#Cursor Life Cycle

[theonottsbxtch]

FREE NOW PT 2 | OP81

an: someone requested this a while back but i didn't feel inspired at the time, after having spent xmas in london, i was reinspired so please enjoy

wc: 5.2k

HER PHONE BUZZED, the screen lighting up with a single word that might as well have been a thunderclap: Hello.

She stared at it, the glow of the message cutting through the dimness of her cluttered apartment. Her stomach flipped, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick. It had been months. Months since she’d last seen him, since he’d left her standing in the cold outside that little café, snowflakes catching in her hair like she was some kind of tragic heroine in a story she hadn’t agreed to star in.

Oscar.

She hated how the sight of his name made her heart race, hated how easily the memory of him surged to the surface: the way his laugh felt like summer breaking through the dead of winter, the way his hand had lingered at the small of her back just long enough to make her forget how to breathe. And now, this—just hello. No context. No explanation. Like he hadn’t walked away and left her to unravel herself alone.

Her thumb hovered over the message. She should reply—shouldn’t she? Her mind reeled, cycling through questions she hadn’t asked herself in weeks: Why didn’t he want me? She’d spent night after night dissecting the answer like a broken thing she couldn’t figure out how to fix. She wasn’t glamorous enough, she wasn’t exciting enough, not compared to the champagne-soaked world he belonged to.

And yet, even as she raged inwardly, she’d watched every single one of his races. At first, she’d told herself it was just curiosity—a fascination with the world she’d glimpsed through him. But with each podium finish, with every glint of triumph in his eyes, she’d been reminded of the man who had kissed her like she was his whole world and then left her behind without so much as a second glance.

She hadn’t answered his message, not for weeks. What could she possibly say? Every possible reply felt either too brittle or too raw. So she let it sit there, a glowing reminder of the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask: What do you want from me now?

That night, she sat in her cramped living room, her laptop screen flickering in front of her, a blank page mocking her efforts to start the sequel she was supposed to be halfway through by now. The cursor blinked, impatient. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to summon even a fragment of an idea, but her mind kept circling back to the message. Hello.

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. He’d been the one to leave, and now he got to reach out, to drop back into her life like no time had passed at all. But as much as she hated the selfishness of it, part of her wanted to reply. Not for him—for herself. For the chance to spark something, anything, that might get her out of the rut she’d been stuck in since he’d walked away.

She picked up her phone, her fingers trembling as she tapped out a reply. It was short, cautious.

Hi.

She stared at the word for a long moment before hitting send, her heart pounding as the message left her screen. She told herself it was just a small step, a selfish one. She didn’t owe him anything, after all. But somewhere deep down, she knew: this was the start of something she couldn’t quite name yet.

And for the first time in weeks, the cursor on her screen stopped blinking.

The moment her message was marked as “read,” her heart stumbled, caught in a snare she’d told herself she wouldn’t fall into again. When his reply came seconds later, the little banner popping up on her screen, her breath hitched.

Can we call?

She swallowed hard, the question hanging in the air like a trap she saw coming but didn’t step around. A tiny part of her, the sensible part, screamed at her to say no. This was selfish—purely, entirely selfish. She wasn’t reaching out because she wanted to fix what had broken between them. She didn’t want him back. Not really. This was about her. About needing something—anything—to pull her out of the fog she’d been living in since he’d left.

She wasn’t going to catch feelings again. She couldn’t. He’d shown her exactly what his priorities were, and she wasn’t naive enough to think anything had changed. This wasn’t about him, she told herself as she tapped out a reply. It was about her.

Sure.

The moment she sent it, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her stomach twisted as she picked it up, hesitating before answering and lying back on her bed. She set the phone down on the pillow next to her and turned on the speaker, as though putting distance between herself and the device would make this feel less immediate, less intimate.

“Hi,” she said, her voice softer than she’d intended.

“Hi,” he replied. His voice was warm, familiar in a way that made her chest ache. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching thin between them. She was about to say something—anything—to break it when he finally spoke. “I, uh... I read your book.”

Her heart stopped. She blinked at the ceiling, her mind scrambling to process his words. “You... you did?” she managed, hoping she didn’t sound as stunned as she felt.

“Yeah.” There was a smile in his voice, faint but unmistakable. “I saw it in an airport bookstore. Your name caught me off guard. The cover looked good, though. So I bought it. I wasn’t expecting...” He trailed off, and she could hear the hesitation in his tone.

“Wasn’t expecting what?” she pressed, trying to sound nonchalant, though her fingers twisted in the hem of her sweater.

“To like it,” he admitted, a sheepish laugh escaping him. “But I did. I was... impressed. The way you captured things. Us.”

Her throat tightened, and she turned her face into the pillow, grateful he couldn’t see her expression. She cleared her throat, forcing her voice to stay steady. “Well, it’s not like you gave me much of a choice. You kind of handed me the perfect material.”

He went quiet for a beat. Then: “I shouldn’t have ended things the way I did.”

There it was. The thing she’d been waiting for, without even realizing it. She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, covering it with a quick cough. “Oh, no worries. It worked out for me in the end. I got a New York Times bestseller out of it,” she said, aiming for lightness but missing the mark.

He exhaled sharply, and she couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh. “That’s what I mean. You turned something... painful into something amazing. And I’m proud of you for that. I just... I’m sorry for the part I played in the pain.”

Her chest felt too tight, her emotions too tangled to unravel. She reached for something casual to say, something that wouldn’t give away how much his words rattled her. “Well, if you wanted to apologise, you could’ve done it before my deadline,” she quipped, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

“That’s fair,” he said softly. “But I’m glad it worked out. You deserved it.”

His words lingered in the air, and she found herself staring at the faint cracks in her ceiling, her fingers still twisting in her sweater. This was selfish, she reminded herself. She wasn’t doing this for him. But somehow, it didn’t feel like a lie when she said, “Thanks.”

The cursor on her laptop screen blinked in the corner of her vision, but for the first time all night, she wasn’t looking at it.

She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, the silence between them no longer awkward but still weighted, stretched taut with unspoken words. She shifted on her bed, her arm brushing against the phone as she debated whether to push for more or let it lie.

“Why now?” she asked finally, her voice quieter than she meant. “Why reach out after all this time?”

He hesitated. She could hear it in the way his breath hitched, in the faint hum of background noise from wherever he was calling. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “And then I saw the book, and it just... it brought everything back.”

Her chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t anger or frustration. It was something softer, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name. “Oscar,” she began, trying to keep her tone measured, “you walked away. And I get it—you had your reasons. But you don’t just get to walk back in whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know I don’t deserve that. And I don’t want to mess things up for you. I just...” He sighed, and the sound was so human, so vulnerable, it made her heart ache despite her resolve. “I missed you.”

Her breath caught. She rolled onto her side, facing the phone as though it would help her understand the words better. “You can’t say things like that,” she said, but the anger in her voice was diluted by something softer, something closer to longing.

“I mean it,” he said. “I missed you. I miss the way you look at things, the way you see the world. It’s different. It’s... real.”

She wanted to laugh, wanted to scoff, wanted to hang up the phone just to prove to herself that she could. But she didn’t. Instead, she whispered, “And what? You thought you’d just drop back into my life and everything would be fine?”

“I didn’t know what I thought,” he admitted. “I just knew I had to try.”

The silence returned, heavier this time. She bit her lip, staring at the faint glow of the phone screen, her thoughts swirling. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to come back into her life and make her feel things she’d spent months burying.

But hadn’t she been the one to reply? Hadn’t she opened this door, knowing full well where it might lead?

She closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. “You broke me, you know,” she said finally, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “But you also gave me something I didn’t think I could ever have. That book—” She paused, her throat tightening. “That book saved me. Writing it saved me. So I don’t know whether to thank you or hate you.”

He didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was quiet, almost fragile. “What if I said you don’t have to choose?”

She barked out a laugh, harsh and unsteady. “Oh, come on. It’s not that simple.”

“No,” he said. “It’s not. But I don’t expect you to forgive me, or trust me, or even want me in your life. I just... I needed you to know I’m sorry. For all of it.”

She closed her eyes again, her hand hovering over the phone as though she might end the call, but her fingers didn’t move. She didn’t know what to say.

“Listen,” he continued, his tone softening, “I don’t want to mess up what you have going on. You’re doing amazing, and I’m proud of you. I just... I’d like to talk. If you’ll let me.”

She swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his voice cutting through her defenses. She hated that it got to her, but it did. “I don’t know, Oscar,” she said finally. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I get it,” he said quickly, his voice tinged with something that might have been desperation. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “You weren’t before.”

“I know,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “But I’m here now.”

She didn’t respond, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t untangle. The cursor on her laptop blinked in her peripheral vision, steady and unrelenting.

“Goodnight, Oscar,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replied, and this time, she ended the call.

For a long moment, she lay there in the quiet, staring at the cracks in her ceiling. The cursor still blinked, but the words she’d been searching for all night were beginning to take shape in her mind.

It started with an Instagram comment.

She’d posted a photo of the snow falling outside her apartment, captioned simply: Winter always comes back around.

The comment was there an hour later, buried among thousands of others but impossible to miss: Still your favorite season?

Her heart jolted, even though she knew it was coming. She’d left the door open by replying to his text, by taking his call. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t as if they were friends. But the comment—casual, public, and so unmistakably him—hit her differently.

And, predictably, his fans went crazy.

Within minutes, her notifications were flooded with a whirlwind of speculation: Oscar commented! Is she the girl he was talking to Lando about in that DTS episode?! Is this his gf??

She muted her notifications, refusing to be pulled into the frenzy. But when she sat down to write later that night, she found herself lingering on that comment, the question lingering in her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch.

Winter had always been her favorite season. It was when she’d met him, after all. And no matter how much she wanted to forget, it was also when he’d left her standing alone, her lips still tingling from the kiss she’d thought would change everything.

She thought she’d ignore him after that, keep her distance. But Oscar didn’t stop at a single comment.

A week later, he liked one of her posts—a throwback photo she’d shared of a bookshop in London, the caption reading: Where it all started.

He didn’t say anything this time, but the like was deliberate, she knew it. And she hated how much she noticed. Hated how much she waited for the next small gesture, the next subtle reminder that he was still paying attention.

He sent her another text not long after: You were always good with words. I hope you know that.

She read it twice before locking her phone and tossing it onto the couch. She refused to reply, telling herself she didn’t need his validation. But a part of her couldn’t stop wondering if he meant it, if he really thought she was good, or if this was just another attempt to slip back into her life.

And then, slowly, bit by bit, he started showing up more. A comment here, a text there, nothing overwhelming but enough to remind her he was still there. It was infuriating how patient he was, how careful, as though he was trying to rebuild something fragile. She knew what he was doing. He thought she was letting him in.

But she wasn’t.

Not really.

This wasn’t about him. It never had been.

He inspired her, that much she couldn’t deny. The first book had poured out of her because of him, because of the way he’d left her raw and desperate to make sense of what had happened. And now, as her cursor blinked on a blank page night after night, she couldn’t help but think he might hold the key to unlocking that same fire again.

She wasn’t letting him back in. She was using him.

And the worst part was, she didn’t feel guilty about it.

When he texted her again a week later—Can we talk?—she hesitated only for a moment before replying. Sure.

It was late when they called, and she made no effort to mask the exhaustion in her voice. He, on the other hand, sounded wide awake, his voice warm and familiar in a way that made her chest tighten despite herself.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he began.

She rolled onto her side, her phone balanced on the edge of her pillow. “What part?”

“All of it,” he admitted. “But mostly about the book. About how it saved you.”

She pressed her lips together, her heart skipping a beat. “What about it?”

“I think... I think you were braver than I’ve ever been,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “You put it all out there. You didn’t hold anything back. I don’t know if I could ever do that.”

His sincerity threw her off guard. For a moment, she forgot her script, forgot the plan she’d convinced herself she was following. “It wasn’t bravery,” she said quietly. “It was survival.”

“Still,” he said. “You turned something painful into something beautiful. I think that’s incredible.”

Her throat tightened, and she hated the way his words made her feel. She reminded herself why she was doing this, why she was even talking to him at all. This wasn’t about reconnection. It wasn’t about him.

It was about the words she needed to write, the story she needed to tell.

“Thanks,” she said finally, her voice measured.

But even as she said it, she couldn’t shake the nagging doubt creeping in at the edges of her resolve: what if he wasn’t the only one being selfish?

She told herself she was in control. Letting him in was strategic, calculated. She’d let him get just close enough to keep her inspired, nothing more. But the line between “enough” and “too much” blurred faster than she expected.

The first time he asked her to meet him, she hesitated, weighing the potential benefits against the risks. He was in New York for a press event, he explained, and he wanted to see her.

“It doesn’t have to be anything formal,” he said over the phone. “Just dinner. As friends.”

“Friends,” she repeated, testing the word.

He chuckled, the sound warm and disarming. “Or whatever you want to call it. No pressure.”

The logical part of her wanted to say no, to keep the distance between them intact. But the logical part of her wasn’t writing the sequel she desperately needed. Against her better judgment, she agreed.

Dinner was simple—a small restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of Manhattan. He was waiting for her when she arrived, dressed casually in a plain tee and jeans, looking more like the man who’d taken her sightseeing in London than the global superstar she’d seen on TV.

They talked about nothing and everything: her work, his races, the places he’d been recently. He asked about her next book, and she evaded the question, unwilling to admit that she still hadn’t written a single chapter.

By the time they left, her cheeks ached from smiling, and her stomach hurt—not from the food, but from laughing more than she had in months.

“This was nice,” he said as they stood outside, the cool night air brushing against their skin. “Can we do it again sometime?”

She nodded before she could think it through. “Yeah. Sure.”

And just like that, it became a pattern.

At first, it was sporadic: dinner here, a coffee there. He’d text her when he was in town, and she’d meet him, telling herself it was harmless, just catching up. But then it became frequent. He started flying her out to races, always with some excuse about wanting to show her the world he loved.

The first time she landed in Monaco, she felt like a fraud, a tourist in his glamorous life. But he greeted her with that same easy smile, the one that made her feel like she belonged. They wandered through the narrow streets, stopping at cafes and small boutiques, and for a while, she let herself forget that she was supposed to be using him, not the other way around.

Before long, she found herself back in London, walking streets she’d once thought she’d never see again. He took her to her favorite bookshop, the same one she’d written about in her novel. She felt the weight of his hand at the small of her back as they browsed the shelves, and she told herself it didn’t mean anything.

But it was getting harder to believe her own lies.

She didn’t realise it was happening at first, the way her guard started to slip. It was in the small moments: the way she started to look forward to his texts, the way her heart jumped when she saw his name on her screen. She told herself it was just gratitude, a natural byproduct of the inspiration he’d given her.

