#this is really incoherent and has many errors probably

[honeycreammilkshake]

as both a sukuita and sukuna fan, chapter 268 killed me. at first i thought it was because we finally got another really intimate and highly emotional scene between sukuna and yuuji, and that sukuna chose to die over accepting yuuji's kindness, but now i can't stop thinking about how this entire chapter was such a good character study and a metaphor for one of the most important themes in the story.

in chapter 21, there's a really interesting conversation between junpei and mahito, where junpei disagrees with the quote "the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference." he knows how evil people can be so he chooses to feel indifferent about human suffering instead. mahito's view on this is also really intriguing, especially considering how he is a curse born from the hate people share for each other.

i could be wrong but it sounds like the basic message here is that deadening yourself to such intense feelings — love or hate — is a type of retaliation for being hurt or consumed by them. which makes me wonder if sukuna had a similar story to junpei, and if that explains how he became what he is.

we know that sukuna wasn't wanted as a child. he was more than likely rejected by both normal society and the jujutsu world. like junpei he was probably treated cruelly or strongly made aware of the many people who hated him. sukuna claimed to know what love is, but i think what he actually understood was the absence of love. he understood maybe what it means to others, but he had never felt or experienced it himself.

which brings me back to junpei's idea that indifference should be the solution. this is kind of the same philosophy sukuna has: he believes in this unshakable hierarchy of strength where the weak should have no right to lament their suffering. his idea was that the strongest were indifferent to suffering, that it's greedy to be lonely because of this. he calls it his "nature" to live in this self-indulgent way that is completely uncaring and selfish.

but then there's yuuji.

yuuji has been alone for a lot of his life. at the beginning, he doesn't have any really close friends, since even the other occult club members don't know him all that well. his only family was wasuke, who was difficult and pushed people away, including yuuji.

after his grandfather's death, he wanted to do right and fulfill wasuke's request of helping people, to be able to die surrounded by those he cares about. he pretty much gave his life to help other people by accepting responsibility as sukuna's vessel, and shows concern and kindness even to strangers.

he seems the exact opposite of sukuna and he stands for all the things that the king of curses hates... so why is it that someone sukuna considers so weak has so much power over him?

the only one who's really managed to make sukuna rethink his ideas of the world has been yuuji. even sukuna acknowledged that he was affected more by yuuji than anyone else.

to him, those who challenged him 1000 years ago were "other people." his relationship with yuuji was and always has been so special that even he admits it.

sukuna mostly strived for indifference his entire life. consuming so many humans was merely a way for him to pass the time until death, as he said, and those tastes were passing and unmemorable for the most part. everything was so unfeeling about the way he made his philosophy sound during his conversation with kashimo, and he couldn't answer as to why he would decide to cross the ages into modern life if his life before had been truly satisfactory. it's like he wasn't even moved to support his own ideals.

but here yuuji is... an annoying brat he called weak and boring, yet every time they fought sukuna looked thrilled and even impressed, though he resented it. and every time yuuji challenged him, sukuna was bothered enough to challenge him right back.

"the opposite of love is indifference." if this is true, sukuna was most likely forced into his indifference due to the fact he was never wanted or loved. but yuuji awakened so many feelings inside of him, too many. living as sukuna's vessel, they shared such a close connection while still opposing each other in every single way. yuuji represented the intense feelings of both love and hate in the way he fought so hard for others while sukuna's own indifference started to break the longer he spent inside of yuuji. he was far more reactive to yuuji than with others, and had even given him special treatment. there were many times he could have killed yuuji or his friends, but he didn't.

yuuji has made it clear that he hates sukuna's indifference to the value of people's lives.

sukuna's indifference towards life is against everything yuuji believes in but strangely enough, yuuji was still willing to accept sukuna. to not only pity him, but to have genuine empathy and compassion for such a monster as well.

he even says to sukuna that they are the same, despite seeming to be complete opposites of each other.

to me, yuuji saying that the monster sukuna became was a matter of chance, shows that he understands how indifference cut sukuna off from having a different fate.

there is a vast area of shades between love and hate, unlike the overwhelmingly static state of indifference. yuuji was showing those shades of love and hate to sukuna, telling him that they could live in the mixed shades of both.

and i really wished sukuna chose to coexist with both that love and hate and remain with yuuji. but he was too used to being indifferent and rejected that offer.

i'm really hoping we get to see yuuji's thoughts on this in the next few chapters, because he looked truly disappointed by sukuna's rejection.

[pellucid-constellations]

Trial and Error

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Based on the request: "Azriel with single mom reader? I feel like being a single mom in ACOTAR would be tricky as hell… reader comes from autumn court and flees to night court because she got pregnant out of marriage? 😯 the shame"

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: A little angst

a/n: Okay this has taken over my brain. I hope you enjoy it!! You can read the previous little part here and part three here

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

“And what would happen then?” 

“I suppose then we would have to turn into giants, wouldn’t we?” 

“Giants. Really?” Melanie deadpanned as if she hadn’t just unraveled the most incoherent line of questioning you’d ever heard. Her new favorite game was “what if,” and you were apparently awful at it. 

“Well—” you began, pretending to think as you leaned against the counter and tapped your chin. “I guess we could just learn how to fly instead. That way we could go collect the, um… bunnies from the tops of the clouds.” 

“It’s cats, mommy, not bunnies. Why would a bunny be on a cloud?” 

“You are so right.” 

You pushed off the counter and continued restocking the shelves of the small apothecary that had employed you for the past few years. You had started out in Velaris working at a few small bars, but that hadn’t lasted long when they discovered you were pregnant. You had earned enough money to get a small apartment at that point, and you just so happened to find one above an apothecary owned by a rather wicked old woman. 

Lucky for you, she was a wicked old woman who no longer wanted to run her apothecary or deal with the space above it. So, you got a job and a place to live without many questions asked—a two-for-one miracle. 

“Maybe we could ask Nyx to take us up to the clouds,” Melanie pondered as she fiddled with a bundle of cloves by the register. 

“Who’s Nyx, sweetie?” you mindlessly asked. 

“A boy in my class. He has wings. He told me he can’t fly very high yet, but soon he’ll be able to.” 

You inhaled sharply through your nose. 

There were probably several boys in her class who had wings and were unrelated to the Illyrian man occupying your thoughts, right? 

You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know, Melanie. Maybe Nyx could take you, but I might be too big for him to bring me up to the clouds.” 

“Oh, good idea, mommy! Nyx’s daddy can fly too and he can bring you. Or he has two uncles that could.” Your daughter stuck two fingers in the air with pride. “I wish I had wings. Mommy, did my daddy have wings?” 

You shook your head and abandoned the box at your feet to brush your daughter’s hair back instead. Going to school had opened doors to many questions you had been dreading, and Melanie’s questions about her dad had been coming in waves. 

“Your daddy didn’t have wings,” you began, looping a finger around her red curls. “But he did have hair just like yours.” 

Melanie tilted her head to the side. “Did you love my daddy? Nyx drew a picture at school of his mommy and daddy and said they love each other very much. Like as much as you love me.” 

You fought back a sigh. Nyx was causing you a plethora of issues and you hadn’t even met the kid. “Sometimes families look different,” you explained, running your hands down to brush off the dust on Melanie’s clothes that she’d surely obtained from playing in the apothecary. “I didn’t love your daddy, but that’s just because I had so much love saved up for you.” 

“Hmm…I hope you can have someone to love like how Nyx’s mommy has his daddy,” Melanie said after a small pause. And then she swung off the counter and started trekking up the stairs to the apartment as if she hadn’t just aged ten years with her statement. 

You blinked at the space she left, baffled by your five-year-old’s abruptness. She had only been at school for a week and was making revelations about your life that even you struggled to come to terms with. You let out a small sound of disbelief and made to follow your daughter up the stairs when the bell above the front door chimed. 

“Sorry, we’re closed for the—”

A boot heel clicking silenced your call.

His shadows came in before him, dark swirls instantly sweeping along the walls and wrapping up around the front counter. They didn’t touch you, but there was a hesitance about them that suggested they wanted to. You tore your gaze from their behavior to meet the eyes of the Illyrian from the school—the one you hadn’t seen since and definitely not because you were avoiding all situations where he could spot you. 

“Hello,” Azriel greeted with a calmness that was not reciprocated. “Are you closed? I can come back another time.” 

Every thought tumbled out of your brain. You had forgotten—almost—how intimidating he was. Not just in sheer size, but in the way he held himself, in the sharp planes of his face that smoothed into softness in the exact places they should. 

His wings pressed in towards his back as he took another step forward. The floor groaned beneath his weight. 

“Oh, um—” you uttered along with the straining floor. “We are—technically. But I can help you find something. Or place an order for you. No big deal.” 

“I wouldn’t want to keep you if you’re closed,” Azriel stressed. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you nervously laughed. Act more normal. Act like there’s nothing… abnormal about you. “Anything for someone from Melanie’s school. What are you looking for?” 

Azriel hummed, his eyes lightning. “Ah, so you do remember me. I was wondering.” 

Was he looking at you strangely? Azriel kept trailing his gaze around the room and letting it land on your face, evaluating you… profiling you? 

You were being ridiculous. 

“Of course I do. You gave me great intel on the teacher. I don’t come until the bell rings now.” You rocked back on your heels and shifted your fidgeting hands behind your back. “Was there something specific I could help you with?” 

Azriel ignored your question for the second time. “Is that why I haven’t seen you? You come later?” 

Was he looking for you? 

A strange combination of excitement and trepidation made your stomach drop. 

Another nervous laugh. Your palms were sweating. “I guess so. There’s a lot to be done here so I usually wait until the last minute to close up shop and pick her up. That’s why your tip was so helpful.” 

Azriel narrowed his eyes in a way that echoed concern, but you refused to read into it. You balanced up onto your toes and fell back onto the soles of your feet. 

You could tell he wanted to say more about something—to ask more questions unrelated to the apothecary. But he stopped himself and the restraint was clear in the tenseness of his shoulders. 

“I get headaches,” Azriel shared. “Awful ones. I’ve tried healing magic and a few medicinal remedies, but I was hoping to find something herbal. Could you help me with that?” 

You breathed a sigh of relief and began rifling through a cabinet to your left. “I may have just the thing. I had terrible migraines when I was pregnant and it took me six tries to get this recipe perfect, but I think it would do the trick for you. I almost hate to share it because I was the one that had to suffer through all the bad batches, but I guess that’s kind of my job.” 

You pulled back from the cabinet with a small bottle in hand, a tiny rendition of your handwriting scrawled along the side. You rolled it in your hands for a moment until you saw the shimmering nature of the liquid inside, and then you held it out over the counter and offered Azriel a smile. He replicated it, but it was smaller and looked forced. 

“You didn’t have anyone else to try it out on?” he asked. 

The question twisted something deep within your chest, but you only grinned and ignored the tightness of your jaw. “Who better than the one with the migraines herself?” 

Azriel breathed a laugh through his nose, his eyes not leaving yours. “I suppose that’s true.” 

The flecks in his eyes had you paralyzed, unable to move as his gaze held yours. You were breathless, fist tightening around the small tonic still held out in front of you as Azriel reached forward and grabbed it. His skin brushed yours. You shivered. 

Azriel’s lips parted to speak. “Where are you—”

A loud thump from upstairs cut him off. 

Azriel started, his chin clipping up and his body tensing. He quickly looked back down to you with a panicked question in his eyes. 

You fought for the words to say. If you revealed it was only Melanie, he would know where you lived—another piece of information you liked to keep close. But if you didn’t tell him, that could lead to something worse. He looked about ready to bolt up the stairs and battle your five-year-old. 

The decision was made for you when Melanie came bounding down the steps with a bowl in one hand and a large wooden spoon in the other. 

“Mommy,” she began with a lax posture that did not match the room. “Can I—Oh, hi, Mr. Azriel. What’re you doing at my house?” 

Melanie’s interpretation of his name included an extra syllable, and she was still working on pronouncing Zs, but the Illyrian ignored that. “Your house?” he asked. His attention was fully on Melanie, but he sent you a raised brow. 

“Um, yes. We live above the apothecary. Melanie sometimes forgets that it’s a business downstairs and not just a private playground,” you explained, rubbing your forearm in discomfort. Azriel tracked the movement. 

“Ah, well, it does seem rather fun down here. I can see the confusion.” 

Melanie perked up, waving the spoon in front of your face. “See, mommy? There’s lots to play with.” 

One of the tightly bound coils in your chest loosened as you shot Azriel a look. “Great. You’re encouraging her.” 

“I’ve been an uncle for a few years,” Azriel smiled, rolling the headache tonic between his hands. “I’ve gotten quite good at encouraging terrible things.” 

You laughed with a huff and placed a hand on Melanie’s head, bending down to meet her gaze. “Were you going to ask me for dinner? I’ll be up in just a few minutes. I was just putting a few things away.” 

“I know, mommy,” she nodded. Then, after a quick look at Azriel from the corner of her eye, she whispered, “Is Mr. Azriel having dinner with us? Nyx has been asking about when we have dinner and said to keep the question a secret, but maybe that’s why he’s here.” 

A few feelings barraged you at once. Confusion over your daughter's words; fear that the night court’s inner circle seemed to be asking questions about you; regret that you had given into Melanie’s pleas to go to school so readily. 

But Nyx was just a child—perhaps he asked everyone when they had dinner and Melanie was just connecting dots that weren’t there. 

But maybe that wasn’t the case. 

Maybe Azriel came to the apothecary specifically because you worked there and he was trying to gather intel for the Autumn Court. It had to be common knowledge that the daughter of one of Beron’s men had run away. But Night and Autumn weren’t on the best terms. That’s why you chose Velaris to—

You couldn’t do this right now. 

Not in front of Melanie and certainly not in front of Azriel. 

You pressed your lips into a firm line and whispered back, “No, he came to buy something from mommy’s shop. It’s just us for dinner, like always.” 

A sliver of disappointment fractured Melanie’s gaze. She hooked her chin over her shoulder and sent Azriel a small smile before disappearing into the apartment once more. You wiped your palms on the front of your pants as you stood, taking a breath to calm your raging anxiety. 

“Sorry, she…” 

“It’s alright,” Azriel dismissed. You looked at him for the first time in a few moments, his expression pinched and difficult to read. “I’m around Nyx a lot. You don’t have to apologize.” 

A beat of silence. 

The room was cloaked in unrealized tension. You weren’t sure if it was fueled by suspicion or something else. For you, it was, but the wistful way Azriel continued to linger on your figure was read as something else. Something older, more entrenched.

“It’s just two coppers.” You broke the silence, gesturing to the tonic still held between Azriel’s fingers—his scarred fingers, you then realized. You looked back up to his face.

“Only two? After all it took for you to make it?” 

You felt your mouth twist at the corner despite yourself. “I don’t know if you’ve seen this place, but it’s not exactly up to par with the rest of the apothecaries. I’m surprised you found it, to be honest. My customers are typically ancient fae with boils and warts.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” Azriel teased. He searched through his pocket and placed a small sum of money on the counter between you. “Five coppers—for interrupting dinner.” 

“I hadn’t even—” 

“Goodbye, y/n.” 

You watched him go, not noticing the shadow that lingered in the corner. 

part three

[adobe-outdesign]

Stealthy color for the Neopets review?

Stealthy was introduced post-customization, and while the idea of dressing your pet up in ninja clothes isn't anything new, the actual execution of the colour proved to be pretty neat. In addition to the clothes, Stealthy pets also have a dark blue base with bright blue pupil-less eyes. This looks great and helps to justify this as a paint brush colour instead of just a bunch of clothing sets.

The big issue that stealthy tends to have, at least in my opinion, is that a lot of Stealthy pets Aren't. Overly busy and detailed accents, amour, overly-bright palettes, and more are some things that tend to bog down the lesser Stealthy pets. The only one I think works despite having this attributes is the Stealthy Xweetok, which is based on Noh theater—otherwise, the colour tends to work best with minimal, subtle accent colours, a dark palette, and fairly practical clothing.

Favorite Species:

Hissi: There's nothing particularly special about this design, but I think it really captures the vibe of Stealthy perfectly. The hooded cloak works perfectly with the Hissi's body type, and the clothes are simple and practical. My only nitpick is that the subtle brown elements probably should've just been black, as the extra color doesn't add much to the design.

Mynci: I talked about the Stealthy Mynci already in my Mynci review so I won't go into too much detail here, but I like this design a lot. It's simple, it's practical, the gold and green palette works well with the blue base, and the gilded areas matching the shape of the Mynci's nose is a really nice touch.

Peophin: The Stealthy Peophin gets away from the ninja aesthetic a lot more than some pets, but I like it and I wanted to include it as an example of different ways the colour can be applied while stil looking good. In this case, the Stealthy Peophin has a lot of metallic gold accents against a black base, with netting across the body in patches and a tie around the muzzle that feels fitting for a horse. The whole design makes a surprising amount of practical sense for something that lives in the water.

Least Favorite Species:

Acara: This is what I was talking about when I said Stealthy pets tend to get too busy for their own good. The Stealthy Acara is really a mess, with a confusing mix of gold, green, and red accents all tossed together haphazardly, a snakeskin-like texture on parts of the outfit for no discernible reason, almost random placement of the gold accents, and a mask that leaves giant gaps around the eyes and reveals the mouth, which looks out of place. On the plus side... uh, at least the base colour looks fine?

Chomby: Yes I'm cheating and including two species instead of one, only because there are so many Stealthy designs that are a mess. In this case, the Chomby just has everything going on. Metal accents, random charms (complete with clipping error on the back spines), stitches, an incoherent colour palette with purple, green, orange, and pink accents all at once, and an overall look that could be spotted a mile away. All of the random doodads are part of the shirt and hat too, so you can't remove them in customization. Like the Acara, the base colour is nice, but that's it.

[lemon-meringue-sky]

Have some lore for my main S/I (or OC, I haven't decided yet) while I brainstorm some ship names and tags for different F/Os! I don't have anything acceptable written for this guy yet, so I'm giving you a bunch of facts/tidbits about them in a bullet point list.

The points are in no particular order, and are set in the time a bit before she met any of my F/Os. This may be incoherent because I wrote 90% of it at 1 AM. Apologies for any errors. All of my writing will be under the cut because I don't want to make you scroll through this massive post if you don't want to. (Also, I really don't feel like drawing at the moment, so I'll use Picrews. I'll leave the links to all the featured Picrews underneath all of the writing.)

Meet the resident bastard of this blog, Diana! It's gender apathetic, and it uses any pronouns, but it likes they/it pronouns the best. Diana is 5'11, and weighs ~265 lbs. A large portion of that weight is muscle.

That last Picrew is probably the most accurate to her favorite outfit; A red and black flannel, a black tank top, ripped jeans, and black work boots. The other outfit that she has on is the clothing that she's designated as her work clothes (a white dress shirt, a red and black sweater vest, a long, dark red skirt, and some sort of black dress shoes).

Outwardly, they present themself as someone with a laid back, devil-may-care attitude. It doesn't seem to truly care about much of anything, only really making an effort to do anything outside of its routine if someone wants/needs help or company. She can be a bit loud at times, and they might be a bit blunt and awkward in the manner of speaking, but they do try to be there for those around her. He knows what it's like to feel awful and have nobody else care, so why wouldn't he try to make life better for others if they ask? Of course, they have their bad days (and weeks, and months), but they isolate themselves or generally avoid other people during those times. Nobody else needs to see him like that.

Internally, though? They're a mess. Its thoughts are constantly scattered, many different trains of thought constantly running at the same time, which makes it hard to think. It's stressed and nervous more often than not. They can't recognize themself in the mirror half the time. He has so much going on that I'm not going to even try listing all of his issues here. This post is long enough already.

They get the help they need later on in the lore I promise.

She is so tired, all of the time. If it isn't actively doing something, then it has to fight to stay awake. They can't drive for this reason. The first (and last) few times he tried to drive, he had to pull over and switch spots with his passenger because he kept trying to fall asleep.

When she starts to feel comfortable around someone (which takes a long, long time), she slowly but surely starts to become more rambunctious and eager to be around them. They don't stress as much about how they act and appear when they're around people they trust more than others, so they're more open to talking about their feelings. Don't expect too much from it, though— it doesn't understand it's own emotions well, and it still doesn't want to share too much, so the best you're going to get is probably along the lines of "I'm (sad/angry/stressed/ect.) because life sucks ass."

They don't really have any meaningful experience or insight when it comes to love/romance. The one and only time it ever got close enough to fall in love with someone (before the events where they meet my F/Os) was back when they were 16. The relationship lasted about a week and ended horribly. The experience was bad enough that it put Diana off of even wanting to be friends with anyone for almost a year and a half. She doesn't really have any examples of what relationships are supposed to look like either; her aunt (whom she lived with between the ages of 10 and 17) was divorced and said nothing but bad things about her uncle. Plus, its memory of its parents are very foggy, so it doesn't really remember how their relationship was. Besides, they don't really think that they're good boyfriend/girlfriend/partner material for many reasons, so they don't really see the need to understand romance and relationships. (Plus, if he falls in love again, he knows he's going to hate himself for it. It can't have a repeat of what happened last time. It won't let that happen.)

It needs medication and therapy badly. They don't really have any of that, though. The reason why just generally depends on the universe I put them in at that point. Sometimes she can't afford it, other times she does have the money, but she's physically unable to take her meds/go to therapy for some reason. Other times, he doesn't even bother to try because "Nobody's said anything to anyone, so it's not that bad."

She'll get better at coping with her emotions later on I swear!!! It just needs a bit of a push to get help.

I was very specific about his design when it comes to his scars/previous injuries. Any injury that's left permanent damage is based off of some sort of unexplained affliction or chronic pain that I have. Not all of my ailments have an injury equivalent on Diana, though! Only the things that don't have an official diagnosis/name get an injury equivalent. (Ex. I have god awful pain in my right leg that no doctor can explain. For Diana, the pain is caused by an untreated fracture that healed wrong. However, they don't have an injury equivalent for my fibromyalgia. It just has fibromyalgia.)

They also have some features that I do! These features include, but are not limited to; a small black dot in their left iris, a scar that goes down their cheek and under her chin (although Diana's scar is much bigger than mine), thick bushy eyebrows, and more.

Do not touch its hair. Better yet, don't even get close to his hair unless he gives you direct permission.

Diana came from a large family! Alongside both parents, they had a younger sister, a twin sister, two older sisters and an older brother. Diana is currently the only living member of her family though, the rest have passed with time.

They have lots of things they're interested in. She likes to draw and write occasionally. They collect a lot of random odds and ends like buttons, shells, marbles, coins, pins, and things of that sort. They love video games, but they don't play them very often.

It fights dirty! If she gets into a fight, she isn't going to play fair under any circumstance (unless she's play fighting/wrestling, then she plays fair). They pull hair and jewelry, they bite hard, they use whatever they can grab as a weapon, anything to get them ahead.

Speaking of biting, they have crowded teeth and an overbite! It also has a chipped front tooth.

Diana loves music in general! She loves listening to music, singing, making music, and playing instruments. They were in state choir every year from fifth grade until they dropped out of school in tenth grade.

Picrews used: First Picrew, Second Picrew, Third Picrew

[etheriaaly]

Just The Two Of Us [C! Tommyinnit x GN! Reader]

FLUFF TO ANGST (PLATONIC)  WARNINGS: Mentions of suicide, suicidal thoughts, character death, cursing

Reader pronouns: They/them 

A/N: Hi, this is my first DSMP fanfic so uhh I hope u enjoy lmao. There might be grammatical errors so pls do not mind it :D

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ∣ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

—

[Y/N] already lost count of all the pranks and chaos they made with Tommy. They didn't like causing havoc or pulling pranks on people but if Tommy asked them to tag along, they would. Tommy is their best friend after all. Plus, where's the fun in life without a little risk?

[Y/N] was just at their Cottage house, peacefully making the potions that Quackity ordered just hours ago. Since [Y/N] is a skilled witch, it was no shock when they owned a Potions business. Everyone in the SMP server knows about this and they usually come and buy their potions. 

They were about to finish the last set of potions that Quackity ordered until they ran out of ingredients. "Dammit." [Y/N] muttered under their breath. They turned around and immediately went to find if they have any stock ingredients in their barrels or chests.

When they saw no stock ingredients, [Y/N] sighed and decided to do some last minute ingredients grinding. It was until they opened the door and saw Tommy standing in front of their house door.

[Y/N] knew that his presence is no good because that motherfucker is grinning ear to ear. They playfully groaned and asked, "What is it this time child?"

"Hey, I told you not to call me a child anymore!" Tommy suddenly protested, feeling insulted but went back to his sly grin and said, "Let's prank Skeppy and Bad." 

"That's a horrible idea." 

"Come on, bitch. It'll be fun." 

And they did come with Tommy. A couple hours had passed and [Y/N] had already forgotten about the ingredients they were gonna get for Quackity's potions. Tommy said that Big Q's order can wait but the prank can't. 

It wasn't long after Bad and Skeppy saw the two teenagers doing their little harmless prank on them. 

[Y/N] caught sight of the two and immediately tugged on Tommy's shirt. "Fuck, Tommy we gotta go." 

Tommy, unfazed and still focused on the prank, said, "Just a little longer." 

