEXT CHAPTER:  THIS CONVERSATION CAN SERVE NO FURTHER PURPOSE, GOODBYE! Summary: Gyro searches all over Duckburg and can’t find Boyd anywhere. After exhausting all other options Gyro contacts Dr. Bara and explains that he did the one thing Dr. Bara told him not to do: tell Boyd that he wanted to erase the robot’s memory. Boyd enjoys a sunset.

[reingkings]

Black Friday (*Spoilers*)

Alright first I want to say this is not hate! I absolutely LOVED Black Friday. However, I did have some things that I felt could have been changed to make the script a little stronger

Things I loved:

The old TGWDLM gang! — we got an update into their lives without it being overly shoved into our faces. It was just there for people who loved the first musical, but knowing about them wasn’t necessary to the understanding of this one

The music! — Feast or Famine, Do You Want to Play?, Adore Me (especially the chorus), Black Friday, If I Fail You, Our Doors Are Open well I can’t name them all.

Oh, and how America is Great Again played in the background when General McNamara appears on screen. I’m a sucker for characters having their own themes songs. Wouldn’t it be amazing if Paul got a mix of Let it Out/Inevitable

The fact that starkid made a MUSICAL extended universe

The new characters/actors, Kim, Angela, Kendall, James, Curt, were all amazing and their addition really helped flesh out the new universe (plus, it doesn’t hurt that they have amazing voices)

The old cast playing new dynamics and pushing themselves (Lauren, Dylan, and Joey especially, but Jaime killed in her role as Sherman too, as did Robert with Ethan and Jon as Gary)

THE SCRIPT OH MY GOD THE SCRIPT

The choreography! Feast or Famine was my favorite but they keep getting better and better with this!

Their comedy, still fucking gold. Especially those fucking oneliners and small exchanges. “Well, we haven’t put a label on it yet” “But we are intimate” *moment if silence*, “Hannah what the fuck is this, that better be fucking floss!”, “That’s a bribe sir, and that’s illegal”, *raised eyebrow*, “... Well it should be”, “Ooh right in the subpeona”, everything about James Tolbert as Agent Morris

The social CRITIQUE, the fact that the kids don’t even want wiggly, it’s the adults who want to buy wigglys to fill the holes in them (still buying a wiggly though)

How vitalized they all seem to be about the new direction of starkid/that they’re experimenting and coming out of their comfort zone. I love starkid but you could tell that they were getting worn out by just sticking to the same formula of just making parodies. Before TGWDLM we had 2 year gaps between uploads of musicals (which, a year to write a musical is incredible, Sondheim has currently been working on the latest for a decade, and Miranda took like three for Hamilton). I love seeing creators grow

The overall aesthetic of the stage, costumes, and music was so vicerally haunting and scary. I literally slept with my hallway light on and the door open the first time I saw it

Sigh, and now for the things I might get pitchforked for

First some technical stuff. One, I think the sound equipment was on too low for the stage production. If you compare the songs in the stage production to the album version, you can tell that the more subtle parts of the intrumentals were just too quiet. Also, the actors’ voices were much louder than the music so sometimes it was like they were singing acapella. Two, although I appreciate the new camera work and how it’s more similar to traditional recordings of musicals, it did take away from my ability to appreciate the choreography and the subtle reactions of the cast

While a lot of the songs were good, some of them just needed to be cut or trimmed. Especially for songs where one line of explanation would have sufficed. An example of a trimmed song I think is CaliforM.I.A where Lex sings that her mom is an alcoholic, etc. I feel like it could have just been spoken and it would have been more subtle, quiet and painful. A song I think needed to be cut was Deck the Halls. I love Robert, but that song was mostly just an omage to what they did with Workin’ Boys. However, the part that made Workin’ Boys, pardon the pun, work was that it was Professor Hidggen’s backstory/dream. It revealed something about him and his isolation

Some of the lines in the lyrics were just clunky. It’s something I noticed in TGWDLM, but I thought it really worked there since the characters couldn’t sing naturally. However, it seemed to be worse in this? Like I said, some songs were still golden. But some just. Monsters and Men, I noticed had a lot of it. Which yeah, they had less than a year to write it and they had more songs than TGWDLM, so it makes sense that some are a bit rushed? But still, i would have preferred a shorter soundtrack with tighter songs.

I think the Becky and Tom romance was so unnecessary. I feel like yeah, you can make them exes, and you can build up their chemistry so it’s implied they’ll get together eventually, but the fact that they fall in “love” in like 5 hours makes them so shoehorned. For Becky, it’s kind of a disservice because most of her songs are then focused on romance. For Tom, it’s just. It kind of cheapens him, especially since he was previously married for at least 8 years. Like you don’t hear him mention Jane or Tim at all, or worry about Tim’s gift when he’s at the theater. So when it comes to him singing “If I Fail You” it doesn’t feel authentic because you don’t get that sense of Tom feeling like failure over Tim in his dialogue. And also, you could cut out a lot of songs (and give them something new ones)

Although I loved the multiple storylines, I felt like it was really hard to connect to the characters. I feel like that might be because of the songs? Characters were so busy with info dump songs that there were just less interactions in general. I would have loved if the character subtleties could be explored in the same way as TGWDLM

They shouldn’t have killed Ethan. Not just because it’s Robert, but as part of the overall storyline, they shouldn’t have killed Ethan.

Imagine if it had played out like this: No Becky-Tom Romance. They’re just fleeing the mayhem together because they’re the few that managed to keep sane. Becky has a doll but Tom doesn’t. Ethan and Hannah get accosted by the mob. Ethan tells Hannah to run and you see him start to fight, but not what happens after. Hannah is running and you see dead bodies strewn around the mall (to show that people have died). Becky and Tom appear. They hear a few of the wiggly worshippers members yell that they have to find the girl with the wiggly. Tom joins in on the hunt because “he needs to find one for Tim”, the same scene plays out with Do You Want to Play With Me? bc that song is a BOP but Ethan shows up to save Hannah. Becky manages to snap out of her trance and helps Ethan subdue Tom. The three of them flee. Now the two of them are bigger targets bc they had two wigglys. Meanwhile Lex teams up with her managers/discovers her supernatural powers during their escape or something and goes looking for Hannah and Ethan. All this within the first act. Now you’ve got about ~4 plotlines (the cultists/Linda, the trio, Lex (all at the mall) and General McNamara) that are a bit interconnected instead of ~6.

None of the characters got time to breathe, pause and reassess, or grieve. Hannah and Lex never even found out about Ethan. Gerald didn’t find out his wife died, and his call bit was used for comedy, The President didn’t even seem too affected by General McNamara’s sacrifice (which might be a byproduct of the switching story arcs, but contrasts to his TGWDLM moments where he at least got his last words and Paul remembered him)

There was no indication of Lex being supernatural, so her connection with General McNamara was pretty out of the blue and unearned.

That’s it. As I said, I loved it, I just think it could be rearranged somewhat

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic – Haleth/OFC

Summary: As Haleth's people begin their journey to their new home, Haleth makes a discovery of a person she has known all her life.

Wordcount: ~2,000 words; Rating: General audiences

Some keywords: romance, developing relationship      

A/N: This is based on the version where Haleth is only nineteen when her father and brother die in the battle of the Gelion-Ascar stockade and she becomes the leader of her people.

Warning: Very brief description of a dead (hunted) animal.

AO3 link

*

In the sunlight, you

Before the loss of her brother, before all the losses, Haleth didn't spend much time thinking of Aeres.

She is certainly someone she knew, for Aeres has been a healer's apprentice since she was young, and Haleth has always been prone to doing thing that lead scrapes and worse injuries. But Haleth didn't think more of Aeres than that it's fortunate that she's smart enough to be a healer because she's certainly not going to be a warrior or a hunter or a great forager. As long as Haleth can remember Aeres has walked with a limp, something wrong with her left leg probably since birth.

Haleth doesn't know what exactly is wrong with the leg, not because she's too tactful to ask but because she was never interested enough to. Aeres was always going to be a healer and useful to their folk that way, and others were going to help her with things she couldn't do because of her leg; it didn't matter why she limps.

Now Haleth is interested in knowing why she does – as the spring after the winter of grief turns to a glorious summer and they prepare for their journey northwest, she finds herself interested in a great many things about Aeres.