But the truth was harder to ignore when she found herself laughing at his jokes, her walls cracking under the warmth of his smile.

One night in Monaco, after a long day exploring the harbour, they sat on the balcony of his apartment, the lights of the city reflecting off the water below. She held a glass of wine in her hand, her legs tucked beneath her as she leaned back in her chair.

“You’re quiet,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Just thinking,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

“About what?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “The book.” It wasn’t a lie, not entirely.

“Still stuck?”

She nodded, and he gave her a thoughtful look before speaking. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know. It’ll come to you when it’s ready.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “That’s not how deadlines work.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his tone light. “But you’re too talented to force it. You’ll figure it out.”

His faith in her was disarming, and she found herself turning to look at him. He was leaning back in his chair, his profile softened by the dim light. For a moment, she let herself forget everything—her plans, her walls, her doubts.

And that was the moment she realised it.

She was catching feelings.

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked away, her grip tightening around the stem of her glass. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d let him in enough to keep her writing, to keep her inspired, but somewhere along the way, she’d let him in too much.

And now, she wasn’t sure she could push him out again.

She was pacing her small apartment in New York when the realisation crashed fully, her hands pulling at her hair, her chest tight with a whirlwind of emotions she couldn’t seem to contain.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, each word punctuated by the sound of her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor.

She’d been in denial for weeks, convincing herself that she could keep her feelings neatly compartmentalized, that she could use him for inspiration without letting him crack the walls around her heart. But it wasn’t working.

Every laugh, every touch, every moment they shared chipped away at her resolve, and now the truth was staring her in the face, unrelenting and cruel: she’d fallen for him again.

She stopped pacing and leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and her heart jumped, her stomach twisting as she saw his name light up the screen. Oscar.

She ignored it, letting the call go to voicemail, but a minute later, there was a knock at her door.

Her eyes flew open, her breath catching in her throat. No. No, he couldn’t be here. He wasn’t supposed to be here.

But the knock came again, more insistent this time.

“Hey,” his voice called from the other side of the door, muffled but unmistakable. “It’s me.”

Her chest tightened, panic flooding her veins. She couldn’t do this, not now. She crossed the room and yanked the door open, staring at him with wide, frantic eyes. He stood there, his hair slightly tousled from the wind, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“Oscar,” she said, her voice sharp, her panic bubbling over into frustration. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said, frowning slightly. “I just wrapped up a sponsor meeting and we fly out to Miami tomorrow morning. I called but you didn't answer.”

“Well, maybe there’s a reason for that,” she snapped, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. She slammed the door shut, her heart racing.

From the other side, he sounded baffled. “What did I do wrong?”

She groaned, pressing her forehead against the door. “You exist, Oscar. That’s what you did wrong.”

“What?” he asked, his confusion evident. “Can you at least let me in so we can talk?”

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Then, with a resigned sigh, she opened the door again, glaring at him.

“You want to know what’s wrong?” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “Fine. I’ve caught stupid, ridiculous, impossible feelings for you, okay? And I hate it.”

His brow furrowed, his confusion deepening. “Why is that wrong?”

“Because you hurt me once!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “You left me standing in the middle of London, and I didn’t even see it coming. Do you know how hard it was to put myself back together after that?”

His face fell, guilt washing over his features. “I know I hurt you,” he said softly. “But I thought... I thought you were giving me a chance to fix it.”

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Fix it? You can’t just fix something like that, Oscar. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m trying,” he said, his voice firm but still tinged with vulnerability. “I’m trying to show you that I’m here, that I want to be here. What else can I do?”

Her chest ached, her anger clashing with the part of her that desperately wanted to believe him. “It’s not about what you can do,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. “It’s about what you could do. If I let myself fall for you again, you could hurt me. And I don’t think I can survive that a second time.”

He stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, his voice steady. “I know I don’t deserve your trust yet, but I swear to you, I’m not going anywhere this time.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to let him in, to let herself hope. But the fear was too big, too loud.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Why now?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his eyes locked on hers. “Because I made a mistake, and I’ve been kicking myself for it ever since. Because you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m more than the guy behind the wheel of a car.”

Her breath caught, tears stinging her eyes. She hated how much his words affected her, how much she wanted to believe them.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.

He reached out, his hand hovering just above hers. “You don’t have to decide right now. Just... let me try.”

She looked at him, her heart pounding, her mind a storm of doubt and longing. Slowly, she nodded, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“Okay,” she said softly. “But I’m not promising anything.”

“That’s enough,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination.

For now, it was enough.

Oscar’s hand hovered in the space between them for a moment before he closed it over hers. His touch was warm, steady, grounding.

She couldn’t hold it back anymore. The walls she’d so carefully constructed cracked under the weight of her emotions, and tears slipped free, spilling down her cheeks.

“I’m so tired of being scared,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“I know,” he murmured, stepping closer. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He pulled her into his arms, his embrace firm but gentle, and she let herself collapse against him, her tears soaking into the fabric of his coat. He didn’t rush her, didn’t speak. He just held her, his hand stroking her back in slow, soothing circles.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving her feeling raw and hollow, he eased back just enough to look at her. His face was open, earnest, his eyes searching hers.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Before she could protest, he shrugged off his coat, draping it over the back of the couch, and toed off his shoes. He guided her toward the bedroom, his hand resting lightly on her back.

She let him lead her, too drained to argue. When they reached the bed, he pulled back the covers and gestured for her to climb in.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbled, her voice thick with exhaustion.

He gave her a small, lopsided smile. “I’m not going anywhere, remember?”

She crawled under the blankets, her body sinking into the familiar comfort of her mattress. He tucked the covers around her, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment before shifting to lie beside her, above the blankets.

She closed her eyes, her breathing evening out as the weight of the night caught up with her. She drifted off quickly, her head resting on the pillow, her hand brushing against his where it lay on the bedspread.

Oscar stayed awake, watching her. The faint glow of the city lights filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across her face.

“You don’t know how lucky I am,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

He paused, his gaze tracing the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. “I swear I won’t mess it up this time.”

He thought she was asleep, but the words slipped through the hazy edges of her dreams, nestling somewhere deep in her mind.

The following morning, she woke to the golden light of early winter streaming through the window. The first thing she noticed was the warmth of the room, the faint scent of him lingering in the air.

The second thing she noticed was her mind—clearer than it had been in months, humming with ideas.

She sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Oscar, who was still asleep, slouched awkwardly on top of the covers. His head rested on his arm, his face relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before.

Sliding out of bed, she grabbed her notebook from the bedside table and opened it to a blank page. The words came quickly, flowing from her pen as if they’d been waiting for this moment.

Her next book wouldn’t be about him—not exactly. But the emotions he’d stirred, the hope and fear and vulnerability he’d unearthed, filled every corner of the page.

She glanced over at him as he stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” she replied, a small smile playing on her lips.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing the back of his neck.

She held up the notebook. “Writing.”

He grinned, his expression soft with pride. “Good. I knew you’d get there.”

She didn’t say anything, but as she looked at him, her heart ached in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

For the first time, she wondered if maybe, just maybe, letting him in again wasn’t the worst decision she’d ever made.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby@iamred-iamyellow

[chickennugget755]

theory time (basically things I noticed from ava 11)

spoilers btw

Victim is not coping well

After Mitsi died, Victim completely disappeared from the company, and the stock prices drop on Rocket corp. As shown by the article: Where did he go? Rocket Co. Founder Remains elusive as share prices plummet. He says that the article told lies also.

Victim is already thinking of ways to counter Chosen, he puts ice as an option( also if anyone knows whats written here plz tell em, i thought it said flight but im not sure)

As Victim becomes more and more obsessed with revenge, tons of the workers quit, with Vic calling them cowards. Also it seems as if they calling the event The Decimation (which is basically another word for gen0cide)

Here he puts ideas and designs for weapons to take down chosen.

And now for the interesting part:

It seems to me that the people of stick city don't realize that cursors are real, that they were created from mouses on computers. Victim of course knows this and tries to figure out how to track Alan's location.I'll break it down in a second

"What lays beyond our world?" Flat-earthers rejoice. The world of sticks is indeed flat.

Idk what is on here, maybe Victim is questioning how humans are born and what their life cycle is?

Here Victim is looking at the menu for right-clicking. The circled one is "Convert to Symbol" I think??? and someone plz tell me what the question mark one is ( Might be "Free Transform" based on AVA 2)

Here he is looking at the naming, pretty standard.

Lots of things to look at here, firstly it seems like they know thst if you keep flying up you will reach a tile ( I dont think they know it represents a computer) " How do Sky Tiles affect our understanding of weather?" They also mention "Green Life Particles" which is the thing that appears when a stick figure is born or teleported??

It might seem as if they are referencing animators here? The person at the desk. And based of off green's QNA and on the short "Feel Better", stick figures can see through the screen, but its not very clear.

Here again, questioning their origin

These pictures show in the montage and on the wall, they are all questioning whats in the sky. Got some real Alexanders here.

Thats all I can really provide on, I really enjoyed this episode!

[ordinaryvoid3]

AvA 11 thumbnails + thoughts

Screenshots of AvA episode 11 thumbnails. (as of 14 Dec, 11 pm UTC+1)

Spoilers !!!

I'm sure some of you caught the old thumbnail, but in case you weren't aware, this is it:

Animator vs. Animation episode 11 is titled after & centers around the first character in the series - victim (lowercase). We only knew vic in his grey form, except for his first ever appearance in AvA 1 (uploaded to YouTube in 2007. That's 17 years ago... man I'm old). Since then, his changed looks have been subject to many discussions and fan theories. Now we know that vic lost his saturation/hue while breaking through the outernet layer - which means he would've already been grey living with Mitsi and co, not black as seen above.

The thumbnail is split exactly in half, one of which is happy and peaceful, the other full of violence. For me, the line through the middle implies a life before and a life after - but vic was already traumatised while living in the outernet. I can see why the old thumb could be confusing.

Here's the updated version:

And it's soo much better. The new thumb in contrast looks much more intense, much more fitting with the tone of this episode, and holds more meaning.

The half of the old thumb, which shows a happy part of victim's life, has been reduced to a quarter, and instead of a generic character lineup it now shows a peaceful memory with his best friend/partner/beloved - the focus was shifted on them because of their role within vic's life.

In both versions, Alan is represented as the cursor, aka the source of victim's pain (and later, obsession), which vic experienced directly through a long period of torture, and indirectly through creation of TCO (and TDL), who are responsible for Mitsi's death. In the old thumb, the cursor was put in the background with everything else, but in the new thumb, the cursor is shown separately. This is actually an interesting decision, to show every part of victim's life separately. It shows each entity as its own influence and/or different part, and not simply a cluster of figures.

The flames of death cast an ominous red glow on his hunched figure - victim is haunted by his past, while he sits in a throne of his own making, thinking about the one who ruined his life twice. Plotting revenge - or, perhaps, something worse than revenge.

And the cycle of abuse continues.

[malk1ns]

Tbh I would love to be a fly on the wall to hear exactly what the Pens were promising Geno. Maybe even bringing Mario in to assure, reassure, and re-reassure Geno's people that Sidney is 100% an untouched virgin.

Anything to get Geno's breeding rights of course

of course!!!

Zhenya sighs as he drags his cursor over the screen, copying the email text and pasting it into the translation software he sprung for a few years ago.

He can speak English just fine. Has to, after all the people he's dealt with. Reading and writing, though, is an entirely different beast, and one he's not all that interested in dedicating much time to.

He just wishes the Penguins would bother to translate their little notes before sending them along.

Technically, they're not supposed to be sending him communications on the side at all. Zhenya's agent was very clear about that up front, when the Penguins front office first reached out—if Zhenya were to consider uprooting his entire life all for one omega, even one as exceptional as Sidney Crosby, everything was to be negotiated above-board and by the book. That means running everything through layers and layers of legal channels before anything gets decided.

Zhenya doesn't have much patience for that. He has hockey to play and other appointments to keep, and this whole hypothetical could drag out for years.

It appears that Mario Lemieux feels the same. He'd started emailing Zhenya on the side as soon as Zhenya's agent indicated he was interested in exploring the opportunity, straight from his personal email account. Sometimes he'll loop in other high-ups within the Penguins organization, but frequently it's just him, sharing footage of Crosby and tantalizing little details that are obviously couched to pique Zhenya's interest.

It bothers him that it works. Crosby is beautiful, of course, with big eyes and a plush red mouth and the ability to put together places on the ice that seems almost otherworldly, but Zhenya likes to think of himself as a professional, not one to have his head turned by an omega more than a decade his junior.

Mario, as an alpha himself, would know exactly how to push Zhenya's buttons. Zhenya would resent the consistent reminders that in the end we're all no more than our instincts, but he has to admire the persistence.

Today's letter, it appears, is about Crosby's experience. Zhenya had responded to Mario's last email with a crude sex joke, one that was frankly below him, but he'd been on his way to an appointment with a particularly well-paying omega, so he'd been bricked up and horny for days in preparation.

Sidney is no virgin, he'll be the first to tell you that, Mario's response starts. He's perhaps less proper than some of the European omegas you're accustomed to; you must understand that he's been through a lot in his career, ever since he was a little boy, and he's used to standing up for himself. He's enjoyed a robust social life since he's been in Pittsburgh— Zhenya snorts —and he's not ashamed of it. Nor should he be. If that's a deal-breaker, you should let your agent know now, because we have no intention of hiding that from you.

Zhenya raises an eyebrow. It might just be the translation software, but this is a slightly more defensive tone than he'd expect Mario Lemieux to take over a team asset. Then again, there was a rumor that Crosby spent time living with Mario's family when he first entered the league—perhaps there's some fondness there beyond what a team owner feels for a high-performing player.

One thing I can promise, though, is that Sidney has never been with an alpha. This has been something that was worked into his contract since his days in junior, and he's always been diligent. He avoids being around alphas when he's cycling, including me—and he's a son to me, there's no risk there. He takes that element of his chastity very seriously. I can assure you that when it comes to alphas, Sidney is entirely unspoiled. He would be yours first, and potentially for longer if things work out.

Both of Zhenya's eyebrows go up at that. It's true that omegas in Russia are generally expected to behave in the traditional fashion—demure, modest, chaste. Zhenya grew up believing that too. But he's a grown man now, he's traveled the continent and been to all sorts of cosmopolitan places and met all sorts of sophisticated people; it didn't take long for him to realize that an omega's worth doesn't necessarily lie in how virginal they've kept themselves.

Sidney Crosby is special, though. Zhenya's watched enough of his footage to know that. Any get of theirs would be extraordinary. And the idea of being the first to have Crosby that way, the first to awaken his instincts like only an alpha can in an omega...it's more tempting than it should be, considering how long Zhenya's been doing this.