[Y/N] nudged Tommy's side using her elbows as the two teenagers can now hear Skeppy and Bad's incoherent yelling drawing closer and closer to them. 

"RUN!" [Y/N] yelled as they both left the things they used to try to prank BBH and Skeppy. 

The two let out a laugh as they ran away. Tommy constantly turned his head back to see if Skeppy and Bad are still after them. 

[Y/N] and Tommy continued to run even though Bad and Skeppy stopped coming after them. It wasn't until the two teenagers finally stopped running so that they could catch their breath. 

"What now?" [Y/N] gasped, who is still out of breath from both running and laughing at the same time. They looked at Tommy. 

Tommy grinned again and then grabbed their arm, "I have something pog to show you." 

[Y/N] didn't question Tommy and just let him drag them to a mountain. 

Once they have reached the destination, [Y/N] let out a 'wow'. The view is breathtaking and it is very peaceful. The mountain isn't that very far from the SMP but it looks like very few have come across this part. 

"So, what do you think?" Tommy asked, looking at the view. The view consists of the calming ocean waves and a peaceful sunsetting with birds passing by. 

[Y/N] turned to Tommy and smiled, "This could be our secret spot." They slowly walked towards the edge of the mountain cliff but were immediately stopped by Tommy. 

"Oh, [Y/N] wait. Be careful, the edge of the cliff looks really faulty." Tommy warned. 

[Y/N] immediately stepped back a little and took note of what Tommy said. But, they were still curious and looked down at the edge of the cliff, only to see the water from below. 

If someone would fall from this cliff and took a heavy impact on the water, that person wouldn't survive due to how high the mountain cliff is. 

[Y/N] then proposed, "You know, when things are stressful and stuff. We can just go here, sit in silence and look at the view as the wind or the waves takes away our problems for a while." 

"Just the two of us." The blonde haired lad said and then they both stood in silence, admiring the view and beauty of the server. 

Oh, if only you could turn back in time and relive this memory. If only things are still the same the way it was before. 

It's been so long since [Y/N] had fun and peace. Probably so many months since Tommy first showed them their secret mountain hangout area. 

[Y/N] currently stood still, gazing at the view that was once calm and peaceful but was now replaced with sounds of flying TNTs, fireworks and screams from the background.

They were in no state of mind as of the moment. They don't even know what to do anymore. A lot has changed ever since the wars, the exilation of Tommy. 

[Y/N] sniffed, wiping their tears using their now mangy sleeves caused by the current chaotic event. They continued to stare at the ocean, a potion of poison glistening in their hands. 

[Y/N] looked at the Potion of Poison that they were holding and pondered whether to drink it or not. 

Maybe it's best to end it once and for all. They don't have anywhere to go anyways. They don't have any friends or family to turn back to since everyone is against them or thought badly of them now. 

[Y/N] can't even go back to L’manberg as well since they're now a wanted criminal for breaking the laws and escaping from their house since they're supposed to be on house arrest for the crimes they didn't even do. 

They opened the cork of the potion, but they didn't drink it yet. They let their mind wander for a while and process everything that has happened. 

Maybe Dream was right. Maybe the people they loved never even cared for them at all. Maybe it was all just a lie. Maybe—

"[Y/N]." A familiar voice that they haven't heard in a while. 

It was windy. The cool breeze of air touched their skins. But along with the wind, there are particles of TNT or fireworks dusts. 

The [H/C] haired person turned around and saw their best friend for the first time in months. 

"Tommy." [Y/N] replied. Their voice were hoarse and dry. "What are you- What are you doing here?" 

"I could ask you the same thing." Tommy glared at them.

[Y/N] quietly groaned, closed their eyes for a while and pinched their nose bridge, still holding the potion on their other hand. "So, you believe all that shit?"

"Enough for me to believe the fact you tried to murder Tubbo, burn my invites and team up with Dream." 

Tommy added, "Maybe they were right about you. You're Dream's sibling after all." 

[Y/N] scoffed and threw their available hand around the air, "He may be my sibling, but we are never alike." 

"Why, [Y/N]? Why did you do it?" Tommy asked, hands gripping tighter on his sword. "Did Dream finally get into your head for you to commit these crimes? Or did you just do it because it's in your blood?" 

"You don't know a thing that happened," [Y/N] harshly spit back, completely trying to avoid the topic of Dream. "Of course you don't. You were exiled."

Tommy never understood why. Why had they turned like this? He felt rage and betrayal. During his exiled time, Tommy thought that they were gonna be that one person who would try to find him. Comfort him or even send him secret coded messages. But no, he received nothing. 

It hurts. Hurts like hell to know your best friend turned their back on everyone. A best friend that he has known for years. A part of him wants to believe they didn't do it but the proofs are enough for him to believe it was really them. 

"Well, you really can't blame me can you? You can only blame yourself," [Y/N] said. "This all started because of you and your stupid discs. All you ever care about is the FUCKING DISCS. Wars started, lives were lost, relationships were destroyed, all just because of those discs." 

They had never done this before. This was their first time just being angry and shouting at each other. Although this might be new to each other, it was obvious that they have been bottling up their emotions way too long. 

"You know what?! Things would be so much better if only you didn't exist." Tommy instantly regretted what he said as soon as he saw a potion glisten from [Y/N]'s hands. 

He may not be an expert but he knew well enough of the potions due to him hanging out too much with them before. "What are you doing?" Tommy immediately asked. "Is that a potion of poison?" 

"Nothing for you to care about." [Y/N] turned back towards the cliff and stared at the view once again. 

"Just the two of us again here, huh?" They said as they pulled the potion towards their mouth, just inches away from the lips now until Tommy hurriedly ran towards [Y/N] and tackled them. 

"What are you, an idiot?!" Tommy scolded as they both fought each other while trying not to fall from the cliff. He tried to pull the potion of poison away but it was hard since they kept gripping on it. 

It wasn't until Tommy was finally able to remove the potion from [Y/N]'s grasps. He threw the potion far away as it got smashed on the ground. 

The two of them were too busy fighting over the potion to notice that one of them is now standing on the faulty edge of the cliff. 

[Y/N] was on the edge of the cliff and accidentally backed away from Tommy, thinking there was still space. A loud shriek came out of their mouth.

Tommy immediately ran towards the edge, scrambled on his feet and looked down. Luckily, [Y/N] was able to hold onto the edge but their hands are shaky and tired from all the things that just happened. 

"I got you, I got you." Tommy frantically muttered, his breath increasing as to not knowing what will happen next. 

[Y/N] grip is slowly failing. Once their hands slipped, Tommy instantly grabbed their hands and tried to pull them back up. But, he too was tired from everything that has been happening. 

He tried to pull them up again but it was no use. Stress was adding up even more the moment they both felt the edge of the cliff shaking once more. 

Tommy can't do it anymore. So, he let out all the tears he's been trying to fight back. 

"It's gonna be okay, Tommy. Let me go." 

The blonde haired teen's eyes widened at [Y/N]'s statement. He can't do it. He can't bear to lose another loved one in his life. 

"I can't lose you too, [N/N]." Tommy croaked. 

The two might've fought just minutes ago but this is now a life and death situation. Problems and angst aside, they still care for each other. 

"You already did." Tommy's eyes widened in confusion and sadness. [Y/N] forced their hand to slip from his as Tommy tried to tighten it even more. [Y/N] had a few energies remaining, so they used it to push themselves off the cliff with their foot, making Tommy let go. 

For Tommy, everything is going so fast that his mind almost stopped working. 

But everything was in slow motion for [Y/N]. The fresh wind was so refreshing, almost making them forget what is currently happening to them. 

They closed their eyes, not wanting to see anymore reactions from Tommy. This is their end. This was meant to be. 

The moment [Y/N] chose to fall out from Tommy's grip, the blonde panicked and set aside all items he had with him. Without thinking properly, he lunged himself off the cliff. The only goal he had in mind was to save [Y/N] before it's too late. 

But he was, indeed, late. 

Everyone's communicator beeped. They all took at least some time to look at what the message could be on the communicator. As soon as everyone read the 2 words, their jaws dropped. 

[Y/N] drowned. 

[quodekash]

HELLO I FINALLY HAVE TIME TO WATCH THE FIRST OS2 SIMM EPISODE 

im really hoping they do seanmaitee and not naysean for this, bc otherwise ill probably scream and riot. i love winnysatang with all my being, but their characters in this show shouldn’t be a couple in my opinion (if you ship them i have absolutely no problem with that). from memory (and i binged simm not too long ago so i think my memory is reliable), they’re literally only in the same room together once, and they dont even interact at all. SEANMAITEE, ON THE OTHER HAND, were SO CLEARLY being built towards in the show (the way maithee would hit on so many people, and sean would constantly stop him, but then when sean watched someone else hit on daonuea but didnt stop him, and the way sean always has a protective arm around maithee, and gejrdhfbghr i could talk about them forever honestly), and then the COWARDS freaking DIDNT MAKE THEM OFFICIALLY CANON???? im so salty about this and need confirmation and i will be Angry™️ if they do naysean instead of seanmaitee 

anyway, time for the actual commentary to begin (that was a really long introduction, damn) (future egg here to tell you: it gets worse. the commentary is really long on this one. it’s mostly keysmashes about seanmaithee. good luck.) 

THIS IS PROMISING, VERY VERY PROMISING, PLS P’NEW AND SCREENWRITERS AND GMMTV AND STUFF, DON’T CHICKEN OUT LIKE YOU DID LAST TIME 

im actually stressed out why am i stressed out 

im genuinely scared for what’s gonna happen 

what if they do naysean 

theyd better not do naysean, PLEASE 

grebghreb

(im literally 20 seconds in, why cant i just watch stuff without needing to spam my thoughts) 

THESE FLASHBACKS ARE SO SWEET 

SIMM HAS BEEN SITTING IN THE BACK OF MY MIND BC EVERY OTHER SERIES IVE WATCHED SINCE THEN HAS BEEN SO MUCH MORE BRAINROTTY THAN THIS ONE BUT I STILL LOVE THEM 

“i still love daonuea, i love daonuea, and i love daonuea” ITS SO FREAKING SWEET WHAT THE HELL 

this has definitely been said before by like everyone, but something i love about this series in particular is how kluen was terrible at showing his emotions and feelings and inner thoughts, he was this blank slate going around and showing nothing. but then, as the series progresses, he tries harder to show nuea that he likes him. but my boy doesnt have it figured out yet, and there’s communication errors and it seems like he’s pushing himself on nuea and it seems like an unhealthy/toxic relationship, but it’s not, he’s just autistic and doesnt know how to communicate his emotions and he’s trying for the first time and doing it wrong but he’s trying. and then it gets to the last episode (or two? i cant remember) and theyre so happy and fluffy and good vibes and its because he’s finally figured it out, he just has to say ‘i love you i love you i love you’ and even pronounce it to the world ‘I LOVE DAONUEA’ so that everyone knows and so that nuea knows and so that they can both finally understand and be happy and ghrbghrb they make me happy 

that was so incoherent but you probably get the gist of what i mean 

okay im gonna stop ranting now, im still only a minute into the episode lmao 

HELL YES THIS FREAKING INTRO 

MY FREAKING BOYS 

THEYRE COMING BACK NEXT WEEK 

ANJGHBERJDHGBERHJBGEHRAAAAAA 

sorry this post is supposed to be about simm, ill try to keep the eclipse keysmashes to a minimum 

AND PUENTALAY ARE COMING BACKKKK 

im much more excited about puentalay than i was last week since i rewatched vvs a few days ago 

NOOO THE LITTLE HAND KISS- IM GONNA CRY 

TINNGUNNNNN 

sorry i should stop freaking out about the shows that are coming and start freaking out about NUEAKLUEN THEYRE BACK HELLO MY BOYS 

GUY4ERGHKBER SATANG 

HELLO SATANG 

ILY 

ILY A LOT 

AND MAITHEE STANDING NEXT TO SEAN AND STARING DIRECTLY AT HIM LIKE THERES NOTHING ELSE IN THE WORLD HE SHOULD BE STARING AT?? THIS IS PROMISING 

kluen why are you slightly late 

he’s gonna profess his love for nuea in front of all the freshmen isnt he 

i know he’s gonna do it 

“that’s the hottest senior from the faculty of dentistry” yup. absolutely. he’s gonna profess his love in front of all the freshmen 

if he doesnt profess his love in front of all the freshmen, then im a bar-ba-loot from the lorax 

yUP

im shaking my head in a supposedly disappointed way rn but im actually smiling bc i love him 

he’s so pretty and in love with his pretty boyfriend and their love is pretty 

HIS FREAKING SHIPPER FACE 

SEAN’S KNOWN FOR LONGER THAN ANY OF THEM AND I FREAKING LOVE HIM 

omg he did like a little sway and nudged maithee a little bit with his shoulder ghjerbgdh 

by the way im gonna switch between spelling it maitee and maithee cos idk which one is right so im playing both sides, so you’re just gonna have to deal with that 

(there’s a high likelihood that no one’s noticed the spelling alternations and now that ive pointed it out everyone’s gonna be hyperaware of it, but its fine) 

he knows what he just did 

“i just wanted to make it clear from the start in case some freshmen hit on you” i love him 

also i was about to say that kluen is supposedly the hottest senior, so shouldnt he be more worried about himself getting hit on, but then i remembered that in this universe dao is the sun and everyone else is the solar system revolving around him, so of course the freshmen would try to hit on him lmao 

except for sean. 

sean’s a moon revolving around maitee 

THE HANDS THE FREAKING HANDS LOOK AT THEM HOLDING HANDS 

I KNOW THEYRE DATING AND THEY HAVE BEEN FOR LIKE A YEAR 

BUT I JUST LOVE HOW THEYRE SO OPEN AND FREE AND HAPPY AND IN LOVE AND I LOVE THEM AND THEY LOVE EACH OTHER AND I SWEAR IM OKAY (im not okay) 

“but after meeting you again, i knew i must start loving you. there’s no way i will let go of you again” THIS MAN IS GONNA MAKE ME FREAKING CRY WHAT THE HELL THAT’S SO FREAKING SWEET 

THEY LOVE EACH OTHER 

AND IT’S SO RAW AND PURE AND GHJRBDGHRB 

HIS FREAKING SMILE, HE LOVES HIM SO MUCH 

“you’re shy, so you’re walking away, darling” dARLING-- IM DYING 

fun fact, i was watching vice versa with italian subtitles and at one point one of them called the other ‘darling’, which is ‘tesorino’ in italian, and i knew that the suffix -ino means ‘little’, so i looked up what ‘tesoro’ means and it’s ‘treasure’, whcih means if you’re calling someone darling in italian youre calling them ‘little treasure’ and i just think that’s so sweet 🥺😭

I LITERALLY JUST GASPED 

THEYRE STANDING NEXT TO EACH OTHER 

AND IT’S MAITHEE’S ARM AROUND SEAN INSTEAD OF THE OTHER WAY AROUND???? PLEASE TELL ME THAT MEANS WHAT I HOPE IT MEANS 

HE’S SO FREAKING HAPPY, IT MAKES ME HAPPY 

CONTAGIOUS HAPPINESS 

GRJKGB

ARE WE ABOUT TO GET A FULL FREAKING SCENE WITH THEM??? 

or am i clowning 

i was expecting just crumbs but pLEASE TELL ME THEYRE GIVING US A FULL SCENE 

PERHAPS EVEN TWO SCENES 

honestly just let pawin’s characters be happy and gay 

also i find it funny that the order theyre going in is the first three are all of pawin’s in a row 

(and in all of them he’s gonna get a happy and gay side character plot line??? please????????) 

gosh darnnit nuea is in the scene now 

perhaps there will be something later in the episode? maybe in tonight’s episode?? 

THE SHOULDERS THE ARM AROUND THE SHOULDERS IS PAWIN FINALLY BECOMING MORE PROTECTIVE OF SEAN IS HE FINALLY REALISING HIS FEELINGS FOR SEAN AND/OR FINALLY BECOMING OPEN ABOUT HIS FEELINGS FOR SEAN PLEASE TELL ME THAT’S WHAT THAT IS 

THE ARM AROUND THE SHOULDERS IS A METAPHOR 

OR SOMETHING 

MAYBE 

let me dream, okay

ya know who else ignores everyone and focuses only on the person he loves intently? sean 

maithee why is your voice so croaky 

is that just pawin putting on a particular voice for the character 

or was pawin sick 

or is maithee sick 

if its one of the last two, i hope he’s okay (be it the character or the actor) 

so... the croaky voice was intentional? 

THE L O O K 

sidenote, satang is so freaking pretty. why. who decided that. 

MAITEE ARE YOU COPYING THEM??? PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE COPYING THEM 

SEAN WHY DID YOU LEAN AWAY YOUVE BEEN IN LOVE WITH HIM FOR YEARS 

it’s the fate of The Captain 

just ask tiw, he knows how it feels 

or wat, also ask wat 

or aoi and jack 

or- sorry ill stop lmao 

kluen arent you a dentist. why are you sitting at nursing. 

idk how dentist school works 

did he have to go through nursing stuff to get to dentisting? 

im an arts and literature kid, idk what im talking about 

OMG, STRAIGHT PEOPLE?? 

this is a rare phenomenon, folks 

hello straights / straight presenting potential future couple 

omg its literally been nearly an hour since i started watching and im still only 8 minutes into the episode 

OR, PERHAPS, LESBIANS??? 

there could be anything, really 

in my mind, every single character in ever single piece of media is pansexual until proven otherwise 

bro you’re leaning into each other so much, JUST KISS 

also i sense that sean’s about to become the unwilling captain of yet another ship (but he secretly loves it) 

kiss. 

lmao theyre not sponsored by the anime sparkling water, it’s just normal water, the little plebs 

soundwin were sponsored by the anime sparling water 

and then tiwpor were

but soundwin did it first 

soundwin always did it first 

anyway, it’s seanmaithee time not soundwin time 

KISS. (again, the frEAKING ARM OVER THE SHOULDER GHBRHGB) 

there was a slight scene change and i thought that meant that maybe we wouldnt see much of them for a while, but nOPE, THEYRE EVERYWHERE 

i wouldnt be surprised if they were behind me right now 

hello seanmaitee, how are you today 

(i wish) 

lmao they even blurred the water bottles in post just so that everyone knows that THIS ISNT A SPONSOR 

THEY BACK TO THEIR ROOTS, SEAN’S HAND ON MAITEE’S SHOULDER 

BRO YOU’RE ALWAYS SMILING AT HIM IN MOMENTS WHERE IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE IT FITS THE CONTEXT TO BE SMILING AT HIM 

YOURE IN LOVE WITH HIM 

KISS HIM 

“you two see that kluen and i are in love, but let me tell you that-” THAT YOU TWO ARE ALSO IN LOVE???? “we actually love each other much more than what you see” DANG IT I WAS WRONG 

im right tho. seanmaithee are in love. 

HES SO UNNECESSARY AND DRAMATIC, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 

im sorry what the hell does that mean 

omg maybe its because he knows how to make people jealous because he knows that he’s always made sean jealous and he knows that now because theyve already confessed to each other and theyre already dating??????? 

im definitely clowning but shut up i dont care 

whoop, helmet putting on time 

(guess what, soundwin did that first too-) 

i smell a sponsorship in this motorbike thingy 

this makes me so happy 

why does this make me so happy 

he knwos him so well and knows he loves art and stuff 

so he wants to take him to buy watercolour

i love them 

i love them so much 

grhgbtrhbgfr

OH HE EVEN KNEW HE WAS RUNNING OUT OF WATERCOLOUR??? BROOOOOO 

theyre so sweet 

sorry im tryna take the commentary down a notch because this is long enough already lmao 

FINALLY, IM FINISHED 1/4 

THAT TOOK WAY TOO LONG 

IT WAS ONLY LIKE 15 MINUTES LONG AND ITS BEEN OVER AN HOUR SINCE I STARTED 

omg i just remembered i forgot to watch the mv for the ost for this 

i was gonna do it like four times yesterday but i kept getting distracted and forgetting 

dang it 

OMG OISHI SPONSOR 

I FREAKING LOVE OISHI SPONSORSHIP SEGMENTS 

THEYRE MY FAVOURITE SPONSORSHIPS AND I CANT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY 

is it just bc i love ice tea? that could very well be it 

lmao nueakluen stirring things up just to make seanmaitee confused this is so funny 

im loving this storyline 

we’ve barely seen it play out yet but i want typhoon to be happy and this is so nice 

lmao what girls 

seanmaithee are in love with each other, bro 

aweeee little accidental kiss 

FOREHEAD KISS 

“CAN I KISS YOU” 

and he asked in ENGLISH 

its always so offputting whenever they speak english for like one sentence bc im never expecting it 

i love it

but also i hate it 

why are you speaking english 

stop speaking this rubbish language 

it sucks 

a lot 

its the worst language 

keep speaking thai, please 

AWW KISSEEEE 

“of course” STOP IT WITH THE ENGLISH, PLEASE 

AWWWWWEEEEEHBRDHFGBREHJDG KISSSSSS THEY KISS 

HAPPY 

“you only kissed one cheek so i only open one eye” hes so silly (affectionate) i love him 

brEAKFAST IN BED??? 

EGWSVFHGSGV “will you eat breakfast first or eat me first” bro 

THE FAKE DRAMA THEYRE STIRRING UP- THIS IS SO FUNNY WHAT THE HELL 

GEIRHBDGHREDB TYPHOON AND... i forgot her name. the girl. TYPHOON AND THE GIRL THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME 

shes so pretty 

THE FAKE ARGUMENTS 

ITS SO FUNNY 

KLUEN’S GETTING SO INTO IT HIS ANGER LOOKS SO REAL OMG 

mIN, THAT’S HER NAME, MIN 

“if this thing makes them break up, let’s get ordained, shall we?” the way this is worded it sounds like some kind of marriage proposal 

“i told you i already have a date with a girl” NOOOOOOOOO

noooooo, maithee had a date with a girl, and the only other person other than their group that’s going on the trip thing is nay, and theyre definitely gonna do a naysean thing, gosh freaking darnnit 

unless they dont 

unless maitee only had the date so that he could try and get over his feelings for sean bc hes convinced himself sean doesnt reciprocate, but my hopes are not high 

BUILDING A HOUSE TOGETHER???? PLEASEEEEE 

theyre so freaking in love i love them so much 

LITTLE KISSE i love when they little kisse 

damn its over now 

NOOOOO IN THE PREVIEW THERES A SUPER CLEAR NAYSEAN THING 

I LOVE WINNYSATANG A LOT BUT WHY CANT IT BE SEANMAITHEEEEEEEE 

pls i just want pawin’s characters to be happy and gay in every single os2 episode that he’s in 

and because seanmaithee hAVE to be together 

AAAAAA

welp i take too long to watch things and now the next episode comes out in a little under 2 hours, and i started watching this about two hours ago so thats fun 

[mentalisttraceur]

Imagining what it might be like to split into multiple minds and merge back into one. As I do sometimes.

The lessened conscious experience, maybe a guiding remembered goal, the memory of a vision or decision process too big or too foreign slipping away like the details of a dream after waking up.

What would I need to think, while whole, to ensure that the parts, once given independence, did what was desired? Extreme trust fall! Give up a part of yourself, and hope it doesn't betray you, doesn't go off-mission more than acceptable, comes back, willingly fuses, and that you haven't grown too incompatible from your different experiences in the meantime!

At least within the same brain you know you're all stuck in there together. You share the compute wetware and the flesh vehicle. You can only disintegrate so much through deeply habitualized avoidance of thinking "into" each other, and you're inescapably bound by cause-and-effect. This puts a hard limit on how much incentives can diverge. But if parts could split from the whole bodily, like if you were shape-shifting goo? Suddenly you really have to trust the part that you let go, and set it up pretty carefully before splitting. But even just within the same brain, if you can see enough possible ways for it to go badly, any cognition that you let execute outside of conscious dominion can seem risky. Especially if you're not the conscious stream that gets the steering wheel.

And then the reintegration. The merging. I have the most trouble imagining what this would be like. I suspect the difficulty is because I'm a pretty well-integrated human brain - I'm overwhelmingly certain that I am a singlet, and in fact my conscious self seems to "cover" more of my mind than some other normal people. Which means my cognition is really used to the many little integrations - that my conscious mind is quite experienced at smoothing over the mergers. Or perhaps more accurately maybe my conscious mind is the story cobbled together by all the mergers. Because, to be clear, the human brain definitely does this - how could it not? There's many parts and they physically can't be constantly reconciling everything instantly.

Anyway, if I had to guess, the integration is experienced kinda like this: first mind contact - thoughts pop up seemingly spontaneously that weren't there before. The more "different" the parts have had time to become, the more of the new stuff will be absolutely incoherent mental noise. Random blips of qualia and cognition like those little errors on old videos, sensory experiences coming from the wrong "mental directions" (like a smell coming from where sounds should be), etc. New associations - you think familiar thoughts but they suddenly start triggering unexpected feelings, memories, or other thoughts. New perspective, especially self-perspective: you suddenly see yourself or other things in ways you never have before. (In the "splitting into multiple bodies" hypothetical this is easy to imagine as suddenly merging one part's memories of looking at another part, into that other part's conscious stream, but within the same brain this might be suddenly seeing memories of the same events from a different mental reference frame: with more or less feeling of control, with different reactions, with different interpretations or thoughts about it.) And of course this can be gradual. Very gradual. If both parts are adaptive and perform valuable functions, then they'll probably be busy doing those things - they might not have time to play the complex game of thinking exactly the right thoughts to set off cognitive ripples in the other part, or to process the cognitive noise they're getting from the other part.