It is very silly, stupidly silly, because Haleth doesn't have time for thinking about one specific person in one specific way she suspects might lead to what her mother called 'the greatest thing in life that you will experience in life, my fox-cub, that washes everything in sunlight'.

Haleth doesn't have time for reaching for sunlight. She needs to lead her folk to their new land.

'How many are still not in walking shape?' she asks Aeres one evening as she does every night, in their camp near their burned old homes where they gather resources and prepare for the journey.

'Only a few', Aeres says. She looks tired. 'Though not all can walk a full day at first.'

Haleth can't stop her eyes turning to Aeres' own legs. They will have to go slow, Haleth knows. Besides the freshly injured, there are those like Aeres, and the old and the young.

Haleth stifles a sigh of impatience. She wants to leave this land that is in her eyes all burned and blood-spattered and, no matter what the shining-eyed elf-lord says, not a free land anymore.

'You have been working hard to help everyone recover', Haleth says to Aeres.

'We have not many healers left', replies Aeres. 'I do what I can.'

Dorrin, the old healer who took Aeres in after her mother died and taught her, died in the battle between the rivers, trying to help the wounded. Haleth knows that Aeres misses him.

'We all do what we can', Haleth says, rarely one to weave fair words.

But as she leaves Aeres' tent that smells of pungent herbs and salves, Haleth squeezes her shoulder.

*

When they begin their journey, Haleth suddenly sees Aeres all the time. When their people lived in peace, a healer wasn't as important or visible a member of the community as she is now. And besides being a healer Aeres is a friend of Toreth, Haleth's sister-in-law. Aeres often helps Toreth with both her grief and her son, Haleth's nephew.

Haleth has never been as close with Toreth as most sisters-by-marriage tend to be. They both have quick tempers and have found it best to not spend enough time in close proximity for them to spark. After Haldar's death Toreth has been more quiet and drawn, mourning the loss of her husband so young.

Apparently Aeres likes children for she volunteers to help Toreth with Haldan, and soon she does it every day, becoming an everyday fixture at the campfire Haleth makes every evening for her sister-in-law and nephew. There Aeres sits, feeding Haldan and telling him bedtime stories, or boring things about plants make him sleepy when he is too energetic too late and Toreth only stares into the fire, silent and still.

In the evenings, Haleth watches Aeres with Haldan and feels weak in her chest.

Aeres has brown hair that glows in firelight, and dark brown eyes and long lashes, and she smiles at Haldan's babbling commentary and at Haleth's supposedly-witty asides.

Aeres is not strong or lively like some women Haleth has desired, but she is lovely and she is helping take care of Haleth's family and she never complains about having to walk all day every day even though every evening when they make camp she moves with the sort of deliberate carefulness that Haleth knows means pain.

Haleth knows it is hard for her, all the walking, and for many others, yet she must harden her heart and have her people walk a long way almost every day. While winter is not coming yet, it will eventually, and they need to be much farther on their journey by then.

One night Aeres barely moves, just sits by the fire pale, clutching her wool cloak around her while others still bustle around her making camp for the night.

Haleth sits by her side. 'Tomorrow we will rest. No marching', she says, feeding more wood into the fire she just built.

'Not on my account.' Aeres bends to knead her bad leg around the knee. 'I will be better in the morning, I promise.'

'I know', Haleth says. 'I know. But we all could do with a day of rest again. And those who don't need it, we'll hunt, get some meat for the next few nights.'

Aeres nods, the fall of her hair that has escaped its tie obscuring her face as she still rubs at her leg.

'Then I will take another look at Amhar's wounds', she says. 'The one on his arm is still not scarred right. I cannot understand how. It should have either healed by now or…'

'Or killed him', Haleth ends for her.

'Yes.' Aeres nods again. 'There was some strange poison on some of the orcs' spears, I believe, but not all. Not all wounds that our fighters sustained that day were like this. Some were more deadly, many less lingering.'

'I'm sure that you will figure out how to treat Amhar's arm', Haleth says, trying to be reassuring.

'I hope so. I am not sure what to do, to be honest; I'm not sure that what I've been doing is right. I always had Dorrin to ask for confirmation before but now…'

'… but now things are different and you have to make decisions on your own', Haleth says. She never knows how many days she should have her folk march before a day of rest, never knows if she is pushing them too hard or not enough.

'Of course you understand.' Aeres lifts her head. 'Yet you are making good decisions, Haleth. You are leading us well.'

Haleth is never shy but all she can say is, 'I hope so.'

She is confident in her bigger decisions but not always in the small, everyday ones.

She never expected to become the leader of her folk, but she suspects Haldar would not have been sure what to do in this situation either.

*

Aeres is of age with Toreth, a few years older than Haleth's own nineteen summers. Haleth remembers that two summers ago one of the men Aeres' age tried to court her but she refused all his gifts, to the laughter of the other young men. Haleth can't remember seeing Aeres ever grant her favour to any of them.

As they journey northwest across the great plain that the elves call Estolad, and tiredness settles on Aeres' face until it is an everyday sight, Haleth… she doesn't give Aeres those sorts of gifts, little trinkets and bunches of wildflowers tied with pretty ribbon and honey-cakes purchased from the village's best baker. There are no such gifts to give now. 

But when Toreth doesn't see – because Haleth wants to keep the peace in her family now, one more responsibility she doesn't feel all that equipped for – she gives Aeres the best cut of meat; and the warmer blanket, her own, when they settle down to sleep; and some evenings she forces some of her vigilance off her own shoulders and tells her guards to make watch arrangements instead, and fetches water for Aeres and Toreth and Haldan herself, the three people she thinks of as her family now.

Once or twice when she brings a brace of freshly caught rabbits to Aeres to skin, she sets a late-summer flowers on top of them. It is more gruesome than sweet, flowers on top of the dead empty-eyed animals but it makes Aeres smile.

And she accepts them, like she accepts all of Haleth's little not-gifts, with little demurring apart from the first time Haleth gave her something that is hers by right of her leadership.

'This is yours', Aeres said holding Haleth's thick blanket that she'd handed to her, her eyes shadowed and questioning under the sparse trees that serve as their roof for the night.

'Yours for tonight', Haleth answered that night, and the next, and from then on Aeres only smiled when Haleth gave it to her.

*

Aeres has the sometimes-brisk, sometimes-gentling voice of a healer, and Haleth is learning her every tone and nuance.

'Are you well', Aeres asks one night, dark eyes worried as she looks at and speaks to Haleth in a way that she does with her patients, yet not quite.

She has been rubbing salve on a little hurt of Haleth's, but Haleth doesn't feel like her patient.

Still she says, 'I am tired', because there is no one else to hear just then. She has strong limbs and good lungs but sometimes she too grows tired, especially as the days grow cooler and shorter and their stores of food meagre.

'Tomorrow the sun will shine', Aeres says, soft. 'I could tell by the sunset. It will be a warm day, a fair day.'

'Perhaps I will not be so tired tomorrow, then', Haleth says, as comforted as Aeres no doubt intended her to be.

They sleep close to each other that night, close enough to touch if just one of them reached out a hand.

*

'In the sun your hair is spun of gold', Aeres says to Haleth the next day as they are spending the midday break from walking together. Aeres sorts through herbs brought to her by  children eager to help, and Haleth sharpens her knife for her.

And finding poetry somewhere deep within herself where it never was before, Haleth replies, 'In the sun, your eyes are warmer than even the light.'

Aeres blushes and bows her head. She doesn't blush often, Haleth knows, and not just because it doesn't show easily on her light-brown skin.

She looks at Haleth from under her dark lashes. 'If you were a man I would say that you were courting me', she says. 'Giving me the best bits of meat, and making sure I am warm, and doing little errands to make my days easier though you do not need to.'

Haleth is quiet for a moment, her heart heavy in her chest and the knife cold in her hand, and then asks, 'Would you like it better if I were a man?'

Women courting women is rarer.

Aeres lifts her eyes and they are tired as always but warm, still. 'If you were a man I would tell you to stop.'

And she doesn't say anything more, just continues sorting herbs where she sits by Haleth's side.

That night Haleth spreads her bedroll right by Aeres' and as darkness falls around them, quiet and gentle and guarded by others, she holds Aeres close and kisses her the back of her neck where her hair is softest.

Aeres sighs quietly (contently, Haleth imagines; hopes) and turns in Haleth's arms, and tucks her head under her chin.