He doesn't bother reading the rest of Mario's email. Instead, he sends a note to his agent requesting an update on the negotiations with Pittsburgh, as well as a copy of his current contract with Metallurg. He wants to take a look at the termination clause, so he's ready when the time comes.

He wants to go to Pittsburgh.

[bipolarman2022]

1 **"The Silent Creator"**

The keys on the laptop echoed softly in the silent room. The man, his back hunched and his eyes half-closed, stared at the blank screen, unsure of how to continue. He had been sitting in the same position for hours, accompanied only by the soft glow of the lamp and the silent presence of the books behind him. He had written countless stories throughout his life; each one a part of his soul poured into words. But now, at 45 years old, he found himself at a point where words seemed to have run out.

Javier had been a man of limitless ideas, capable of weaving worlds with his hands, of giving life to characters that resonated with human emotions. His stories were not just stories, they were fragments of his being, thoughts and emotions put on paper. But tonight, he felt empty.

The tiredness was not just physical. It was an exhaustion that had been accumulating over the years. He wondered if perhaps he had already said it all. If the stories he had told were enough, or if they ever would be. He watched the cursor blinking on the screen, waiting, as if it dared him to find something new, something he hadn't explored yet. But Javier had no answers.

His fingers reached for the keyboard again, but paused. A slight discomfort ran through his chest, an anxiety he couldn't understand. He had spent so many nights like this, immersed in the creative process, shaping what arose from the depths of his being. But tonight was different. That night, creation eluded him.

Memories of his early days as a writer came flooding back to him. He remembered the fervor with which he had begun, the ideas that flowed like an untamable torrent, the passion to tell something the world needed to hear. But now he found himself here, surrounded by the same walls, staring at the screen, wondering if he could ever feel the same again.

Javier stood slowly, his muscles tense with exhaustion. He walked to the window and looked out at the dark night outside. The city lights flickered in the distance, but in his heart everything seemed silent. Creative solitude was an abyss, a place where the mind was lost and words became alien.

He realized something he had been avoiding: the problem was not a lack of ideas, but that perhaps he had been running away from something deeper. The stories were no longer flowing because he had stopped listening to his own soul. Somewhere between success and expectations, he had stopped writing for himself, to try to meet the needs of others.

He sat down at the computer again, but this time not with the intention of writing something new. He stared at the keyboard and then closed his eyes, trying to remember what had driven him to write in the first place. It wasn't about creating impressive characters or fantastic worlds. It was about expressing what he couldn't say in any other way. Stories had always been his way of finding meaning, of connecting with himself.

He sighed, shoulders slumping, and began to write without thinking too much, letting his fingers take control:

*I have no more stories to tell today. At least not the ones others expect of me. I'm tired, and the words escape me, but maybe that's a story in itself. Maybe it's not about inventing worlds or heroic characters. Maybe, tonight, what I need is to write about silence. About what it means to get to this point, to this emptiness, where everything feels like a repetition. Maybe this is the end of a cycle, but also the beginning of another.*

The words came slowly, almost as if he were digging them up from somewhere deep. It wasn't a brilliant story, nor an epic one, but it was the truth. And that, at that moment, was enough.

Javier smiled for the first time in hours. He closed the laptop, turned off the lamp, and let the tiredness envelop him completely. He knew that tomorrow would be another day, and that, even if he didn't have all the answers today, he still had a lot to say. The stories would come again. But for now, silence and truth.

[talia-rumlow]

Home Sweet Home (AU Brock Rumlow/OFC) Chapter Eleven

WORDCOUNT: 8112

TRIGGERS: Age Gap Relationship, Sexual themes, Body dysmorphia, Mentions of PTSD

HAPPY READING!

CHAPTER ELEVEN - PLAYING WITH FIRE

Jessica lets out a heavy sigh, frustration etched across her face as she glares at the relentless blinking cursor on her screen. After dedicating her entire day to crafting a single sentence, she finds herself trapped in a loop of deletion and retyping, the cycle repeating endlessly. Now, she’s transfixed by that maddening flicker against the stark emptiness of her computer display. Once filled with confidence and faith in her abilities, she teeters on the edge of giving up, considering a future that mirrors her mother’s rather than her father’s. Deep inside, she knows that no matter how hard she pushes herself, her dad will always find a way to critique her efforts. In a moment of exasperation, she bursts out, “Ugh, why do I even care about your opinion?” and pounds her fists on the desk in frustration.

Molly, standing by the door and observing Jess's emotional turmoil, clears her throat, contemplating whether to offer a light-hearted comment or wait until Jess notices her presence. "It's because Calleigh is bringing us lunch, and we're starving," she finally interjects, unable to resist the temptation to join the conversation.

Jess shoots her a tired look. “Oh Molls,” she sighs. “I’m so hungry, but ugh…” She runs her fingers through her hair, gripping it tightly in frustration. “I really need to finish this ridiculous assignment,” she raises her voice slightly. “Otherwise, my dad will be furious,” she adds.

Molly grins, "Alright then! I guess I’ll have to catch today’s episode of Calleigh and Brock without you..." She knows that just the thought of missing out will be enough to lure Jess away from her deadline for a much-needed half-hour break.

Jess snaps her laptop shut, a hint of satisfaction dancing on her lips. “That’s it!” she declares, her smile only partially reaching her eyes. “Let’s hope it’s worth the risk,” she muses. The idea of her father’s disappointment if she doesn’t complete this assignment—or, even worse, if she flunks the entire class—sends a shiver down her spine. Yet, the thought of missing the latest escapades of Calleigh and Brock sends her heart racing even more. With her own romantic and intimate life currently nonexistent, she can’t bear the thought of missing out on Calleigh’s captivating tales.

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Jack rests his forearms against the cool, glossy tiles of the shower, a wave of relief washing over him now that the ordeal with Saunders has come to an end. He feels a surge of satisfaction knowing he didn’t have to part with a single cent. When three women bravely stepped forward to share their experiences of unwanted advances from Saunders, his legal team wasted no time in dropping the case. Another victory for Rollins, though he’s uncertain if it truly qualifies as one. Leaving Calleigh again gnaws at him, a pain deeper than any other. Guilt from his past choices resurfaces, suffocating him. It’s easy to look back and think he should have stayed home instead of heading off to war. It’s easy to wish he had built a life with Gen, perhaps even married her. But life rarely unfolds as he envisioned or desired. Now, because of his job, he’s left Calleigh alone once more, prioritizing his responsibilities over her needs. All he can cling to is the hope that reviving their Friday night BBQ tradition, something Calleigh cherishes, might ease the tension. He also hopes she isn’t too upset with him for asking Brock to keep her company until he returns. He’s missed so many pivotal moments in Calleigh’s life that he sometimes feels like a stranger to her. This is a feeling he’s determined to change through effort and commitment. 

He successfully secured seats for his entire team on the 4:30 PM flight, which meant he could return home in time to hopefully share a late dinner with Calleigh—and perhaps Brock too, if he wasn’t too worn out from babysitting. After three months of embracing the role of a full-time father to a 20-year-old daughter, he recognized that while Calleigh inherited his height, eye color, and stubbornness, she also carried Gen's fierce determination. In many ways, Calleigh was twice as headstrong as he was, leaving him with quite the challenge. Fortunately, she was well-raised and possessed a level of common sense that he often lacked in his twenties. After all, he had gotten a girl pregnant and then nearly lost his life in a war zone. He understood that most people do foolish or reckless things in their late teens or early twenties, but his list of misadventures could earn him a medal of sorts. Thank goodness Calleigh was far more intelligent than he had been at her age. 

As Jack emerged from the shower, a towel snugly wrapped around his waist, his phone buzzed to life, illuminating the screen with a message from Calleigh. His heart raced for a moment. Was there trouble at home?

“Jess might need some assistance with her assignment. I recommend you get Barton involved. He graduated with a top score and could really help her out.”

A smile spread across Jack's face. This was a problem he could easily solve for Jessica. He was determined to see her graduate with honors, and now he had the chance to demonstrate to Calleigh that he was a committed father. It might not seem like much, but it felt like a step in the right direction. It was reassuring to know that Calleigh was keen on having only the best talent in the company. After all, in just six months, she would be taking on a larger role in the business, and it was encouraging to see her approach her responsibilities with such seriousness. 

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

As Calleigh prepares to set the lunch table, Molly and Jess burst through the door. “Thank goodness,” Calleigh exhales, relief washing over her. “I thought you two would never arrive. I’m absolutely famished,” she adds, plopping down into a chair. The previous night had been a whirlwind of emotions and uncertainties, leaving her thoughts tangled and chaotic. She was counting on a conversation with Molly and Jess to help untangle the mess in her mind.

“Jess just had a little spat with her computer, but she decided to let it win this time,” Molly chuckles, settling into the chair across from Calleigh and opening her takeout box. The mouthwatering scent of crispy fried chicken wafts through the air, making her stomach rumble in anticipation.

Meanwhile, Jess has already taken a hearty bite of her favorite bacon burger, lounging comfortably on the couch. “My dad is going to be furious if I don’t finish this,” she grumbles, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Why is this so difficult…,” she starts to say, but Calleigh cuts in.

“Good thing I arranged for some extra help,” Calleigh beams. Although Jess and Barton seemed like an odd pairing, so did she and Brock. Life was full of surprises, and perhaps Barton wasn’t as uptight as he seemed.

“Oh no,” Jess groans. “Please tell me Mr. R won’t make me go to the library two days a week. I love my office,” she continues, shuddering at the thought. The mere idea of being confined to the library for two days made her want to abandon her studies altogether. Libraries were filled with bookworms, and she couldn’t blast her music, not even with headphones, because there were always those with ears like hawks. She couldn’t fathom why anyone would choose to study in a place where every sound echoed like a thunderclap. They should just stay home.

“Not a chance. I asked him if Barton could assist you,” Calleigh interjects, her grin stretching from ear to ear. “He agreed,” she adds, her excitement palpable.

Jess slid her burger back into its box, her gaze snapping to Calleigh. “You did WHAT?” she exclaimed, a mix of surprise and curiosity in her voice. The idea of getting to know him thrilled her, yet a nagging doubt crept in—how could she possibly concentrate on her studies? It was already a challenge with him just an arm’s length away. Imagining herself in his office, or him in hers, sent her mind racing. As enticing as it sounded, it felt like a surefire way to chaos.

Molly shifts her gaze from Jess to her burger, then to Calleigh, and back to Jess once more. “Wow,” she exclaims, her voice laced with astonishment. “A burger drop,” she adds, noting how rare it was for Jess to set her food aside. Jess was notorious for devouring everything in sight, regardless of the portion size.

Molly tried to hide her smirk but couldn’t quite manage it. She admired Jess’s unapologetic approach to food, even envied it at times. Jess didn’t seem to worry about what a burger or a milkshake might add to her waistline. Molly, on the other hand, felt trapped in her own head whenever she thought about food—her thoughts looping endlessly between guilt and indulgence. It wasn’t just the numbers on the scale; it was the mirror, the photos, the way her jeans pinched her waist, making her feel like a busted can of biscuits that no one wanted to open.

She had come to hate that phrase, but it stuck with her—an image she couldn’t shake, even on her good days. No matter how carefully she dressed, tugging her sweaters down over her hips or avoiding certain fabrics altogether, the feeling lingered, gnawing at her confidence. Molly hated how much space she thought she took up, even when she was still, and the way her own reflection seemed to mock her. Jess’s carefree attitude only highlighted her insecurities.

Years ago, the jealousy had burned hotter, her resentment almost impossible to hide. Molly would glare at Jess’s untouched plate of fries, waiting for her to inhale them without a second thought. But time had softened her edges, and she’d come to understand that Jess had her own challenges—ones that didn’t have anything to do with food or bodies. Still, there were moments, like now, when she felt that all-too-familiar stab of envy.

Even as she picked at her fried chicken, Molly couldn’t fully enjoy it. She kept wondering if the crisp breading and savory flavor would later turn into an extra roll on her stomach. She hated that she thought like this, but undoing years of seeing her body as a problem wasn’t easy. Her friends didn’t notice the mental war playing out behind her polite smile. Why would they? She made sure to laugh at Jess’s jokes and nod at Calleigh’s stories, hoping they wouldn’t see through her. She didn’t want pity; she just wanted peace. 

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Brock inhaled deeply, his hand dragging across his face in frustration. The previous night had spiraled far from his expectations, leaving his mind a chaotic jumble of thoughts that twisted and turned, making clarity elusive. Why was there a drawing of Duke among Calleigh's work papers? What prompted her to bring it home? Did she sense the shadows of his PTSD lurking beneath the surface? If she did, why hadn’t she confronted him about it? He was acutely aware that Calleigh understood PTSD all too well. He had shared countless discussions with Jack about his fears—how terrified he was of Calleigh entering his room during his disassociation, worried he might inadvertently harm her. Thankfully, that fear had never materialized, and Calleigh had learned to navigate those turbulent waters. Yet, Brock knew the toll it took on Jack, waking up drenched in sweat, hearing Calleigh pound on his door, pleading for him to return to reality. This was precisely why he hesitated to share his struggles with Calleigh. She deserved a partner who was strong, someone capable of shielding her from harm. Someone unburdened by PTSD. What was he thinking? Calleigh was worth so much more than he could offer. And Jack too. It felt as if he were playing with fire, igniting a blaze that threatened to consume everyone and everything in its path, like a pyromaniac unable to quell his insatiable desire for destruction. 

He was acutely aware that he had ignited a fire in the world around him. There was no way to extinguish that flame; he had shared a night with her, taken her innocence. That moment was forever etched in his memory. There was no point in looking back now, nor did he wish to. His heart was consumed with love for Calleigh, an insatiable desire to be near her every waking moment. Just the thought of her skin beneath his fingers sent shivers of anticipation through him, and he could vividly recall the sensation of her lips enveloping him. Oh, sweet heavens, what had he unleashed upon himself?

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Jess lets out a breath, crossing her arms and reclining on the couch. “So, you gave him head?” she probes, her tone laced with curiosity, though she’s not entirely convinced that’s what happened. Calleigh’s words had spilled out in a rush, tangled and disjointed, lacking clarity.

“Ehh...,” Calleigh responds, her mind racing. In a way, she did what Jess described, but uncertainty gnaws at her. Did she really do it right? Was it even a blow job? “I’m not really sure,” she admits, feeling a bit foolish for her lack of vocabulary.

“You’re not sure?” Jess presses, her eyebrows raised. “There aren’t that many ways to do it. Did you have it in your mouth?” she continues, her tone casual, as if discussing the weather. It’s just another day for Jess, treating the topic like it’s the most ordinary thing imaginable. 

Molly was in the midst of relishing her creamy vanilla shake when, out of nowhere, she unleashed a theatrical spit take. In her desperate scramble to manage the chaos, she only managed to splatter milkshake all over her face, capturing the entertained stares of her friends. Normally, this would have sent her into a spiral of embarrassment, but at that moment, she was so engrossed in the lively conversation about blow jobs that she hardly registered her own mortification.