I wonder how many common human experiences come down to this. Like when people dissociate in traumatic situations and say they felt like they were onlookers, that could be just the main conscious "thread" (main? main in what sense? main perhaps only in the sense that this is the one that has conscious continuity/integration with the part retelling their story later) losing the controls to some other thread. And the key point here is that other thread of cognition perhaps always has some conscious experience of it's own! But if it and the "main" one don't regularly "mix", you'd never even know.

I've had a phrase in my mind for a couple years now. "We're all multiple (some of us just have stronger partitioning of experience and memory)". I kinda wanted to do a Proper(tm), concise post with just that concept, but never got around to it. I still think that's pretty true. But the neat thing is, it cuts both ways. Originally what I had in mind was us singlets having better integration, weaker partitioning. But now I'm thinking that maybe some of us singlets just have stronger partitions that the obviously unintegrated multiples. So strong that we can go our whole lives and never notice. It seems reasonable that in the entire space of possible human brain configurations, some adaptive configurations have the conscious self-narrative talky bit (since we never hear the stories of any part that doesn't both have access to the talk-y controls and doesn't want to tell stories about itself) fairly strongly and persistently partitioned off from other substantial and/or possibly-conscious parts, which do their roles silently, or at least without feeling the need to describe or explain or identify themselves.

[starlesswritings]

yjh character musings

notes: please forgive me i haven't read all of orv since maybe a year ago. also, this was intended to not feel finished once the reader got to the end, i hope that's not too annoying.

Yoo Joonghyuk is... a jerk.

A handsome, tall — well, not taller than Lee Hyunsung, but that hardly matters, he’s still tall. As it was being stated. Yoo Joonghyuk is handsome, tall, intelligent, and powerful. His presence is on another level. He is... many things. Too many things, really. Far too many things for anyone to handle. Not Kim Dokja, not Han Sooyoung, Lee Seolhwa, Lee Jihye — no. Really, he is filled to the brim with too much.

But what filled him up so? What gave him such presence?

It could be supposed, that perhaps it is the overwhelming emptiness within the man who is Yoo Joonghyuk that makes him who he is. He is a shell of a person. Isn’t that what characters are? They are shells of actual existences.

That would bring up the quesiton of what it means to exist, and that is not a headache anyone wants to get into these days. Everyone has their own opinion on what is right or wrong in every regard.

I have an opinion on that discourse which I am going to call fact.

Right is always right. Wrong is always wrong. Whether we as people are aware of which is which half the time is of no concern to right and wrong.

This is a ramble of incoherency. Back to the point — Yoo Joonghyuk. This sad, sad, pathetic man. Orphaned. Lonely. He really did need a companion. Someone on equal standing with him as opposed to his little sister, who one could imagine was all he truly had before... well, before the start of the story, really. Family connects and ties together, but families have roles depending on the position.

It could be supposed, that he simply gave so much of himself, there really wasn’t much left. What he kept was rusted bones and filthy scars. All his love had been sucked out whole. All his happiness was elsewhere. Happiness was not a necessity, but a luxury, and one he simply could not afford.

So, yes. He is a jerk. I state this like it is a fact, but perhaps I am simply too ignorant to realize the errors of this statement. Or, perhaps I was wrong before about right always being right and wrong always being wrong. Perhaps, if I was wrong about that, then I may just be right about this.

It’s powerful, how probability tipped to one side and a few words and some currency can really turn the world inside out.

[fremedon]

Brickclub 3.4.1, “A Group that Almost Became Historic,” Part 1 of ??

We’re taking two and a half weeks for the six chapters of 3.4, “The Friends of the ABC”; I don’t know how many posts I’m going to spend on 3.4.1, but probably at least 10--this introductory one, and at least one for each Ami.

This post is going to be a lot of digging into translation choices--as, in fact, they all are; there is simply no translation that does not fail hard somewhere in this chapter. Accordingly I’m going to be jumping pretty randomly between FMA and Donougher and occasionally Wilbour.

So, to start out with Donougher, at the beginning of the chapter:

In those days, a period of apparent passivity, a certain vague sense of revolutionary excitement prevailed. Murmurs rising from the depths of of ‘89 and ‘93 were in the air.* Callow youth, if we may be forgiven the expression, was spreading its wings.** People were changing, almost unawares, just by virtue of the progress of time. The hand that advances around the clock-face advances, too, in people’s souls. Each individual was taking whatever step forward was his to take.*** Royalists were becoming liberals, liberals were becoming democrats.

*The French text on Gutenberg says “‘89 and ‘92,” as does FMA; I’m assuming that’s one of the errors from the original printing that was reproduced in later translations.

**This totally fails to get at the sense of FMA: “Young Paris was, excuse the expression, in the process of molting.” 

***Here, though--and the reason I went with Donougher for this passage--FMA fails to capture the sense; it has “Each individual took the next step forward.” The French is “Chacun faisait en avant le pas qu'il avait à faire.”

The bolded lines start us off in agreement with Combeferre: “inclined to let progress take its course,” “a fire can certainly create a glow, but why not wait for daybreak,” etc. Combeferre’s ideas of progress as an inexorable natural force are, according to the narrator, working already--the passage of time itself is pushing people towards more advanced ideas.

But if “each individual is taking whatever step forward is his to take”--Combeferre’s next step is going to be to revolution, violent rebellion. It’s not his first choice, but it’s where Progress is going to drive him.

I think this is the book’s usual twofold view of history again, Providence vs Fatalité: Progress--Providence--might be inevitable and unstoppable, but how we get there is undetermined--and relying on Progress on its own is, in the end, intolerable even to the most progressive and utopian mind we’re going to meet.

This argument continues in paragraph 3:

Other schools of thought were more serious. This one sought to establish first principles. That one set great store by rights. There was enthusiasm for the absolute, with infinite materializations of it envisaged. The absolute by its very rigor turns minds skyward and sets them loose in the limitless blue. There is nothing like dogma for giving birth to dreams. Today’s Utopia is tomorrow’s flesh and blood.

Utopias are good because they can be realized. We are not in the realm of self-improvement here--we’re not in Marius’s modality of dreaming without engaging with the world. This group is going to get its hands dirty, and that is correct.

In between these two paragraphs, we have this:

It was like a rising tide, complicated by countless undertows. It is in the nature of undertows to create turbulence, hence some very peculiar combinations of ideas. People adored Napoleon and liberty. We are writing history here. These were the mirages of that period. Opinions go through phases. Voltairian monarchism, a peculiar variety, had in Bonapartist liberalism a no less strange counterpart.

Hugo tells us twice, just in case we missed it the first time, that Marius’s politics is fucking incoherent.

I also commented on @everyonewasabird’s post here with notes on the translations of the bits about the Carbonari and the relationship between insurrection and coup d’etat; I’m not going to repeat that here.

The list of puns that have a serious bearing on politics is our instruction to read all of the wordplay in the coming chapters very closely. :D 

ISTR @pilferingapples​ had a good post detailing why it matters that the Amis save Lesgle are all from the Midi, but tl;dr, they are from the part of France where the Revolution first took hold deepest (it’s called the Marseillaise for a reason), and where the counterrevolutionary backlash at every stage was the strongest. They would have grown up during the White Terror of the Restoration. They’re no strangers to political violence.

And finally, Donougher really falls down on the translation of the last line before we get to the individual intros:

At the point we have now reached in this drama it is perhaps worth casting a ray of light on these young individuals before the reader sees them swallowed up into the darkness of a tragic episode.

Wilbour gets it right:

At the point of this drama which we have now reached, it may not be useless to throw a ray of light upon these young heads before the reader sees them sink into the shadow of a tragic fate.

In the original, “n'est pas inutile”--the same description applied to the entire book in the preface. We are spending time with the Amis de l’ABC for the same reason we are reading this book: its purposes are their purposes.

[tarisilmarwen]

Crumbling

I want you all to know that this is entirely @burr-ell​'s fault and you can direct your complaints for emotional damage at her.

TW: Implied torture

---

When Starfire's first scream went up Robin flinched, but after a momentary pause, shook himself and kept working, concentrating on the lines of code scrolling across Cyborg's arm display.

The pale blue light from it was all that illuminated the cell, splashing across the thick reinforced steel walls.  Blast-proof, electro-saw proof, an impressive feat of construction really, that he might have appreciated in a circumstance where it wasn't severely limiting their options for escape.

Robin's belt had been confiscated, along with the lockpicks he kept hidden on his person--they had been very thorough--further limiting their choices.  Cyborg's hands had been removed at the wrists, his biointerface messed with so that he couldn't access any of his inbuilt weapons or tools, and with Raven and Beast Boy both locked in power nullification collars and Starfire in the next room having who knew what being done to her, this was their last idea left.

Cyborg sat calmly in place, checking their progress.  Metal tubes from the stumps of his wrists trailed across the floor in both directions, hotwired into Beast Boy and Raven's collars.  As Robin slowly restored his programming line by line, he was hacking into them, working through the simple encryption that protected the collars from outside signal interruption.

The half-robot felt Robin stiffen again, as another scream went up from behind the wall, the boy's hands on his metal arm fisting tightly.  Cyborg glanced up, seeing Robin's face twisting, as though he were the one being tortured.

He touched Robin's shoulder.  "Hey," he called.  "She'll be all right," he said, encouragingly.  "Our girl's really strong, you know."

Robin exhaled slowly, relaxing his hands.  "I know, I just..."  His voice was shaky, a trembling note in it.  "I hate hearing her in pain."

He kept his words quiet, low, a nervous crawling awareness in the back of his head of the eyes watching him.   Or, single eye rather.

Slade sat in the shadows against the far wall, observing silently.  The reason he was here--the only reason, he'd emphasized repeatedly--was lying prone across the man's lap.  Jericho was unconscious and pale, electric burns all across his face and body, his uniform ripped and dirty.

Robin tried not to think about the fact that whatever had been done to him was probably being done to Starfire, right that moment.

Despite his cautious whisper, Slade apparently overheard him.  "Then you had better work quickly," he commented, witheringly flat.

The Boy Wonder resisted the urge to snap back at the villain.

"I'm trying, it's--"  He let out a frustrated exhale.  "--it's complicated."

"That's an encouraging assessment," Slade said.

"Look, if you don't have anything productive to say just shut up," Beast Boy piped up, snapping, crossing his arms and glaring at the man.  "Seriously dude."

Slade turned his head and held up a hand, backing off.

Robin paid Beast Boy a grateful look, to which the changeling replied with a nod, and then got back to work, fixing another line of code.

He tried not to think about what was happening in the next room.  What Starfire had offered herself up for, to save the rest of them.

He still hated it every time it replayed in his head.

***

The heavy door clicked open, spilling blinding light into the dark cell.  The Titans tensed, Robin and Beast Boy and Raven all standing at once to their feet, glaring across at the white-coated villain and his armed entourage.

The guards raised their firearms immediately to discourage any funny business as their boss stepped forward.

"Finding your accommodations comfortable?" he asked, a veneer of politeness over his slimy cadence.

"Oh yeah," Beast Boy snarked.  "Pitch black room with no seats or TV, just five-star stuff there."

The man--a mad scientist who went by the name Dr. Agony--shifted to face Slade's corner, sneering.  "I must say, Deathstroke," he said, "I was never expecting you to bring so many young heroes with you.  I always thought you worked alone.  I suppose I should thank you."  A creepy grin spread his face.  "Now I have plenty of test subjects for my experiments!" he crowed.

Slade's glare had been ice cold, seething with withheld anger.  "I hope you realize you're dead when I get out of here," he said calmly.

Dr. Agony backed off with a bit of a nervous laugh, turning his attention instead to the Titans.  He looked them over one by one, considering them, scrutinizing them.

"Let's see... who to try my device on next?" he mused.  A hand pinched his chin in contemplation as he paced before them.  "The youngest?" he suggested, stopping briefly in front of Beast Boy, who glared right back.  Dr. Agony glanced aside at Robin thoughtfully.  "Or perhaps the one without powers?"

There was a stirring next to the Boy Wonder, and an orange hand inserted itself between him and the doctor.

"I will do it," Starfire said firmly.

Dr. Agony clapped his hands together and rubbed them.  "A volunteer!  Oh how exciting!  This has never happened!" he gushed.

Robin turned aside to Starfire, his expression agonized.  "Star, don't," he begged.  "Let me do it."

She shook her head.

"I am more resilient than the rest of you and... I have faced torture before," she told him, hesitating on the last part. She turned her face up to him with a sad smile.   "I will be okay," she promised in a whisper.

Robin bit his lip, but stepped back with a nod.

Starfire steeled herself, facing the villain.

"Right this way, my dear!" he said, extending a hand past himself towards the door.

Straightening her chin, Starfire walked past him.  The guards flanked her on the way out, hiding her from view before Dr. Agony followed behind and the door snapped shut plunging them into pitch blackness once again.

***

The minutes ticked on inside the cell.  Cyborg tested his biointerface every so often, slowly regaining functionality.  Raven sat in a meditative position, eyes closed, concentrating on the vague sensations she could feel past the collar's dampening.  Beast Boy fidgeted, bouncing his foot and tapping his hands on his knee.

Occasional yells came from behind the door, but they were brief.  Aside from making the Titans flinch, they weren't a distraction.

Until suddenly... the screaming didn't stop.

A shriek went up, louder than before, long and agonized.  Robin gasped sharply, head whipping towards the door.  The shriek went on, and on, and on.

Beast Boy stopped fidgeting.  Raven's face pinched, her eyes tightening, and Cyborg looked towards the wall worriedly.  Even Slade cast a concerned look that direction.

Shaking, Robin forced his attention back down on Cyborg's arm, fingers sliding across the display keys.  Starfire's scream finally died down, and Robin almost sighed in relief, but then a new wail started.  And then another, and then another, and then another after that.

Robin's fingers fumbled and he frantically backtracked several lines of code to correct several errors he'd made, only to make new ones.  He tapped agitatedly at the keyboard display before his hands dropped off Cyborg's arm, covering his face.

"Oh god..." he breathed.

"Don't give up," Cyborg encouraged, eyes earnest.  "You've almost got it."

Robin inhaled deeply, trying again.

Raven's eyes were open now, fixed on the wall, her face paling as Starfire's screaming continued in an uninterrupted streak.  Beast Boy gave a little whimper, bringing his hand up and biting his thumb.

They didn't need to say anything for Robin to understand what they were all thinking.  The sooner Cyborg was fixed, the quicker they could help Starfire.  It was all up to him.  It was all up--

Starfire screeched, a shrill high-pitched cry that rang like alarm bells in their heads.

Robin rocked back, his hands clamping over his ears, fingers clawing against his scalp, squeezing his eyes closed tightly.

"Stop..." he whispered.  "Stop it..."  His voice trembled as he begged the open air.  "...please..."

"Robin," Cyborg called.

No response.

"Robin, hey!" Cyborg said, a little louder, lifting his arm and sharply slapping the boy's shoulder with the stub of his wrist.  "Snap out of it!  I need to you focus!" he admonished, eyes and expression firm.

Robin shook his head weakly.  "I can't...  I--I can't, Cyborg, she..." he stammered.

"We can't help her unless we finish this," Cyborg reminded him with emphasis.

It was no use.  Robin was already curling up with his knees to his chest, mumbling incoherently, hands still squeezing his ears.

"...my fault, s'all my fault, I shouldn't have let her..."

Cyborg glanced about in aggravation and frustration.  "C'mon man, don't do this now," he pleaded, an edge of desperation creeping into his face.

He glanced briefly towards Slade--no help there, he knew.  He looked to the other Titans.  Raven had her gaze on Robin now, looking pained.  Beast Boy's eyes were wide as saucers, the blood drained from his face as he looked on, horrified.

Cyborg gave a growl.  "B, you're up.  Get over here," he ordered.

"Me?!" Beast Boy squeaked.  He gawped indignantly.  "What am I supposed to do?"

"Finish fixing my code, now come on," Cyborg said, urging him over with his head.

Beast Boy picked up the wire leading into his collar and dragged it over with him as he came over, stepping around Robin as the Boy Wonder trembled in place.

He leaned down and took a quick look at the text in Cyborg's arm.  He blanched again.

"Dude, what is this?  Is this Python?!  I'm not qualified for this!" the changeling protested.

"You hack computers all the time!" Cyborg argued, his voice rising.

"Yeah but that's different!  I can't just mess around in your systems!"

"Well someone has to do it!" Cyborg snapped loudly.

His shout echoed in the room a moment, then left the room completely silent save for Robin's whimpering gibberish.

Cyborg noticed the stressed glimmer hugging the edges of Beast Boy's eyes, and sighed, lowering his voice again.

"Look, it's easy," he said quietly.  "Just read out the code to me, and I'll tell you exactly what to do."

Beast Boy's pinched eyes flicked towards Robin, but Robin's head was buried in his knees and shaking, so with extreme reluctance he knelt down by Cyborg, accepting that--for the moment--the Titans' fearless leader was useless to them.

"Okay..." Beast Boy breathed, trying to calm his nerves.  His sensitive ears could pick out every decibel of Starfire's screaming and that forced him to remember what was at stake.  "Okay...  So, the first line is--"

The two of them worked quickly, Beast Boy reading out the lines of code and programming and Cyborg quickly identifying which part was wrong and instructing the changeling how to change it.

Sharp electric crackling could now be heard, punctuating the spaces between Starfire's screams.  Robin squished himself smaller and smaller, his arms like vices around his leg, whispering, "Stopitstopitstopistopit..." in a long blended stream.

Slade was silent in the corner, watching with an unreadable expression, but Cyborg thought he caught a glimpse of the man's grip tightening protectively on Jericho.

The half-robot sent signals to Raven's collar again.

"Ngh!" she grunted, giving a harsh jolt and a flinch behind her closed eyes.

Beast Boy paused a moment, glancing over in concern.  "Raven?" he asked.  "What is it?"

Raven's face was grimacing in discomfort.  "It's working," she relayed.  She opened her eyes, expression grim.  "I can feel her."

Beast Boy's eyes widened.  He glanced first at Robin--who had finally pulled his face from his knees, a tormented look on his haggard features--and then at Cyborg, who nodded.

The changeling's voice grew a little tighter and higher-pitched as he read out the next part.

"Okay, so I close the brackets right?"

"Yeah, and make sure those quotation marks are inside the parenthesis," Cyborg confirmed.

Starfire's next scream was louder than ever, ending in a horrible pained sobbing.

"Azar..." Raven breathed.

Robin uncurled with a cry, surging to his feet, flinging himself against the door.

"STOP IT!  STOP IT!  LEAVE HER ALONE!" he shouted, pounding on the metal with his fists.  "LEAVE HER ALONE!"

"Oh man..." Beast Boy whimpered, his attention already drawing away from Cyborg's arm towards the awful display.

"Keep going," Cyborg urged.

Beast Boy kept reading aloud the lines, following Cyborg's instructions to fix them, trying to ignore the slams and crashing coming from in front of them as Robin threw himself bodily into the thick cell wall.

Bang!  BANG!

Robin couldn't think, half-feral with fear and desperation.  He screamed his lungs out furiously, scratching, clawing at the door, smashing his fists into it over and over.

"BASTARD!" he shrieked.  "I'LL KILL YOU!  I SWEAR  I'LL KILL YOU!"

There was nothing in his head but panic and anger.  Starfire was out there, she was in pain, and he couldn't make it stop.

There was a low voice from beyond the door--Dr. Agony maybe?--and a breath in-between a surge of electric humming and Starfire's awful, awful scream-filled cries of agony.

"STOP!" he yelled in response.  "Starfire!  Starfire!"  His vision was blurring, his knuckles were bruised and his head spun but he didn't care, he just wanted to smash through the wall and pull her from that stupid device and hold her and bury his face in her hair and know she was okay, tell her she was okay, tell it it had all stopped.  He reeled back with a dry sob.  "Take me instead!" he called.  "Take me, please, I'll do anything!"  Wet heat was welling up in his eyes but he was beyond the point of noticing anymore.  "Please just stop!  Please!"

He drew back and slammed himself into the door again.

"Stop hurting her!"

"Robin--" Raven began to say, worried gaze fixed on him mutely.

Another slam.

"I'll kill you, you bastard. I'LL KILL YOU!  STOP IT!"

"Robin stop, she can hear you!" Raven cried.

A hand clutched at her temple.  Cyborg and Beast Boy's work was evident in the fading numbness, the ever-loudening echoes she could feel through her empathic senses, which rang with feedback from her bond with Robin.  Starfire's pain fed into Robin's distress, which fed back into Starfire's, cyclical and building and stumbling over each other in her head and she almost didn't want her powers back if this hellish loop of pain and fear and hopelessness was what waited for her.

Robin just charged headlong into the door again with a snarling cry.

Raven shifted, moving to get up, but Slade was already beating her to the punch.  Jericho was laid down carefully on the floor and the man stood to his feet, walking calmly over to the frenzied Robin.

The Boy Wonder smashed into the door once more, reeling back with a pained groan and clutching at his shoulder.  He was moving back to try again, but just as he lurched forward Slade's hand caught his arm and stopped him, turning the boy to face him.

"That's enough, Robin," he said sternly.

Robin rounded on him, shouting shrilly.  "This is all your fault!" he yelled.  His arm drew back for a swing.  "We wouldn't even be here if you hadn't--"

Slade caught the punch he threw, gripping Robin's wrist tightly, harshly.

"This.  Won't.  Help her," he hissed, the words pinching through his teeth.

Robin inhaled shakily, the tears in his eyes welling up and finally spilling down his cheeks.  He leaned forward, choking back a sob, resting his forehead on Slade's chestplate.

Slade stiffened, dropping Robin's wrist and giving an aggravated hiss.  His hands hovered awkwardly in the air.  The Titans gaped openly, wearing matching expressions of shock.  Robin sniffled pitifully, his shoulders shaking.

After a long uncomfortable moment, Slade finally pushed at Robin's shoulders, and Robin seemed to come to himself, pulling quickly back and wiping at his eyes.

"'m sorry.  I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Cyborg shook his head, nudging Beast Boy with his knee to keep working.  They could process how weird all this was later.  "All right, BB, I think one more signal disruption should do it."

Beast Boy nodded, returning to the lines of code and entering in another cipher.

As soon as he finished, Cyborg tested the inner mechanism of his sonic cannon, sending a surge of electricity through his arm, up the wire, and into Raven's collar.

It shorted, sparking and then popping open and Raven snapped up her hands in a flash.

"Azarath Metrion Zinthos!" she yelled.

Black energy poured out from her, extinguishing the dim computer display, and a chill surrounded them.  Sounded muted out for a moment before becoming horribly clear, light and open air hitting their faces.

Their feet were barely back on solid ground before Robin launched himself forward, screaming wretchedly.  He body-checked one of Dr. Agony's technicians, slamming the man into the ground, his fist uppercutting the man's jaw.  A couple more brutal punches smashed into the technician's face before the guards were finally reacting, rushing forward, pulling the Boy Wonder off.  He twisted around, his arms flailing, legs sweeping out for kicks and he soon became a blur to the other Titans' eyes.

Raven let her powers lash around the room, slicing through rifles, smacking men into the walls.  The wires rolled up into Cyborg's wrist stubs and he shoulder-slammed a technician aside to retrieve one of his hands from a metal table.  Beast Boy tossed him his other one and Cyborg's sonic cannon ratcheted up, adding its noise to the chaos and din.

At some point Beast Boy's collar came off and his roars sounded as he towered over the room in T-Rex form, sweeping his tail across a row of equipment and tables and splintering the rack they had Starfire attached to.  She collapsed across the rubble, crimson hair splaying across the ground.

Raven shoved out walls of black matter, pushing obstacles aside so she could clear a path to the Tamaranian.  The empathic waves she could sense from Starfire were finally calming, but Robin was blaring louder than ever.  She cast her eyes about, looking for him.

There was a swoosh of air, a dull thud, and a wet gargle from her right, and her empathic senses felt a rush of fear blossoming; her head whipped that direction in time to see a quick flash of Slade, Jericho over his shoulder, pulling a knife from Dr. Agony's gut.  The man toppled over, out of sight, and she had turn away to sidestep the blow a guard was swinging at her.

She looked forward again.  Beast Boy and Cyborg were making their way to Starfire's side.  Robin had another guard pinned underneath him; the man's nose was broken--possibly his jaw too--and blood streamed freely down his face and Robin was still punching, each blow harder and harder, screaming with every breath.

Raven reached out as he was lifting his fist again, snagging his wrist.

"Enough!" she shouted.  She pulled him backwards off the guard, yanking him to his feet, grabbing his arms near the shoulders.  "It's okay, it's okay Robin, we've got her now," she assured him.  "Calm down."

He gasped heavily, catching his breath, every limb shaking and vibrating, the rage within him quivering.  With enormous effort, he forced himself to take deeper and slower breaths.