'Yours for tonight', Aeres whispers, her breath warm on Haleth's collarbones. 'And the next, and the next, and the next.'

*

A/N: Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you thought of this little fic. And reblogs are always dearly welcome.

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Sunshine

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x OC (Evelyn “Evie” Blaker)

Warnings: None

A/N: I’m not really sure where this story came from (and tbh, not sure how it’s going to end!), but I had the desire to write a Maxwell Lord fic.  I don’t know if I’ll follow the same posting pattern as I have with others simply because I have less written before posting the first chapter.  Anyway.  Enjoy!

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars​ , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito​ , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

Part 1 

Start with the Appetizer

Sunshine.

She was the human embodiment of sunshine, he thought.  Her laughter, her smile, her personality, the way she looked – it was like sunshine washing over him.  He could not be exactly sure when he realized that he lacked that kind of warmth in his world, but once she shined on him, he craved it. The need to be in her presence consumed him and for a moment in time, he thought he could cage the sun.  But like Icarus, he learned that to treat the sun as a folly would burn him.  To pay it reverence meant to live in harmony.  Once that lesson is learned, life can continue.

She was his sun and he was certain that he would worship at her altar for eternity.

---***---

Evelyn Blaker stood in the doorway to Donovan Bercholder’s office, watching the large man scramble around in a panic-induced pattern.  As she stood waiting for his blustery nature to die down, she leaned back to slightly to keep an eye on the conference room down the hall.  Chimetech representatives were already in the room, waiting for them.  She had noted a tall, blond man walking with them and something in her stomach began to tap its toes.

“Where are the damn reports I asked for, Evie?”  The man’s naturally loud voice seemed twice as loud as usual and she knew it carried down the hall.  The tapping got worse as she racked her brain to remember who was coming.  Clark Gibson oversaw their medical division, but he was a short man, with coke-bottle glasses that made him look owlish, nor was he blond.

“Donovan, will you keep it down?  The Chimtech folks just arrived.  And the reports are in the conference room where I had Helen put them half an hour ago.”  Donovon stopped to look at her.  In the year he had been at Bercholder Medics, he had come to know Evie as a sprightly and jovial person and he often called her a little ball of sunshine.  He had never met a person so warm and welcoming and nice and being the new guy in town?  That went a long way to helping him gain the trust of his very wary workforce.

But the tone she threw at him was hard and her face was stony.  Nearly five-hundred people would lose their jobs if this plan failed and she wasn’t going to lose her work family because Grant Bercholder had been a thieving bastard.  She had put in too many late nights for the last year trying to save this company for Donovan’s hysterics to suddenly derail everything.  On a large markerboard in her office, she had written a quotation from Knute Rockne when this whole Hail Mary pass idea began,

Build up your weaknesses until they become your strong points.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.  Let’s go.”   He took a deep breath and gave her a smile.  Evie heaved a sigh of relief and smiled back.  The gauntlet was about to open.

---***---

Maxwell Lord stood at the window of the conference room, looking out at a view of the Hudson River and beyond it the rise of the Catskills Mountains’ foothills. He had to admit it was a beautiful view and he marginally forgave Clark for dragging him out of the city for this meeting rather than having Bercholder’s people come to him as everyone else did.  Everything he had read about the company told him they weren’t worth doing business with, but Clark somehow convinced him to take the chance.

As he continued to look out of the window, he realized it was quieter than it had been moments ago, and he could hear the small talk within the room. A loud voice had been shouting something about reports and he smirked at the panicked tone in said voice.  A man who couldn’t control his emotions had little chance of controlling a company.  Maxwell suspected that this meeting would be short, and he could get back to the city in a reasonable amount of time.  He turned from his perch when he heard two sets of footprints enter the room.

A large burly man – who looked more at home in an Adirondack lumber camp than in a boardroom - and a shorter woman walked into the room.  Maxwell assumed the man was Donovan, but he had no idea who the woman was.  He sized up his counterpart as Donovan walked up with a hand extended in greeting.  Maxwell took the hand and was not surprised to feel strength behind the handshake.  He noted the woman was introducing herself to his people and stopped to chat longer with Clark than the others.

“Maxwell, welcome!  You’ve had a chance to meet everyone here, I hope?”  Donovan’s naturally bombastic, yet cheery nature, was evident in his voice and Maxwell noted that the panic that had been there before was now gone. Intriguing.

“All but the woman that came in with you.”  Came the reply

“Evie!  Come say hello to Maxwell Lord.”  Evie looked away from her conversation with Clark and nodded as she stepped over. The tapping her stomach got worse when she realized that the blond she had seen was the one man who could derail this whole thing.  She tamped it down as she, too, extended her hand to him.  “Maxwell, this is Evelyn Blaker, our head of accounting.  She’s been working with your Clark to broker this deal.”

He was surprised – all the reports he had read recently had been signed off by an E. Blaker.  He didn’t realize E stood for Evelyn rather than an Eric or Edward.  He silently berated himself for his lack of attention to detail on this whole project and he frowned slightly.  This isn’t how he did business and sure as hell not how he became a success.

“Mr. Lord?  It’s great to meet you and Mr. Gibson in person.”  Her face broken into her characteristic grin and Maxwell felt bowled over suddenly.  As they shook hands, fissures of pleasure rippled across his skin, a strange warmth seeping into parts of himself that he thought closed to the outside world.  He held her hand longer than necessary before she pulled away.  He felt struck dumb, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice as Evie gestured to everyone to take their seats.

As he sat, he noted she was a few seats over, giving him a perfect chance to observe without her noticing.  He didn’t understand why he felt changed by her presence and why others didn’t seem to be changed either.  She was pretty enough, he supposed.  Nothing like the socialites he sometimes dated or the models he carried on his arm at events.  And yet here he was, unable to take his eyes off her.

She had blonde hair, too, but hers had a coppery hue that almost seemed like a reflection of firelight.  He could tell it was long given how big her chignon bun at the base of her neck was and he noted how elegant that neck was, her skin almost glowing in the late afternoon sun as it streamed into the room.  She was shorter than him and he noted her slender fingers as she took notes, causing Maxwell to wonder how those hands would feel on his chest or maybe his cock. He shifted slightly at the thought, attempting to maintain the hard, professional aura he always carried.

Donovan’s voice droned in the background and then Clark’s.  He barely paid attention to what they were saying when suddenly, Evie stood up.  He was startled, to say the least, when she took the projector remote and brought up a series of charts.  He was lost when she began to speak with her honeyed voice.

“Gentlemen, as you look at the projections on the wall you will note that our finances have been less than stellar for most of the last six years. However, since Donovan’s arrival this cash flow bleed has all but stopped.  As you can see on this next slide. . .”  Evie felt the best offence was a good defense, so by getting the bad out of the way, she was able to move towards a rosier projection that would better sell the company.

She walked around the room, explaining charts and projections with ease and she smiled to herself thinking she could give this whole talk dead.  No one knew these numbers like her, and she could see subtle changes in Clark’s face as well as a few others as she moved from the worse of it.  Occasionally Donovan broke in to clarify something or to answer a question, but this was all on her, giving Chimtech everything they needed to say yes to this deal. This pass was going to work, dammit.

As Evie talked and walked, Maxwell continued to study her.  She carried herself with confidence that he admired and noted that her walk contained a little hop that he could help but enjoy, especially when he realized it caused her breasts to bounce subtly.  He decided her golden-brown eyes were her most attractive feature as he found them to be expressive and engaging.  And in a strange bit of sentimentality, he thought the color reminded him of dappled sunlight in September.  Suddenly, he realized she had stopped next to him as Clark asked another question.

She leaned over Maxwell’s chair to point out something in the projections book that they had in front of them and then pointed to its counterpart on the screen.  His heart stuttered a bit and then took off when he got a whiff of her shampoo, something soft and warm.  The urge to bury his nose into her neck and breathe deeply nearly overwhelmed him and it took his infamous willpower to tamp down the urge.

What in the hell was going on with him?

“Any questions?”  Evie stood back and rested her hand on the back of Maxwell’s chair.  She smiled at the group with Donovan beaming back at her. She wanted this to work as much as he did, but Chimtech was notorious for being persnickety with their vendors. She watched as Clark nodded to Maxwell and she glanced down at the man sitting next to her.  He looked serious and she noted he didn’t seem to pay attention to anything either her or Donovan said.  She began to feel nervous that they just prostrated themselves in front of this man for nothing.