“What kind of scene is this?” Jess laughed, shaking her head. “One of you is clueless about what’s in her mouth, and the other can’t seem to spit it out fast enough!” Her words barely escaped her lips before she was overtaken by a fit of giggles. 

Calleigh passed Molly a few paper towels, watching her in silence as she cleaned the milkshake off her face before returning the used towels. Why was it so difficult to talk about this? She understood what a blow job was; it was just… Ugh, forget it. “I did give him a blow job,” she murmured almost too softly as she tossed the paper towels into the trash. Strangely, it felt easier to voice the words without having to meet Jess's gaze. “It’s just…,” she trailed off, letting her thoughts fade away with a sigh. 

Jess raised an eyebrow, her face etched with worry. “You didn’t enjoy it?” Talking about sex and guys with her friends was usually a breeze; they could share laughs and poke fun at the awkwardness of certain kisses or other antics. But this situation with Brock was different. He was an adult, almost like a stand-in father figure at times, and Jess had never imagined any of them would ever view him in a sexual light. 

Calleigh lets out another heavy sigh. How could she possibly articulate the whirlwind of emotions from the previous night? Should she confide in her friends about her swirling doubts? Should she reveal the inner conflict tearing her apart? Caught between her undeniable attraction to Brock, whose touch ignited a fire within her, and the gnawing guilt of keeping yet another secret from her father, she felt trapped. Perhaps sharing the entire New York saga would help. But no, she had made a promise—a vow to keep it all to herself. She understood the consequences of breaking that promise. “It wasn’t me…” she murmurs, lost for words on how to continue. 

Jess feels a jolt of panic. “Oh, no, Calleigh,” she breathes out, almost without thinking. “He didn’t like it,” she adds, fully aware of how such remarks could shatter someone’s self-esteem. Yet, she couldn’t help but be surprised that Brock would be the type to react that way. 

Calleigh let out a frustrated grunt, more of a spit than a sigh. “I just don’t know,” she complained, sinking back into her chair with a heavy heart. “I really don’t know, Jess,” she added, dragging her hand across her face in exasperation. “He seemed so… distant and tense all night.” As she spoke, vivid memories of the previous evening flooded her mind, bringing tears to her eyes. She realized how challenging it would be to keep her relationship with Brock a secret from her father. And with the uncertainty she felt, it was clear that Brock must be feeling it too. Perhaps this whole situation was a mistake, but how could she bring herself to end it now? How could she possibly walk away when every time she saw him, it wasn’t just her lips that smiled, but her entire being? Letting go felt impossible. 

Molly interjects, "Have you discussed your plans for when your dad returns?" This is her moment to shine, to offer wisdom and insight. When it comes to the topic of intimacy, though, she feels a bit out of her depth. It’s as if she’s standing on the sidelines, unable to join the conversation fully. At least, when it comes to giving advice, she feels somewhat limited. 

Calleigh inhaled deeply, mulling over their next steps once Jack made his return. He would come back, of that she was certain, and the prospect of another legal debacle at one of the business's numerous sites seemed like a far-fetched dream. Could she truly keep her emotions under wraps? Brock would undoubtedly still drop by occasionally, and with the 4th of July just around the corner, memories of their annual celebrations at the lakehouse flooded her mind. They had always escaped the chaos of fireworks and noise there, and Brock was a constant presence, often joined by his family for the festivities. The thought of him not being there felt unsettling. So, yes, they would need to mask their feelings, but she was at a loss for how to pull that off. “Sort of...,” she murmured softly, almost inaudibly. “Or, no,” she added, frustration creeping into her voice. “I don’t even know what this is,” she lamented, burying her face in her hands.

Molly gently rested her hand on Calleigh's shoulder. “Didn’t he mention that he loved you?” she inquired, cautiously navigating through uncharted territory. 

Calleigh gazes up at Molly, her hands resting limply in her lap. Tears stream down her face, and she feels no shame in crying, a familiar sensation since that fateful kiss with Brock. “Yes, he did. And I love him too, but…,” oh no, here comes the flood of emotions again. “I love my dad as well, and our relationship is already fragile. This… this feels so wrong. It’s wrong, isn’t it?” The words tumble out in a rush, leaving her uncertain if Jess or Molly can even grasp her meaning. “I don’t want to hurt my dad, yet I crave Brock. I want him like they do in the movies. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. It’s terrifying and beautiful, painful and exhilarating all at once. I can’t tell which feeling is the right one,” she spills her heart, and oddly enough, it begins to make sense to her. At last, she has voiced her turmoil, and despite the chaos of her thoughts, a glimmer of understanding emerges. 

Jess and Molly turn their attention to Calleigh. With a gentle nudge, Jess slides the box of paper towels toward her across the table. Molly reaches in, pulls one out, and offers it to Calleigh. “You’re likely feeling all of it,” she remarks, her gaze filled with empathy. “It’s completely natural to feel torn in your circumstances,” she adds, glancing at Jess for support. Her response, though a bit hasty, is punctuated by a questioning look directed at Jess. 

Jess leans in, curiosity sparkling in her eyes as she asks, “Which movies are you talking about?” Her head tilts slightly, a gesture that radiates understanding and compassion for her friend. There were moments when she resented herself for bypassing the emotional depths, but the truth was, emotions terrified her. They unraveled her, much like the way she felt when Barton was near. It was far simpler to lighten the mood with a quip or a joke; that was where her confidence lay. Navigating feelings was not her forte, especially when it came to romance. She had stumbled through enough missteps in that arena.

Calleigh chuckled softly, her laughter mingling with tears. “I figured you’d respond like that,” she said with a faint smile, the words escaping her lips. She understood Jess's struggles with emotions all too well. Jess had fought against the rigid expectations imposed by her parents, enduring one tumultuous relationship after another. Calleigh's heart ached for her friend. At just 22, Jess felt the weight of the world pressing down on her, with her parents hoping she would surpass their achievements. Though it was never explicitly stated, Calleigh sensed the turmoil Jess faced in trying to find her way through those turbulent waters. 

Jess returned a grateful smile, her heart warmed by the presence of friends who truly understood her without the need for excessive words. In their trio, Jess was the lively spirit, always ready with a joke, while Molly was the gentle soul, the quiet one who brought a calming presence to their dynamic. Then there was Calleigh, the deep thinker, a hopeless romantic who had always adhered to her parents' expectations without a second thought. Jess sometimes found herself envious of that unwavering commitment. Yet, she knew she had to maintain her tough facade; vulnerability felt like a risk she wasn’t ready to take. “So, are we talking about sweet, passionate lovemaking like in Titanic, or are we diving into the intense, building-shaking moments like Spike and Buffy?” Jess asked, her eyebrows dancing playfully. 

Calleigh inhaled deeply once more, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. Doubts swirled around her mind—was she truly enough? The weight of Brock's cautious demeanor only added to her unease, as if he believed she might shatter at any moment. She recognized his vast experience in matters of intimacy, and all she longed for was for him to guide her, to lead her into that uncharted territory together. Yet, every time she attempted to express her feelings, he seemed to drift away, lost in thoughts that excluded her. The fear gnawed at her: was her inexperience the reason for his distance, or was it simply because she was her father's daughter? “At this moment, it’s neither,” she murmured with a sigh. “He treats me like I’m fragile,” she added, immediately regretting her choice of words. The last thing she wanted was to cast Brock in a negative light. “Or maybe he’s just being cautious. Too cautious,” she concluded, punctuating her frustration with a dismissive wave of her arm. Molly had drifted into a quiet observer's role in the discussion, while Jess anxiously gnawed at her inner cheek. Noticing her friends' lack of insightful responses to her chatter, she pressed on. “And now my dad is coming back soon, and I’m worried that we won’t have a chance to…,” she began, only to be cut off by Jess.

Jess blurted out, "Get hot and heavy on the kitchen counter?" The words tumbled from her lips before she could think them through. She realized it might not have been the most considerate response, but the emotional depth of the conversation left her feeling disoriented. None of her past relationships had ever ventured into such deep emotional territory. It wasn't that she didn't crave that connection; it was just that the men she had been with never grasped that part of her. And why would they? She had never opened up about her desire to be cherished and safeguarded.

Molly's voice escalated with incredulity, "Calleigh, if you actually do that, I promise I’ll never step foot in your house for dinner again!" The thought of Brock and Calleigh getting cozy on the food prep counter was overwhelming for her. “That counter is for preparing meals, not for baby-making,” she insisted, her tone brooking no disagreement. 

“Relax, Molls, I have no intention of doing that,” Calleigh said, glancing at Jess and emphasizing the last word with a playful tone. “But how about the couch?” She directed the question at Molly, her voice laced with a light chuckle. 

“The sofa, the ground, the staircase, the shower, the sauna—anywhere but the kitchen or dining area,” Molly declared, dramatically nodding her head. She felt as if she had assumed a maternal role in the discussion, yet certain spaces were simply off-limits for that part of the romance.

Jess blurted out, “Absolutely not the sauna,” catching the intrigued gazes of her friends. “You’ll end up sick,” she added, her voice heavy with resignation after a brief pause where she considered sharing her sauna escapade. As their curious stares lingered, she hesitated. “It was just a one-time fling with some guy named Alexander, alright?” she confessed, her tone betraying any semblance of emotion for him. “A total mistake. I really don’t want to discuss it,” she concluded. 

Molly cast a swift look at the clock. “No time for that anyway. I need to get back to work,” she said, fully aware that Jess often regretted her past flings and relationships. There was no reason to press her to delve into a topic she clearly wanted to avoid.

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

At precisely 4:35 PM, Calleigh rolled into the driveway, her car gliding to a halt just as Brock stepped out of his own vehicle. For the first time all week, their paths finally crossed, and a rush of unexpected joy bloomed in her chest. The timing felt serendipitous, almost as if the universe had conspired to give them this fleeting moment of connection before everything shifted with Jack’s impending return.

The thought of what lay ahead sent a shiver of uncertainty through her. The future felt precarious, like walking a tightrope with no safety net. Would her bond with Brock survive the turbulence? Did they even have a bond, or was she clinging to a fragile illusion? His declaration of love still echoed in her mind, but they’d never given their relationship a name. Was it love, or something unspoken and undefined, floating somewhere between passion and companionship? The ambiguity gnawed at her, leaving her yearning for answers she wasn’t sure she could handle.

Brock couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face as he stood beside his car, captivated by the sight of her stepping out of hers. She looked effortlessly polished in her tailored black skirt that skimmed her knees with impeccable precision. It had to be designer—Louis Vuitton, Prada, maybe even Chanel—not that he knew for sure. Her crisp white blouse and fitted black blazer added an air of authority, while the glossy Jimmy Choo heels she wore accentuated her legs, making his pulse quicken. He wasn’t a fashion aficionado by any stretch, but he recognized Jimmy Choo; years of buying his sister extravagant gifts had taught him a thing or two. Yet, none of that mattered. What mattered was the way Calleigh carried herself, like she owned every space she entered, a quiet confidence that had him utterly spellbound.

As much as Calleigh wanted to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, she reined herself in. Mrs. Callahan’s prying eyes were practically a fixture in the neighborhood, and she didn’t need the woman’s nosy commentary spreading like wildfire. In this upscale community, privacy was a luxury that came with a hefty price tag, one even Calleigh sometimes found herself unwilling to pay. Still, she couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through her chest as Brock fell into step behind her, his gaze following her every move.

Brock let her walk ahead, a gentlemanly instinct taking over, though his motives weren’t entirely selfless. The way her skirt hugged her hips, the sway of her stride, the rhythmic click of her heels against the pavement—it was mesmerizing. She moved with a grace that reminded him of a dancer, deliberate and poised, and he had to fight the primal urge rising within him. A part of him wanted to close the distance, to pull her into his arms and make her his in every sense of the word. But he held back, unsure if his feelings mirrored hers. Did she see him as more than a friend? Or was he reading too much into every stolen glance, every lingering touch?

The sharp click of the front door snapping shut behind them broke through his thoughts. Before he could say a word, Calleigh turned to face him, a playful glint in her eye. “Now you can kiss me,” she teased, her voice a low, tantalizing whisper as her fingers traced the edge of his t-shirt.

Her sudden boldness caught him off guard, but it also sent a jolt of heat through him. She was magnetic, a force he couldn’t resist, and her words lit a fire that had been simmering just beneath the surface. He didn’t hesitate. Closing the space between them, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her with a hunger that bordered on desperation. Their lips met with an intensity that stole his breath, the world around them fading into irrelevance.

Her arms looped around his neck as she pressed herself against him, her body fitting against his as though it had always belonged there. His hands slid to her waist, fingers flexing against the fabric of her blazer as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. The kiss deepened, growing more fervent, more consuming, until it felt like the only thing keeping them grounded was each other.

“I want you,” Brock murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse with need. The confession slipped out unbidden, raw and honest, and he felt her shiver in response. Every inch of him burned with the desire to claim her, to lose himself in her completely, but he forced himself to slow down. She wasn’t just anyone; she was Calleigh. This wasn’t just lust—it was something far deeper, more profound, and he wanted her to feel that in every kiss, every touch.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly as she broke the kiss to catch her breath. “Then take me,” she whispered, her voice soft but laced with daring. She surprised herself with the words, but the emotions swirling in her chest made her reckless. She wanted to live in this moment, to give herself over to the electricity sparking between them. Whatever came next, whatever chaos Jack’s return might bring, she refused to let fear rob her of this.

Brock’s gaze locked with hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged, as if the universe itself held its breath. Then, with a low growl of surrender, he kissed her again, his hands slipping beneath the hem of her blazer to rest on the curve of her waist. The feel of her against him, the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse, made his pulse race. He wanted to say so much, to lay bare everything he felt for her, but for now, words weren’t necessary.

Their world had narrowed to this—just the two of them, tangled in a moment that felt too perfect to be real. 

His hands glided down to her backside with a slow, intentional grace, igniting a surge of electricity that coursed through her body, warmth pooling between her thighs. “The couch,” she whispered against his lips. While the bed might have been the more sensible choice, she yearned to feel every inch of him, to have him pressed against her, skin to skin, craving that intimate connection. Impatience bubbled within her, making the trek to her bedroom seem like an eternity.

She sensed him preparing to lift her. “Wait, wait,” she breathed out quickly, hoping the moment wouldn’t slip away. “My skirt,” she added, hastily tugging it up to her waist, too eager to bother with the zipper. “Now,” she exhaled as their lips collided once more, his powerful arms enveloping her, his rough hands gently cradling her backside, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Take me,” she gasped, the words escaping her lips like a plea. Is this really how it feels? she pondered. This is what it means to surrender to that insatiable desire, that deep longing for another. This was the thrill she had heard whispers of, the raw need, the genuine hunger, the essence of passion. This was everything she had craved, even before she realized it, all culminating in this very moment.