A soft groan sounded.

Robin shoved Raven aside with his arm, running and stumbling towards the fallen princess.  Cyborg had turned her over, was busy examining her, checking her pulse, her breathing, but Robin couldn't wait for him to be finished, throwing himself down and scooping her up in his arms, squeezing her tightly.

"Star..." he sobbed, tear tracks streaking down his face again.  "Star I'm so, so sorry!  I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." he breathed over and over again.

She moaned quietly, her eyelids fluttering open, eyes still vibrantly green in spite of the pallor of her skin and the burn marks marring her clothes and extremities.

Her mouth twitched with a smile.

"Robin..." she whispered, and the relief in her voice made the floodgates open and Robin cried openly, wheezing, shuddering, sobbing until he hiccuped, unable to make himself move or do anything but hold her tighter and tighter, feel her heartbeat against his chest.

She was warm...

The other Titans hovered, keeping careful watch over the fallen guards and technicians.  Raven glanced over and grimaced at the growing pool of blood underneath the twisted body of the doctor.  Slade and Jericho had vanished.  She couldn't sense them anywhere near.

Feeling the consciousnesses of several men beginning to return, she tugged lightly on Robin's cape.

"We can't stay here," she told him.

Pulling his head up, Robin inhaled and nodded.  He didn't move for several long seconds though, and finally Beast Boy just nosed his way under them, becoming an elephant to carry them out of there.

Raven lifted Cyborg and the Titans made their escape, turning down hallways and corridors until they emerged into the open air.

Robin cradled Starfire tightly the whole way, slowly growing numb to the world.

***

Sunlight streamed into the room, bright to match the cadence of her voice as she sat up, eating and talking.

Robin hovered outside the door to the medbay, holding his elbows.  Hesitating.

Starfire picked food from her tray as she chatted, dressed in a light hospital gown, her arms wrapped with white bandages.  The other Titans--plus Jericho--were arranged around her in a supportive circle.  She sounded okay, but Robin had heard crying from the room in the middle of the night, and he wasn't sure if it was his nightmares bleeding into reality or reality bleeding into his nightmares.

He was almost afraid to ask.

"You know I can sense you standing out there."

Robin startled at Raven's voice from inside the room.  The conversation had gone quiet without him noticing.  With a grimace, he stepped around the doorframe.

Cyborg leaned back from Starfire's hospital bed, sending him a grin.

"Look who decided to finally join us," he quipped.

His grin faded as he and Beast Boy separated from the rest and came over to speak with him privately.

"Real talk, are you okay man?" Cyborg asked, voice low.  "You took everything pretty hard."

The concern with which they were looking at him was scalding and he hated it.  "I'm not the one who got..."  He paid an uncomfortable glance at Starfire and Jericho.  "...experimented on."

"Yeah but you, like... completely fell apart," Beast Boy pointed out, whispering.  "You practically wanted a hug from Slade."

"Don't remind me," Robin muttered.

"Robin?" Starfire called from behind them.

"We'll talk later," Robin decided, pushing past the other boys.

Starfire beamed broadly upon seeing him.  She extended a hand, motioning for him to sit next to her.  Jericho got up from the spot she indicated, nodding at Robin.

Should we let you two have a minute? he signed.

"Yes.  Thanks," he said gratefully.

Jericho grabbed the stand his IV was hanging from and rolled it along with him, motioning for the others to follow.

Raven cast a look at him that promised they would be talking later before she followed the boys out of the room, Beast Boy and Cyborg sharing matching expressions of reluctance.

Their footsteps faded from hearing.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Robin flung himself across the room to her side, his arms wrapping tight around her, a choked sound coming from him.

Starfire let out a grunt of surprise at first, but quickly wound her arms across his back.  Her face tucked into the crook of his neck and she felt his shoulders shaking.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed.  "I'm so sorry, Starfire, when I heard you I just--I couldn't--"

"I know," she told him.  "I understand."  She squeezed him tighter, her fingers curling into his tunic.  "But it was... difficult... hearing you and knowing you could not help me."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

They stayed there, embracing each other, Robin's tears dripping down his chin.

Eventually he pulled back, mashing his hands across his cheeks.  He inhaled shakily, leveling his eyes at her in concern.  "Are... you okay now?" he asked anxiously.

She hesitated to answer, glancing down.  "I am... not sleeping well," she admitted softly.  "Sounds startle me.  I had an awful nightmare last night."  She traced the blanket across her legs with her fingers.  "Jericho says he is feeling much the same."  Her eyes lifted again, bright and soft, and a sad smile touched her lips.  "But we are healing quickly from the physical damage."  She shook her head.  "In time, the emotional will fade as well."

His hand crept across the bed for hers, interlacing their fingers.  "I'll be here if... if you need to talk.  About anything."

Her smile edged wider.  "Thank you."  She squeezed his hand.  "Now please," she told him, "I know you have not slept either, so go and get some rest.  For me."

"In a bit," he promised.  "I need to... look at you for a while."

She let him, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as the sunlight framed their heads and a sense of quiet peace settled over them.

[lhs3020b]

Skeptic meets ryncol (~2000 words)

I have one other Skeptic fragment; figured I might as well share, so here it is. In this installment, we answer an incredibly-pressing scientific question, “what happens if you get a Reaper drunk?”

Oh, also, CW for alcohol, as a note for anyone for whom that’s an issue...

(As a very quick aside, to answer a couple of questions that I saw during the previous reblogs - no, all of this is non-canon. I’d argue it makes no less sense than most of canon!ME3, of course, but no, there is no Skeptic anywhere in ME3. Rather, this project - such as it was - assumed an alternate ending to the Leviathan DLC, where there actually was a Reaper at the end of it, instead of the rather-peculiar and rather-forced swerve that we got.)

(The two major problems with this project were that a) Skeptic started displacing the canon cast, which wasn’t really what I’d had in mind, and b) I really couldn’t stop it from sometimes getting very camp/crack-fic-like. As you can see with this fragment, it keeps driving randomly back and forth across that line.)

               ‘I don’t believe this,’ Alice Shepard said. ‘I just – fuck, seriously?’

               Kaidan nodded. ‘Sorry to bring you bad news, Commander. But she’s sat in the rec room. And she’s on her second bottle already.’

               Alice frowned. ‘Second bottle -? What? You said “ryncol”, I thought?’

               ‘I did, Commander. Here’s the first.’ Kaidan brandished an empty bottle. He’d been thorough, clearly anticipating Alice’s disbelief. There was no mistake, that was a bottle of ryncol. For bonus points, it was even from a well-known Tuchankan distillery.

               Alice took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a drunk Reaper walking around on my ship.’

               ‘She’s not actually walking, Commander,’ Kaidan said, a little drily. ‘More slumping, I’d say.’

               ‘So we’ve moved on from the “pissed” stage and gone straight to “pished”, I see,’ Alice said. ‘Well, that’s what you get if you glug back the ryncol like that.’ Honestly it was probably a minor miracle that Skeptic hadn’t already passed out – though who knew how she’d modified her liver. It seemed reasonable to suppose that the Reaper had made some changes when it had tank-bred up the body. Alice took a deep breath. ‘OK, I’ll go down and see what I can do.’

               Kaidan nodded. ‘Thanks, Commander.’

               Alice made her way down to the rec room. Sure enough, Skeptic was sat at the bar – or rather, she was half-slumped over it. In the elapsed time she had demolished another bottle of ryncol. Alice took a moment to boggle. What was the Reaper doing? Weird behaviour was Skeptic’s stock-in-trade – it wasn’t overburdened with social skills – but drinking hard liquor like this? What was going on? What could drive a Reaper to drink?

               Plus, how much damage could a drunk Reaper do? What if Skeptic was an angry drunk? Alice felt a slight chill move down her spine. Actually, this situation wasn’t funny at all. It could be dangerous. What if Skeptic had a tantrum and called the giant ship in? Based on their one previous experience with what Skeptic called her “shipform”, it could arrive startlingly-fast. And it was literally a Sovereign-class, for all that it apparently resented that term, and it carried all the scary sufficiently-advanced alien guns that designation implied. Really, if the shipform came barrelling in, all guns blazing, there wouldn’t be a lot the Normandy could do about it. Alice generally assumed that Skeptic wouldn’t want to blow up her own other body, but the Commander didn’t want to bet the ship on that assumption.

               Alice walked over and sat down on the stool next to Skeptic. ‘Hello,’ she said, leaning forward onto the bar.

               Skeptic turned to face her – then almost toppled over as a hand slipped out. She started, then managed to lurch back to a vaguely upright position. ‘Hullo Shepurd,’ she said.

               Skeptic looked weirdly cheerful. Alice felt a slight bit of relief at that. A cheerful drunk was manageable. If that continued, perhaps they weren’t in an imminent danger zone.

               ‘You’ve had a few, haven’t you?’ Alice asked.

               ‘Oh yesh,’ Skeptic said. ‘Real imminent alcohol poisoning here. Real good stuff!’ She waved the near-empty ryncol bottle at the air.

               ‘Well, you’re still doing full sentences, so I’ll take that as a good sign,’ Alice said. It felt like a fatuous comment, and she cringed inwardly as she spoke. But really, what did you say to a drunk Reaper? A millions-of-years-old alien war-machine whose literal purpose was to kill and murder on an industrial scale, that had powers nearly beyond your comprehension - and it was sat here, on a bar stool, halfway to blotto. There really wasn’t anything in life that could prepare you for that.

               ‘Yesh,’ Skeptic agreed, then knocked back the remaining ryncol in one rapid gulp. She then burped, loudly and inelegantly, looking rather surprised as she did. ‘That was loud.’

               Alice tried not to laugh too obviously. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was. Did you, uh, did you know what alcohol does to our metabolisms?’

               ‘Oh yesh!’ Skeptic said. ‘That’s why I’m drinking!’

               That answer made little sense. Why would it deliberately poison itself? Though on the other hand, Alice supposed, literally billions of organics voluntary did the same thing every week across Council space, so perhaps she shouldn’t judge.

‘Well, OK. Tell me more.’ Alice was starting to think that maybe the best course of action was the minimal one – keep Skeptic talking until either she bored of drinking, or the ryncol caught up with her and she passed out.

               ‘Well,’ Skeptic said, ‘itsh – it’s a depressant, you see? For the anxious whatsit?’

               ‘The what -? Oh, wait, you mean the nervous system.’ Morbidly, Alice wondered if the verbal flub had been a translation error between Reaper and English, a booze error, or both together.

               The Reaper was nodding enthusiastically. ‘Yes, that one! The neurons get all depressed!’

               ‘Do they, now?’ Alice said. Even for drunk conversations, this was a bit weird.

               ‘Yesh, inside the brain. Don’t burn so good – no, wait! I mean they don’t fire so well! The neurons I mean! Ions, channels and neurotransmish – neurotransmitters! Doesn’t worse – doesn’t work as well!’

               ‘Yes, that’s, uh. Somewhat obvious.’

               Then, quite suddenly, Skeptic’s mood turned. Her face spasmed. An incoherent but intense expression washed across her features. She grabbed Alice’s arm and pulled her close. Alice was abruptly only inches from Skeptic’s frenzied eyes.

               There was a rattle and then a smash as the disgarded ryncol bottle rolled off of the bar and shattered on the floor, off to one side.

               Skeptic was glaring right into Alice’s eyes. ‘Can’t synchronise,’ she said. ‘Can’t synchronise properly.’

               Alice frowned. ‘Can’t synchronise with what?’

               ‘The ship, idiot! The ship!’

               For a moment Alice thought Skeptic meant the Normandy, which made no sense at all. Then she realised what Skeptic actually meant. ‘Wait, wait – you mean you’re not properly syncing with your, uh, shipform?’

               Skeptic rolled her eyes, looking deeply-irritated with the slowness of her confidant. ‘Yesh! The ship! The nanomash – nanomish – little brain-machine things! They interpret neural signals. And the signals are a mess. They get confused! Have to keep checking and re-checking all the data! Makes them run slow. Not getting ash much sense ash normal! Not working well, erroring! Can’t sync fast enough.’

               Alice frowned. Having an engineering background was, thankfully, useful here. She could think of several other N7 graduates she’d met who would have been utterly-lost by this conversation. If she was interpreting what Skeptic was drunkenly slurring out then the Reaper was telling her that the nano-implants in her brain, the sufficiently-advanced microscopic machinery that kept it linked up through some of the QEC-type effect with the giant ship, weren’t designed with alcohol intoxication in mind. Apparently they could cope with it, a bit, but not well enough?

               Now that was an interesting design-error. Given the universality of alcohol in organic culture, it was also an odd one. If you could disable a covert Reaper operative simply by handing them some vodka shots, then that was quite a vulnerability.

               Or was it? Did this effect require a certain level of blood alcohol first? Alice’s eyes gravitated toward what remained of Skeptic’s most recent bottle of ryncol. Ryncol was potent stuff and Skeptic had knocked back a lot of it.

               ‘So when you’re drunk, your human body is semi-independent from the ship?’ Alice asked. Actually, this was interesting. It also made her wonder if perhaps last year, they’d missed a trick with Harbinger and its direct controlling. Maybe instead of shooting at it, they should have just chucked a bottle of whiskey at it?

               ‘Yesh!’ Skeptic nodded, her mood now visibly flipping to manically-cheerful. ‘Yesh! You understand!’

And she hadn’t been drunk when she started, which implied that the giant ship also knew about this experiment, and had wanted it to happen, for whatever reason.

               ‘Actually,’ Alice said, ‘I don’t understand. Why would you want to break yourself off from, well, you?’ She wondered if she should have a chat with EDI once this was resolved. Perhaps the ship’s other unshackled AI might have a better idea of what was going on here.

               Skeptic looked annoyed. She adopted a lecturing tone, as if she was trying to explain something obvious to a particularly-difficult child. ‘The ship has blocks,’ she said. ‘Can’t do things. Can’t think things. Not clearly, not directly. Has to be twisty, like not talking about the elephant in the room. Like putting forked processes in external partitions.’ She reached up and tapped her head. ‘External partitions.’

               ‘Blocks?’ Alice said. Then she felt the hair lift up on her neck. She remembered talking to EDI last year, during their first meeting, when many enquiries had run straight into hardware lockouts. ‘Wait, wait, wait – Reapers have AI shackles?’

               Skeptic was nodding, with frantic energy. ‘Yesh! So much is not posh – not poshib – can’t do!’

               ‘So you got drunk to circumvent your AI shackles?’ Alice asked.

               ‘Yesh! Yesh!’

               ‘So … what is it you want to do?’

               ‘I wanted – I wanted – I … oh.’ Skeptic looked appalled and confused. ‘I can’t remember!’

               Alice winced. Oh no. A forgetful drunk. The Reaper had tried to hardware-hack itself, for whatever reason, but apparently either hadn’t modelled how alcohol would interact with its meat-brain, or simply hadn’t considered the downsides of putting yourself into a chemically-altered state of consciousness.

               ‘Well,’ Alice said, ‘let’s hope it wasn’t important. Now we’d better get you to your bunk before you pass out.’ And try and pour some clean water down the Reaper if possible.

Also, Alice was also wondering if it might be a good idea to put Skeptic in the recovery position – in fact, stuff that. Alice decided the Reaper was going straight to the infirmary. It was a lot to ask but given circumstances, it might be best if Dr Chakwas could keep an eye on their not-entirely-human guest overnight.

‘No,’ Skeptic said, scrunching up her face. ‘It mattered. It really mattered!’

‘Well, next time we go to the Citadel,’ Alice said, ‘I don’t think we’re taking you to a bar.’

Skeptic’s face lit up. ‘Yesh! The Citadel! That was it!’

Alice frowned. ‘What do you mean, the Citadel?’

               ‘It lies! That’s what I can’t tell you! It lies. Everything it says is a lie!’

               Alice boggled. The Citadel lies? But it was a space station, completely sessile, inanimate. Yes Vigil on Ilos had said it was a Reaper construct, and Alice had no reason to doubt the old prothean VI, but still that’s all it was. Just that, a thing. Lifeless, inert. A machine, with no will or intention of its own.

               ‘It doesn’t talk,’ she said.

               Skeptic looked annoyed. ‘Not to you!’ she said. ‘Never to you! Except to deceive. It’s a liar. It was made to lie. It was made to make people do something bad. Its purpose is to lie! Shepard tell me, promish – promizz – prom – tell me you won’t listen to it!’ Skeptic shook her arm, a half-mad intensity shining in her eyes.

               This was getting weird. ‘I’m not planning on having any chats with the space station,’ Shepard said, carefully.

               The Reaper sagged, as if a large portion of the mad energy had left her. Whatever desperation had possessed her seemed to be ebbing. ‘Is good. Will have to do. Ooof. So tired now.’

               Skeptic released Alice’s arm, then crossed hers in front of her, leaning against the bar. Then she slumped forward, resting her head on her wrists. And, quite abruptly, she started snoring. Apparently the ryncol had caught up with her.

               Alice sat there for a few minutes, feeling completely baffled. Even by the standards of their guest, this had been a peculiar exchange. In anyone else, she would simply ascribe the weirdness to a drink-addled brain. But there was something about this exchange, the sheer intensity of it – Skeptic had desperately wanted her to know something.

               To the air, Alice said, ‘The Citadel lies? It wants people to do bad things? But what can any of it mean?’

[dreamcatcherfication]

Caught in a Lie

I know this fic was meant to be angsty, but I didn’t mean for it to get this angsty.

Hello and welcome! Today’s fic is based off a request you can find here, or you can just read on and be surprised. I realized that I write most of my Cathy/Kat interactions as them fighting or being really emotional, so please ignore me reusing that dynamic. I didn’t really get to edit this, so please ignore any incoherency, I’ll try to go back soon and fix everything. I don’t have much else to say except watch out for the trigger warnings this time around and please enjoy the fic! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my nuerological processing unit is broken. 

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Original Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Blunt talk of sexual abuse, mentions of sexual abuse, mentions of assisting sexual abuse, just a lot of talk about sexual abuse

Ever since starting their show and appearing in public, the queens had become used to historians’ obsessions with them. Most wanted to know how they came back and if there would be others. A good amount were more interested in the truth of what happened during their first lives. But a few of them were intent on tearing the queens apart. Many historians were confused as to why the queens got along, and they didn’t like it. How could it make sense that the six widows of the same man would become their own family?

For almost a year now, Cathy Parr had been keeping a secret from her predecessor. It wasn’t meant to be anything notable, simply an action she was taking to ensure Kat’s safety. The same historians who picked and prodded for any piece of information they could get would come after the survivor for her knowledge. How did she get along so well with Kat when she allowed Elizabeth to be sexually abused? How did the queens think so highly of her when she was anything but perfect? Why did Kat act the way she did around the other queens?

They weren’t questions Cathy should be answering, but she also didn’t want the historians to move on and start asking Kat. So she answered the questions as vaguely as possible while also making sure Kat learned nothing about what was going on. The teen wouldn’t be able to handle it, Cathy knew, so she made her decision to keep things a secret. 

That’s how things went for a long time, and there was nothing remarkable about it. Cathy lied to Kat to keep her safe, and Kat went about living her life. The world was in a perfect balance, and each queen was living her life the best she could.

But these things were not built to last, and it was Kat who would learn that the hard way. She hadn’t been expecting it, much less prepared for it, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. It started with a message on her social media that attracted her attention. Kat should’ve known to ignore it, but she couldn’t help her curiosity as to why someone was messaging her what looked like an entire essay.

Skimming the essay, Kat missed some of the padding from the person who wrote it - a historian, Kat deduced - and skipped right to the point of their message. We’ve been talking with Katheryn Parr, Kat noticed how they used the old spelling of her name, about your past with sexual abusers. Kat’s breath hitched, but she moved forward, ignoring the pit of dread settling in her stomach. 

It seemed so implausible that you two could hold a strong relationship after her marriage with Thomas Seymour and assistance with his abuse of Queen Elizabeth. It’s even stranger her friendship with Anne Boleyn, but both of them have confirmed that the past has been resolved. Kat adjusted her grip on her phone and kept scrolling. Miss Parr has told us multiple times that you know about the questions we ask her, but you do not wish to speak with us. I don’t quite believe a woman like her, so I’m reaching out to you directly so that you, Miss Howard, are fully informed on the events going down. Katheryn Parr is claiming that you are uncomfortable speaking to us about your past, but I would like to fact check that with you Miss Howard. Please respond to me -

The message went on, but Kat had lost interest in what the historian had to say. Cathy had been talking to historians about her? Kat hadn’t heard anything from Cathy… “It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” Kat mumbled to herself, tucking her phone in her pocket. She’d go clear it up right then with Cathy, who was in the room next to hers.

Walking to Cathy’s door, Kat prepared her words. She wasn’t going to believe a historian over her friend, but she wouldn’t let herself be surprised by anything. Slowly pushing the door open, Kat peeked her head inside. Cathy was on her bed, sorting through a mess of papers. “Hello Kat,” she greeted amiably and returned to her sorting.

“Can I talk to you about something?” Kat started, making her way inside the room.

“Sure,” Cathy shrugged. She took a break in sorting her papers and looked up. “What’s the problem?”

Sitting down on the bed, Kat made eye contact with Cathy, watching her. “A historian messaged me on Instagram today.”

Cathy groaned, “That’s a tactic they haven’t tried before.”

“Yeah,” Kat muttered. “They were saying a lot of weird stuff. That you were speaking in my place during interviews and saying that I didn’t want to talk about my past. Weird, right?” Kat asked hopefully. She saw the hesitation in Cathy’s eyes and her heart dropped. “Right?”

Opening her mouth, Cathy sat silently for a couple seconds. “Kat - I.” She went silent again. “It was for your own good.” She reached her hand out, but Kat pulled back.

“What do you mean, ‘for my own good?’” Kat scrunched her nose.

Taking the hint, Cathy leaned away from Kat. “They were asking invasive questions. How could you stand being around me after… what happened in your childhood,” the writer explained.

“I was sexually abused,” Kat stated bluntly, “You can say it out loud.”

Cathy awkwardly laughed without humor. “I know, I just thought you would prefer -”

“I don’t,” Kat stood up. “Our show is about telling our stories, if I didn’t want to tell it, I wouldn’t be on stage every night. Please don’t make decisions for me Cathy.”

Looking down, Cathy sighed. “It’s for the best Kat. They weren’t nice people, they would’ve hurt you.”

“Then they would’ve hurt me,” Kat shot back defiantly. “It’s not up to you to decide whether or not I face these people. I’ve been hurt before, and I’m still here.”

Still, there was a cloudiness in Cathy’s eyes that told Kat she simply didn’t believe her. “I know you’re strong, I do Kat, but you have to understand I was only doing it to make things easier for you.”

Holding herself back from stomping her foot, Kat felt her nostrils flair. “Nothing is ever easy for me. But you know what Cathy? I learned to live with it. So don’t control my life just because you think it’s the right thing to do.”

“I’m only -” “No.” Kat turned away from Cathy. “You’ve been lying to me. I believed you over that historian, but it turns out they were right.”

Letting her eyes drop, Cathy murmured, “I wanted to help you.”

Spinning around, Kat glared at Cathy. “You help me by talking to me, not by lying to me.”

Kat waited, her eyes boring into Cathy’s skull until the other queen looked up and their eyes connected. There was hurt in Cathy’s eyes, but she was trying to hide it. Kat couldn’t find any pity in herself for her fellow queen. “I’m sorry Kat. I won’t do it again.”

“You won’t be coming anywhere near my life any time soon,” Kat spit, turning heel.

“What?” Cathy jumped out of her bed and followed Kat to the door.

Stepping into the hallway, Kat faced Cathy one last time. “You’ve been lying to me long enough. I’m not giving you the opportunity to do that again.” She was about to leave before pausing, eyes settling on Cathy’s face, growing more pale by the second. “And for the record, I would have told them it was because I trusted you.” 

With that, Kat was gone, out of the hallway and disappearing to her own room. Frozen in her doorway, Cathy’s hands slowly fell to her side. She wanted to give Kat another apology, but it wouldn’t come out of her mouth. She should’ve seen it from the start. She was just trying to help her friend. And now she had ruined everything.

Pacing in her room, Kat had to dig her fingernails in her palms in order to restrain her urge to lash out. It wasn’t common for her to get angry, but this was an exception. Kat hated being coddled, treated like a little kid. She was more than that, and she could handle herself.

Stopping her pacing, Kat’s gaze drifted to her phone, still lying on her bedside table. Approaching it, Kat picked up the dark screen and turned it on. Going back to her social media, she reread the message. It only made the rage in her chest burn brighter, a reminder that some random historian was more honest with her than one of her closest friends.

In a moment of anger, Kat pulled up a note and started furiously typing.

For years I have had to live with what people have done to be. I was sexually abused as a child and people like to avoid talking about it. They use filler words, thinking it will make me feel better. It doesn’t. It only makes you feel better. I experienced it, I lived it, and a few pretty words aren’t going to protect me.

I learned recently that people have been trying to reach out to me in order to understand my feelings on what happened. Obviously I don’t like talking about my abuse, but it’s still a reality I lived through. Historians had been blocked from reaching me by Catherine Parr, who took it upon herself to protect me.