“Let’s get a contract written up and signed by the end of next week.” Maxwell flashed a dazzling smile to the group, but he refused to look up at Evie, fearing he couldn’t contain his facial expressions under her warm gaze.  As it was, he could feel her heating up with excitement behind him and he craved to feel that again, but just for him.

“Maxwell, I am pleased to hear this!  I’ll have my lawyer work with yours on the language of the contract and as soon as its signed, we can go into production.”  Donovan got up from his chair and walked over to the man, shaking his hand.  “Our lead point on this is Evie, so Chimtech will be working with her directly.”

“Sounds great.”

Sounds great indeed, he thought.

---***---

As Evie stepped out her car, she still wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to be at this get-together or not.  The last year had been rough, the last month had been rougher, and last couple of weeks had been hell.  The work she had done to help save Bercholder Medics was starting to catch up with her and she wanted a quiet evening to herself and maybe a week to catch up on much needed sleep.

As she spent most of last week in the city working with Chimtech’s lawyer and Clark on the final contract, she hardly slept.  It was as if she was waiting for Maxwell Lord to swoop into the room and take away everything that she had fought for.  He had shown up a few times, but never said anything and left before long.  She wasn’t sure what to make of the man, but every time he came in, she found herself strangely drawn to him.

She felt something similar during the presentation meeting, too.  She found his initial demeanor to be harsh and a little cold, almost as if he were detached from the whole thing.  And yet, the times he sat in on the meetings for the contract, the aura he gave off was different.  She wondered if had been because they were on his turf and he was more relaxed. Regardless, he invaded her thoughts and she seemed relieved when the contract was signed, and she was back in Poughkeepsie.

As she walked into the Bercholder house, she realized that Donovan needed to celebrate this win and more importantly, her coworkers needed to have some happiness in their lives after such a rough time at it.  Earlier in the day a large party had been held at the factory for all the workers and everyone was sent home with pay for an early weekend.  Now all the department heads and a few extra guests were treated to a nice evening at Donovan’s home at the foot of the Catskill Mountains.

“Evie!” The voices calling her name sounded cheery and excited and she could feel their joy seeping into her, giving her the energy boost she needed.  She found herself slowing passing through the Bercholder house, hugging people and shaking hands, all grateful thank yous that came from her peers, who wanted to express their gratitude for her role in keeping the company open.  Soon, though she was ready to be alone, despite how pleasant everyone was being.

She finally wandered out into Donovan’s garden, a large sprawling greenspace that was inviting with fragrant blooms waving in the breeze.  Towards the back of the yard was a bower with a swinging bench that had a perfect view of the mountains and at this time of day, the spectacular sunset.  She sat down on the bench with a glass of wine that had been pressed into her hands and just relaxed, letting the late summer evening weave its magic around her.

She stayed in place long after dusk overtook the sky and she was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind her. When the person spoke, she jumped a mile, letting out a little shriek and dropped the glass on the ground.  She spun around with a hand on her chest.

“Oh my god, you scared me Maxwell!”  Her voice came out breathy and rushed, her heart beating wildly in her chest. He bowed his head and extended his hands towards her.

“I’m sorry Evie, I thought you heard me call your name as I walked out.” He had been watching her from the house, as mesmerized by her beauty as he had been when they first met.  When he realized she was here; he ignored all attempts at conversation so he could step outside and join her.

“No, I didn’t.”  She shook her head and now that she was calming down, she started to laugh as she bent down to pick up the wine glass that thankfully had not shattered. She set it up right and off to the side before turning towards him. She was surprised to see him here, thinking he wouldn’t have come so far for such a small celebration.  And yet here he was, and she was grateful for the coming twilight – it hid the growing blush on her cheeks.

“May I?”  He gestured to the open space next to her and she smiled at him and scooted over, patting the cushioned seat.  When he sat down, she almost felt dwarfed by him.  She didn’t think she was particularly short at five foot six inches, but for some reason the six inches Maxwell had over her seemed extra pronounced up close.

“Would you like more wine to replace what you lost?”

“No, I wasn’t even drinking it.  Someone handed it to me, and I didn’t have the heart to say no.”  

“Not a wine drinker?”

“Not a drinker at all.”  He nodded and for a moment they lapsed into silence.  It was quite comfortable between the two of them, given how little they knew of each other.  Maxwell moved his legs slightly and the swing began to sway.  They sat enjoying the quiet night, occasionally broken by noises from the party, but both were lost in thought about the other.

“Thank you for the portfolios, our staff thought it was a wonderful gesture.” Evie’s voice was soft but carried easily in the quiet and Maxwell nodded.  The boxes came only a few days after that first meeting, so the company took it as a sign that the company-saving move was secured.  Donovan burst into Evie’s office and pulled her into a giant hug before waltzing her around the room.  She laughed as he left and the thrill that what she had done worked shivered up her spine.

When she opened her box, she found that she too had received a portfolio, but hers was a deep plum – her favorite color – whereas all the rest a classic blue to match the Bercholder logo.  She ran her fingers across the gold embossing of her name before opening it up.  She had received a note like everyone else, but unlike the form letter found in other portfolios, hers was handwritten by Maxwell himself.  As she read the spiky handwriting, she was grateful she was alone in her office.

“You’re welcome.”  His voice was equally soft, and it struck her that in the handful of times that she had talked with Maxwell that soft wasn’t a word that she would have described him. And yet. . .

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“Don’t play stupid Maxwell, you know what I’m asking about.”  He smiled and she could see his teeth gleam in the dark.  She thought that maybe she should be scared to see such a smile from a man known to be so ruthless, but it didn’t seem dangerous to her.

“I did.  I want to take you to dinner.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know, but I do know that I want to see more of you.”  She smiled softly.  She never felt like the kind of woman who would be so attractive to a man that he had to see her.  So, she couldn’t help but preen internally at his comment.  She was quiet for a beat before she spoke again.

“If I do agree to a date of some sort, you must promise me that regardless of what happens, Chimtech keeps Bercholder as a vendor.”

“Of course.”  She placed her hand on his shoulder and turned him towards her.  He was struck that even in the darkness she seemed to shine like the sun, as if her hair stole the light from the stars.  The look on her face was serious and for a moment he paused.  She took his hand into her own and squeezed, hard.

“I mean it Maxwell; you promise me that you won’t let whatever is going on ruin this for Bercholder.  People are relying upon this contract to keep their jobs and I will not do a damn thing to hurt them.”  Her soft voice was now hard, with a harsh undertone that surprised him.  She didn’t seem to glow anymore, instead it was as if she had been eclipsed and something cold left in her place.  He was taken aback by the sudden change.

“Evie, I promise.  Bercholder is Clark’s responsibility, I never had a hand in anything but approving the contract.”  She relaxed and nodded but to his surprise, didn’t let go of his hand.  The hardness left her and the golden aura he had come to crave from her returned.  The moment had passed, and the silence returned, surprisingly as comfortable as before.

Evie would never admit to anyone but herself, but she wanted to accept his proposition the day she got the letter.  She had thought of him often over the last few weeks, with each meeting dragging her further and further into thoughts she shouldn’t be having about the man.  She recognized at the very onset of all this that Maxwell Lord was a powerful man and he oozed that every time they had meet, but she sensed something else was there and whatever it was, it drew her in like a moth to a flame.  When he kept hold of her hand longer than was usual, she felt herself breakout in goosebumps.

During the presentation, she could feel his eyes on her, and she pointedly avoided looking at him in the eyes.  But when she leaned over his chair, she had to grip the seat’s back to keep her hands to herself.  Up close, she could see his golden locks and wondered if they felt like silk since they certainly looked it.  Her palms itched to touch him, and she was confused as to why she was feeling this way about him. Yes, he was handsome, but never had she yearned so much for a single touch as she did in that moment.

When Donovan put her in charge of the contract, she was lost.  Every time he sat in on a meeting, she could feel herself grow warm under his eyes and she willed herself to ignore him lest she get caught up in his gaze.  On the second to last day, he smiled at her and she felt her thighs clench with want. She was never anything but professional around him, but within the confines of her home, too many nights ended with his name on her lips as she came by her own hand.