    •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

Jack turned to the newest member of his team, Barton. “Can we talk?” he asked, his tone firm yet inviting. As they stepped off the plane, Jack felt an urgent desire to return home, but he also knew he needed Barton’s assistance for Jessica the very next day. He wanted to demonstrate to Calleigh that he valued her input and that her voice mattered in their operations. He was determined to ensure she wouldn’t have to endure the same struggles he faced when he first started. The shadows of his PTSD loomed over him, a burden his father had never fully grasped back then. Although his father eventually came around, the scars remained. Jack was resolute; he would not let Calleigh experience the same abandonment he had.

Clint felt a chill wash over him for a fleeting moment. When Jack had chosen him for this case, it had filled him with a sense of pride and honor. This was no ordinary case; it was a significant one, better suited for seasoned attorneys. Yet, he had embraced the opportunity wholeheartedly. It didn’t take long for him to realize that the realities of practicing law were a far cry from what he had learned in school. He mostly found himself on the sidelines, absorbing the complex jargon and the subtle glances exchanged across the table. Perhaps he should have been more involved. Clearing his throat, he began, “Mr. Rollins, I realize I could have contributed more…” but Jack interrupted him before he could finish.

Jack looked at Barton with a nod of approval. “You performed well, Barton,” he said. “I selected you because I see a promising future for you in this company.” He knew he didn’t come off as a typical boss, but he was resolute in his mission to lead the company forward with only the finest talent. “The initial cases are always a chance to learn, to see how corporate law operates in the real world,” he reassured him, noticing the anxiety that lingered in Barton’s demeanor. 

Clint impulsively exclaimed a quick "Thank you" before he fully understood the weight of his words. Internally, he grappled with the confusing idea of how Jack could have such unwavering confidence in his skills. Although he had graduated at the top of his class, he recognized that he was still a beginner, lacking the extensive experience that others had. A surge of gratitude enveloped him, yet he had never genuinely anticipated landing the position when he submitted his application. Rollins Delivery was a renowned company with a rich history and impressive accomplishments. Additionally, the salary was significantly better than any of the other jobs he had applied for. 

Jack turned to his companion as they strolled toward the parking lot, a spark of enthusiasm in his voice. “I’ve got another opportunity for you. It’s a chance to showcase your talents, and it would really help me out,” he said, gauging their interest. He was aware of his position as the boss, the one with the final say, but he was determined not to embody the cold authority of his father. Jack aspired to be more than just a figurehead; he wanted to connect with his team, to understand them better so they could support one another. He believed that to attract the finest talent, he needed to trust them to recognize their own strengths and where they could truly thrive within the organization. This perspective likely stemmed from his mother’s influence. Unlike his father, who epitomized the stereotypical wealthy elite, Lillian was a beacon of generosity, always advocating for the less fortunate in their community. One of the mantras that echoed through their home during his childhood was, ‘When you have more than enough, you build a bigger table, not a higher fence.’ This wisdom had become a guiding principle in Jack’s life. 

Clint nodded eagerly, "Absolutely, Boss, I'm on it." A mix of exhilaration and anxiety coursed through him; it was remarkable that Jack had entrusted him with important responsibilities after only a few months at the company. The idea of being able to assist Jack filled Clint with a sense of purpose. Having always been labeled the 'smart kid,' he had known from an early age that law was his calling. Yet, his journey had not been without its challenges—he had endured relentless bullying throughout school, often mocked for his appearance and labeled a nerd. Now, in this new environment, he finally felt valued and recognized for his abilities. 

Jack leaned closer, his voice quiet yet insistent. “Miss Grayson requires your assistance,” he stated. “She’s working on her undergraduate degree and has encountered a bit of a hurdle,” he continued, hoping to convince Barton without too much effort. “She has your keen intellect and sharp wit. I genuinely believe you’re the perfect fit for this,” he added, a hopeful smile breaking across his face. Deep down, he was eager for Barton to agree swiftly so he could head home, order some pizza, and finally have that long-awaited conversation with his daughter.

Clint responded almost instinctively, “Oh, you’re talking about Jessica?” A warm thrill coursed through him at the thought of spending some one-on-one time with her, even if it was just to lend a hand. “Absolutely, I can help with that,” he added, masking the secret he held close—he had been quietly observing her for the past month. He had noticed the way her dark, silky hair cascaded over her shoulder and how her brown eyes lit up with excitement when she discussed her passions. He couldn’t help but smile at the adorable way her nose crinkled when she laughed. Deep down, he knew he found her more captivating than anyone else in the office, but he would never confess it. She was a decade younger, and he was determined to keep his reputation intact, not wanting his boss to think he was the type to mix business with pleasure. 

"Perfect. Thanks a lot. Make sure to be at her office by 9 am tomorrow," Jack instructed as they reached his car. At last, he could head home, the long ordeal behind him, and the promise of relaxation ahead.

   •─────────•°•❀•°•─────────•

The sensation of his warm breath and tender lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck sent a shiver of pleasure through her. His hands glided up her sides, lifting her shirt as they moved. She could feel the quiver of his body, the quickened breaths filled with desire. It was exhilarating, enchanting, almost surreal. As his hands found their way to her breasts, he cradled them gently, lifting his gaze to meet hers as he applied a soft pressure. She let her fingers wander up his sides, tugging at his shirt, silently urging him to keep going. It was hard to grasp the reality of the moment—here she was, on her father's couch, with Brock above her, kissing and exploring her. How could something so forbidden feel so intoxicatingly right? She tried to push the thought away, but it lingered, nagging at her conscience. The guilt of betraying her father weighed on her, but as Brock's lips captured hers, everything else faded into oblivion, leaving just the two of them in a blissful realm where nothing else mattered.

Brock breathed out, “God, I love you,” as he pressed his lips against hers, then trailed down to her neck and collarbone. The gentle flutter of her fingers against his skin ignited a fire within him, urging him to keep going. The taste of her skin awakened an insatiable hunger he couldn't quite articulate; it was as if he had caught a glimpse of paradise, and now he was utterly captivated. It was a euphoric high that pulled him deeper into a whirlwind of raw instincts and longing. He didn’t just desire her; he craved her with every ounce of his being, and no matter how much he savored her, the yearning only intensified. As he showered her stomach with kisses, descending lower and lower, a nagging thought crept in—what would happen when Jack returned? Would they hide away… or end it all? No, he refused to entertain that now. He had vowed to himself to remain anchored in this moment, ensuring that Calleigh felt cherished and secure. 

As Brock reached her lower abdomen, she instinctively hiked her skirt higher, intertwining her fingers in his hair. Her silent invitation was clear—she craved more. A soft gasp escaped her lips as Brock's tongue delicately traced the fabric of her underwear. With a firmer grip on his hair, she encouraged him to keep going. The warmth of his breath against the sheer material sent a thrilling rush through her, igniting a spark deep within her, like the anticipation of an explosion waiting to happen. 

He yearned to gaze at her, to lose himself in the depths of her eyes, witnessing her delight in the moment. His hands, which had lingered on her chest, glided down her abdomen with a gentle, purposeful touch. Gradually, he moved to face her, his gaze locked on hers as he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric of her underwear. He observed her closely as she shut her eyes, relishing the sensation of his caress. Leaning in, he pressed his lips against hers tenderly, murmuring, “Open your eyes.”

Her breath hitched from his request. Hesitating for half a second before she opened her eyes and locked them with his hazel stare. This is what she had wished for, for him to bring her along this walk of desire, to guide her, teach her. His fingers slid carefully through her folds, making her shiver. “Mmm,” she moaned, before her eyes fell shut again. 

Brock moved his lips to her ear, “Princess,” he whispered giving her earlobe a playful soft bite. “Please open your eyes,” he continued. She was so goddamn beautiful, and all he wanted to do was to get lost in her eyes as he brought her to climax. “Look at me,” he begged. His voice hoarse with lust. 

She barely registered that her eyes had fluttered shut; the overwhelming nature of the moment sent her mind into a whirl. “Brock,” she whispered, clutching his wrist, yearning for his touch to continue, to stoke the flames of passion between them. Once more, their gazes collided, and she concentrated on him, reveling in the sensation. It was exhilarating. His eyes, deep with longing and hunger, his breath uneven. “Take me,” she implored, a sense of urgency rising within her, threatening to consume her entirely. Her fingers tightened around Brock's wrist, anchoring herself to the moment. 

Brock leaned closer, their noses almost brushing as he whispered, “Shhh… Princess.” His voice was low and intimate. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, gently inserting a finger into her warmth. “Does that feel good?” he asked, his tone dreamy and entranced. The sensation of her soft walls enveloping him sent waves of desire coursing through his mind. He added another finger, relishing the way her eyes widened with pleasure. “You enjoy that, don’t you?” he groaned, fully immersed in the way her body quivered under his touch. 

Calleigh let out a soft gasp, her body responding to the exquisite sensation of his fingers exploring her, finding a hidden place of ecstasy she had never imagined existed. The warmth of his voice wrapped around her like a gentle embrace, each word igniting a fire within her. She was astonished at how powerful his words were, stirring a longing in her that was almost overwhelming. “Yes,” she breathed, eager to express the depth of her yearning for him. 

He craved her, a desperate longing to be enveloped by her warmth. “I need you, Calleigh,” he breathed against her lips, his fingers exploring that sensitive spot within her, causing her thighs to quiver and her body to quake. Her grip on his wrist tightened, urging him to press deeper. He could feel the tension building inside him, a primal growl escaping his throat. Just as he leaned in to claim her lips, the unmistakable sound of a door unlocking echoed through the living room.

His heart pounds wildly as he bolts upright, quickly checking that his clothes are in place. A surge of nausea and anxiety washes over him when he glances at Calleigh, who is desperately trying to fix her skirt, tucking her shirt into it and fastening her blazer. “Hair,” he murmurs, instinctively raising his hands to his own head to convey his meaning. As Calleigh struggles to smooth her hair, she silently mouths a “Thank you” to him. He exhales deeply, grateful that he had the foresight to lock the door and that neither of them had disrobed. Damn, that was a narrow escape. Way too close for comfort.

Jack bursts out, "Home sweet home!" as he lets his bag thud onto the floor. After his time in the military, he had grown accustomed to traveling light, always opting for a simple bag instead of a suitcase. He never quite grasped the reason behind it. Perhaps it was just a habit he had formed, or maybe it was his way of reconciling with the reality that he was no longer entrenched in a war zone. Yet, every now and then, his PTSD whispered reminders that the battle was far from over.

Calleigh and Brock sat in a tense silence, the tension from their close call with Jack weighing heavily in the air. They were positioned at opposite ends of the couch, with Brock's arms hanging loosely at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. Meanwhile, Calleigh kept her hands in her lap, bracing herself for a confrontation that she knew would never come. A wave of guilt surged through her, difficult to shake off. The situation had spiraled out of control, and even with Jack back, the undeniable attraction she felt for Brock made it nearly impossible to keep her hands to herself. 

Jack's voice sliced through the thick silence. "What? You're not going to give your old man a welcome home hug? You still remember me, right? I wasn't away for that long!" He pressed on, attempting to lighten the mood. Calleigh was likely feeling let down by him once more, and this little quip was all he could come up with. He yearned to mend the bond with his daughter, but he felt lost on how to begin.

Calleigh gradually stood up, frustration bubbling inside her. Great, not only did he enlist Brock to keep an eye on her, effectively setting this whole scenario in motion, but now he had to return home right in the midst of… 

With a measured pace, she approached Jack, allowing him to wrap his arms around her. “It’s nice to be back,” he said, giving her a friendly pat on the back. “I trust Brock was good to you. He didn’t lay down the law too hard, did he?” He quipped, blissfully unaware of the tension hanging in the air. 

Calleigh nearly burst into laughter at her father's comment. He really was something else. Let’s see, he kissed me in the pool, took my virginity in the guest room, and just as you decided to walk in, he was on the verge of giving me an orgasm. How does that sound? Frantically searching for the right words, she cleared her throat. “Yeah, okay,” she stammered. “I’m... I’m going to head to bed,” she said, stretching and feigning a yawn. “I’m tired,” she fibbed before dashing up the stairs and into her room. She had no desire to witness how things would unfold downstairs. 

@nekoannie-chan @ladysif8 @here4thefanfics @rip1009 @late-to-the-party-81

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[secretlywritingstories]

Go out with a bang as it were | phan one shot

Summary: The cursor was mocking Dan as he was trying to work on his Terrible Influence Tour script and he kept getting distracted thinking about his life with Phil and the relationship to their audience. Until Phil shows up with water, steals his laptop, makes him faint and promises to love him for 100 years.

Tags: Established relationship, 2024!phan, domestic fluff, introspection, Terrible Influence Tour prep

Warnings: Brief fainting (he is okay!)

Word count: 3k

A/N: My 100th phanfic posted. First one I posted back in September 2016 (this one) and now we're here. Can you believe it? I certainly cannot. I could never have imagined I'd get here and have recieved so much love for my phanfics. It's a gift and I treasure it. Dan also decided to personally award me (as I see it) with my first ever Twitter notice when I was editing this.

Read below or on AO3

Dan was aware that his and Phil’s life felt a bit too much like a fanfic at times. He never felt it more keenly than when he had to sit down and write something that reflected their life.

Still, he liked to lean into the absurdity, fate and grandness of it all because there was nothing more lovely than romanticising stupid, silly parts of their life. And they did also have a frighteningly number of actual fanfictions written about them. It had been overwhelming at first but now they were veterans. They understood how fandoms worked. They’d always encouraged creation in their viewers and creative writing borrowing their likeness was no different.

He was quite sure that the number of the fics written had dropped during the hiatus. It was the natural cycle after all. In general, when less new content was coming out, there was less engagement in the belonging fandom. There were exceptions obviously, but it was still the rule.

It had happened with his and Phil’s audience too. They had anticipated it but it was still strange to see. 2018 had been the era of giving the audience what they wanted, absolutely committing to doing the most ever, so that Dan could take a step back and work on something else.

Something new. Solo projects.

Stepping back had never been about his love for Phil. Their relationship had never been for the audience. It was for them and they chose to share glimpses. The community they had created had been a crazy by-product through their shared passion and goofing off on camera. Just for the heck of it. Because they liked each other so much and it was easier doing something when they could look over and find each other’s eyes.

It was what Dan had missed the most during his solo tour. He’d kept Phil updated through messages and video calls, just to see each other’s faces but it hadn’t been the same. He had missed sharing the stage. And now he was going to have it again.

Their third joint tour was happening. It had felt surreal ever since they had come up with the idea. Even now, a month out from the announcement and so many venues sold out, it didn’t quite feel real. It wouldn’t feel real until they stood in front of their audience again.