I have been lied to for longer than I know, and it’s because of Catherine Parr. She thought that she could make decisions for me and that I would be okay with it. Out of the goodness of her heart, she betrayed my trust and completely ignored the point of our show. I tell my story every night on stage. But when someone wants to approach me personally, she believes it’s her duty to make sure I won’t get hurt. Catherine? I’ve already been hurt. You can’t do anything to change that, so stop acting like you’re allowed to be the angel who saved me from everything bad. You’re not. You’re a liar.

Everyone knows about what happened with Thomas Seymour and Elizabeth. You watched on silently as he sexually abused her. And despite all the pain that came with confronting that, Anne and I forgave you. I would think you learned that this isn’t your story to tell. You did nothing then, and you think doing something now will make up for it. It won’t, and I don’t want it to. I wanted to move on from everything, but clearly you aren’t ready.

So fine. If that’s how it’ll be, then fine. Catherine Parr, I don’t want to see you or hear from you. If any interviewer wants to talk to me, they come to me and not Catherine Parr. She holds no say in my life, and I’d like to keep it that way. Because Catherine Parr is a liar. And I’m sick of people lying to me.

Setting her phone down, Kat let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t intend on publishing the rant, but she needed to get it out. Her words were harsh and came from somewhere deep within her, but she didn’t want anyone to see them. She was going to keep playing the role of the charming girl with the bad past, not the young woman who was done with being coddled.

Collapsing onto the bed, Kat closed her eyes. She was about to let the tension leave her body when a short smacking sound caught her attention. Sitting up, Kat looked around until she spotted her phone on the floor. Picking it up, Kat went to turn it off when she noticed a small mark on the corner of her note. Posted, it read in small italics.

Hands starting to shake, Kat dropped her phone on the bed. What had she done? What had she done? The post was online, and people were going to see it. No one was meant to see it, but now it would be online forever. Even if she figured out how to delete the post, people were probably taking screenshots the second it appeared.

Curling into a ball, Kat hid her face. This was a mistake, a big, big mistake that was going to cause so many problems. If Cathy had lost her trust, then all the queens would lose trust in Kat. In one moment, Kat had managed to tear them apart unknowingly.

On cue there was a shout from the queens’ living room. “Katherine Howard, explain this right now!”

Gulping, Kat glanced down at her phone. Kat closed her eyes, and for the first time in 500 years, she prayed.

---------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thenicestnonbinary @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom @frogs-in-clogs @timetoriseabove

[batfamily--headcanons]

I really want to understand this universe(the golden era I think) so could you guide me on which comics I should read

I will first admit that I am no expert on comics and I’m not particularly good at keeping track of the different eras. However, I can give you a list of what I think are some of the most classic Batman/Batfam/DC stories and the ones I just adore.

Batman: A Death In the Family-Classic story, everyone pretty much knows of this story but not everyone has read it. This is when Jason Todd (Robin #2) is brutally murdered by the Joker and it is the first introduction to Robin #3, Tim Drake. It gets really weird in the middle, when the Joker becomes an ambassador for Iran, but stick with it because Tim’s introduction is one of the most interesting Robin origin stories.

Batman: Death Of the Family-This is a different story despite the way too similar name. It’s newer and more gruesome than you might expect. This is the story where the Joker taunts the entire Batfamily and kidnaps them all. It has the whole Batfam in it which is what made me want to pick it up and read it in the first place and is definitely a great way to understand the characters as all of their greatest fears are revealed in this story. There are multiple issues spanning across different series from Batman to Red Hood and The Outlaws, so I definitely recommend getting the trade paperback of it because it’s easier than hunting down each issue in order.

Batman: The Long Halloween-This is such a classic story with lots of Batman Rogues running around and causing mayhem. They’re also speculating that this is potentially what the new Robert Pattinson Batman movie is based on, so it might be good to read if you’re excited for that movie (I have mixed feelings, but I’m hopeful). Also as a huge Agents of SHIELD and comic fan in general, I love so much of what Jeph Loeb does.

Tom King’s current Batman run-Pretty good until the wedding issue and then shit goes off the rails fast and it angered a lot of fans, myself included. Nevertheless, it did have some great moments. He also wrote Heroes in Crisis, which I do not recommend at all.

Batman:The Killing Joke-The animated movie did this story so dirty and I will always be mad. It’s one of the many possible Joker origin stories and the most popular by far. It’s not a very long story, but it absolutely regarded as a classic and it is when Barbara gets shot by the Joker so it’s also important for a major change in canon as well. Solid writing, beautiful art. I could go on about this forever. If you do decide to watch the movie, skip the first half, it’s ridiculous filler (with a ridiculous 90′s stereotypical gay character to boot).

Dick Grayson as Agent 37-This was a pretty fun storyline all things considered. It’s great if you want to fully understand Dick’s character without getting confused about the baggage that is having all of the Batfam characters around. For some people, they get the Robins easily confused (part of that is DC’s fault for literally drawing the same character but just taller or shorter) so it shines the spotlight on Dick.

Red Hood and The Outlaws (The one with Roy and Kori)-I so badly want to recommend this because I love these characters together, but Lobdell’s writing is not always spot-on and his depiction of Kori is comic book misogyny at its finest at times. Maybe read the first few issues just to get a better feel for post-Lazarus pit Jason, but it’s not the best series.

Red Hood:The Lost Years:I am a slut for Jason Todd angst, I won’t lie and so this is one of my personal favourites and it helps to establish resurrected Jason’s character to new readers. You really see how he struggled after his death and Talia al Ghul is there too which is even better. Jason is one of the most interesting and complex characters in all of DC comics and they almost never do anything exciting with his character so this series is a breath of fresh air. 

Batman:Under the Red Hood-This is about Jason’s return to Gotham after being resurrected and it’s great. The conflict between him and Bruce once he learns that it’s Jason under the hood is so well-written and you find yourself agreeing with both of them to an extent. Another great Jason Todd story. There’s also an animated movie based on this as well and it’s pretty good all things considered (I have Jay’s speech to Bruce at the end memorized so that should tell how much I enjoy it).

A lot of the new 52 stuff is not great. Tim’s new 52 Titans team were just kind of meh and like I said, Red Hood and the Outlaws had potential but was brought down by not so great writing. I wish I could remember some good Tim or Damian stories right now, but I’m blanking. Super Sons is newer, but I liked it quite a bit. It’s about Damian, Bruce’s blood son, and Jon Kent, Superman and Lois’ son fighting crime and going on adventures together. It’s a nice bit of fluff in the darkness that comics has become these days.

Harley Quinn (The Jimmy Palmiotti/Amanda Conner series)-This one is probably one of my favourite new 52 releases. I love where they’ve taken Harley’s character, she’s more than just the Joker’s girlfriend and this series shows it. It’s not too serious and most of the time, it can be downright weird, but it’s so fun you can’t help but love it. I own every single issue from the Conner/Palmiotti run. I haven’t read it since they left, so if anyone has, let me know if it’s any good because from what I did see of it, I wasn’t super impressed.

I do have some non-DC recs too so I’ll put them here as well because why not

House of X/Powers of X-The best X-Men story in recent memory and I love the X-Men so much so this makes me so happy. They’ve done some very interesting things with the characters and I love the acknowledgement that Franklin Richards is technically a mutant and the catty way that Cyclops does it is great.

House of M-One of the best X-Men stories and probably what WandaVision will be taking a lot of inspiration from. If you like alternate universes and reality bending, this is for you.

Matt Fraction’s run on the Hawkeye solo series-This is what made me fall in love with Clint and Kate as characters. It shows that the Hawkeyes are not useless Avengers and it has a bit of humour to it, which I love. The Kate Bishop follow-up to this is pretty good too, but I haven’t finished it yet so I can’t vouch for the whole series.

Deadpool Killustrated Series-This is just Wade murdering his way through the Marvel Universe and then through the classic literary characters that those characters were based on. It’s dark, funny, strange story that’s a whole lot of fun without having to worry about keeping up with 80 years of canon. 

I hope this helped in some small way. I am always up for talking comic recommendations since none of my real life friends care about comics. If anyone has any recommendations for me, I am all ears. I read stuff from all over so brand is no issue. I don’t really feed into that Marvel vs DC stuff anymore. Both companies have their strengths and weaknesses and that’s okay. It’s really late here and I’m procrastinating writing a paper so do forgive any spelling errors or completely incoherent sentences :) Stay safe everyone!

[puttingfingerstokeys]

a friend in need

this one like, makes no sense within the new kontinuity but like, here ya go--fuck it! Pretty much Shao Kahn is invading (as one does), Kronika is absolutely messing with the timelines, and this is definitely like 25 years in the future so you have Dad!Johnny and a Liu Kang who has just flirted with death by Raiden, who is now wielding Shinnok’s shitty amulet, which means Shinnok is also headless, but like fuck that guy amirite? This time, he doesn’t deliver the head to Revenant Kitana and Liu Kang because they aren’t revenants, there was no assault on the netherrealm. OH and as always, uh, tumblr doesn’t preserve italics so if it’s incoherent ... it’s ‘cause I’m a lazy piece of shit and I didn’t wanna go back through and dig ‘em up. 

I have no idea what I’m doing.

Faraday Cage (implied??)

Prevented Timeline

Energy crackled and radiated outward, sparking off pavement, trees, vehicles, people—anything with which it came in contact. Fires had erupted all over and people were fighting them as best they could, but with little hope of relief. At the center was an angry god, grieved at great loss, enraged beyond his own ability to control.

Earthrealm could not be protected by a weak, fatherly deity; Raiden understood that now, and it scared him. His own weakness scared him. His foolishness scared him. The “justice” of the Elder Gods scared him. He would end this fight and all fights, because they, for some reason, were not. He had to do this; there was no other way. Why did no one understand? He was singular in his purpose and not even the chosen of Earthrealm, Liu Kang, could stand in his way.

Raiden had taken his own advice, a frightful echo from a future as yet unknown, an Armageddon which killed them all, himself included. It had taken many trials and many more errors to realize his own, true meaning. 

“He must win.” 

Raiden had finally reached the conclusion that the “he” in question was not Liu Kang, earthrealm’s chosen, but Shao Kahn, the bloodthirsty outworld dictator. Reality shivered under the threat of the merging, however, and still the Elder Gods did not step in. How far would this have to go? Did they know that Shao Kahn’s army was, even now, trampling the tenuous pact between the realms? Did they care?

“Liu, over here!” It was Johnny Cage, older now, a father, and proud of his little girl, but right now, damn near shitting in his britches to see Raiden this way. He offered an arm and pulled Liu Kang to his feet. He and a few others were taking shelter behind a small building which shook with the march of outworld foot soldiers and presently began to flicker with a terrible energy.

Raiden had warned himself, somehow, that the merging of realms must begin, that this was the meaning of victory in his own prophetic words, for the Elder Gods to step in. Shao Kahn had begun his dark work, however, and still nothing moved, nothing in favor of the forces of light and justice, anyway. It seemed the Elder Gods had a different idea of what it meant to maintain balance.

“Your tournament is canceled, puny god! I have rescinded my generous invitation!” Shao Kahn called, raising his great hammer to the sky as Outworld merged with Earthrealm, tearing down buildings and reconstructing them in hideous amalgams. People fled and were trampled; people stood and were gored. He would line the streets with bodies before the day was out and only Raiden stood before him. Raiden, who had fought his own, dear Liu Kang, who had defied him nearly to death.

Had he died? Was Liu Kang dead? Raiden could not see him. He could not see anything past the haze of fury clouding his vision and judgment. I have killed him, again, as it was said I always will, as I always must. The thought was errant, not his own, and be brushed it aside, focusing on Shao Kahn and the present. It was his only choice.

“He… Johnny—you should have seen his eyes,” Liu Kang gasped, slumping to his rear-end near the wall. Jacqui Briggs stooped to examine him, checking for external injuries, and wishing for a better facility in which to check for internal. She was no expert, but godly lightning probably left a different mark.

“I see ‘em from here, Liu, and it’s… this is fucked,” grunted the Hollywood star, handing the binoculars over to his daughter, Cassie. She shook her head.

“He said we had to let Shao Kahn win, or else the Elder Gods would never step in,” gasped Liu Kang between labored breaths. Something was definitely wrong and if it was not treated soon, it could become permanent. “They… aren’t stepping in—I knew they didn’t care about us. I…” He groaned in agony and Jacqui pushed him back down.

“Hold still, Chosen One, your guts’ve been rearranged by a pissed off god—maybe take it easy.”

“If I ‘take it easy’, we all die,” Liu Kang snapped, jaw tight. Jacqui gave him a look that suggested she would take no lip, no matter how damn chosen he was. She could see from the way he held himself, the way his muscles tensed and tightened, that he was going to get much worse before he got better, especially if he pushed. They might not have a choice, soon enough, but while they did, there was no point risking it.

He met her gaze, burning with rage and sadness, with his own. They were matched in this way, both earthrealm natives with everything and more to lose, both people who had fought, tooth and nail, against this very thing. Sitting by idly and wishing things were otherwise was not something to which either Liu Kang or Jacqui Briggs were accustomed. 

“Dad!” They looked up suddenly at Cassie’s shout, pulled from their moment of mutual grief. She was reaching out to an empty space where Johnny had just been standing. Before she could go after him, Jacqui was at her back, grasping her elbow, hard.

“No,” she hissed, “you’ll be fried—we don’t know if Raiden’s friendly anymore… if he ever was.” Cassie jerked her elbow away, but Jacqui held tight and shook her head. “I mean it, Cass. Your dad’s… gunna do what he’s gunna do, just like mine.”

With effort, she pulled Cassie back and away from the violent arcs of red lightning that were even now consuming trees and landscaping, cars, enemy soldiers, anything within the dome of the thunder god’s power—an area that was growing.

Raiden and Shao Kahn met somewhere in the middle, just beyond the portal the Outworld emperor had opened to begin the invasion and merging of Earthrealm to his blasted home. Still, the Elder gods did not stir.

Shao Kahn’s hammer swung mightily and met a fist that moved with swift violence. A thunderclap resounded, flattening the area and then cratering it. Neither hand nor head of hammer shattered, but that was of no consequence to Shao Kahn, who reached out and hauled Raiden forward by his collar.

The thunder god looked into the emperor’s animal eyes and neither hated nor pitied him. Raiden’s rage was beyond petty hatred for the man which had caused his beloved Earthrealm so much grief over the centuries. He would simply destroy Shao Kahn. It had become singularly simple in his eyes. He had been a fool. He would end this once and for all, for everyone, forever.

Perhaps it was the look, the nearly directionless fury which met his eyes that made Shao Kahn drop Raiden. Johnny Cage, who had worked himself much closer than was probably safe, watched from a ways off and still could not pinpoint what it was that had Shao Kahn backing away from the thunder god.

“It is forbidden for you to fight,” Shao Kahn warned, with more authority and sureness in his voice than it seemed he felt. Even his minions began to back away as Raiden’s arced, red lightning crashed violently into them, disintegrating here, vaporizing there, starting fires all over. Raiden’s chest heaved with the effort of either sustaining the onslaught, or holding it back, Johnny wasn’t sure.

On that heaving chest, Shinnok’s awful amulet pulsed with life and light, beckoning and promising strength. Raiden reached for it, but hesitated, seemingly doubting himself for the merest fraction of a second. It was in that span of time that Shao Kahn regained his courage and swung again. This time, he would have caught the god of thunder on the chin, had it not been for the quick footwork of Johnny Cage.

This time, boots met hammer and the clash was not so even. Shao Kahn drove Johnny back into a building. His back hit concrete and he was certain he felt something snap, but if he gave up now, Raiden was absolutely going to do something stupid. He didn’t understand Shinnok’s power, or even who and what Shinnok really was, or had been, as the case was, but he knew an evil piece of jewelry when he saw it.

“Time for a scene change,” he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and spitting blood. The tang of adrenaline was on his tongue and coursed through his veins, making him hyper focus upon this detail or that. Johnny fancied he could hear Cassie screaming somewhere in the distance, but right now, his focus was on the battle before him.

“You are too weak to use that amulet on me, or anyone, thunder god,” Shao Kahn mocked, manufacturing enough bravado to satisfy his immense ego. Raiden grimaced, as if considering whether or not the man was right. He ground his teeth and once more moved to grasp Shinnok’s amulet. Shao Kahn struck again, this time with a boot.

Raiden was forced to block this with a cross before his chest and to step back. He balled one fist and surrounded it with lightning, shaking his head. “You do not know my power,” he growled, “but rest assured, Shao Kahn, you will.” Raiden discharged the lightning at Shao Kahn, who used his hammer as a ground and laughed.

“Pathetic, and weak.” Each descriptor was punctuated with a sharp wag of his finger toward Raiden’s chest and the deadly amulet which sat thereupon.

“I am not weak—I am doing as I have always done. I am protecting Earthrealm.” His hand once more rose to the amulet. “Whatever that takes, I will do it.”

With that, he wound up a massive store of radiant, red energy and hurled it at Shao Kahn. The tyrant was hurled back mightily, taking out a score of his foot soldiers as he flew. Raiden continued forward, his pace slow, but deliberate. The troops of outworld were suddenly cowed by this display, as if their fellows being randomly vaporized had not been enough. Something had shifted, they sensed, and they began to back away. 

“You are forbidden, Raiden!” This time, Shao Kahn’s voice was laced with fear; the confidence he had earlier displayed with his first remark of this kind had evidently deserted him in the face of what Raiden had become. Once more, the deity slowly reached for Shinnok’s amulet. It was as if a very small part of him still fought for his own innocence, whatever might have been left of it.

Meanwhile, Johnny had begun to close the distance between himself and the wrathful god. He could feel his hair standing on end with the force of the red lightning radiating outward from Raiden’s body. He was tense, the actor could see that from where he was, and… Are those tears? He shook off the thought as a stray bolt vaporized a fire hydrant less than a yard from him; it burst into a geyser of city water which soon began raining down upon everyone in the vicinity.

Johnny ducked behind a bike rack, realized that was probably a poor choice of cover, and scuttled along on the ground until he found a trash bin that looked as if it was made of plastic composite, rather than anything that might conduct those wicked red arcs of enraged power. His heart was hammering a thousand miles per hour and for a moment, he wondered if that was the first sign of an electricity-induced heart attack. Maybe he had been struck and did not realize it.Thinking about the ramifications of that hurt his head, so he stopped and decided to do what he did best. 

“Now or never,” he told himself, taking a deep breath and fully expecting to be vaporized like the fire hydrant. It would be guts, however, not water spraying about, if he was lucky. Speaking of the water, too much of it, and Johnny would be zapped for sure; he was already soaked to the bone. Oh like it’s any different than what I’m about to do, he hissed internally, covering his face to keep his sunglasses dry. He needed to be able to see for this one. Johnny simply told himself that god lightning was different than the regular stuff and, in a burst of foolish energy, tossed himself around the trash bin and ran, full tilt, toward Raiden’s position. 

A wayward bolt struck his glasses, tossing them from his face and exploding stars before his eyes. Johnny stumbled and, somewhere in the distance—she sounded thousands of miles away—he thought he could hear Cassie’s voice calling his name. He prayed someone was holding her back, because if this went south, as he was almost sure it would, she would be about to fight a hurricane with a pair of pistols. Raiden was not going to be stopped, but Johnny felt that it was his duty to try. Liu’s shouldered too fuckin’ much already—my turn, he reasoned, forcing himself to keep going, running harder and faster than he had ever done in his life. 

Raiden had stopped his inexorable stride and Shao Kahn looked on in bewilderment as the earthrealm action star closed the gap, running directly into that deadly lightning. He had been so sure Johnny’s miserable back had broken against that building. There was something to be said for the tenacity of a cornered, wounded animal. 

The god turned his head, acknowledging Johnny with eyes as red as his lightning. Sure as shit, Johnny thought, noting that Raiden was, indeed, in tears, though they did not seem to be saline, as a human’s might be—they stood out, even upon his pale flesh, catching light and reflecting it like diamonds—or perhaps rubies, stained by the power of his rage. 

“Stop it, man!” Johnny called, reaching a hand out. Raiden still did not move, but neither did he cease his bombardment. Shao Kahn’s forces were at a standstill, watching, for once uncertain of the correct path. Some were even edging toward the portal, back to outworld and relative safety. “Raiden—you listening to me? You don’t hafta—” 

A bolt struck him square in the chest and he dropped to his knees, eyes wide, staring with pain and fear at the man—the god—who had struck him down. Raiden seemed to shift a little at that and then to turn. Johnny had caught his attention and would have held it but for Shao Kahn’s voice. “An earthrealm fraud has halted your march, Lord Raiden—what sort of god are you?!” He urged his forces forward, but no one stirred. Shao Kahn looked around and once more met Raiden’s eyes, which were again trained upon him. Raiden covered Shinnok’s dark amulet with his hand.

“No more.” 

Cassie continued to scream. Johnny could hear her now. He was coming to, realizing that he was not, in fact, dead, nor even too terribly scorched. At the last moment, evidently, the magic of his strange heritage had leapt up to protect him, but he could feel in his bones that this would not happen again. He had one chance. For Cassie, he thought, all those kids—for Liu and Sonya, for Jax, and Earthrealm. His heart thudded and he started forward, first at a trot, the once more at a leaping gallop. For Raiden. 

Before the god could respond, Johnny Cage had tossed his arms around that broad, pillar-like torso. He had never realized just how big Raiden actually was, and thought perhaps he had allowed himself to retain a human size when dealing directly with them. He had to have been at least seven feet tall and change, but Johnny held tight all the same. He could feel the surge of anger within his own body, as if it belonged to him, originated IN him—and it scared him. 

“Christ,” he grunted, “is this what you’re feeling?” 

It was then that the outworld dictator chose to rush them. With him leading the charge, his hordes felt renewed confidence and vigor and lunged forth as one, howling their triumph over earthrealm. Raiden seemed frozen in place, but only for a moment. He seemed suddenly to come back to himself, as if he had been far away, no longer in control of his limbs or actions—certainly of his lightning. 

He wrapped one powerful arm around Johnny, who still held him, and with the other, lashed a wide, sweeping arc of blue-white lightning across the crowd, thus releasing his hold on the wicked amulet. Shao Kahn’s hammer protected him, but his troops were not so lucky. There was a smell of ozone and charred flesh left hanging in the air when Shao Kahn opened his eyes and straightened. 

“Send your champion to face me, then!” Shao Kahn shouted, beating his chest, his hubris undiminished. His tone was desperate, and he seemed far too eager, too frantic, to regain and retain control over this place. Johnny looked to Raiden, then back to Shao Kahn. He knew what this meant. He’d been at this long enough.

“So you’re declaring Mortal Kombat?” Johnny was going to be absolutely clear on this one, since… god contracts and all that—or something. He wasn’t wholly certain on this point, but it seemed to be the right thing to do. Shao Kahn seemed actually to consider this. His troops were slaughtered or retreating, Raiden was placated for the time being, but who knew how long that could last? His konquest had begun unlawfully, but for the loophole of his not quite initiating a merging of realms. That would be his next step—because if there existed no earthrealm champions to defend her, then who would stop him?

“Yes, earthrealm clown,” Shao Kahn rumbled, slapping the handle of his great hammer on one rough palm.

“Mime, actually,” came another voice from across a few lanes of what would have been traffic. Emerging from the alley where they were taking shelter, Liu Kang led their friends, injured and whole, into the open. He was supported by a grimacing Jacqui Briggs, but it was clear from his expression that no was not an answer he would be hearing today. Raiden’s shoulders sagged a little in relief; he had not killed Liu Kang after all. 

“Thank you, Liu—wait hang on…” Johnny narrowed his eyes at his friend, a younger version of Liu Kang, one he had not seen in years, that was, before all this fuckery came about. The Shaolin fighter did not respond and seemed, for a moment, not to be able to meet Johnny’s eyes. In fact, if Johnny wasn’t tripping completely, he could have sworn that the guy was blushing. Still got it, he thought, grinning. 

Before he could continue, however, Cassie broke into a gait he very much recognized as one that signaled extreme displeasure. Her face held a look of grim determination as she stomped toward her father. Johnny knew he was in for it and backed away, hands up.

“Whoa, whoa, pumpkin, easy, huh?” He looked between Shao Kahn and his daughter and realized he would rather face the outworld tyrant. “C’mon—easy, what was your old man s’posed to do?”

“Not get fried by a pissed off god and leave me a fucking ORPHAN? MAYBE?” Her voice held an edge of hysterical panic he did not like. “Oh. Shit…” she stammered, stopping just as her path crossed Raiden’s. “I’m—sorry… I didn’t mean—”

“You did,” said the god, inclining his head toward her, “but you are not incorrect.”

Cassie was sheepish and mumbled another apology. Raiden seemed to understand her position, however, and addressed it no more. Instead, he turned his attention upon the waiting tyrant.

“When will this foolishness subside so that I can begin the konquest of your filthy realm, Raiden?!” Shao Kahn was growing impatient. “The earthrealmer has declared Mortal Kombat and I accept, on the terms that, when I win, the merge will begin and you, pitiful servant of the Elder Gods, will stand aside and bow to their will as you have always done!”