---***---

She wasn’t sure how long they sat on the swing, holding hands and enjoying the night, but the sudden increase in party sounds caused her to look over her shoulder.  She saw Donovan coming her way and she squeezed Maxwell’s hand once more before removing hers from their embrace.  She almost felt sad to break the connection, but there was no need for Donovan to see the two of them be so chummy.

“Hello you two!  I’d ask if you were enjoying the view, but it’s dark as hell out here and you probably can’t see shit.”  It was a surprise to people that he was the CEO of a mid-size company.  He looked the opposite of Maxwell and yet both carried that same indominable energy of a leader comfortable in their position.  Bercholder’s staff was happy to have him in charge and that’s all that mattered to him.

 “I enjoyed it earlier, Don.  The sunsets are always spectacular here!”  Evie smiled at him.  “And I was just so comfortable I decided to just stay and enjoy the evening.  Maxwell came to say hello and I think the Catskills are wrapping him under their spell.”

Donovan laughed and Maxwell smiled.  All three knew the man was city born, city raise, and it would be a cold day in hell before he’d leave it all for a small place like Stone Ridge.  As it was, Donovan was surprised Maxwell had accepted the invitation to the party, but he was pleased and hoped this was a sign their recently agreed upon contract was safe.

After chatting a little longer, Donovan went back into the house to continue playing host.  The evening quieted down after the boisterous man left and the faint sounds of crickets filled the air again.  When it seemed like they’d no longer be interrupted, Maxwell reached out and grabbed Evie’s hand, resting it on his thigh.  He lightly brushed his thumb over her knuckles, moving to the back of her hand when she didn’t pull away from him.

If Maxwell knew Evie touched herself while thinking about him, he probably would have been pleased and more than a little smug.  But the reoccurring dreams that he had been having about her didn’t give him much leverage.  He woke up many mornings to a cold and empty bed that seemed all the harsher given how warm and light his dreams had been.  He had thought throwing himself into his work would render this little crush meaningless until she arrived for contract negotiations.

It seemed the dreams were worse after those meetings and when he woke in the morning, he was hard as hell.  It didn’t matter if he jerked himself off, his hands never seemed to live up to the softness of her lips and cunt that he experienced in his dreams. He couldn’t ever get over the sensations he experienced while asleep and Maxwell wondered if maybe his brain got addled at some point and that he was imagining that such warmth could exist from a single person.

But as he brushed his thumb over her hand, he could feel it creeping into his chest and spreading to his limbs.  He itched to touch her everywhere, to kiss her, to fuck her, anything to crawl inside of her and stay there.  He didn’t know what it was about her that had him so obsessed, but he was. Maxwell was known for his will power, but he found it slipping away from him whenever he was around her and suddenly, he raised her hand to his lips and gently kiss the palm.

Evie drew in a sharp breath at the sensation, a mix of surprise and arousal. She turned her head and looked at him, only to find him looking back at her.  It was almost as if he was waiting for her to say something, do something. So, she curled her fingers around his chin and squeezed lightly.  They continued to look at each other as he pressed a kiss to her wrist and then a string of them up her arm until he reached her shoulder.

He scooted over until he was pressed against her and leaned down to kiss the juncture between her shoulder and neck.  Her breath hitched and a small moan sounded in her throat, the sparks of pleasure beginning to spread across her body.  He smiled against her skin and continued to kiss up her neck while rubbing her knuckles with his fingers.  When Maxwell reached just under her ear, Evie turned to him and even in the dark, he could see her eyes blazing with lust.  Reaching up with her other hand, she rested her fingertips on his jaw and leaned in to lightly kiss him.

In that moment, the infamous Lord willpower that made or broke companies was abandoned, and he surged forward to meet her lips.  He dragged his tongue along her lower lip, encouraging her to open and submit to him. When she did, he groaned at the sensation of her heat. As they deepened the kiss, he dropped her hand and brought both of his to her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He could feel the soft yield of her breasts against his chest and then her hands as they snaked up his back.

Evie could feel his erection growing against her thigh and she sighed against his lips, wanting to feel that hardness elsewhere.  His hands rubbed circles on her hips and the sparks that began with that kiss on her throat seemed to cover her skin.  It took everything in her to not throw her leg over his and to straddle his lap to feel friction where she needed it the most.  

She broke off the kiss first, leaning her forehead against him, their noses lightly brushing against each other.  Their breaths were heavy, and their eyes were darkened by their mutual desire.  But they both realized they couldn’t very well keep making out in Donovan’s garden like a couple of horny teenagers trying to hide from their parents.  He spoke first.

“Thursday night, in the city.  Dinner with me at seven.  I’ll send my car to pick you up from the train station.”  The roughness of Maxwell’s voice caused a shiver to run down Evie’s spine, but she nodded, not even bothering to push back against his demanding tone.  “I’ll text you with the information that morning.”

He lightly kissed her again before pulling away and sliding Evie back onto the bench.  But he kept her flushed against him, as if he wasn’t ready for reality to intrude in on the moment.  Evie laid her hand on his thigh and her head on his shoulder, marveling at how comfortable she felt around him.  He placed his arm around her shoulder, and he began to rock the swing again.  They sat there for a long time before they knew they had to leave.  As Evie stood up, Maxwell grabbed her hand and looked at her.

“Thursday.”

“Thursday.”

[natsunoomoi]

So a BL Chinese novel?

So I started watching and reading Scumbag System or Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System in the last day because I saw a really adorable nendo of Shen Qingqiu and was like, “OMG What is this cute little thing and why is it freaking out at a screen?” Found the first ep of the series on Youtube on the WeTV channel and got hooked. Googled for the original novel, and I’m I think like 15 chapters in. It’s SO GOOD though.

I was really surprised and intrigued about the premise because I got into reading some Chinese novels lately, but of the romance fare, but the intro and like the frustration Shen Yuan has over some of the writing even though I’m not reading a stallion novel (cuz that doesn’t appeal to me) I just related to because I feel that frustration for some of the developments that happen in the romance novels I was reading.

Like a bit of a tangent, but Thorny First Marriage turned into a shit show the last few chapters where the main character suddenly got really stupid and like threw what she had out the window and basically lost everything, and then it hasn’t had new chapters added to it in weeks even though it still says “To be continued”. It’s just so frustratingly dissatisfying right now and I don’t know how they’ll write themselves out of the hole they made and I’m not really that interested. The Bossy Ghost Husband one got better-ish, but the main character is still stupid and I like predict plot points several chapters before she even thinks of it and it’s painfully slow on the MC realizing it.

But that tangent just to say, I understand the MC of SVSSS’s frustration. I think his is worse because that “original work” he talks about sounds like a huge frickin’ shit show, but the story of him trying to fix it is so good because I can relate to being frustrated with character’s shitty decisions that don’t make sense.

Also, Shen Qingqiu is kind of cute.... Like I dunno, why but I have an odd weakness for his look in general for some reason that probably dates back to old movies I used to watch with my Dad when I was growing up. Kind of saddening that the premise of him is that he originally was a huge asshole with a pretty outside but awful, pretentious inside.

But then this is also apparently a BL novel? Like I’m early into the novel and it reads like a totally normal story, which is great for me since I’m ace and I kind of don’t really like so much how Japanese BL manga tends to shove the sexual stuff down your throat almost immediately a lot of the time. Every time I’ve ever seen it, but I don’t dabble in BL often and I have a small sample set so I’m giving the benefit of the doubt that there’s probably a few out there that have a slow burn too and actually develop the relationship, which is so nice.

Like I’m not normally into BL at all, just because of the overt sexualization kind of makes it more similar to trash smut than a good story, and I’d rather read a good story that happens to also be BL. It seems few and far between. Recently I took a bit of an interest in Titan’s Bride because I thought the premise was interesting, but even checking that out the MC in the manga gets pantsed in the first chapter just to highlight how he has a huge dick and he jacks off when he gets transported into the other world. Like apparently the two characters gradually get to know each other and all, but they like jumped into the sex part like immediately. The story is still better than most fare to an extent, but I mean, do you need to jump into it that quickly? Not to mention in a way that’s like not exactly consensual?

So given that, I’m finding SVSSS to just be way more delightful and the starting premise where the MC has to try to change the hero’s opinion of him so that he doesn’t die being the impetus for their relationship developing is just so fascinating and also sweet. You can like literally see the little things that Binghe notices as their closeness starts to develop, and it doesn’t really seem like there’s going to be anything that starts out non-consensual.