The cursor was blinking at Dan, almost mocking him for how he could get all lost in his head but he couldn’t get it down on paper. He was trying to edit a monologue piece for the Terrible Influence tour and he’d decided that opening a new document would be a good idea. Let only the best bits carry over instead of overly nit-picking his existing script.

Phil came into the lounge, glasses at the very tip of his nose and pyjamas pants slouching as he walked. He was carrying two glasses of water, only it was the tall glasses that they’d used for the mukbang video.

“Dishwasher overloaded again?” Dan asked, as he sat up a little, adjusting his laptop in his lap before reaching out for one of the glasses. They were trying to maintain healthy habits to be in good enough shape to endure so many months of tour.

Phil just hummed before he plonked himself down at the other side of the sofa. He didn’t reach for his phone or his laptop. Just held his glass with two hands and slowly sipped.

Waiting for something.

No, waiting for Dan.

“I’m fine,” Dan insisted.

“You’re rewriting again,” Phil pointed out. “The first show is in less than a month.”

“Diamonds are made under pressure,” Dan said, staring at the cursor again. Blinking judgingly at him.

When he was in the zone, the cursor was his friend, it stayed a little black line just appearing after the words. The words that spilled from his fingertips as easy as breathing. He knew this shit. It was a show about them. It should be easy to write.

“It’s meant to be fun, you know,” Phil said and cocked his head just a little to the side. His blonde hair had a slight silver tint at the moment and it was growing out just enough to flop adorably. Phil would get a haircut before tour but he’d wait until they were closer to the first date.

“It is fun,” Dan said.

And it had been. Gaming videos, even though that was a very loose definition of the kind of videos that they were putting on the joint channel at the moment, were fun and easy. Outsourcing the most of the editing had been a weight off their shoulders and made it sustainable in the long term to have active channels. But big projects were something different.

It was Dan’s greatest joy and his greatest enemy. Because he felt like it had to be perfect, even though he knew no such a thing existed. He still wanted to strive for it, maybe because he was trying to capture that fanfic-worthy essence of how his and Phil’s life had fallen together like long-lost puzzle pieces.

They were embracing the moment and trying not to think too far ahead, mostly for Dan’s sake, but this time, it could actually be the last chance for a tour to see their audience. An audience that was really their audience now. No longer people who thought they were cool because they were British, tall, shippable and “popular” YouTubers. No, the ones still around now loved them for them and they were all a bunch of little weirdos, just like him and Phil.

Phil reached over and closed Dan’s laptop screen. He barely managed to pull his fingers back before they would have been snapped off.

“You want to cut my fingers off right before tour? You want to do tour with fingerless Dan?” Dan joked and shot Phil an accusing glare that carried no heat.

“No, your fingers are too essential. We can’t have them be gone,” Phil said and there was a glint in his eye that told Dan exactly down which kind of gutter Phil’s mind had disappeared into. It had been a while since they’d last done that.

But Dan didn’t rise to the bait. He tried to open his screen again, but Phil pushed it down once more.

“I can do this all day,” Dan said, attempting to open the screen again, just for Phil to shut it.

Again.

“Watch something with me,” Phil proposed. “Or we’ll be stuck here forever like that Syphilis guy.”

“Syh- PHIL, it’s Sisyphus! Syphilis is an STI!” Dan spoke with increasing volume and completely forgot about the computer in his lap. He was too busy staring at Phil in disbelief.

“Oh, my mistake.”

He was grinning. He was being a little shit on purpose.

“You said it wrong deliberately, didn’t you?”

“No? You know, I mess up my Greek mythology. That’s your nerdy area,” he said and he was a picture of innocence but Dan knew him too well. Just a tiny twitch of his left eye and it was enough to give away the lie.

“Don’t distract me with mythology, unless you want me to write a two-hour speech that ends up becoming the whole tour,” he threatened and wagged a finger in Phil’s face.

Phil, of course, simply tried to catch the finger with his teeth. His teeth actually graced Dan’s finger before he was able to pull it back without getting mauled.

“It doesn’t have to be that serious,” Phil said. “Just vibes.”

“It’s our lives,” Dan countered.

“Our lives are mostly vibes, if you think about it.”

Dan blinked at Phil several times. Worst part was that he was kind of right about it. He’d just put it so concisely that it was kind of annoying that he could be so poignant with so few words. Dan needed space to open up a discussion, arranging many words into sentences to make sure that he conveyed the right nuance.

Phil’s brain worked quite a bit differently.

“Fifteen years of vibes?” Dan asked, eyebrow raised, even as he tried to keep the smile off his face.

“It’ll be sixteen years when we’re on tour,” Phil corrected, and then he reached out to actually bop Dan on the nose. Clearly, it was just one of those impulse thoughts because he smiled so self-satisfied when Dan almost went cross-eyed trying to track the movement of his finger.

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“Yeah? Says the guy who got me a 100-day gift, and who made a point to figure out when we’d been together for 100 months too, now that I think about it. You could write about that? Your cute little thing about wanting numbers to be special. When will the next one be, when we’ve been together 100 years?”

Dan snorted. “You think we’ll get that old? Phil, our bodies will have fallen apart by then. We’re not getting to be 120 something.”

Phil shrugged, unbothered. “You never know. They could develop some kind of technology. We could just be floating brains in jars. Or like stretched-out like that lady from Doctor Who. Do you think we could reserve pods next to each other?”

Okay, Dan was taking back that part about Phil being poignant. His man was insane. Actually insane.

Even if his heart actually skipped a beat at the idea that even in some distant science fiction future, where they’d been turned into just skin or brains, Phil still wanted to make sure that they’d be next to each other. Obviously even in that scenario, they could not be separated.

“And be stuck with you for eternity while technology keeps us in some twisted kind of immortality? No thanks,” he said deadpan but his voice was too strained to be casual.

As he said it, he felt how his heart refused to fucking calm down. It was stupid. He knew Phil loved him. He knew Phil had chosen him again and again. It was their thing. They had gone through so much shit together that they wouldn’t let anything pull them apart. It was the long haul, and evidently also beyond mortal life, if Phil were to be believed.

But the reminder of that commitment never ceased to floor Dan. He’d not had a best friend for the first eighteen years of his life and now for the last fifteen, he’d had Phil. Phil who was his very best friend like he could never have dreamed, his favourite person in the whole wide world and the one person he always wanted to be around.

That was the kind of sentiment that he needed to capture for the monologue. Perhaps not that personal but to parrot Phil’s words, he should get the vibes of it at least.

He tried to open his laptop to grab the thought and get it down before it scurried away but he didn’t manage before Phil had evolved his tactic and snatched the whole laptop out of Dan’s hands.

“We’re watching anime, you still need a break,” Phil said, narrowing his eyes in a way that was perhaps meant to come off as threatening, but he just looked slightly constipated.

“I just need to get this down,” Dan insisted, jumping up from his sofa crease and trying to swipe the laptop out of Phil’s hands.

Only, he had probably been a little too overzealous and he’d once again forgotten that his stupid blood pressure and his stupid tall body liked to combine into a fainting nightmare.

“Oh, no,” was all he managed to say before he could feel himself falling forward.

His vision turned spotty and he was just in free-fall. He just had time enough to hope that he wasn’t going to hit their coffee table before he felt arms actually reach out to catch him.

Only to promptly continue falling while Phil was now yelping very loudly in his ear. It was enough to pull him back to the presence, even if his eyes took some more time to adjust.

They were on the floor.

“What happened?” Dan managed, trying to push himself up but feeling a little like his arms were jelly.

“You fainted again, idiot.”

“Thanks. I got that,” Dan said, dripping with sarcasm. “You caught me? Tried?”

“Tried being the opportune word here,” Phil said and he tried to sit up but he quickly gave up and just lied down on the floor sprawled out again when he realised it wasn’t easy to push Dan off him.

“You okay?” Dan asked, scrunching up his face and trying to make his eyes properly focus. He wanted to rub at his eyes but he knew that would only make the fussy sensation worse.

“You’re heavy,” Phil just said as a complaint, which Dan took to mean that he was actually fine.

“This is what happens when you try to steal my laptop,” Dan chastised and finally managed to push himself off of Phil. Only the prospect of actually standing up right now was a little daunting, so he ended up just rolling over to lie next to him. Now they were just both sprawled out on their backs net to each other.

“You need someone to steal your laptop every now and again,” Phil said and flopped his hand over so it hit Dan in the chest softly.

Phil was undoubtedly very right, but Dan wasn’t going to concede that right now. He wanted to tell Phil to shut up, get all whiny and annoying but really, he was a little too fucking emotional to commit to the bit right now.

“I hope we do make it to a hundred years of being together just so I can know I’ve gotten to annoy you for a whole ass century,” Dan said and tried to ignore how Phil had let his hand just rest on Dan’s chest after he’d playfully hit him.

It was a light weight, barely there, but it was resting right over his heart.

“An ass century?” Phil giggled.

He retaliated by trying to hit at Phil’s chest, mimicking what Phil had done to him. He’d planned to pull his hand back to himself but he found that his arm didn’t quite obey. His hand lingered, palm up, right on Phil’s chest.

Neither of them made a move to get up. Floor time was good after all. At least when it was this kind of spontaneous floor time and not the face-down existential dread kind. Phil was the one who pulled away that metaphorical laptop too, when he thought Dan had been down there for too long.

They probably made quite the picture right now. He wondered how it would have been described or pictured. It made Dan chuckle.

“What?” Phil asked softly.

Phil moved his hand a little, grabbing onto Dan’s old and soft T-shirt. The same shirt he’d grabbed hours ago when he’d pulled Dan into a lazy kiss good morning, which was really noon, because none of them could keep a normal sleep schedule unless forced.

“Just imagined if phan artists or phanfic writers could see us right now. Lying on the floor like this,” Dan said honestly.

Phil let out a thoughtful hum. “What’s sexy about fainting though?” he asked and pushed himself up into a sitting position, breaking the contact between them. “It’s just like super inconvenient.”

“It’s not about the sexiness and you very well know that,” Dan countered and found the strength to push himself up to sitting now that Phil had done it. It was always easier to do something when he had Phil doing the same right next to him.

Phil shot Dan a look.

“Sure, some of it’s about the sexiness, obviously, but it’s about the little moments too. The smallest moment can make a beautiful picture. What binds a good story together is the characters and how they care for each other or their surroundings. A story is nothing without that.”

“Must be why we’re so popular then,” Phil said with a completely serious face as he heaved himself off the floor. “But for now, let’s try to remember your fainting issue, so you don’t go out with a bang, yeah? Cracking your head open on the round marble coffee table would make a terrible end to our story.”

 Dan made an affronted noise at Phil’s even tone. “You wouldn’t even be sad?”

Phil rolled his eyes at him. “I’m the one that always dies, am I not?”

There had been a great deal of fic where Phil died. Dan had written one himself as well.

“No, that’s not allowed. You just told me you’re going to live until you’re 122. I’m going to hold you to that,” Dan said accepting the hand that Phil was extending, so he could get his ass off the floor. “A hundred years together, yeah?”

“Sure,” Phil said easily, as if it was something he could really promise.

Like the world would bend to his whims just because he’d said so. Like he believed so much in them that he trusted they would be together for as long as humanly possible and then even beyond that.

If anyone could manage it, then it would be Phil. It would hardly even be the strangest thing in their life. It would just be another curveball in the life of Dan and Phil.

“Seriously, let me just write a couple of notes and I’ll put away the laptop, yeah?” Dan said. “We’ll watch something together.”

Phil smiled like he had won and perhaps he had. But Dan had Phil, so he never really felt like he could lose in any way that mattered.

[localratbastard]

A DIARY ENTRY FROM AN IMPATIENT JANUARY

rudy f said he only writes when he’s falling in love or falling apart

there’s a cold Fanta freezing my inner thigh

(i couldn’t find a cupholder)

flesh and tin

is purgatory found between both?

an empty paper, shit home-life, and adoring partner

falling apart, falling in love, the end is the ground

in other words

sand and words aren’t all that different in a cupped hand, both are eager to leave for the soil

for a soft place to land, or harsh

it doesn’t matter as long as they’re far

take a fresh cup of ground coffee

the cursor can blink all it wants but it’s not devoid of responsibility,

words will nag and tug onto it’s sleeve until it drags them across the emotionally stunted paper

should i do the same to my toes, it’ll only be worthwhile across a finished poem

should my mother do the same it’s across a panel of nostalgia

what determines the order of keys on a keyboard

i understand one, two, three, four

but i mistook a for s and affection for suffocation

little typos like that change the narrative

do you understand?

dear old mistaken for young

the cycle continues

i think it’d be easier to console the past than reassure the future,

she can look back in hindsight

stop here before spontaneous rambling is mistaken for madness

listen to that stupid voicemail before picking up the phone and writing a poem

gods a nap would be killer right now

23/01/2024

[cleave-and-plough]

can an hourglass run slow?

the lens widens. souji's looming presence in this arc once again expands the show's scope, and this time in terms of genre. speculative fiction now joins fantasy, romance, and coming of age in the blend of tones: can science achieve the eternal? is it like a perpetual motion machine? or is it like a computer learning to love?

while the student council members try to investigate the black rose duelists, souji receives a letter-bearing visitor: akio, who seems to be the chief agent of end of the world, if not end of the world himself. he brings new orders for souji, who initially resists but finds himself recalling his past as professor nemuro.

in the distant past, ohtori academy seemed to be funding a project with the rumored goal of "revolutionizing the world" or "achieving eternity." to this end, 100 male academics were gathered, along with nemuro, a renowned scholar known as the "living computer." the academics seem to have a sense of a deeper purpose that they withhold from nemuro, though he remains skeptical of the entire affair and sees it as nothing more than a job. as with everything at this school, it's hard to tell who's truly informed and whose intent is being carried out. given the eventual fate of the laboratory, i have to wonder if the academics were gathered specifically because they were young and willing to pursue something as lofty as world revolution: wearing rose crest rings, they seem like prototypes of the student council duelists, wielding scientific instruments and equations rather than swords in their pursue of the eternal.

nemuro stands to the side of this quest, "a dry man living dry days," yet the arrival of tokiko chida and her brother mamiya stirs him from his apathy. chida's essence is one of prolonging and preservation: her over-steeped tea, her butterfly shadowbox(!), her candied flowers, and of course, her ailing brother. computer-like, nemuro notices the details of her home as if being notified by a blinking cursor, another instance of the show using effects and visuals to delineate a character's memories. seeing the tension between tokiko and mamiya, nemuro finds himself unusually emotionally affected. they both care for the roses in the garden, but to different ends; mamiya seems to honor the natural life cycle, wondering "if the roses like to be preserved," while tokiko does everything she can to elongate the moment.