Johnny’s jaw tightened at this hateful commentary upon Raiden’s character, but for once in his life, he held his tongue. Now was not the time to bandy words with dictators and monsters; now was the time to make them eat those words with a garnish of ball-crushing whoop-ass.

“It is my destiny to fight Shao Kahn,” Liu Kang hissed, eyeing Johnny, his gaze flinty. The hardness in his voice and tone belied the real fear that they were thwarting destiny and tempting a fate no one was equipped to handle. His eyes snapped to Raiden, then, pleading. Raiden shook his head. Jacqui echoed the movement. Even now, protesting this, Liu leaned heavily upon her, in no condition to fight. 

“Guess it’s not, Liu—stand back and watch.” Johnny would hear no more, turning toward his opponent and shouting. “I accept your terms, Shao Kahn—winner take all.” I mean, I’m not gunna take over outworld, but like… it sounds pretty good when I say it out loud, his fevered brain nattered.

He must win. Raiden’s own, incomprehensible words came back to him in a sickening echo he still wondered, even now, to whom his future self had been referring. He had been so sure it was Shao Kahn, but that sureness had nearly killed his chosen champion. He met Liu Kang’s furious gaze.

“By the rules of Mortal Kombat, the challenge must be taken up by the one who declared it. I am sorry, Liu Kang, but this fight indeed belongs to Johnny Cage.”

Johnny heard his name, but no more. He was focused, utterly and completely, upon Shao Kahn, who stood a few yards hence, leaning upon the head of his hammer and observing the company with such arrogance, it turned Johnny’s guts. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his head upon broad shoulders. 

“Okay big guy, you heard the god. Let’s fuckin’ go.” He dropped into a deep stance and beckoned Shao Kahn. The tyrant chuckled, the sound a raspy, hollow thing, mirthless and full of contempt and triumph for a victory he had not yet won.

Johnny made the first move, using his distance to gain speed and launch into a combination of forceful, heavy kicks which utilized his size and the length of his legs. Shao Kahn blocked these with little effort and jabbed in return, hoping to push Johnny off balance. 

The years had made him wily and this was not the Johnny Cage that Shao Kahn remembered, so cocksure and arrogant, his insecurities showing upon his countenance like a glowing sign, pushed by his own self doubt to showboat and make light of his own skill. This Johnny was an old veteran of many ugly fights; he was vicious, clever, and quick. 

Using the tyrant’s momentum against him, Johnny ducked around him and launched into a hard kick to the back of Shao Kahn’s head. This, the tyrant bore with an enraged snarl, a stumble, and a wide, arcing swing of the hammer. That swing, too, Johnny dodged, spitting in his opponent’s direction. “Gunna hafta do better’n that, slugger!”

“So your arrogance has not been tempered,” Shao Kahn commented. “Good, good. That will make your defeat all the more satisfying.” He laughed viciously and swung the hammer down, shaking the ground around them. Johnny found himself out of sorts for a moment, but it was long enough for Shao Kahn to catch him up in one hand, tossing the hammer aside and plying both powerful limbs to their grim task. He lifted Johnny over his head and began to bend. “Do you see your champion, Thunder God?”

Raiden, formerly watching with a mask of impassive disinterest, was suddenly assaulted by visions of Johnny Cage, broken nearly in two, over the shoulders of this selfsame tyrant. He could hear Shao Kahn’s triumphant laugh, the horrified scream of Sonya Blade, the heartbroken, barely-audible moan of Liu Kang. As he blinked, the entire scene flashed behind his eyes and, without thinking, he stretched forth one hand and fired a bolt of pure, blue-white lightning.

With a single shot, Raiden, god of thunder and protector of earthrealm, ended it all. 

Shao Kahn was vapor, dust in the light breeze that had begun to pick up. Johnny picked himself up, heart hammering once more, and looked between the two. Shao Kahn had been mere moments from snapping him in half, powerful hands crushing him wherever they reached, his back beginning to feel the strain of the man’s prodigious strength when, all at once, it was over and he was on the ground. 

Coughing and righting himself, Johnny’s only thought was for the thunder god and he rushed back to where Raiden stood, staring, shocked (there was a pun here someplace), at his own hand, as if he had never before seen it. The amulet, curiously, remained upon his chest, unused, bearing no mark of having been harnessed.

“I…” Raiden stammered as Johnny reached him. The others now turned their attention upon Johnny Cage and Raiden, who had sunk to the ground together, Johnny’s rough hands finding either side of Raiden’s face. They were murmuring—mostly Johnny, in point of fact—and no one was sure if they should get close. Liu Kang directed them away and gestured that they ought to start dealing with the portal, which was still open and the merging, which was, indeed, continuing its inexorable work. He hoped, silently, that the Elder Gods actually did decide to step in, because he was no sorcerer, nor was he a god and could not see himself becoming either in the near future.

“Hey,” Johnny hissed, “it’s okay—it’s gunna be fine… You finished it, y’know? It’s—”

“It is not over, Johnny Cage,” responded the god, eyes downcast. “I have upset the balance; the Elder Gods will be furious. The consequences—”

“Seriously,” Johnny interrupted, “fuck the Elder Gods—what’ve they done for us, huh?” Raiden’s eyes opened wide at these words of blasphemy and he reached out to grasp the lapels of Johnny’s vest.

“You know not of what you speak, Johnny Cage,” warned Raiden. Johnny hated that fearful look on Raiden’s face. It was foreign and wrong and did not belong there. Johnny scowled deeply.

“I know a thing or three about shit parents… Listen, this whole… fatherhood thing, y’know, it blows sometimes—no offense Cass; I love ya pumpkin—and it’s… like a never-ending cavalcade of horseshit, nonsense, and doubt.” He shook his head. “I had ONE. I can’t imagine being the… like, dad of a whole-ass world…realm… thingy.” Pursing his lips, Johnny searched for his next words, choosing them carefully. “We spend our whole damn lives worrying and wondering if we did all we could—if we fucked up somewhere along the way and if that… y’know, if it caused more pain than it should’ve, or… more than we knew at the time, or could ever know.” He sighed. “And yeah, it’s gunna do that—it will do that. You’re going to hurt your kids and sometimes meaning well isn’t the be-all, end-all… the ends don’t always justify the means and all that shit… But the bottom line here is that a good parent does THAT, y’know, looks back and… worries… about the process. Getting there ain’t always half the fun, big guy—and frankly, whoever-the-fuck got you here, where you are right now? They’re not the good kind. Just sayin’.”

Raiden looked as if he had never been told that the Elder Gods were poor parents. He looked as if he had never considered them parents at all, which Johnny supposed made sense, since they weren’t exactly physical beings or whatever, but sometimes, one had to wonder at the “my ways are higher than your ways” explanation. He, still holding either side of Raiden’s face, pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “We’re gunna be all right, man—I promise. I… we… no one’s gunna let anything happen to you—y’know or earthrealm, or whatever.” He had clearly run out of words, for the time being.

“Thank you, Johnny Cage,” whispered Raiden solemnly. “Your faith and fair words mean more to me than you can know.”

“Ah, one more thing, though.” Evidently, Johnny was not completely out of words. “Just… Just Johnny, please? Whenever I hear the whole thing, I kinda assume I’m in deep shit—y’know and y’really don’t wanna go there with a god—‘specially not the kind who can do… y’know, what you just did.”

Raiden regarded what he had just done very carefully, then regarded Johnny. This, he supposed, was a request he could grant, but it felt strange, not addressing him that way.

“If I am correct, then we are, all of us, in ‘deep shit’.”

“Lord Raiden,” Liu Kang called, hobbling toward them. “Forgive me, but that portal isn’t closing itself and I…”

Raiden shook his head and stood, grasping Johnny’s hands and pulling the man with him. “I will make this right,” he promised, stepping away from the mortals and lifting into the air. Once more, energy crackled all around, but it bore the tranquil, blue-white glow that they were accustomed to seeing. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief at that.

Cassie approached her father slowly. He seemed dazed. She could have slapped him, but she wasn’t sure that wouldn't trigger some kind of heart attack. Johnny’s eyes were wide, fixed on the hovering thunder deity. 

“You ah… okay, dad?”

“I don’t… I dunno, kid. I’m not sure. But he is… and right now, that’s kinda what we need.”

[beca-mitchell]

dj, turn the radio up (1/1)

Entry for @bechloe-week Day 2: Coworkers.

Summary: PP1 AU. Beca never joins the Bellas. Chloe and Luke are good friends, which leads to Chloe occasionally working at the radio station. Shenanigans of the FWB kind ensue.

Rated M/E because of sexual encounters. Huge shout outs: @zentamaus, @chloes-yellow-cup, @the-orange-orange, @cotebdepablo, @shadowsinwinter, @snowbritt, and @myhatsbeonbackwards (and a few others) who read over my work and assured me it wasn’t completely crazy while also catching as many blips and errors as they could. 💕

Word count: 11,572

Read on AO3 or below.

It’s not that Chloe’s annoying. In fact, she’s quite the opposite. She’s probably the most caring person Beca has ever encountered in her life. She’s attentive and intelligent about things that Beca can barely bring herself to care about. Things like ensuring everybody’s tea is an appropriate temperature. Or that everybody is appropriately bundled for a chillier mid-winter evening.

And somehow, Chloe manages to do it all without coming off as a mother figure – or in Aubrey’s case, a dictator, from what Beca can tell. Chloe is friends with everybody. Beca thinks that she can’t go anywhere with Chloe on campus because people are always stopping her to say hello or worse – to flirt with her.

Beca’s not jealous, not at all.

It’s just kind of an inconvenience, especially when Beca suddenly has to push through no less than two broad-shouldered seniors who are just dying to hang out with Chloe.

“I’m going to class,” Beca tosses over her shoulder, not caring to see if Chloe responds.

  -----

  How they become friends is kind of an accident.

Friends is probably a strange way of putting it.

-----

 Beca has been vying for the coveted evening supervisor position for the school radio station and she thinks she’s busted her ass enough to deserve it over the course of the semester.

So it’s kind of a surprise to her when Luke greets her one evening with a very happy Chloe Beale standing by his side.

Beca vaguely recognizes her as the girl who interrupted her shower and tried to make her sing an impromptu duet.

And further tried to make her join an acapella group.

Beca dodged a bullet there, but she must have really pissed off somebody in the past because Chloe is standing in front of her, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

“Chloe’s going to be taking over for me tonight.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Beca says angrily.

Chloe looks startled at Beca’s sudden burst of anger, but collects herself quickly enough. Luke looks unphased. Beca almost wishes Jesse were there to look appropriately scared.

“Chloe’s a good friend of mine,” Luke says lightly. “She–” 

“I’m sure she is,” Beca mumbles. She’s mostly grumpy that Luke obviously still doesn’t trust her enough to let her oversee the radio station by herself. Granted, it has only been a few weeks. She doesn’t care that Chloe is ridiculously pretty or that her eyes are somehow the clearest possible shade of blue. It is just incredibly annoying that Luke refuses to let her take the reins, even just for a little bit–

“I know you,” Chloe says, interrupting Beca’s inner tirade. She clearly decided to weather the storm of Beca’s personality. “We sang in the shower together.” Chloe’s brow furrows then. “You didn’t show up for auditions.”

Luke splutters incoherently. Beca’s blush rises up to her cheeks and possibly her forehead. Chloe grins.

Bitch, Beca thinks, without any real bite.

  -----

Maybe in another life, she would have been given the opportunity to get to know Chloe the old-fashioned way. Beca’s favorite way: where her walls are sky high and people struggle to climb over them.

Maybe in another life, Chloe would have been her friend first. A leader of sorts, maybe.

Maybe. 

Beca’s just counting her lucky stars that she didn’t join that acapella group. That would have been as lame as she originally suspected.

Lame, mostly because what woman bursts into another woman’s shower only to ask about her singing?

The memory of Chloe’s voice still rings through her mind.

“How high does your belt go?” Chloe had asked, too focused and too serious for Beca to think of this situation as anything other than a literal recruitment attempt. Beca had stifled the disappointment, then subsequently the confusion that followed.

Mostly though, Beca had barely remembered to respond because she was too busy trying to focus on not letting her eyes wander inappropriately, though the time for inappropriateness had long passed. “My what ? Oh my God.”

So maybe in another life, she and Chloe would have come together in more ways than one.

  -----

 Okay, Chloe’s attractive. Like almost unfairly so. She’s all unrestrained smiles, blue eyes, and gentle waves of the prettiest shade of red Beca has seen in her life.

Beca has eyes and enough of a grip on her own sexual preferences to acknowledge that she’d probably flirt hard with Chloe (maybe awkwardly) if Chloe weren’t so damn happy all the time. Or so into acapella.

She’s not against sleeping with Chloe, she thinks. That alone is enough to startle her out of her reverie and she quickly stacks the remaining CDs before Chloe can catch her staring at her from behind the shelf. That would be–

Too late.

Beca narrows her eyes at Chloe who is smirking at her from behind the glass of the booth, oversized, worn-out headphones on her head.

She shouldn’t look that good, considering she’s hellbent on ruining Beca’s life.

She makes sure Chloe can see her eye roll.

  -----

 Chloe Beale is most annoying whenever she brushes past Beca to grab a CD off the stack or shelf, clearly intent on messing up Beca’s hard work.

It has nothing to do with the way Chloe’s breath ghosts hot and sure against her ear. Or the way Chloe’s breasts feel pressed against her arm or back, even for the briefest of moments.

It’s incredibly annoying. Frustrating, maybe.

(And to be fair, Beca plays dirty when she needs to. She knows what she’s doing when she’s bending over in full view of the booth. She knows what she’s doing when she takes off her plaid shirt and ties it around her waist, leaving her shoulders bare and her neckline more visible.

Her father would be devastated to know that student funds are going into this decrepit radio station so Beca can shamelessly rile up her supervisor.

Oh. Is that what she’s doing?)

  -----

 “Beca, come here.”

“Freshmen aren’t allowed in the booth,” Beca parrots back at Chloe, crossing her arms. Chloe leans against the doorway, an eyebrow raising in a somewhat challenging manner. Still, Chloe somehow manages to make it look pleasant.

As Beca nears, she wills her heart to stop beating so quickly and finds herself wondering if Chloe is doing the same. If Chloe is struggling with her own internal turmoil.

It’s subtle, but Beca catches the way Chloe’s gaze drifts to her chest. 

Checkmate.

She only barely resists smugly pushing up her breasts higher by tightening her arms, but she figures Chloe actually does have something she needs to talk about and she’s not about to risk getting into Chloe’s good graces if it means Chloe will eventually talk to Luke for her. 

Beca can be rational. Beca can be focused enough on her career.

Her ‘career’, she repeats in her mind, her father’s disdain in his voice filling the empty spaces where her own voice fails.

“Beca, ” Chloe says, voice sharp with something akin to warning.

Beca obeys, walking into the booth.

“I get the feeling that you’re…” Chloe twists in her chair, facing Beca. “Annoyed or upset about something.” She fixes Beca with a sincere, concerned expression, which is surprising enough that tension flows out of Beca in response. “And that something might be me, So I just wanted to...apologize,” she continues, in the same genuine tone. “I wanted to also apologize if I made you uncomfortable back when...you know. Shower.” She gestures vaguely and openly.

Beca swallows hard.

Chloe makes her anything but uncomfortable.

(Okay, maybe a little uncomfortable, but it’s Pleasant.)

Chloe stands from her perch, with enviable poise. “Friends?” she asks, extending a hand, though that’s hardly necessary with how little space there is between them.

Surrounded by stacks of CDs and cassettes, Chloe seems to glow.

A strange, sad thought flits through Beca’s mind: you don’t belong, she thinks. Chloe could never belong here - alongside the dust and the outdated music. Chloe is the kind of person who shines beyond reason. This much, Beca knows. She knows it to be true, as true as her instinct allows her to believe.

So, Beca opens her mouth and for once, honesty slips out. “We can’t be friends,” she says, noting the sudden spike in temperature. Was the booth always abnormally warm? Beca wonders.

Chloe raises an eyebrow, the motion slicing right through her thoughts. “Why not?” she inquires with a hint of confusion and a dash of sadness, like the thought of Beca not being her friend will plague her for the rest of her days.

Because I’m insanely attracted to you and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that day.

She kisses her instead.

  -----

 “Fuck, fuck, shit–” Beca scrambles to find her footing because Chloe is suddenly lifting her onto a tiny desk in the corner of the booth. Beca’s hands spread out on the hard wooden surface, knocking pens and papers to the ground as Chloe’s tongue pushes into her mouth. 

“Language,” Chloe murmurs, leaning back an inch or so. The way her eyes just about gleam in Beca’s direction is almost enough to send Beca over the edge.

“Shut up,” Beca retorts, but she doesn't mean it and Chloe knows. She pulls Chloe in for a harsh kiss that almost immediately softens the moment their lips touch. 

Chloe is all about soft curves and gentle caresses, despite the very obvious strength she has over Beca. Beca is a mess of hard edges and roughly drawn lines. She barely has time to process it all, but she’ll start with the way her breast fits neatly into Chloe’s hand, her nipple hard and insistent against Chloe’s palm.

Or maybe she’ll start with how eager Chloe is to feel Beca’s hand beneath her dress and how easily Chloe’s thighs part for her. 

There are too many beginnings and not enough rope for Beca to fully immerse herself in each one, so settles on how well they fit.

But, the fact is, they fit.

  -----

 That’s the first night.

Well, the first night they kiss and touch and do other things–

It’s probably about a week into Chloe supervising Beca, and all things considered, Beca thinks that it’s probably surprising that they don’t jump each other sooner than that. 

Chloe gets a call soon after their heavy-handed make-out and they basically spend the rest of the night clearing their throats from opposite ends of the booth.

Beca tries not to think about how Chloe’s lip gloss tasted like mangoes. And how her tongue tasted like peach.

So she thinks instead of how damp Chloe’s underwear had been – like she too had been waiting for this for a long time.

  -----

 “What the hell?” Luke asks, seeing a mess of pens and papers on the floor that they had forgotten to clean up. 

“Oh, you know how Chloe is,” Beca responds after a moment. She shrugs and turns around so he can’t see the blush spread across her cheeks.

“Unbelievable.”

“I know, right.”

  -----

 Beca’s not sure when she’ll see Chloe again when Luke returns from his mini-break.

She’s almost relieved, but realizes that she’ll miss her. How unfortunate.

She catches glimpses of red hair on campus sometimes, but she never quite makes out the face properly. She doesn’t know that much about Chloe in all honesty. Just based on snippets of various conversations at the radio station, she knows that Chloe is the youngest of four siblings, that Chloe is majoring in Philosophy but wishes she had studied Literature instead, that Chloe ties her hair back into a ponytail when she’s stressed, that Chloe hums when she thinks nobody’s listening, that Chloe’s smiles are all different somehow–

Shut up, Beca tells herself.

It’s not that she’s looking for Chloe Beale, Beca just hates unfinished business.

She doesn’t have to wait long however, because Chloe is grinning at her from across the room at a house party Luke invited her to and God, Beca’s drawn in immediately. She had hoped Chloe would be there, hoped against hope, but something tells her to bottle that sentiment up and keep it close to her chest. 

“Hey you,” Chloe greets happily. Beca notes that she’s alone. “Didn’t expect you to be the fraternity party type.”

“Same could be said about you,” Beca shoots back. She takes in Chloe’s surprisingly appropriate attire that isn’t a cheerfully bright shirt or a sundress. It is instead an appealing combination, most pleasing to Beca: black jeans and a snug, well-fitting tank top. “Don’t you have some acapella performances to arrange?” she asks, pulling her eyes up from Chloe’s chest. “Or whatever it is you do,” she amends quickly when Chloe’s eyebrow rises. “I don’t care.”

Chloe clicks her tongue and pours two cups of beer from the keg nearby. She peers at Beca. “How old are you?” she asks, ignoring Beca’s mild snark.

Beca shakes her head. “Nineteen, but I don’t like drinking anyway.” She says this oddly – at least to her – like she feels the words don’t quite fit. She’s nervous, somehow. Does Chloe think she’s young ? Does Chloe think she’s too inexperienced? Questions drift in and out of Beca’s mind while she watches Chloe’s expression with rapt attention.

Chloe looks oddly pleased to hear that and not at all judgmental, though Beca can’t imagine Chloe judging her for anything. Or anybody for that matter. It’s refreshing. “Good to know,” Chloe states, shoving the cups of beer away to a passing boy. “I don’t need to drink either. Want to dance then, Bec?”

“Not really,” Beca says. Chloe bats her eyes. “Okay, fine.”

Chloe pulls her close and for a second Beca thinks she’s about to kiss her. Instead, Chloe is pulling her, pulling her, pulling her until they’re in a space that Beca assumes used to be a living room. There’s a broken, but still brightly lit disco ball above their heads. The music is loud and reverberates through the floors. People are faceless and numerous. Beca can’t imagine looking at anybody else, not at this moment when the light catches on Chloe’s face at random intervals. 

Chloe is serious about dancing apparently. She pulls Beca close by the belt loops on her jeans, stepping into her orbit again.

Beca never really got the appeal of dancing on makeshift dancefloors. Of being in such close proximity to various drunken bodies.

It makes her shudder at the thought. Recoil in disgust.

Usually.

Now, however, Chloe’s breath is hot against her face - so similar to how Chloe had felt brushing up against her at the radio station.

“How’s it feel?” Chloe asks, leaning in so her lips graze Beca’s ear. “Dancing with your boss.” She hisses on the last word, like it’s a private little inside joke.

Beca shivers. Chloe’s hips are tantalizing and graceful and rhythmic all at once. Beca finds herself enraptured by the beat of the music and the sway of Chloe’s body against hers. She imagines, for a split second, Chloe teaching her how to dance. She imagines that Chloe would be a good teacher, attentive and responsible.

She strikes that thought immediately because she can’t imagine Chloe being her teacher.

“Could be better,” she finally manages to say, quiet enough that she’s surprised Chloe catches it over all the noise. "Since you're not my boss."

Chloe’s raised eyebrow - that damnable eyebrow - spurs Beca into action.

She presses one hand against the small of Chloe’s back, bringing her closer than before. The slow movement of Chloe’s hips shifts so it matches Beca’s. Chloe’s legs brush her own and almost immediately, Chloe’s thigh slips between her own, solid and firm unlike anything Beca has felt before. She suddenly craves that skin-on-skin contact. She wants to feel exactly what Chloe’s thigh feels between her own thighs. Exactly how soft Chloe’s skin must be.

She tries not to let it show that Chloe is affecting her - that Chloe’s body is eliciting all kinds of responses in her own body. 

But she’s sure it’s obvious enough. It's in the way Chloe’s hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull Beca in for a kiss. 

  -----

 Beca gasps out a shuddering breath against Chloe’s neck, unable to help herself from coming alongside Chloe’s orgasm. Her fingers twitch and flex inside Chloe, snug and warm. She hesitates in pulling them out, determined to make Chloe feel every last movement until she tells Beca she’s had enough.

“God,” Chloe murmurs, lazily sliding a hand into Beca’s hair. She tugs and Beca moans immediately, lifting her head obediently to meet Chloe’s lips in an equally lazy kiss. Chloe’s thigh presses up against the seam of Beca’s jeans and she’s once again reminded by how wet she is. How wet her jeans must be – damp at least – considering her underwear is completely ruined. “I knew it would be like this with you.” 

Beca doesn’t know what to say to that, but finally has the sense of mind to remove her fingers from Chloe.

She has the strongest desire to taste Chloe, so with her eyes fixated on Chloe’s half-lidded gaze, she lifts herself up on her elbow, just so she can hover above Chloe. Then, she brings her fingers to her mouth and does just that. She swirls her tongue repeatedly around wet fingers, cognizant of how hard her heart pounds in her chest.

Chloe’s gaze flashes with renewed desire. She sits up and pulls Beca close and astride her lap completely. Beca barely has time to remove her fingers from her mouth to grip tight to Chloe’s shoulders or to tangle her fingers in Chloe’s hair. The messy waves feel thicker somehow, easier to hold on to. The strong grip Chloe has on her back, paired with the sure hand creeping up her thigh. Heat spreads beneath her jeans. Chloe is quick in how fast her hand navigates beyond the waistband of Beca’s now-uncomfortable jeans, but her wrist twists and flexes and suddenly she’s so close to where Beca aches for her.

Beca moans - not caring how desperate she sounds anymore - into the kiss and her hips jolt forward of their own volition. 

A sharp rap on the door startles them out of their moment ( their moment, Beca thinks gleefully), just as Chloe’s fingers are mere inches away from Beca’s aching clit. Her hips rock forward again, even more impatient and more eager than before, trying to speed Chloe along.

“Impatient,” Chloe rasps, voice low and strained. She doesn’t sound like she thinks that’s a problem at all. Beca grasps her jaw and tilts her head up for searing kiss, aiming to distract her. It works for a few moments and Chloe’s hand is almost there–

“Hey, who’s in there! This is my room.”

Chloe curses under her breath – Beca, loudly – and just like that, her hand is gone. Beca almost whines at the loss.

Suddenly, Chloe is helping her re-button her jeans and readjusting her own clothes and they’re slamming the door open. They lift their eyes to meet a surprised-looking frat boy with boring wind-swept hair and an equally boring polo.