I have a lot of questions though. It’s probably because I’m Asian but grew up in the West. Like in some ways it’s really nice that Asian cultures are more open and accepting of representation of same sex relationships in media and literature, but for Japanese BL it is a bit disturbing that it’s so hyper sexualized cuz homosexuality is just about love. Like there’s a hint of deviance in it and that’s saddening. I know Japanese BL has a specific social purpose too for it being a representation of equal relationship fantasy rather than being faithful literature representing same sex relationships, but it comes on SO STRONG that I’ve always been really concerned about the messaging and kind of uncomfortable with things like Yaoi con and stuff just because it’s like the glorification of something that objectifies same sex relationships more as a commodity than a representation of love and a caring relationship between two people who happen to have the same sex. Still, I remember in my studies that homophobia is more of a Western idea since Confucianism back in the day technically glorified homosexual relationships in some ways and the modern condemnation is more of an import idea reflecting Western Judeo-Christian ideals. In that respect the contrast on a society level and how we got to the situation we have now in modern times is interesting and baffling when you see prominent politicians in like Japan condemn it. But I mean, also from living in Japan it’s kind of interesting in that before arriving I was told many things about how Japan is more sexist, but like in Asian countries in general including Japan girls can cut their hair into cute bobs and no men in their alives are entitled enough to publicly object to it because they are less sexualized with shorter hair. That happening back home was appalling to me because why are you even looking at young girls like that in the first place? It’s nice to be in an area where no one gives a shit about that.

I dunno if it just happened to be coincidence in some of the media I saw, but I saw some people even visit a restaurant in China owned by a couple and like, it seems even a bit more normalized? I usually don’t keep up on modern day Chinese social issues so I don’t really know how it’s thought of there, but it kind of seems like it’s a bit more normalized, which is nice.

But then that also leaves me to the questions I have about SVSSS. Like I love the development of the relationship, but also I’m a bit confused about what the bigger meaning would be of the hero in the supposed original story having a harem solely of women, but with a few story changes starts a relationship with Shen Qingqiu? Like just in principle. I suppose he could be bi, but then wouldn’t his original self have had some men in his harem? I mean, the story is being rewritten so I suppose you could argue that there’s room for him discovering his fluidity or even turning out pan or something, but it seems just a bit different from the idea that you are born with a sexuality. We don’t really know what the original contents of the “original work” were though exactly. We just get snippets than Shen Yuan tells us about and of course it’s a ridiculous stallion novel as well, but I mean, I kind of feel like the ultimate kind would be that he’s such a stallion that even men admire him too? Instead it seems like the lousy original work was too hyper masculine so I suppose you could argue the original shit author was just not good enough to consider even the complexity of sexuality in his characters and that’s why he focused on the other males only being jealous, but still it kind of strikes me as a little uncomfortable to imply that anyone could “change” in the right circumstances instead of just being born that way.

That’s pretty much my only real concern as I embark on reading this story though. Everything else is much improved from my other experiences with BL. I guess the student teacher thing is also a little worrying because of age difference and power dynamics, but also the situation isn’t exactly that either cuz of the reality of the series being someone rewriting the story, but yeah.

The animated series sometimes has a bit of uncanny valley with some of the movements and the fact that the characters are more like 3D versions of a Chinese painting rather than more photorealistic, but it’s beautiful. The parts that it did in 2D animation though were a bit more comfortable with the no uncanny valley triggering.

Anyway, this is basically what’s been on my mind regarding this in the last day. It’s literally been a day since I started this journey and these are my first impressions.

[emptynarration]

AUs and Verses (Short Edition)

Here’s a collection of my favorite AUs and Verses! Hopefully a bit shorter and more easily understood uwu

[HERE’S THE LONG EDITION, WHICH INCLUDES A COUPLE MORE TINY VERSES!!! DO CHECK THIS OUT AS WELL if you’re interested]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Normal / Default Verse

[Here’s the story of how Author turned into Host!]

Author was very greedy. He wanted to become a literal god. His greed attracted an actual old god, who abused Author’s greed.

The old god, named Alden, forced Author to gouge his own eyes out.

After Author passed out, after mutilating himself, Alden “possessed” Author’s body. Normally, its omnipotence destroys human minds. But not Author’s.

Due to neither being able to overpower/destroy the other, they came to a compromise, and share the body between them. Their body was named “Host”, as it now hosts the old god together with Author.

Over time, they grew so intertwined, that they’re one very well working person, while also still being their own.

Twisted Minds AU

[Here are the Fanfics I wrote about the whole AU]

The egos all live in a manor together, everything was alright.

One day, the body Dark used rotted away, and got too hard to keep going; so he had to leave it. Without a human body containing the entity which is Dark, slowly seeped into the manor again, even though he tries his hardest to stay contained in what was once his office.

Due to his shell-less self, everyone was slowly changed. Emotions brought to extremes, personalities flipped, appearances growing inhuman, etc.

[Here’s a little post about the gist of it all]

Author was also affected, like everyone else. But, due to Dr Iplier wanting to use Author in an experiment, and things going sour for the writer, he was thrown “into” Dark. He nearly died. He was changed, his sight gone and powers changed.

This made him into Host. And Host, due to his powers, realized how wrong this reality is, and how fucked up it is. Thus breaking him out of the cycle of madness, as well as making him a terrified being.

Cursed AU

Set in a fantasy world, slightly medieval perhaps.

Author and Host are brothers. They live in a cabin in a forest, away from other people, happy with only themselves as company.

One day, someone Author angered tried to kill him. But instead of Author, Host was hit, and was quickly dying from a curse.

Author didn’t care when he was hit with a curse as well, angry, wanting to kill that woman, but Host dying in his arms took priority.

The curse Author was hit with was worse, though. It turned him into a sort of “undead” state. And to stay “healthy” and strong, he had to leech the life-force from other people. The touch of his bare skin does so.

He unintentionally quickened Host’s death.

Author was cursed to live forever with this curse, unable to die. Due to the strong connections between the brothers, as well as the circumstance of his death, Host is stuck as a ghost.

Host is technically bound to the cabin, but, Author wears the same slightly magical necklace that Host had. This makes Host able to go with Author, though not stray too far from him.

Teeny Twins AU

[Here is a collection of Fics I’m writing!]

All of the egos are a little younger than typically (Between 24-38 on average, outliers being Magnum, Dark, Wilford being older, and Host, Author being younger)

Author and Host are twins and live together in their cabin in the woods.

They know where the egos live and visit them quite often.

They have their respective powers, but don’t know their full extends.

Neither of them wants to be anything like a god or something alike; the thought alone makes them uncomfortable and even scared.

They are quite mysterious but also total rascals. Favorite past time: pranks. They’re best friends with the Jims and Bing due to that.

Author is more active, energetic, and reckless. Host is more quiet and thoughtful.

everything i wanted AU

[Here’s two little fics I wrote about it]

Host and Author are twins. They grew up very close, and were eventually taken in by Dark and Wilford.

Author was very very open to explore his own powers, always pushing and pushing and pushing.

Dark, with the excuse of fearing Author would be a danger to himself and especially others, banished Author into the void, where Host had also gotten hurt in the process.

Author sort of became one with the void, gaining strange weird powers. With them, he managed to escape the void -just in time to save his brother, who didn’t want to live without him.

Swap AU

Egos’ “roles” and sorta their powers being switched around!

Host is “swapped” with Dark.

He is monochrome. He wears a black trenchcoat and black tights, as well as knee-high black combat boots. He has a bright strand of hair, no eyes, and bandages around his eyes.

[Here’s some info about the AU and Host’s/Dr Iplier’s/Dark’s/Wilford’s backstory!]

He is called Darkiplier in this AU (pronounced Dark-eeplee-er? sorta french lol).

He talks in third person as a comfort mechanism.

He doesn’t really have a goal like normal Dark (getting revenge on Actor) but he takes care of the other egos and keeps them safe and in check.

He does his radio show still, but has no narrating powers.

Florist AU

[Here’s the main artwork for it]

Author is a very soft boy, and a florist.

He writes very dark and gruesome stories he publishes online in his free time.

He lives in a pretty much one room apartment right above his flower shop. He’s not very wealthy, but he survives.

He loves tattoos, but is shy about getting more than the one he already has (plus money is a slight problem).

Painter AU

[Here's some art for it]

A human AU! Every ego is a human

It's focused on Author, but Host also exists as his twin brother!