as such, she reveals her reason for coming to the school: she hopes that the project will be successful and provide her a means of preserving mamiya's life. nemuro cautions her that the project wouldn't be able to cure him, and she responds simply by asking if there's anyone he cares for. "perhaps it's impossible for a computer to love someone." nemuro seems to agree, but something has changed within him. he finds a passion for his work, perhaps for the first time in his life, and yet he eventually reaches a wall, an insoluble equation. what can a computer do in the face of such an obstacle?

his only option is to revolutionize the world.

akio appears, counseling nemuro much as nemuro himself will counsel duelist candidates years from now. the path he must take has been prepared for him, though it costs too dearly. nemuro refuses, but having caught a glimpse of his next stage, he wanders the halls in pursuit of it and finds only akio and tokiko in each other's arms. the sequence echoes miki's discovery of touga and kozue, drawing a line between end of the world and touga, the erstwhile inheritor. having lost the object of his affections, nemuro accepts his contract, donning the ring. mysteriously, mamiya is the one to burn down the lab, though i assume nemuro enlisted his help somehow. another connection emerges here as nemuro compares the deaths to fossil fuels, a theme often prevalent in the duel songs' lyrics, which discuss ancient beings and geological eras. the present depends on the past.

emerging from his reverie, souji leaves his office with newfound purpose. his path crosses with tokiko, who has grown older and muses "it breaks my heart to see you like this now" as he passes by. she visits akio, noting that neither of them seem to have aged since she first came to the school, and akio acknowledges that "as long as they remain in these gardens called schools, people will never become adults." on the night the lab burned, nemuro and tokiko reversed roles: the building was reconstructed exactly as nemuro memorial hall and became the epicenter of nemuro's quest to preserve mamiya's life as the rose bride, while tokiko left the school, married, and returns now only to pay her respects at her brother's grave. what does this mean for the mamiya in the present? did he die and become resurrected? or does tokiko see his life now as merely a pale imitation of their time together, and the brother she knew is dead to her? and does souji see mamiya as his only means of preserving and expressing his love for tokiko? or has he come to transfer his feelings for her onto her brother?

yet again, the school is equated to a limbo state, both purgatory and edenic garden, endlessly cycling into the future ordained by end of the world. i notice now that while akio seems more adult than the main cast, he's also only engaged - tokiko being married symbolically marks her as having fully moved on from school life and into adulthood. and yet, she returns to his arms. her words and those of her brother echo here:

"for a plant to bear fruit, its flowers must die."

"nothing in this world is eternal, but a heart that longs for eternity can be considered beautiful."

stray thoughts:

this episode marks the first meeting between souji and utena, oddly inauspicious as it may be. kind of him to save chu-chu from a mousetrap, at least. his invitation to the seminar is intriguing and recalls akio's words about people with special destinies - does he wonder if he could turn utena herself into a duelist against anthy?

"i like when you give me an injection" - no siblings in this show have a normal relationship.

souji links utena & anthy and tokiko & mamiya in his mind: the former trying to instill the latter with a sense of self-worth and preservation, though the situations are markedly different.

the silhouettes discuss the construction of an all-powerful robot, ostensibly representing nemuro: never gets tired, never gets lonely, great at catching monkeys (as proven via chu-chu!).

[forthedancingandthethriving]

Vitality Headcanons

Around the same age as Sparks, but probably just a bit older.

Used to be red and blue, but saving Juliano drained so much of her power that she lost the blue color. She plays it off as her just deciding to change her color.

She used to be a lot more outgoing and very hot-headed. She made it her life's mission to save every code being she came across.

As the years went on, she mellowed out a lot. Her grumpiness comes from everyone always blowing off their injuries, but she does genuinely care.

Back during the time of the Five, she gained a reputation for being such a great healer. She even healed Sparks on a few occasions. She was always on the move, but easy to find.

She's one of the few who can condense her code into any type of Manuver Form, but she tends to choose a peacock. Why? She likes it.

She's able to warp her commands and code to look like bandages/ribbons. They're deadly, able to restrain anyone with minimal effort.

Some tales were made about her, back when the first Five were still prevalent, and people feared/hated ClearAll. They were tales about her cheating Death and tricking him. She loathes those, and anytime she found one of those, she destroyed them.

She and Sparks talk regularly, and she loves hearing his own stories. They don't meetup quite often, but whenever they do, it tends to last for hours and hours.

She had a brother-in-arms once, but when he tried to cheat death, she cut him off immediately. She has a heavy respect for the cycle of life, even with her job as a medic, and anyone who tries to change it isn't someone she thinks she can tolerate.

Her office is located in the medbay, towards the back. She's rarely ever in it, but when she is, it either means she has an alone moment, or she needs rest.

Everyone knows better than to go against her orders when it comes to something medical. She is downright terrifying if you refuse to rest or something of the sort.

She has a soft spot for the main group of Admins and the rest of the gang. She absolutely plays favorite when it comes to them, but what will they do, fire her?

Meeting Dale has made her open up significantly. She finds him pretty charming

She Knows every relationship or crush in the Adminspace, being perceptive gives her that advantage. She doesn't say anything though, but she is in the betting pools

Has attempted to kill Cursor once. No one knows

[ari-tan]

i'm honestly very surprised nobody has done an animatic/edit of AvA and "die your daughter" by Susannah Joffe because GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD IT COULD WORK WOULD VICTIM, TCO, AND TDL'S RELATIONSHIP W/ C!ALAN.

(ramblings under the cut. i might be completely mischaracterizing them but hey, it's fan content, none of this is canon and I sure asf am NOT making the animatic)

THE ACKNOWLEDGMENT THAT THEY ARE ALAN'S CREATIONS AND THE UNDERLYING RESENTMENT UNDERNEATH IT IS SO WELL REPRESENTED IN THIS SONG

"burn me down it's not in my hands now" & "quit fucking around no time to kill" if that isn't a reference to teen alan fucking up victim, tco & tdl (hence "burn me down") as he's "fucking around" and how they essentially didn't have any control over their situation ('it's not in my hands now'). maybe some element of begging him to stop in "no time to kill", too?

"i'll stick around if you will" i'd like to think this is tco tentatively making peace about his and alan's relationship and referencing some kind of fragile olive branch between them. kinda like an unsteady peace treaty? idk, I think it's a "I'll try to get along w/ you if you don't attempt to (ruin my PC or hurt my sticks/attempt to enslave me again" type of deal. on a more simpler explanation of this line: literally tsc deciding to stick around on the PC despite being subjected to similar shit, and is the only stickman that c!Alan didn't completely fuck up.

and "getting old looks good on you but god someone make it stop"????? hello, are we ignoring the fact that alan became a better person once he gained some maturity + was given a reality slap by second???? this lyric is so giving "I know you've become a better person but god I don't want to see it. not after everything you've done. it was easier to think of you as a monster" (whether or not this is tco, tdl, or victim saying it, it's like a resentful older sibling that had to deal with the brunt of the abuse looking at the father who changed for the better fdshjhdbgfdhj)

"nature will run it's course and i'm left to pawn you off" honestly I think this was the hardest lyric for me to mush into the hollowhead-c!alan relationship lore but if I could stretch it a teeny bit, I like to think it's about how they'll have to (by that I mean unwillingly) come and accept that c!alan has changed for the better, and now they don't know what to do with the c!alan they've been haunted by all their lives. therefore, "nature will run it's course -> passage of time leading to personal change & growth" and "I'm left to pawn you off -> what the hell am I supposed to do with the monstrous alan I've known all my life now?"

"i will die your daughter (son/creation/toy)" pretty self-explanatory lmao. but if I had to dive deeper beyond "b/c c!alan literally created them": the trauma c! alan imparted onto them will have an impact on them for the rest of their lives. all three of them were molded by what he did to them, and like any abused child, these actions will be remembered by them. their hurt is a dirty mark on their psyche.

examples of that are shown fairly regularly, but I'll just list some of the more obvious ones:

victim's ptsd with anything cursor-shaped is very self-explanatory

you cannot convince me tco and tdl's terrorism wasn't some form of regaining control over their lives/lashing out against other people in a cycle of abuse type situation

anyway rambling over GOD why have i gone insane over stickfigures fuck you alan becker these guys were supposed to be silly billy's why the hell are there cycle of abuse and grappling with trauma themes in tthe silly little web series.

[thegibbedygabblestia]

Asteroids-like - Playtesting Analysis

Just like last time, I've collected feedback on my prototype by having real-life individuals (some of whom I don't even know this time!) try out The Rocks have Eyes. Here's their combined feedback below:

This time we had less testers (some people are not the best at getting back to me), but their feedback was of no less value.

So, what can we learn from our testers this time?

My Player Experience goals for this prototype was to reinvoke the feeling of exploration and discovery that I personally experienced in the great many adventure games I've played, while also creating fun and enjoyable inertia-based free movement. According to my testers, these have mostly been met:

Most of the testers praised the movement and inertia system, and reported enjoying moving around the level and getting to new areas. However, a few testers found the movement too fast for them.

My testers were also fond of traversing the level to find new things, and enjoyed collecting items to allow them to progress further. One tester also mentioned how the contrast in colours of the player character, enemies and background allowed them to understand what was happening i the level and where objects were situated within it.

Therefore, I would say the goals have been about 3/4 met. To improve upon this, and since it's also a bit of a finicky thing, I would definitely need to go back and test out varying player speeds to find one that suits everybody in order to fully meet my goals.

There is a particular issue that arose during playtesting that I'm rather wanting to talk about. The Controls screen.

Oh boy.

As it would turn out, very few people (and particularly the gamers in my testing group) actually look at the controls screen! As someone who likes to understand what they're doing before they do it, I've always approached gaming by reading through any instructions or controls there are before beginning, since I'm starting a new game and don't know how to play. However, something I learnt during this cycle is (and they've it themselves) that some people already assume they know how to play, or simply don't register that the screen is there, and click straight through to the game without reading the controls. This had several testers of mine (and I watched them) sit down, click immediately onto 'Start Game', then sit there and say "How do I move?" Whilst it's certainly an incredibly annoying thing as a developer (Like, just look at the dang screen before you click!!), it was also really eye-opening. As I've learnt reading Fullerton's book and learning about game design and development, we are not who we're building the game for and we can't assume everyone will approach it the same way. This cycle taught me just what that means, and while I'm definitely frustrated about this (It's easy to think "You've done this to yourself, you know? You didn't click the Controls, and now you're stuck. Well done.") I'm not angry at my testers. It's hard to explain properly, but I suppose the feeling is more like a mix of bewilderment and excitement. After this experience, it really, truly does feel like I'm actually learning stuff about game design (not that I wasn't already)! Like, despite how annoying it is I'm really happy it's happened because now I know! Now I can take this going forward and account for anybody that's likely to skip out on reading instructions on a separate screen before they play by incorporating the controls into the level itself (as has been suggested). I had actually done this in Black Hole Heart, but now that I left it out in The Rocks have Eyes I can actually see the true power of having incorporated tutorials in a game.

So yea, that's a major takeaway for me. Sorry for such a ramble.

Anyway, testers also suggested new features like cursor-based aiming and more advanced enemy AI. The AI for the current prototype isn't really supposed to be advanced because it's kind of the limit of my current capability, however when I learn to create that sort of thing I think it would definitely be worth testing out various types of AIs for each enemy size, and giving them all different patterns and behaviours and such. Additionally, whilst I personally don't believe that cursor-based aiming would be appropriate for the type of game I'm trying to create with this prototype, it would nonetheless be a wise decision (and an excellent application of the iterative process) to see how it would impact the flow of the game if the player could aim with the mouse. It would also be good to see how things would change if I could implement a smoother turning for the player (because I think that's where the suggestion comes from).

Based on this feedback here, it seems like I really hit the nail on the head again in terms of a concept, and all it needs is just more reworking to improve what I've already got in terms of moving, shooting, AIs, visuals and sounds. I will also definitely not forget about integrating the controls into the game, rather than having a screen for them. Ever.

[doorplays]

Door Reviews: Perfect Tides (2022)

I have long been a follower of Meredith Gran’s work. I started reading her webcomic Octopus Pie since… I think, 2009 or 2010. I love it a lot. Very creative and really made use of the webcomic as a medium. I was amazed to see that she decided to make a game! I bought it soon after it was released, and it only took me… oh, about 2.5 years before I played! Backlogs amirite

Anyway! I’ve finally played this game, and I’m ready to review it. Let’s go!

(author’s note: Steam’s Mature Content Description section for this game has described it as follows: “This game contains references to sex, depictions of sexual harassment, references to self-harm, and use of drugs and alcohol.” Please be mindful of this if you consider buying the game.)

What’s it about? Perfect Tides is a point-and-click game about Mara Whitefish, a teenager who lives in the island community of Perfect Tides. In this game we witness her coming-of-age story as she grapples with her family, her grades, and her social life.

STYLE (Gameplay, Graphics, Music)

This game is a point-and-click game with you controlling Mara and having her explore her hometown of Perfect Tides. You can move from area to area, even enter some buildings. To interface with the world, you can do 5 actions: move, look at something, touch something, speak to something/someone, and use whatever item you have from your inventory, choosing one item from there. You can cycle between all these actions by either choosing your preferred action in the toolbar up top that minimizes when your cursor isn’t near, or by right-clicking, which changes the cursor on-screen to a cursor associated with the desired action.

It’s wonderfully early 2000’s, honestly. I haven’t customized my computer like that in ages in a way that changes the icons, the toolbar, and the cursor. I just change the wallpaper nowadays. The changing cursors remind me of all those cursor designs you can see on the internet and download. Feels nostalgic!

The gameplay is simple enough, but my issue with it is how difficult it can be to determine what to do next. The game feels… deliberately obtuse at times. For a long time, and more than once, I didn’t know that I needed a certain item to get through a certain part of the story. Maybe the difficulty in itself is a homage to difficult point-and-click games of old, but I would rather not waste too much time trying to progress the story. I would have appreciated proper highlighting of interactibles as well, though I guess this could lead to discovering some story threads too early. Nonetheless, I feel like I’d rather have that than feel like I’m trying to find a needle in a haystack.

The art is great. It looks idyllic in a way, perfectly showing the community of Perfect Tides. The environments are well designed, and the characters look distinctive. The pixelly looks come through more obviously with the character designs. And when characters are talking to each other, a more traditionally drawn portrait shows up with their text box as they speak.

There’s a certain whimsy to it all. It feels apt with how touristy the place is. Perfect Tides, the perfect island getaway! Even the music feels nice, going from a sedate sound emblematic of quiet island life, to boppy dance tunes, to chill music to do your homework to.

This game depicts the early 2000’s vibe pretty well. The dial-up sounds, the forums, the culture, interacting with people… it feels strange to feel nostalgic for such a time until you remember that yes, the 2000’s were two decades ago. And while I miss these simpler times, I do not miss how fast and loose people can be with their slurs and insults. And this game doesn’t shy away from depicting the bad along with the good.