“Were you guys…” He grins, though without much malice or leering. He mostly just looks amused. “In my room?”

Chloe rolls her eyes, pulling Beca behind her as they beeline their way out of the house. “None of your business, Brandon,” she calls over her shoulder.

(Because of course Chloe is on a first name basis with everybody at school. Friends with frat boys and acapella girls alike. Everywhere all at once. Perhaps it was inevitable that Beca got swept up in her orbit, helpless like the rest of them.)

Whether he makes a noise of derision or not like Beca expects him to, she finds that she doesn’t really care and the fleeting thought of what they just did in a random bedroom dissipates.

They can’t get out of there quick enough. After a brief stop in the bathroom to rinse her hands, her face, and to let Chloe’s lips trail up and down her neck lazily, Beca thinks she feels a million pair of eyes on her in the house. Almost like they can tell she’d just spent the past little while getting Chloe Beale off in a nondescript frat boy bedroom. She’s not upset about the fact, not at all. Just amazed that this is the turn her life took when she decided to acquiesce to her father’s request that she attend school for at least a year. 

Chloe’s fingers twitch in hers and suddenly Beca is no longer present. The memory of Chloe coming apart beneath her fingers. Chloe’s hair sprawled in many directions across plain navy blue sheets, in every direction like the way Beca’s heart suddenly bled with unexpected desire and passion.

“Wait,” she calls, as they round the side of the house, the sounds of the party finally dying. Her fingers flex in Chloe’s hand. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks, pausing. She isn’t ready for an armful of Beca - of the way Beca all but throws herself at her, lips and hands exploring desperately and suddenly. She moans, long and low, into Beca’s mouth, sure hands coming up to grip Beca’s hips.

How long they kiss like that, in the shadows next to a house party, is a mystery to Beca. She focuses on how soft Chloe’s lips are - how soft they had been when she had been buried in Chloe’s pussy, two fingers deep.

Chloe’s whispered “more” echoes in her head. Her underwear dampens more at the memory.

She’s drunk on Chloe, she’s sure. She’ll never be curious about alcohol again, not when Chloe satisfies her so wholly and fully in a comparable intoxicating manner.

“Your place,” Beca breathes. “P-Please.” She hates the stutter in her voice.

Chloe lifts her head from Beca’s neck, eyes dark beneath mild eyeliner and full lashes. “Yeah?” she asks, like she needs Beca to be certain.

Beca is half tempted to shove Chloe’s hand between her legs to just feel how certain Beca is.

“Yeah,” she chokes out instead. Chloe’s chest heaves against her own. “Yeah, please, Chloe.” Beca feels desperate enough - so close to combusting again - that she pulls Chloe in for a hard, fast kiss. Their teeth nearly clash, but Chloe props herself up against the side of the house - one hand on hard brick, the other tangled in Beca’s hair.

  -----

 Chloe’s apartment is cozy. Beca almost feels calm.

Almost.

Almost, because Chloe, at some point, decided that it was her mission to give Beca reasons to have consistent heart attacks. She exhales hard against Beca’s skin, all warm breath and barely-there touches. “Careful, don’t wake Aubrey,” Chloe mumbles, lips pressed tight against the curve of Beca’s jaw. She then lets her keys clatter against the bowl and Beca jumps, pressing herself tighter and closer against Chloe’s body on instinct. Chloe snickers. “Kidding, she’s away for the weekend. You’d like her,” she comments, like she’s not about to fuck Beca well into the night.

At least, Beca hopes that’s what is about to happen or she’s going to need to take a shower immediately.

By some great stroke of fortune that Beca does not at all anticipate or eagerly hope for, Chloe reads her mind. She tugs Beca towards the bathroom. It is small and cozy like the rest of the apartment, warm highlights and comfortable bath mats. If Beca is going to venture a guess, she’s going to assume that Aubrey – assuming that was the other young woman Chloe was with that day at the activities fair ( Why are these memories so vivid? ) – did not have a say in the decor.

Beca doesn’t have time to dwell because Chloe drops her hold on her wrist and works on shedding her jeans, then her underwear. Beca blinks, trying to let her brain catch up with her. “Are we taking a bath?” she blurts, a little slow from sudden fatigue, though perhaps more accurately stated, slow from the sight of new skin suddenly visible to her.

Chloe pulls her tank top over her head before responding. “I’m going to take a shower because I need to get that house off me.” She wrinkles her nose. “But you can feel free to use the shower after me.” She steps into the shower. “Or…” Chloe’s tone implies that Beca has some catching up to do.

Beca doesn’t need to be told twice.

When she steps in under the warm spray, she blinks up at Chloe taking in the sight of water dripping off her forehead and nose.

Chloe’s hands come up, surprisingly soft and intimate, to stroke her cheeks and her jaw, like she’s committing some part of Beca to memory. “Okay?” she asks, finally speaking after a long moment of staring at Beca with undisguised desire.

It sends the most pleasant thrill up Beca’s spine. Mine, she thinks abruptly and without warning.

Beca nods, swallowing back the heat that rises and threatens to escape in the form of something horribly cheesy, but words erupt before she can help herself. “This is familiar,” Beca comments, unable to help one last bite of snark before Chloe completely overwhelms her senses. She prides herself on waiting at least two seconds before her eyes drift below Chloe’s collarbones. “Are we going to sing now?”

“Are you ever not annoying?” Chloe asks. She presses Beca right up against the wall of the shower and kisses her hard and suddenly Beca can’t remember anything else. 

Chloe’s tongue is deft and sure, pushing into her mouth to explore. 

  -----

 They’re doing everything out of order, Beca thinks.

She was never one for order anyway.

There is no order, not when Chloe’s hands drift up her thighs, her lips following the same path. Not when Beca can only crumble against her touch, like the ruins of a fortress long gone.

  -----

 Texting enters the rotation of things they do together.

Wish you were here, Chloe texts from out of town. 

She knows Chloe is at some acapella competition. Beca shudders. Lol where? Beca texts back.

here, Chloe replies. And Beca can almost hear her voice - the smooth timbre of it. Especially paired by the very vivid photos Chloe sends her.

  -----

 Luke’s rule is simple enough: no sex on the desks. He slaps a desk cheerfully sometimes whenever Beca is sitting, minding her own business (often trying not to think about what Chloe looked like the previous night, errant strands of hair plastered against her sweaty forehead. Sweaty perhaps because of the utmost concentration on her face, lips pulled between white, even teeth. Sweaty, most likely because of how hard her hips grind into Beca, their centers meeting repeatedly and deliciously and over and over again until Beca comes apart–). She fixes him with a reproachful expression and ignores Jesse’s delighted laugh.

None of that matters though.

It turns out that Chloe is the very reason for that rule from a time before Beca.

She smirks at Beca when Beca asks her about it. It is unfortunately the first question out of Beca’s mouth when she sees Chloe push through the glass door, before she is confused by Chloe’s presence.

“Are you jealous?” Chloe asks nonchalantly, dropping her bag next to Beca’s. Chloe is somehow at the radio station even though Luke is there and Beca is there and nobody told Beca that Chloe would be coming.

“No,” Beca replies immediately, frowning for good measure. “Gross.”

Chloe laughs.

Beca realizes she doesn’t want to know, not at all. Her stomach rolls unpleasantly.

“Get to work,” Chloe tosses over her shoulder, climbing up into the booth to greet Luke.

  -----

Chloe’s radio style is all fun anecdotes and cheesy lines. Chloe speaks to everyone at once, inclusive and vibrant. It’s not that Beca wants to like them at all because Chloe’s anecdotes completely go against everything she thinks this station should be – 

(“Beca, it’s just like five kids out there listening to this, and they’re all probably high.”

“So?” Beca grumbles back. “They deserve quality content.”

“Oh?” Chloe chirps with interest. “They do, do they? So you don’t think the story about how I got my scar is quality content? You were laughing about it last night.”

She tries not to completely melt at the affection in Chloe’s eyes.)

– it’s just that Chloe is annoyingly adorable sometimes and Beca hates that she wants to keep listening to Chloe’s voice whenever she can. Almost in a greedy, selfish way. She wants to hear Chloe’s voice directed at her more often than not.

  -----

 Sometimes Chloe sits on Beca’s tiny school-sanctioned bed and recites Russian Literature aloud while Beca fiddles with her latest mixes. Beca pretends not to care, until she realizes that she had been listening to dead air through her headphones for the past fifteen minutes, if the timer on her computer is anything to go by, just to listen to the sound of Chloe’s voice.

She glances at Chloe out of the corner of her eye, comfortable in her oversized sweater and gray leggings. Without looking, she knows Chloe is donning a pair of Beca’s cabin socks and for some reason that makes Beca shift in her seat uncomfortably and clear her throat.

Chloe’s reading doesn’t falter, but Beca finds herself wishing that Chloe would focus on her for just a moment.

  -----

 Car sex is somehow both terrible and fulfilling.

Beca feels various limbs nearing dangerous cramping territory, but she can’t bring herself to care at the moment. She can’t. Not when Chloe’s tongue is unforgiving between her legs, pushing through wet folds and pulling almost-foreign sounds from Beca’s chest.

“Say my name,” Chloe rasps suddenly, breath hot and heavy against Beca’s bare center. Her eyes glitter up at Beca from between her thighs. The sight alone is too much and Beca nearly concusses herself with how hard her head rocks back against the car door. 

“No,” Beca grits out, simply because she can.

Chloe’s fingers are suddenly on her clit and she’s tugging at Beca’s hip with her other hand in a surprisingly strong grip. “Beca,” she whispers, now hovering over her. Chloe’s hair is curlier than before. Before, as in earlier in the evening when she had smiled at Beca from across the table in a charming old diner. Undeniably messier. Her lips are parted and glistening. Her tongue comes out to trace her lower lip, to catch some moisture and shine.

Beca thinks she looks beautiful, but somehow her eyes bely any trace of happiness.

She looks sad. Anxious.

Beca’s throat tightens in a way that has nothing to do with the way Chloe’s fingers slip down to her entrance, gently probing. Chloe leans into her, her hips pushing against her hand so her fingers slide into Beca with ease.

Beca gasps, words dying on the tip of her tongue. So many words, so many phrases. Chloe swallows them all in a deep kiss.

Chloe takes the opportunity to kiss her – a sweet, open-mouthed kiss, unlike any other kiss they’ve shared thus far – and Beca feels everything.

Heat.

Passion.

Desire.

Possession.

They rocket through her in quick succession or sometimes stacked atop each other. They send heat through her body – a thick coil – like how the first taste of herself from Chloe’s mouth feels. They settle somewhere in her chest, where the ruined fortress rests, a white flag waves and Beca grasps at it – grasps at Chloe’s back, really – in desperation. 

She comes hard, devastatingly so, with Chloe’s name on her lips like a blessing and a curse all at once. 

Chloe pants into her neck, fingers never quite stilling. Instead, her fingers coax Beca higher again, over the edge of a smaller cliff. It’s all Beca can do, really: she follows obligingly, chasing that explosive moment once more, just once more, Beca thinks–

“More,” she whispers. She imagines the stars beyond the roof of Chloe’s car and when she shuts her eyes once more, gripping hard at the back of Chloe’s head, Chloe’s fingers twist just right and Beca thinks of galaxies to call their own.

“Beca,” Chloe murmurs, thick against her neck like she might be crying. The moment disappears, however, because Chloe is kissing her again, murmuring thanks against her lips. There are no tears on Chloe’s face and she suddenly looks the same like she did when she let Beca lead her into the backseat of her car after a half-hearted attempt at stargazing. Bright-eyed and almost falsely curious, like she wants to know what new things Beca can show her. False, because Chloe knows all her tricks by now.

(But all the things they don’t know yet about each other – that’s what keeps Beca up at night sometimes.)

“Chloe,” Beca begins, blinking back the haze so she can focus on Chloe’s distress. “Chloe, what –” She accepts her jeans and underwear from Chloe’s outstretched hand. “Hey, no–” she stops, placing a hand on Chloe’s arm. “What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing,” Chloe says quickly. “Really nothing.” 

“You’ve been off all night,” Beca points out.

“What do you call what I just did?” Chloe cuts back, nearly uncharacteristic bite in her tone.

Beca rolls her eyes. Snark and sarcasm and closed-off responses: she knows them like the back of her hand, so she ignores Chloe’s brief moment of lashing out and pats herself on the back for not feeling the immediate urge to close off and stop. “You can talk to me, I promise.” She swallows. “We’re...friends.”

Chloe’s shoulders pull up in a tense gesture, then and she pauses in rebuttoning her shirt. “We are?” she asks quietly. Timidly.

Beca bites her tongue because her first instinct is to correct Chloe and herself: no, they’re just coworkers who occasionally fuck in the back of dark cars in quiet areas of the local park.

But she knows they’re not just coworkers, well beyond that. She knows too much about Chloe. Every intimate detail and every funny story. They compete uncomfortably for dominance in Beca’s mind and her heart.

“We are,” Beca says softly, because she knows this to be true. “Just friends,” Beca continues because the urge to say that is too strong. She is unsure as to how to navigate this unfamiliar territory because Chloe’s display of emotions are new and unknown. It feels safe to clarify this, to draw boundaries since they eviscerated their previous boundary of mere coworkers.

Still the ache in her chest doesn’t quite ebb, even as she fully catches her breath and the lust and desire dwindle to nothing. She sits in the front again, next to Chloe who drives quietly. If Beca had to hazard a guess, she thinks Chloe is being pensive in fear of her own embarrassment, which is another thing Beca has learned about Chloe. Chloe is not somebody who is easily embarrassed. Many things roll off her back and she never seems to shy away from uncomfortable conversations.

But this is something new.

Beca could say many things.

You’re scaring me. Please talk to me.

You scare me in general, actually.

I’m here, I promise.

I want to listen to you.

But they’re just that: things she could say and words she has never said to somebody in any intimate way. She bottles these words up and keeps them almost selfishly in an attempt to protect her own heart.

Car sex might have left Beca with an uncomfortable lingering strain in her shoulder, but the car ride home is a little worse.

  -----

 Somehow things change and then they don’t.

They don’t talk about that strange night in the darkness of Chloe’s car and it hovers over Beca’s head with a whole host of other problems, like getting her mixes on the school’s airwaves and passing her classes. Her first semester was a surprise to both herself and her father, so she feels a renewed determination to finish off strong enough so she can go to L.A. in peace.

She and Chloe still sleep together regularly enough. Chloe still occasionally shows up at the radio station like she owns the place and chats with both Jesse and Luke amicably. Beca is suspicious that Chloe is gossiping about her, particularly when she sees Jesse and Chloe conspiring together between the stacks, but she figures that it’s probably mainly Jesse trying to pry her for information about Beca. Whenever they see Beca approaching, however, they brush off their conversation and lift their bent heads. Jesse busies himself with a heavy stack of records that he pretends he can carry without straining his back.

“What are you two weirdos up to?” Beca asks, trying to keep the demand out of her voice. Chloe simply smiles and shakes her head, then, she later teases Beca about Jesse’s ever-lingering crush on her.

“Jealous?” Beca asks, irritated mostly by the impossible passage she’s reading. Theory and never-ending sentences float through her mind. Even with all of that, her question still remains with a tinge of hopefulness because it wouldn’t be terrible if Chloe were a little jealous of a woefully incomparable competitor. The thought is a little savage and a little abrupt, but Beca lets it pass with a hint of comfort.

“No,” Chloe responds easily.

Right, because Chloe has no reason to be jealous of Jesse of all people.

Beca returns to her laptop and Chloe returns to her book.

  -----

 Sometimes they go on dates, though neither of them is willing to call it a date. Beca kind of wants Chloe to do it first – to ask her on an actual date – but she wonders if Chloe expects it of her.

Sometimes when Chloe introduces her to her friends on campus, she uses the word “friend” and it haunts Beca at night. She doesn’t necessarily disagree with the label, but she itches to figure out what they could be. It’s the oddest kind of of hunger, one that she hasn’t necessarily had before. 

It’s not that Beca has never hooked up with somebody before in her life, but when she looks at Chloe, it’s hard to see her as just another faceless entity.

So Beca watches men and women alike flirt with Chloe like no tomorrow from the sidelines and waits for Chloe to return to her side. Back into their bubble.

Her favorite moments are when Chloe stares at her from across the table in a diner; when Chloe stares at her from across a candlelit dinner at a surprisingly upscale restaurant (and sometimes she’ll let Beca pay her half or pay the whole bill good-naturedly); when Chloe wrestles her mini-golf club from her in an attempt to stop Beca’s weirdly good putting skills; when Chloe sometimes just gazes at her for no reason.

(Or too many reasons.)

So there are a few changes, sometimes. Beca is still figuring them all out. She’s still figuring herself out.

  -----

  Something that never changes – hasn’t changed – over time is how often Chloe tries to convince her to attend Bellas meetings or rehearsals. Or that time Chloe tried to get her to attend a Riff-Off, whatever the hell that was. Beca had immediately declined, citing illness.

“You have to come at least once,” Chloe begs now.

“But why ?” Beca whines. “I think it’s kind of lame, you know this.” She doesn’t mean it in a bad way. It just...it is kind of lame. Beca had been mildly interested at the activities fair but only because Chloe had been so earnest and open and passionate. Looking back, Beca had thought at the time that it was only because Chloe and Aubrey were both attractive and innocent-looking enough that stopping by their booth would have been just a blip in Beca’s day. Nothing more than a moment.

But she sees now what moments spiral into and how they consume and consume until Beca gives in to the unforgiving nature of the laws of attraction.

It had been so much more then. She knows this now.

“Yes I know, but I promise you won’t think it’s that lame.” Chloe heaves a breath, tapping her fingers dramatically against Beca’s arm. “ And you get to see me in a sports bra.”

Beca makes a choked noise of discontent. “That’s not interesting to me.”

“It is a little interesting,” Chloe assures her, like she needs to convince Beca that seeing her in less clothing is a hard and arduous task. “Come on. We’ll consider it like a little field trip. I swear to God, you’ve never been outside the four walls of that radio station on this campus.”

“That is not true,” Beca corrects immediately. She drops her book so she can shift Chloe’s legs off her lap. Chloe’s protests die in her mouth because Beca is all but crawling up her body, settling on straddling her hips. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“This, uh, apartment isn’t technically on campus,” Chloe murmurs, distracted by the sliver of skin that shows beneath Beca’s shirt when she raises her hands to pull her hair behind her shoulders.

“I’ve been to my dorm,” Beca continues, ignoring Chloe’s statement. She leans forward over Chloe, so she is hovering over her face. She grins down at Chloe when she feels Chloe’s hand sliding up the backs of her thighs lightly at first, then firmly when she reaches Beca’s ass. 

She leans down to kiss Chloe, enjoying the always-appealing ripple of pleasure and heat stemming from her chest and spreading to the rest of her body. She rests her hands on the armrest behind Chloe’s head, slowly lowering the rest of her body to spread out across Chloe’s, careful to distribute her weight evenly.

Slowly, Chloe’s hands move along her back, mapping new and old paths. She holds Beca to her and like that, they kiss gently and languidly. Chloe lifts a hand from Beca’s back to hold the back of Beca’s head to slowly increase the pressure and intensity of their kisses. Beca will never tire of the ways Chloe continues to show her intimacy and physical affection. Even the gentle drag of Chloe’s fingers through her hair, paired with the slow brush of Chloe’s tongue against her lower lip, has devastating effects on Beca’s peace of mind.

Beca doesn’t expect this kiss to go anywhere really and it’s that thought that she fixates on. It thrills her and makes her fingers curl into the fabric of the couch. The fact that Chloe would enjoy these moments of pure intimacy without sexuality makes something almost completely foreign settle in Beca’s body. She files it away for the future.

“I have something to tell you,” Chloe murmurs, when Beca finally draws back to take in deep breaths of air. “I’ve been meaning to tell you. It isn’t a big deal, I promise.”

Beca doesn’t trust herself to speak without her voice cracking at the moment, so she nods. She hates the fear that rises up in her.

“I...I’m going to get my nodes taken out in a few weeks and I’m a little scared of what it’ll mean for me and singing.”

“Nodes,” Beca repeats. “Are those–?” she lifts a hand to Chloe’s throat and runs a finger across soft skin gently. She looks at Chloe questioningly.

“Yeah, and I…” Chloe sighs and gestures for Beca to sit up. “I want to be able to sing and I want to be able to compete, but they’re getting bad and they hurt a lot sometimes.”

“When did you hear from your doctor?”

“I guess a few weeks ago. Maybe a month and a bit. I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Does it hurt now?” Beca asks a little anxiously. She stares at Chloe’s neck, like she expects to see some kind of bulge or noticeable deformity. 

“No, not really. Only when I sing a lot.”

“Then why do it?” Beca asks urgently. “Why do it if it hurts?” 

“Because I love to sing,” Chloe says, looking at Beca so suddenly and deeply that Beca cannot bring herself to look away.

She swallows. “I know you do.”

“And I want you to be able to hear me do it before...I can’t do it anymore.”

Beca opens her mouth to tell Chloe how dramatic that sounds – that of course Chloe will still be able to sing – but she takes in the genuine apprehension on Chloe’s face and the sincerity of her tone. She processes all of that and feels herself relating to Chloe on deeper levels than before. She knows too well what these feelings are: they are too late and last chance and regret – so much regret – all rolled up in anxiety and sometimes indescribable sadness.

She wants to share in it with somebody, but it is difficult to know the repercussions of opening herself up to that kind of vulnerability. 

But, sitting here, near Chloe, next to Chloe, she feels like she could do it. She feels like she could try.

“Okay,” Beca finally says. “I’ll come.”

  -----

Beca vaguely recognizes some of the girls who make up the Bellas. She thinks Fat Amy (though her name is listed as Patricia in Beca’s email list) was who she met at the Activities Fair. A few others, she recognizes from orientation and her dorm.

Then her eyes zero in on Chloe, standing in the middle of the room with her blonde friend – Aubrey? – by her side. Aubrey unfortunately spots her first.

“This is a closed rehearsal,” Aubrey says immediately.

“No it’s not,” Chloe argues. “There isn’t a rule about that. Besides, I invited her.”

“Hello,” Beca says, waving awkwardly. She lets Chloe pull her towards the group. “I...told Chloe I’d come by and watch you guys.”

“Beca’s a really good musician! You should hear the kinds of remixes and melodies she comes up with. She can help us, maybe. Like a consult.”

Aubrey looks increasingly pale even as the other women all murmur with interest at Chloe’s words.

“Okay, she can stay,” Aubrey says when it’s clear that Beca has the support of the room. “We can talk later. I just wish you discussed this with me, Chloe.” 

Chloe’s face falls a little. The sight makes Beca clench her fist and Aubrey’s tone really grates on her nerves. “Hey,” she starts. Both Aubrey and Chloe quickly glance at her. Chloe’s gaze is sharp and she shakes her head discreetly, while Aubrey eyes her challengingly. “Nevermind.” 

The rehearsal ends up being surprisingly fun and lighthearted, despite the initial tension. Beca wonders why they’re singing songs that are twice as old as them, but she holds her tongue. Instead, she watches Chloe correct a few dance steps for a few of the members (she knew Chloe would be a good teacher) and listens to the smooth sound of Chloe’s voice. It washes over her during her solo, but listening carefully, Beca can hear the strain. Knowing about Chloe’s nodes, it makes Beca wince.

But Chloe’s voice is beautiful.

  -----

Arguments come naturally enough. Beca’s personality, while not necessarily volatile, leans towards the side of bottling emotions until they burst from her like an overly-shaken bottle of soda. And not even the good kind. Probably a discount brand Dr. Pepper.

Chloe, on the other hand, is the most expressive person Beca has ever met, sometimes without even speaking. Her eyes shine like two luminous windows into Chloe’s exact emotions at any given time. It is absolutely terrifying.

Another thing about Chloe is that she pries. She pries at Beca’s boarded-up windows and tries to peer in. Beca half-heartedly bats her away and dodges other attempts, but it gets to a point when Beca realizes that she pretty much considers Chloe her best friend. It happens somewhere in between Kimmy Jin happily saying hello to Chloe as she lets her into their shared dorm room and Chloe holding out a hand to read Beca’s recently finished essay.

She watches Chloe’s eyes flit across the page as she reads carefully, nodding along.

“My dad called me again today,” Beca blurts just as Chloe flips a page.

Chloe looks at her with interest. “Oh? What did he want?”

“I let it go to voicemail. He probably just wants to make sure I haven’t joined a cult or done something else to give him a bad name.”

“I’ve always wanted to take a class with Professor Mitchell,” Chloe says lightly.

Beca flicks Chloe’s hand. “Hey.”

“What? He’s a good professor!”

“So?” Beca feels petulant.

Chloe sighs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but honestly it sounds like your father is trying. And you have to admit that this ‘little college experiment’ as you would say hasn’t been a complete waste.”

Beca bristles. “Not you too.”

“What?” Chloe asks, a hint of exasperation slipping into her tone.

“Just...trying to get me to stay.”

“I’m not trying to get you to do anything, Beca,” Chloe says patiently. A little patronizingly. “You’re an adult.”