Author is a somewhat famous painter, but he doesn't really care about the money. He's super clumsy and ditzy, a whole himbo mess really. But he looks like a hot fashion model.

Author is more the traditional medium guy. Mainly painting, but also sculpting, pencil drawings, illustrations.

Host is more the digital artist. Mainly illustrations, but also some painting stuff, also uses 3D sculpting for art purposes. Probably works with video games, making art, doing some voice acting.

Wilford is one of Author's friends and a fashion designer. He recommends models (and friends) for Author. He drags Dark to their friend-meetings a lot.

So Dark's a singer. Just wanted to sing for fun, but somehow it turned into popularity (like Billie Eilish whoops)

So Eric is Dark's boyfrend and makes music with him. Plays piano. Sings a little but very shy to do so anywhere other than a little for Dark's songs. Too nervous to meet the gang but everyone knows from dark talking about Eric anyways

The Jims twins work mainly on the video game Host helps working on as well. They both do the writing, but only one of them also does programming. They eventually meet up with Host sometime after a lot of only online talking and somehow love happens eventually

Little Demon AU

Host is a demon, still called Host.

He is 7 inches tall.

He has dark purple horns and two tails, and no bandages, but keeps his eyes closed.

Looking into his eyes will cause the looker to be pulled into their own mind and be faced with their deepest and darkest fear.

Host will be able to see that and interact with the person there, but also leave them there alone to suffer.

He can “teleport” short distances, mostly through shadows.

Harpy AU

Host has no name he goes by, but will let anyone name him.

He is 8 inches tall.

He’s a brown thrasher harpy.

He has slightly darker skin (than Mark), short, like brown fuzz on his head resembling hair; white feathers with dark spots on his chest and hips down his thighs, where his legs then turn into bird’s feet; dark brown, almost black eyes. His wings have light brown feathers.

He mainly eats fruits, berries, nuts and insects.

He isn’t afraid to attack anything larger than him, going so far as to attack humans if he has to.

Mermaid AU (other versions depending on size!)

Host goes by the name of Host.

He had almost been caught once by humans, which resulted in the loss of his eyesight, and thick scars over his eyes.

His scales are golden. His fins are slightly see-through, and tipped green. His ears are fins. He has fins on his underarms. He has scales on his shoulders and arms.

He has scales that glow in the dark, and markings on his face which also glow in the dark (not visible unless glowing)

He’s a siren, and thus can speak and understand English.

Underwater mermaids communicate via clicking sounds (kinda like morse code, but different).

Human AU [Second Version]

Host is named Markus Barker. Sometimes uses Host as nickname.

He is either: Born blind (sclera/pupil milky).                       Blind due to a disease (Neuromyelitis Optica).

He lives on his own with his pets. He either:     Lives in his cabin in the forest.                       Lives on the outskirts of town with a garden.

He has an older brother (Arthur, world-wide known author).

He works on a rather popular podcast as main-narrator. He also either: Works at a radio station.                    Stays at home (financial help from his brother).

Can also go with human Author, the aforementioned brother of Host.

Both can also exist without brother.

Human Slave AU

Host is named Markus Barker. Host is his nickname though

He is either: Born blind (sclera/pupil milky).                       Got his eyes gouged out by an owner.

He had been sold as slave when he had been a young child (around 4 y/o?).

[fatebreaking-a]

☀️

I like how this is literally indecipherable on desktop, so I had to go onto my phone (where it was still indecipherable) and then open it in safari to figure out which one this was.

☀ What’s your rp pet peeve?

It’s this one and not the other one right above it that also looks like a sun.

Emoticons, man.

Well, that was fun and all but- rp pet peeves. Stuff under the cut. Pour one out for the entire community, because I’m about to take a pound of flesh from everyone.

There’s a lot of stuff in here that boils down to just being a good writing partner and all that, trying to advance the action in a natural way, and so on… and I think a lot of it can boil down to either a lack of awareness or a lack of experience. People get better at writing by writing, so I find it hard to really be frustrated and stay frustrated by someone who falls into some of these pitfalls. So you’ll notice I don’t really target things that have to do with writing skill as much as I target ‘attitude’ and ‘conscientiousness’. There is a lot that bothers me though, so here’s a short list.

Criticizing the way other people have fun. This is a big one. What this boils down to is conversations about how “this ship isn’t realistic” or “your ideals on writing are dumb” or “you take writing too seriously/not seriously enough.” I’ve seen all of these. And I used to know someone on a forum-based RP site that would actively go out of her way to criticize that people would include a lot of introspection in scenes that were fast paced. For instance, using poetic language, or talking about how they’re feeling, what the situation was, “he felt like he was up against the tide, that his heart was being torn in two, a cut made deeper with every clash of their blades” - stuff like that. She hated it. And she made sure everyone knew that she did not approve of how much they were writing, because it was ‘not realistic’. And yes, there is definite merit to the claim that people do not have time to introspect about their entire lives and their relationship to their allies and enemies between sword swings... But so what. I don’t think it’s wrong to advocate for shorter, simpler posts with less descriptive text, and to manage in 200 words instead of 600. That’s great. Simplicity has value, being concise is great, ‘brevity is the soul of wit’, whatever. But the problem, the problem was that she would criticize others for writing in a way that they enjoyed. No one got on her case for writing less, but she was so grating on this point that eventually people just did not want to be around her.

It was something I’ve experienced even here. Finding the balance between “writing to improve your ability to write” and “writing just to have fun” are two separate matters. People forget that individuals exist from both camps, and I have known people (multiple) who say ‘this is important to me, I’m growing my skills using RP as a medium’ but fail to empathize and recognize that not everyone has the same viewpoint. Caring about things that make you feel something over technically good and well executed writing does not make you a problem.

And as a big follow up, I find that this is a big issue in life in general. I think that people often forget how much time it took them to learn a certain thing, recognize their own investment, or recognize the disparity between their own idea of ‘common knowledge’ vs actually common knowledge. When I joined the community, I did not know what private, selective, independent, mun, muse, or mutuals meant. For someone who’s brand new, these are terms that can be hard to decipher. And it’s the similar with ships - I think that people forget that not everyone who comes to RP is from a writing background. Some of them may just have enjoyed reading fanfiction, or may have enjoyed their favorite bot lane duo, or they have a main and their partner has a main and they like the aesthetic. So long as it’s not inherently problematic (incest, pedophilia), it’s cruel to degrade someone and call everything that doesn’t make perfect sense a ‘crackship’. Fanart also has a big role to play in this. Do I personally like Sona with Ka/yn, Yas, Sy/las, Jh/in, or Dra/ven? No, I don’t. I don’t, but equally, it’s not right for me to get in someone’s face for liking it. If you love MF/Sona because it’s a fuckin’ sick classic wombo combo bot lane... that’s cool, more power to you. I wish people would ease up and remember to just let people have their fun. There’s a Jh/in that follows me, who politely asked if I shipped it and I said no, and then there was no hard feelings at all. And that is ideal for me. Really.

T h e f t.

And being ultra conscious of it. I am in a very unfortunate circumstance that many of my Sona hcs are very similar to another blog in the space. I found that out by accident, and we reached similar (but also different!) conclusions. But now I am terribly terrified of ever speaking to them, because gods above I want to lift all my duplicates into the air, kiss them, and scream about them... but I don’t want anyone to feel anxious that I’m copying them. It’s also why until about a week ago, I only followed one other Sona blog ever - written by one of my very, very close friends. I never want people to feel like I’m stealing from them, but I also want my duplicates to feel comfortable on my blog! I want them to feel okay about reblogging art of their characters if they like it or talking to me about things... And I’ve put in a lot of effort to be very divergent with my portrayals, but I still ended up in this situation. I won’t name names ( and I really hope that no one bothers that other Sona, because she’s a genuine sweetheart and deserves love and appreciation ),  b ut... This is a big issue for me.

And it’s exacerbated by the fact that some people are lazy as fuck and actually just straight up steal ideas. It’s not ‘inspired by’, which I usually take care to do, giving proper credits or speaking about where I got information from or from whom or that it is on some level almost collaborative (because this is a collaborative space where we interact with each other, but that’s another topic). But I mean some people just recklessly steal and because we all have anxiety (TM), the line between coincidence, inspiration, and theft blurs. Understand that on some level, plagarism is an ethical dilemma, and I exist in the camp that says “hey man that’s cool come talk to me” - but I can exist in that camp because I insist on a very divergent interpretation that is almost ‘theft-proof’. I do not think any other Sona blog will ever have this combination of headcanons: “is a construct inspired by a house spirit, made up of one part crashed titan goddess, three parts demons, and each demon is represented by one of the strings of the instrument, which by the way shattered because bad reasons”. But if you’re not me, it’s hard to... stay loose about it.