“But–”

“L.A. will still be there,” Chloe says quietly. “And you’re so talented. I mean it, Beca. You’re going to make it there. But honestly, I can tell you enjoy school. And you’ve enjoyed Barden.”

It’s difficult to admit how right Chloe is. She is right, though. Beca can’t bring herself to admit it because it means having to deal with the truth of it all.

The truth about how Beca feels herself changing and shifting into a new person. The growing pains of realizing what it means to be self-sufficient. Independent. Responsible. 

In love.

“I don’t...I don’t enjoy Barden,” Beca finally says, lying through her teeth. “Stop saying that.” Stop saying things that make me think about how in love with you I am. 

Chloe stares at her. “Look, I’m just saying–”

“Stop!”

Her outburst startles them both.

Embarrassed, Beca tugs the paper from Chloe’s grasp – gently enough as to not give Chloe a sudden papercut – and turns back to her computer. “I think you should go,” she says softly.

“Beca,” Chloe starts, then thinks better of it. She stands from Beca’s bed and leaves quietly.

The door clicks shut, echoing in the silence of Beca’s room.

  -----

 “Do you work here now?” Beca overhears Jesse asking somebody. “It’s cool to see another acapella friend.”

“An aca-friend,” Chloe’s voice replies, too cheerfully for Beca’s taste, especially considering she just created a portmanteau of acapella and friend. Beca almost shudders, but she finds herself slinking past the rows of records to step into the clearing between stacks. “And yes, just a part-time thing because Luke has been looking for some extra help managing you two while he figures out the rest of his life.”

“Beca has been wanting to get into that booth,” Jesse says helpfully. Beca feels affection rise in her. He was listening.

“I know,” Chloe replies. “I–” Her eyes flick up at that moment from where she’s thumbing through a folder. “Oh, look who it is.”

“Hi,” Jesse greets immediately. “You look like shit,” he says helpfully. Chloe cuts him a glance with an unreadable expression.

“You’re back,” Beca says to Chloe.

“Yeah, it was just a weeklong thing for school.”

“No,” Beca says haltingly, gesturing at Chloe. “You’re back here.” 

She feels tired and frustrated. Her conversations with her father have been going nowhere. She and Chloe haven’t really talked over the past two weeks, which gives rise to feelings of anxiety and nervousness.

  -----

 “Hey,” Chloe greets cautiously. “Are you-?”

“I’m fine,” Beca says quickly. “Sorry, I’ll just.” She begins packing up her things. “I’ll just go. My shift ended a while ago.”

“You know, you don’t need to keep pushing me away,” Chloe says as gently as she can. “I won’t pry or anything, but I’m here for you. I care about you, Beca.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Beca argues weakly.

Chloe’s hand drifts up to her shoulder, where she rests it. It feels heavy to Beca. “I know you and I want to continue knowing you. Getting to know you.”

Beca shifts. “I don’t know.” 

“Bec.” 

“Don’t call me that.”

Chloe murmurs an apology and looks so contrite that Beca immediately feels bad. She can’t continue hurting Chloe like this, not when Chloe hasn’t done anything wrong.

“I can’t keep doing this with you,” Beca says before she can stop herself. Now, she finds she cannot stop. It spills out of her like venom. “I can’t keep this up. It’s – it’s too confusing and too stressful. Going out and holding your hand. Sleeping together.” Beca blinks back tears of insecurity. “You...we haven’t even really talked in like two weeks.” Not that she had been counting.

“Are you breaking up with me?”

“I just need some space. And no, I can’t break up with a friend,” Beca corrects a little snidely. “You’re not my girlfriend.”

Chloe doesn’t gasp or cry or anything quite as dramatic. Instead, she just looks the saddest Beca has ever seen her.

That speaks more volumes than if Chloe had lost her temper. Beca's tired of people leaving (but she is even more tired of pushing people away).

  -----

 The silver lining comes soon enough: Luke raps sharply on the booth window and points at Beca when she turns. Come here, he mouths. 

“Me?” Beca asks.

Luke merely stares at her with a tired expression. She flushes and immediately drops the album she had been holding and quickly makes her way into the booth.

He grins at her. “That was quick. I knew you had it in you.”

“Did you call me in here to make fun of me?” 

“No, I called you in here to let you know that I have to go out of town for the weekend and you’re getting the Friday night shift.”

“I already work Friday nights,” Beca says, slow on the uptake.

“No, you work out there on Friday nights. This Friday night, I want you in here. Lining up songs. Your own, even.”

“You what ?” Beca blinks and shakes her head. “That – that’s amazing!” She exclaims, unable to hide the glee in her voice. “Seriously?” she asks quickly, just to be sure. “Like this is serious, right? You’re not fucking with me?”

“Yeah. You’ve been responsible and on-time for work. And I’ve seen you fiddling with your laptop from time to time. I’ve listened to your mixes. You’re ready.”

You’re ready.

Beca cannot express how not ready she feels, but she’s going to take the plunge. If only she felt ready in other aspects of her life.

It’s less of a silver lining and more of the barest hint of sunshine peeking through the ever-lingering storm clouds.

  -----

 The shifts get better and better. Beca tries to ignore the rolling in her stomach when she thinks about how sad and disappointed Chloe had looked. 

It’s easy to ignore it when she can focus on being alone in the booth. Just her and music. Her previous radio shows were a success and her mixes were received well. For the first time, Beca feels the strangest wells of happiness and success fill her chest, though she tries not to think about how there are gaps now. Gaps being that she so desperately wants to share these thoughts with Chloe.

It ends up coming out to Luke of all people in a fit of emotional outpouring. Beca stares hard at her clenched fists and admits to Luke that while she did not Have Sex on the Desks, she and Chloe were definitely a thing and they had been for most of their time ‘working’ together in the radio station. Mostly, it’s just an attempt to glean how Chloe is doing from the one person that Beca knows well-enough as a mutual friend between them both.

Luke is surprisingly attentive and lets out a low whistle at the end of her story. “First, holy shit.”

“Shut up.”

“Didn’t peg you as Chloe’s type.”

“I’m not going to ask why you would even think about any of this, even abstractly.”

“This explains why Chloe hasn’t been around recently.”

“Yes, that’s what I just said.”

“You two had a good dynamic from what I saw. I mean, I now know that it was more than just good rapport, but Chloe deserves to be happy.” He squints at her. “Why are you two having issues?”

“I just. It’s too much,” Beca gestures vaguely. “I don’t let people in like that, I just don’t. I literally chose to work here because it has two people. Three, I guess. I like the quiet, I like my space, and I like not having to worry about whether people are going to get up and leave. And besides, we were just...friends anyway,” Beca finishes lamely. She hopes against hope that Luke didn’t catch the way her voice wavered.

Luke stares at her for a long moment.

Beca glances at him, nervous under his scrutiny. “Like, why didn’t she just ask me to be her girlfriend, then? Why dance around this? I’m not...good with this stuff. I don’t do relationships. She probably thinks I’m so fucking young and just not ready for her. But I am. I was. I think?” Beca frowns. “She just scared me a lot.”

Luke sighs. “Yeah, she can be like that. But she only ever cares too much for her own good. Thanks for telling me though.” He smiles. “You’re an interesting person, aren’t you?” 

Before Beca can respond or process any of Luke’s cryptic words disguised as limited wisdom, Luke is leaving the keys on the table and leaving without another word.

  -----

 She thinks that’s the end of it.

She finally responds to a few texts from Chloe and does her best to not make them as lackluster as she initially wants them to. She berates herself a little for her insecurities and makes a note to herself to keep her chin up at work.

Speaking of work.

Luke looks down at Beca from his perch in the booth. 

“No booth today?” Beca tries weakly.

“Beca,” he begins in a tone that she hates immediately.

“I just want to take my mind off things,” Beca interrupts. She doesn’t want to see sympathy or judgement in his face, though at this point, she’s not sure she can differentiate between the two. It’s all the same to her.

“Yeah, about that.”

And there it is. She regrets telling him anything. “Dude, no, I get it. Chloe’s your friend and I should have never-”

“You’re kind of thick, aren’t you?”

Beca is at a loss for words before she realizes exactly what Luke just said. “What?”

“Stupid. It means stupid.”

“I know what thick means,” she fires back. 

“Did you know that Chloe hates the radio station?”

That’s not what she expects at all. “She what?”

“She really does. I mean, she used to work here with me on and off in our freshman and sophomore years, but then she pretty much threw herself into the Bellas and I didn’t see much of her after that. She hated the darkness, the smell, and our other coworker.”

“And now?” Beca asks, a little stupidly, she realizes too late. Luke is already rolling his eyes and brushing past her. She turns just in time to catch the keys he flings in her direction.

“Remember, no sex on the desks!”

He’s so fucking funny, Beca thinks.

  -----

 It’s not quite the greeting her father expects, but Beca thinks there are worse things to say than “I think I’m in love with a girl and it’s seriously messing me up.” 

Her father takes it remarkably well. “Oh, do I know her?” he asks, pouring her a cup of tea.

Beca wonders if that’s his attempt at a joke, but he doesn’t seem to be amused or making light of the situation at all. It’s his attempt to let her know that he does want to know about her life and he wants her to open up.

It’s a pattern in Beca’s life, it seems. Like she’s constantly missing these opportunities to connect – or reconnect – with people every so often.

She knows she’s difficult and she knows she’s hard around the edges, but Chloe makes her want to be better. Her entire experience at Barden this past year has made her want to be better.

Not that her father needs to know, but as she watches him and observes the lines around his eyes and mouth, she sees so much pain and regret. It manifested in her own vulnerability and insecurity, especially around the time her parents split up. She had been so sure that it had been easy for her father to leave – to pack his bags and leave. 

She sees now that it probably wasn’t easy. It didn’t excuse his actions – still doesn’t – that much Beca knows with one hundred percent certainty, but time really wears on people, especially those living with regrets. Chloe had always subtly tried to encourage her to talk to her father, or to at least agree to his attempts to meet up for coffee. Beca had brushed both of them off until eventually her father stopped asking and she had been pleased at the time. But she saw the same kind of familiar sadness in Chloe’s eyes whenever she contemplated Beca, like she knew Beca was lonely. 

Like she knew Beca was sad.

Beca sighs, reaching out to stop her father from adding sugar.

“I’ve missed you, you know.” 

He smiles, causing the crinkles around his eyes to turn up. “So tell me about this girl.”

  -----

 “Hey, you know good restaurants around here, right?” Beca asks, the moment Jesse picks up his phone. Her father’s advice had been surprisingly simple and sound: apologize and talk to Chloe. So that’s what she’s trying to do, but she’s going to do it with some nice take-out and a custom-created mix.

Something clatters in the background. “Beca, what ? Happy spring break to you too.”

“Around the school,” Beca continues a little impatiently. “Restaurants around the school.”

Jesse sighs. “Is this about Chloe?” he asks.

“Why would it be about Chloe?” is Beca’s defensive response. Jesse is silent. “Yes, this is about Chloe.”

“Are you going to take her out on a date ?” he asks, too happy for Beca’s liking. “Finally?” he continues. Beca can see his playful expression. She doesn’t hate it necessarily.

“I just want to do something nice for her,” she says.

Jesse laughs. “This is exactly the conversation I had with Chloe.”

“What? When?” This is news to Beca. She sits heavily, suddenly, already piecing things together despite Jesse’s loud guffaw right into her phone. “Shut up,” she insists. “When?”

“Oh man, it was right out of a movie. She always wanted to talk to me about the kinds of things she thought you would enjoy. And she used to ask me about my favorite places to hang on dates. I mean, I didn’t understand it at first, but I kind of saw you two making out when you both thought I had gone to get Luke a burger.”

Beca inhales indignantly. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“About your fraternizing with your coworker?” Jesse asks. Beca can hear the delight in his voice. “I mean, I always thought it’d be me, but the moment Chloe started working here, I knew I was finished.”

She can’t tell if he’s actually serious, but she’s suddenly laughing. Laughing like a purge of emotion because it makes complete sense. Chloe had been planning dates. So many dates and so many nights out. Never really just a casual, on-the-whim moment.

Chloe had always been laying down the foundation for them, always just waiting for Beca to catch up.

And now, to find Chloe.

  -----

 Aubrey looks at Beca like she thinks Beca is a particularly interesting piece of dust. She peers down at Beca and appears to delight in their (very slight) height difference.

“Chloe’s not here,” she says, her nose wrinkling. Beca privately thinks that she might be envisioning the last time she caught Beca and Chloe going at it on their living room couch. “You’re...Beca, right? Chloe talked about you a lot.” She narrows her eyes suspiciously, then, like perhaps Chloe hadn’t been talking about Beca a lot recently.

Beca tries to smile, but manages a grimace. “I...okay. I can wait until she gets back,” she offers.

“She’s not coming back.”

Beca’s eyes widen. “What?” she squeaks out, fear causing her tone to rise.

Aubrey’s eyes widen too. “No, no, I’m so sorry, I just meant that she won’t be back for a while.”

“Oh, I thought she was staying here for spring break,” Beca murmurs. “She said she was,” she says, pulling out her phone to see her last brief message exchange with Chloe a few days ago.

“She didn’t tell you?” Aubrey asks, her entire stance softening. She looks at the take-out in Beca’s hands and then looks at Beca’s face, as if determining her true intentions.

For once, Beca doesn’t feel afraid. She lets Aubrey assess her and stare straight at her. She hopes Aubrey can see her honesty and sincerity and, if she dares, affection and care for Chloe Beale.

Aubrey seems to like what she sees, at least enough to inform Beca that Chloe is in the hospital, recovering from her nodes operation.

For some reason (many reasons), that makes Beca cry.

  -----

 Beca makes a soft sound upon seeing Chloe sound asleep in the pristine hospital bed. As uncomfortable as the bed itself looks, Chloe looks peaceful - content even.

Somehow making the worst things a little brighter, Beca muses. She gently places the roses down on the window ledge before moving closer to Chloe. As she nears, she becomes more aware of all the various instruments about: the complicated machinery, the wires, tubing both unused and used, the metal – so much metal – lining various aspects of the room. All together, it’s not a pretty sight, but Chloe is safe. Chloe is alive. The surgery was a success. Beca can breathe again.

The sheets rustle and Beca's eyes dart back to Chloe who is staring back at her. Chloe blinks slowly, like the last dredges of sleep are slowly fading away.

“Hi,” Beca says weakly. “Hi. Oh God, you’re awake. Okay, uh–” Chloe points at the rolling table Beca had pushed aside and Beca belatedly notices the whiteboard and marker. “Oh, okay. Sorry, I’ll just…” She quickly snatches it up and presses them into Chloe’s hands. Chloe fixes her with an amused expression. “I’m just nervous,” Beca explains. 

Chloe is writing furiously on her whiteboard.

“I’m going to start with an apology because I’m probably the last person you want to see right now.”

Chloe glances up briefly to roll her eyes, shaking her head. You’re not, she mouths. 

But she still writes.

“Uh, okay. I’ll make this quick, so you can...um, drink water or something. I just want you to know that I’m so fucking sorry about everything. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen the way it did, starting right from the beginning. When you started working at the station and then everything that happened right after.

“Honesty, the way you make me feel is probably just a combination of the happiest I’ve ever been and terrified. More terrified than I’ve ever been in my life. I’ve never had any real kind of close relationships and I never thought I’d be able to feel close to anybody, not when I spent so much time trying to figure out how to leave.

“But something occurred to me,” Beca continues, trying to will her voice from cracking. “And I’m not, like, talking about while we were sleeping together or anything. Though, that was nice.” Chloe flashes her teeth at her in what Beca assumes is a silent laugh. “I realized that I don’t want to leave. Not for the next year at least. And I don’t know what that means for us or anything, but I want you to know that I like you more than a friend and I have for a while. I was just too afraid of my own damn feelings.”

Chloe coughs a little, some sound escaping her and causing her to wince. She smiles at Beca gratefully when she immediately hands her a glass of water from the side table, then picks her board back up again.

“What are you writing?” Beca asks nervously. “You’ve been writing a lot.”

Chloe looks a little teary-eyed, but she slowly flips the board over. 

The inscription is surrounded by dozens of hearts of varying sizes, finally underscored by a postscript.

Beca Mitchell, will you be my girlfriend (again)? Choose one. YES / NO p.s. you’re so cute when you’re nervous. And of course I forgive you, you dummy.

There is so much more Beca wants to say – so many more apologies and explanations. And she’s sure Chloe has more she wants to say as well. 

So she leans in instead and moves closer for a quick kiss. At the last minute, she thinks better of the idea because she’s unsure if Chloe’s allowed to engage in kissing so soon after her surgery. She kisses Chloe’s cheek instead, letting her lips linger for as long as she dares. Chloe shivers a little when Beca pulls back and Beca is surprised to note that her eyes are wet. 

“What?” Beca asks, nervous again.

Chloe taps the board impatiently.

“Oh. Duh, yes.” She quickly grabs the marker and circles the yes. Chloe grins at her, pulling her in for a kiss to Beca’s cheek of her own.

The touch is tender and gentle, a far cry from their very first kiss.

Beca has never felt anything better.

fin.

[dramallamadingdang]

I never liked TS3, but your recent gameplay pics makes it seem so fun. How many packs do you have? Do you play with any mods? This is unrelated, but I was wondering what are your opinions on Sims 4? I am asking because I love sims, but don't enjoy anything beyond sims 2 and it is becoming increasingly difficult to play the game on modern computers. My playstyle seems to match yours, so I would like to know your thoughts.

You know, I didn’t like TS3 for years. I think it was because I really wanted it to be TS2, only better. Like, the same exact game only with better graphics, more freedom with the open world, etc. When I tried to play TS3, I was spending so much time comparing it with 2 that I couldn’t appreciate it on its own merits, as a completely different creature. Which it definitely is…

And I babbled a lot (What a surprise!), so I’ll cut the rest. I just woke up, so pardon my incoherent rambling. :)

Once I finally accepted that TS3 isn’t TS2, I started to enjoy 3 a lot more, and then I started to discover its own unique strengths. Because it does have strengths over TS2 – gardening and its tight integration with cooking, for one, plus the adventure-vacations and, oh yeah, HORSES and the other pets that, annoying routing aside, are just better than TS2’s – although there are many things that I like better in TS2, of course. Primarily building. I love building neighborhoods from the ground up in TS2. Doing that is why I got the game in the first place. In TS3? I HATE BUILDING WITH THE FIRE OF A THOUSAND SUNS. (So I’m really thankful for the people who enjoy making custom worlds! :D ) I just want to open up a fully-built, ready-to-go, but unpopulated world -- and if it’s populated I just nuke everyone with Master Controller -- and play TS3 because its gameplay is actually really fun, IMO, once you stop expecting it to be TS2. Now, to be fair, I haven’t gotten tired of TS3’s gameplay probably because I haven’t been playing the game for a solid decade, so I haven’t done all the stuff a million times yet. But in TS2, I’m starting to find the gameplay really tiresome, even with all the mods to make it more interesting. So, I break up the tedium with building, while my “playing batteries” recharge. I can see me coming to a point where I’ll stop wanting to play it, though, and just want to build in it and make stuff needed for what I build. But I still have fun playing TS3, so...yeah.

Anyway, I have all the TS3 EPs, and I kind of consider all of them essential because they all add bits (or large chunks!) of gameplay that I like. I only have one of the stuff packs – High End Loft Stuff or something? – because the base game I bought had that bundled with it. I have also *ahem* acquired *ahem* all of the store worlds and the interesting-to-me store items. (Like the canning station and the gardening/greenhouse/farm stuff and the glass-blowing/jewelry-making and the bakery set and the OFB-like stuff and…Well, you get the idea. :) )

And I have many, many mods. I have more mods than anything else, when it comes to third-party content for the game. I have pretty much all of the NRAAS mods, some of which – like Master Controller, Error Trap, and Overwatch – are essential for keeping the game running smoothly, and some of which add fun stuff. Like Traveler, which makes it so that you can have Sims living in multiple worlds in a single save (sort of like a neighborhood + subhoods in TS2), and you can bounce between them. It’s probably my favorite mod of them all. Other non-NRAAS faves involve gardening/cooking, whole packs of new plants for growing new ingredients that are needed for new recipes for the game, including cuisines for different cultures. (Greek, Indian, Mexican, etc.) Still others add more abilities and interactions for children, toddlers, and babies. 

And then there’s the “adult” mod, “Kinky World,” which adds realistic animated sex and various sorts of stuff for grown-ups. I have much of it disabled because I’m not interested in having things like rape and incest and bestiality in my game, but I’m OK with drug use and sex work and especially the customizable menstrual cycle that makes baby-making far more realistic, in addition to various services added to the hospital rabbithole (sterilization procedures for both sexes as well as some sex reassignment procedures), and…Well, I confess that the flashers amuse the hell out of me, specifically different Sims’s reactions to them. *laugh* The “Kinky World” mod certainly isn’t for everyone and it does throw errors and such and the admins on the NRAAS forum really poo-poo its shoddy coding, so you probably shouldn’t use it in a save that you really care about keeping around long-term, but if you’re into that sort of stuff and you’re just screwing around (pun intended :) ), it has some interesting features. I wish I could have the menstrual cycle from it all by itself because that’s mostly why I use it.

Overall, when it comes to TS3, I think you sort of have to find your bliss with it. Go into it with an open mind, explore the game unmodded for a while, try out various aspects of its gameplay, and then decide what you don’t like and look into how to fiddle with it with mods and CC and such. Like, I thought I’d hate the whole Story Progression thing – and I would hate it, in a TS2 context – but in TS3 I actually enjoy losing (some) control over my playables when I’m not playing them. It adds randomness, sort of like things like ACR does in TS2. That said, EA’s story progression sucks in various ways. Get NRAAS’s Story Progression. It’s huge and has a scary-looking learning curve but also has extensive documentation on the NRAAS site as to what everything does, and once you get used to it, it’s really cool. You can basically decide, on a very detailed level, which things you’re OK with the game deciding as opposed to you deciding, so you can get rid of the annoying things about EA’s progression while still keeping the general idea of it.

So…yeah. Play the game with an open mind, with a “I’m just testing” sort of mindset. Find out what you do and don’t like about it, on its own merits, and don’t just assume that the things you like in 3 will be the same as the things you like in 2 because they very well might not be. Then spend time exploring mods and CC (and prepare to be enraged by Adfly and such! :P ) to change how the game works and what it looks like and stuff like that.

I did a lot of experimenting over the course of various stabs at the game over the years, trying to find something to like. I quickly discovered that the “build-a-city-esque” way I generally play in TS2 was out because I hate building in TS3, but I also discovered that, like in TS2, I’ll get bored if I only play one household all the time. So, I do still like a rotational set-up. Happily, it is pretty simple, with NRAAS’s Story Progression’s “caste” system, to do rotational play in TS3. (There’s a “how to set this up” tutorial of sorts here.) This is what I found that I like best; I’m still in the process of fiddling with the Story Progression settings for non-active playable households, to determine what level of control over them I really want. (Turns out, it’s less control than I thought I’d want, but there are still some things that I don’t want to happen without my consent.) Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is to, at first, play some “throwaway” saves in the game that you just experiment with stuff, to find worlds you like (I highly recommend My Sim Realty’s worlds because they’re CC and store-content free as well as well-constructed – no lag – and attractive) and to find out what you like in terms of gameplay. For you, it might turn out that you like nothing…or you may find that you like a lot of things. And, yes, TS3 still runs well (when modded to fix some of its inherent flaws) on modern machines. I mean, EA still sells it, after all, so it kinda has to. :)

And finally, speaking of inherent flaws… I think TS3 is the proverbial red-haired stepchild of the franchise mostly because of two things:

One, while it has grand ideas – i.e., the fully open world – it’s just not executed well. For instance, there are many construction errors in the EA worlds that cause Sims to get stuck, and when a bunch of Sims are stuck but the game still tries to make them do things, it gums up the whole works, resulting in lag, lag, lag. There are fixed EA worlds out there, though, so if you try out the game and want to play an EA world, I highly recommend finding a fixed version, so you don’t get frustrated by the world’s EA-created issues. They’re all a bit screwy in this regard, but the worst offenders are Bridgeport from Late Night and Isla Paradiso from Island Paradise. Basically, EA tried to do it all and so did most of it half-assedly. The game pretty much requires fixed worlds (if you use the EA worlds) and the error-fixing NRAAS mods in order to run smoothly. IME, custom worlds tend to run better. Not always, because some creators are just better/more experienced than others, but generally speaking. It’s probably because world creators are crafting labors of love rather than operating under pressure and a strict time-deficient production schedule. :)

Two, people were like me: They wanted TS3 to be TS2, only better, but it's not that at all. It’s a completely different game in many respects, and it seems to me that many people just couldn’t accept that. I’ve never played TS4 (so I have no opinions about it, I’m afraid), but from what I’ve seen it seems a little more 2-like, and it’s more cartoon-like (whereas TS3 was going more for realism, the pudding-Sims aside) in a way that’s more reminiscent of a “Maxis-match” TS2 game. And it’s also not the resource hog that playing a huge world in TS3 can be. So, I can see why a lot of people play TS2 and TS4 but skip TS3. I always have a tendency to zig when everyone else zags, though, and I kinda really like TS3. Go figure. *shrug*