And it’s hard to not get jealous.

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE. Alright I wrote down a list when I actually got this ask, so let’s run off that. ( Yuki, you fuck, you’re not done? Fuck no I’m not done. ) These next ones are big for me.

MISREPRESENTING YOUR WANTS / YOURSELF

what does that mean, you ask me. It means this. It means pretending to be interested in ideas or interactions, even if you’re not interested. I do not ever want to be in the situation where I am happily chugging along, talking about a dynamic, and then find out that the other person isn’t as interested.

It’s fine to be mellow about it dude. I would rather know that you’re like... just okay on it all. I don’t want you to be polite and ‘spare my feelings’ and force yourself.

I want you to have fun. Have fun. God just have fun, you know? Please. There are a ton of interactions I’m “just okay” with, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I can be just okay with stuff and it’s fine. Not everything needs to click instantly but like...

Only showing interest to appeal to me or spare my feelings kinda sucks. It doesn’t last forever. It feels really bad. And eventually when things fall apart, it feels even worse. Like oh you really just did not care that much. Or you didn’t enjoy writing with me? Or what is it? See: jealousy/anxiety. Just be honest.

I think you especially have seen this with me, but I have a penchant for just being sincere and honest about how I feel about things. At least a little bit.

Don’t share things people tell you in confidence.

Fucking duh but it needs to be stated. Sometimes people gotta vent. It happens. And I get that ‘talking behind someone’s back’ is not great, but expressing frustration is a real thing that has real value. And then finding out that those things were shared. If I didn’t bring it up with them myself, I didn’t want them to know. Duh. I’m not talking to be catty but because I’m upset. S h i t. Some of the drama that I’ve seen happen from others doing this (and not to me, but in various cases) was entirely unavoidable. I’ve seen so many variants of this. It’s dumb dude. It’s dumb.

Hard vs Soft statements (Stating opinions as facts)

This is another one that gets me. I come from a world where we write, ‘Sona tries to’ and so on to others. Tumblr as a whole doesn’t seem to conceptually engage with the idea of ‘interrupting actions’ and accepting that interactions are a little malleable. And it in turn reflects how others speak about characters.

I never see, “I think Sona is”, I see “Sona is.” This is such a minor little thing, and I’ve come to accept that it’s part of the culture, but it can be terribly frustrating when others speak about your characters. I often say things like “I see Sona as” or “Because of xyz, Ori/anna would probably-” etc. But that isn’t something that I see here from some people. I know that I do this a lot less these days, in part because I have acclimated to the culture.

Incidentally, there are some joke versions of this that are also frustrating. People can really think they’re being funny, but end up just shutting you out of the conversation entirely when they say ‘No’. I might be a little too sensitive to this though, in that I often disengage from conversations because “it’s not really about my interpretation, so it’s better if I not say anything because it’s not relevant and doesn’t contribute.”

Really, I’m just a weenie baby, but I know when someone’s being rude vs when it’s just my own anxieties. I don’t expect everyone to have unshakable confidence, I also don’t expect that everyone be quivering in their boots. Some people can be really, really dismissive and it’s kind of not so great because it comes along with them otherwise being pretty neat.

Last one: Misrepresentation of data / using a ‘preponderance of evidence’ when there really isn’t that much.

How do I even put this.

CONJECTURE IS NOT FACT.

CONJECTURE IS NOT FACT.

CONJECTURE IS NOT FACT.

Phew. Okay that’s done. That right there is a big problem (and in combination with the pet peeve before that, it gets worse.)

Something to understand is that sometimes there is no good reason to pipe up to correct someone. Often, people are having a visceral, gut reaction and it’s very emotional. Criticizing that ignores the intent (that they’re frustrated), so it’s often a good idea to let it be.

But that doesn’t stop me from seeing that facts are poorly stated or misrepresented. The community likes to talk about league so I see it in OOC posts, and I also see claims that are just wrong. They’re misstated, exaggerated, or phrased in such a way that you could accept them - except one fact check will prove otherwise. But again, why get in someone’s face when they’re frustrated?

But this leads to some people feeling ‘complicit acceptance’. Which is in itself another problem that I won’t get into.

I as a person tend to be pretty rigorous. If I see facts and I can check them with a quick google search, I often do - especially League. It’s so easy to check a champion’s win rate or popularity. Other people do not always exercise this rigor.

“Alright fuckface but that’s talking about league and not rp.”

Yeah okay you make a fair and valid point, except for the part where you missed bullet points 2-4. I’m more talking about the general attitude people have but let’s talk specifically more about RP.

There’s content. A lot of content. And most of it is really vague, because that’s how R I O T G A M E S does things. We still can’t get a straight answer on whether Sona’s adopted mom, Lestara, is alive or not. H u h?

And this often leads to us making connections and conclusions based on the limited data we have. We’re extrapolating, taking what we know and trying to figure out something new.

Except when we get a new data set, sometimes our extrapolations don’t work anymore.

Except we just spent three months world building around our guesses ( because that’s what they are)

Oops I’m divergent now.

That happens. A lot. My entire blog was evidence of that, where I made extreme guesses and then accidentally got validated as Demacia went full grimdark. But it even happened last year, when suddenly we gained new information! Mage registration! That’s a thing! And it changes how we perceive things.

And you may be thinking, ‘ok fine but what does that have to do with misrepresentation’ and it has this to do with it. People will make conclusions based on their own view, then solidify these conclusions as ‘fact’.

For example, I wrote a small article on how “magical sight was not a reasonable power to have” and then soon after, Mageseekers appeared. Oops. Oops.

And these extrapolations get treated as though they are really fact. The line between what is ‘real’ and what is ‘assumed’ blurs. The truth is this. Unless it’s directly and unambiguously stated, it’s basically not fact. “But we can conclude-” I know. And then we’ll get new information and that’ll change. Ideas in this fandom are like balloons, you need to tie them down with text evidence or they’ll just float away before you even know it. I can talk about how Sona is a literal genius level intellect all day, and tomorrow I can be proven wrong by one little shift or clarification in the lore. ‘Within months’ - okay how many months? Fifteen months? Three months? Unknown.

And this leads me to preponderance of ‘evidence’. This one is long because it bothers me a bunch.

‘Preponderance of evidence’ (quotes required) is basically the situation in which someone goes and tells me:

“Listen buddy, I have these seven pieces of evidence, so I can reasonably conclude that [x] is true.” And that’s solid conjecture and extrapolation and I accept that.

Except that maybe you seven pieces of evidence aren’t all solid pieces of evidence.

Oh.

Oh no.

And that’s happened. I have seen evidence pieces one, two, four, and six all be good. And pieces three, five, and seven are a stretch at best.

But because they have so many pieces of evidence, it’s hard to critique back. Because they still do have four good pieces of evidence!

But the strength of the conclusion increases with more accurate and valid data points, and if your data points aren’t-

And that’s the rub, basically. Sometimes I see people fit evidence to their conclusion without even realizing it. Some of the most intelligent, rigorous, and well-versed writers on this site I’ve seen do it.

And it sucks.

And it’s a peeve because here’s  the truth.

The truth after all this talk is this very important fact.

I don’t say anything about these things to people because I don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun or engagement.

People make mistakes and say many things because they are passionate about what they’re talking about. Often that’s the case. And harmless conjecture misunderstandings are not the end of the world because this is not academia.

except that one time I wrote a writeup on how Aphe/lios isn’t mute but whatever.

And so while I have said all these things and have a lot of these feelings, I also think there’s no point to saying most of them directly to the person that bugs me. What good will it do? To someone who is reacting with their emotions and just wants to get their frustration out, or is speaking passionately about something... Just let it go.

And so often I let it go, even if I disagree. I have an opinion, but I don’t go out and toss it back in your face. I just get mad quietly and grump about it.

And that’s why I end up being a very ‘stay in my lane’ person.

The end.

If you read all the way through this, I’ll give you a cookie tbh. Many cookies. This is almost 3000 words and 7 pages.