Overall, the gameplay is okay but can be annoying at times. And the art style and music help with giving nice and chill vibes!

SUBSTANCE (Story, Characters, Impact)

I’ve talked about this a fair bit in the last section, but the writing really lets the 2000’s nostalgia shine through. There’s a lot of small tidbits that made me remember small memories. The dial-up sounds, the small conversations, the chats… it makes me feel fond of the past.

But with memories from the past come the accompanying memories of high school. The… awkward and embarrassing ones. And this is chiefly what Perfect Tides is all about: the coming-of-age of Mara Whitefish. We get to see all of her cringe moments, and we get to relive our own moments through her! How exciting! I am being sarcastic!

The story isn’t just a cringe compilation of the past though: it’s a very real look at adolescence. The immaturity, the insecurities, the anger, the fun moments… More than once I sighed at this child doing child things, willing her to be more mature and do something else. But she wouldn’t be a child then, would she? We have to make some mistakes by ourselves if we are to learn from them.

This game makes me remember one other game I’ve played in the past: Hypnospace Outlaw. This game also dealt with 2000’s nostalgia to tell a story. It made me think of how it feels like there is a slowly-growing trend in this type of game. Which is apt, considering what generation is growing up now, huh?

I dunno. It’s a rough game. It’s whimsical and yet too real. The cartoonish design of Mara hides the fact that she is a character with oh so real wants and needs. And her journey through this game is so well told.

I really like the story. It made all my struggles with the point-and-click gameplay worth it. I liked what it did!

VERDICT

Perfect Tides is an imperfect game. What it lacks in gameplay it makes up for with a great story and a lot of heart. It’s a time capsule for the early 2000’s, with all the baggage surrounding it. If you like visual novels with earnest stories, I recommend this game!

Door Rates Perfect Tides: 4/5!

[mangionebabymama]

SIX THIRTY — LUIGI MANGIONE

Summary: Late one night, while grappling with feelings of loneliness, Luigi logs onto his Steam account and just his luck, you’re online too.

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: hurt/comfort; some angst; LOTS of mutual pining and yearning; slow-burn online (could be platonic) romance; confessions

A/N: Inspired by this ask from a while ago, where those particular lyrics of "six thirty" about playing video games at 2 am have always stuck with me. This is a revised version of the original fic that I posted back in February.

It was late at night. 

And once again, Luigi found himself wide awake.

He had no business being awake this late at two in the morning, but here he was.

For the umpteenth time this week—for however long he’d kept his streak going (though truthfully, there was no sense in keeping track)—he sat at his desk, staring into the glow of his computer against the pitch-black silence of his bedroom, the soft hum of the system the only thing breaking it. He shifted in his chair, and if he focused hard enough, he could feel the lingering ache in his lower back starting to creep in. Recovery had been slow, and time, in this suspended reality, seemed to stand still in the post-surgical limbo he now inhabited, each day dragging on and on. Lately, he had found himself retreating further into the digital world: scouring the latest discourse on Twitter, checking updates from his Substack subscriptions, and delving into the comments of different Reddit threads. What he got in return was a real world that felt heavier, more distant, like he didn’t belong in it anymore. So he kept slipping away, little by little, watching his own life unfold from somewhere far off. Here and there, family and friends would check in on him, but he was reaching a point where he didn’t want to talk or respond much.

His cursor hovered over his Steam library, scrolling aimlessly through the collection of games he’d either already finished or barely played: Spelunky, Spelunky 2, Orwell, Terraria, Super Meat Boy, Stardew Valley… To be fair, he didn’t know what exactly he was hoping to find on the website. Just something to fill the void. 

But then, he spotted it—the little green dot beside your username. You were online.

His heart leapt, and before he could reconsider, a notification popped up at the bottom of his screen:

You: Can’t sleep either? Is it the insomnia again?

Or were you hoping to see if I was up?

A little smile found its way to his face.

Pep: Both

Your reply came almost instantaneously, like a trigger pulled without thinking—as if you’d been waiting for him, expecting his digital presence at that very moment. 

You: Figured

You’ve been on late a lot lately

Not that I’m complaining. The company’s nice

Luigi leaned back in his chair, spine arching as he stretched, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. 

This time, the backache felt sharper, and he could only hope it was from sitting too long at his desk or slouching, not because something was wrong with his lower back again, the very one that had undergone spinal fusion surgery just months ago. As promised, the surgeon and even a few of the physical therapists had assured him he’d make a full recovery, that his body would finally exist in the pain-free state it was meant to. But no one, not even Luigi himself, had anticipated the mental toll of having your spine drilled into. Because, like the cycle of grief, long-term recovery from any chronic medical condition was anything but linear. There were ups, and there were downs too, even as his body continued to heal. And now, even though he was physically better and no longer in constant pain that, inexplicably, had extended all the way to his bladder all because of his spine, he couldn’t shake the heaviness that sank deeper into his chest with each passing day.

Pep: Yea I guess I have

Sleeping’s been… hard

You: Hard as in “can’t fall asleep” or hard as in “don’t want to”?

It was right then that Luigi stopped in his tracks, hesitating to explain why sleeping had been easier said than done for him lately.

To answer your question, first off, sleeping had been hard because he was struggling to fall asleep in the last couple of weeks for some unknown and problematical reason, whether it was his body not being able to settle down or another bout of brain fog coming back to haunt him, the kind he once severely quarreled with in his first two years of college—where it almost got to a point that there were quite a few times he considered dropping out. And yes, sleeping was hard because he didn’t want to go to sleep, not now, not when you happened to be up at that hour and were online, talking to him. But he wasn’t going to mention that last part, knowing you’d advise him—a fully grown man, mind you—to still try to go to bed, and he’d listen to you without hesitation.

Because sometimes, just your loving reminder that he needed rest was enough to ease his mind and help him sleep, at least for a night or two.

At any given time or place, you always seemed to know the right questions to ask. Even so, as comforting and compassionate as your words were, they also terrified the hell out of Luigi, because there was absolutely no way he could ever try to escape the truth, especially not with you.

To lie to you? That was never something he could bring himself to do.

Pep: Both

Time seemed to hold its breath before your next messages popped up.

You: You’ve been quiet lately

Not just tonight 

But like in general, even when we’re playing 

You okay?

Well, shit.

He stared at the words of thoughtfulness on his screen, a simple yet effective way of showing that you cared enough about him and his well-being. It was one of the many doors you chose to twist the doorknob and open, inviting him to share what might be happening in his life at that moment, sparking a conversation between the two of you in those early hours. As effortless as it seemed, and as straightforward as your question was, it let him know you were there for him. 

The truth was, you were the only person in his life right now who truly cared about him, who understood him better than anyone else ever could, the only one who had always been there when he needed someone the most. 

His breath caught at the base of his throat, and his chest tightened.

How does she always know? 

Granted, you and he had never met in person as you lived on opposite sides of the country, yet in just a couple of months, you had grown incredibly close, becoming more than just two online gamers who happened to connect through gameplay one afternoon. Curiously enough, you had only ever spoken and heard each other’s voices through voice chat, sharing countless private conversations both in and out of playing games, but you had never even seen each other’s faces, not even through the webcams on your screens. Somehow or other, you always saw him, beyond the physical, even when imagining what he might look like. You saw straight into his heart; you understood him, and you embraced him like no one else ever could. Of course, you read him like a book; perhaps the greatest of authors in literature would consider him an epic instead, for you profoundly understood how he thought and believed. 

You always knew because, simply put, you knew Luigi better than he could ever know himself.

Pep: idk. just been feeling kinda… lost. 

I don’t even know how to explain it

You: Try

Luigi chuckled a short, humorless laugh. Leave it to you to cut straight to the point. He threaded a hand through his dry curls, trying to find the right words to pinpoint his feelings of being out of place.

Pep: It’s like… 

everything just feels heavy 

I’m just going through the motions

I’ve been distancing myself from everyone, like my family, my friends

and I don’t even know why

I just

I can’t seem to connect with anything anymore

except this

He added on, gesturing with his hand toward the screen, though you couldn’t see them. Maybe it was for the best that you weren’t face-to-face in real time, or you probably would have ribbed him mercilessly, poking fun at the way his gesturing was the most Italian thing about him.

Talking to you. Playing games. 

It’s the only time I feel

idk

Alive, maybe  

The text cursor blinked while he waited for your response, his heart beating faster than he liked to admit.

A second later, you wrote back.

You: you’re not alone in that. 

I think a lot of people feel that way sometimes. Especially now with everything going on in the world

It’s easy to get lost in your own head

Pep: But it’s not just that

I’m frozen or something

I’m watching my life pass by, and I don’t know how to make it stop

I don’t know how to fix it

There was another pause, this one stretching on longer than the last.

You: Have you talked to anyone about this?

Like, really talked

Luigi shook his head at the screen, though he knew you wouldn’t see it, making it clear he hadn’t spoken to anyone.

Pep: Not really

I don’t want to bother anyone with it. idek what I’d say

You: You’re not bothering me

And you don’t have to have all the answers. Sometimes saying it out loud helps

Or typing it out lol

He smiled meekly, warmth unfurling in his chest in a way he hadn’t felt for a long time—at least, not until you came into his life.

Pep: Thanks

Seriously. Don’t know what I’d do without you

You: Probably be even more of a mess

You were joking with him in that last bit of your message, and he caught the intended meaning perfectly. It was all tongue-in-cheek. Admittedly, he snorted. 

As ever, you were right. He was a mess. And if it weren’t for you, he would be a far greater one—something truly unfathomable. Had he not been such a mess to begin with, he might never have found himself in the very situation that led him to you.

Pep: Probably

Now, the silence between you both was comfortable enough to enjoy, until he broke it with the click-clacking of his keyboard as he typed some more. 

Pep: What about you? Why are you up so late?

You: Couldn’t sleep either. Insomnia’s a bitch

Plus I was kind of hoping you’d be on

Luigi’s heart skipped a beat, and he had to remind himself to keep breathing.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. You make the nights better

Heat rose to his cheeks.

Pep: You make them better too 

Then, your next few words came into view:

You: You know, it’s okay to not be okay 

it’s okay to lean on people when you need to

You don’t have to go through this alone

He dwelt on the exact words you wanted him to remember, an affirmation he already knew and should have known by heart but needed to hear again, staring at his screen until his eyes burned from the digital strain and a lump rose in his throat. Now, Luigi wasn’t sure if it was the eye fatigue from staying up so late, or the honesty and intimacy of your conversation, but either way, he felt tears beginning to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Though a bit ashamed of himself, he returned to his keyboard, spilling his guts about how he really felt.

Pep: I don’t want to be a burden 

You: You’re not a burden

If anything, you’re the opposite 

You’re very important to me, Luigi

More than you realize

He swallowed hard, and he fought to keep the tears from falling.

Pep: You’re also very important to me, too

His hands wavered over the keyboard with every keystroke.

More than I think I’ve ever admitted

It stayed still—almost too still. The cursor was left pulsing, and his screen remained unchanged. No new message came as you didn’t respond right away. And for a second, Luigi wondered if he’d said too much and let out more than you could handle.

Typical Luigi, wearing his heart on his sleeve, even his digital one.

But then, you wrote back, and he felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.

You: Maybe we should admit it more 

to each other and to ourselves

Life’s too short to keep everything bottled up

Once more, he gave a nod of assent.

Pep: Yeah. maybe we should

Oh, God.

Moving back in his chair just a touch, Luigi caught himself stuck in a whole new position. It wasn’t from tilting back in his seat, but from being caught in this oddly reflective place, wanting to breathe a sigh of relief for safely revealing some of his feelings, yet fearing he had made himself more fragile than anything.

It was written: from now on, you and he would be as transparent with each other as possible.

Who knew where the trajectory of your messages would lead for the remainder of the night? But if it was any consolation for him, at last, he wasn’t alone anymore.

You: You know

Sometimes I think about what it would be like to meet you

in person

Inside, Luigi swore that every monarch butterfly in the world had gathered and migrated into the confines of his chest, fluttering wildly with all the feelings he held.

Pep: Yeah?

You: Yeah. I think it’d be nice

To finally talk face-to-face

to really see you

Pep: I think it’d be nice too

You: Maybe one day we will

Pep: One day, for sure

For the first time in months, something flickered inside Luigi, like a candle being lit: hope.

You: Until then

I’m here. 

Whenever you need me

Luigi smiled, feeling his chest swell.

Pep: Same goes for you. Always

Left empty-handed inside the chatbox, the text cursor pulsated lazily—as if it, too, were watching to see what would unfold next, waiting for Luigi to man up and summon the courage to take the next step. He sat there in front of the dim glow of his computer, while the rest of his room was swallowed by the darkness of the early hours, front and center in the spotlight of everything taking shape. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling as they traced the ridges, trying to realign him with his surroundings. Of all things, what he dreaded most was cheapening the weight of what he was about to say. He swallowed hard, his throat uncomfortably dry.

Why now? Why does it feel like I can only tell the truth when no one else is around?

But he knew the answer. 

It wasn’t the time that mattered, no matter how far apart you and he were, separated by miles and miles and different time zones, whether the rest of the world was awake in daylight or dormant and unknowing in the dead of night.

It was you. 

How you listened to him without judgment—actively and attentively to every word he ever said, even, at times, when his rantings became incoherent—and how in return your words seemed to reach into the parts of him he’d locked away, never meant to be discovered again. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as broken as he thought. And if, by chance, he was made to be someone scattered across space in little bits and smithereens of unquestionably nothing, you would always make sure to pick up every last piece of him—holding all of him close, safe in your possession, with no one else able to take him away. 

Taking a deep breath, his chest constricted sharply from the rush of oxygen he let in.

Pep: There’s something I’ve never told anyone

He wrote on, his secret aching to break free through the screen. His heart pounded against the percussion of his eardrum, and he paused.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to lay himself bare like this in front of you?

Just as he was about to second-guess himself—or, if worst came to worst, probably yeet his monitor across the room—your reply appeared.

You: You can tell me anything Luigi. You know that

Too late.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers moving almost of their own accord across the keyboard.

Pep: It’s about why I’ve been distant lately. 

It’s not just the surgery. Not the insomnia or brain fog

I’ve always felt like I don’t belong

I’m on the outside looking in. even with everybody in my life

I try to act like I’m okay, like I’m fine, but I’m clearly not

I just haven’t been for a long time

At once, he abruptly came to a stop. He could hardly catch his breath, his lungs clawing for air, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon.

His eyes darted to the clock in the corner of the screen. It was now 2:04 AM.

The world might have still been asleep, but for Luigi, he felt more awake than he had in months—this was beyond just being conscious, as though he’d been taken to a state of awareness that was unlike anything else, uncharted by psychoanalysis itself. 

In no time, you were by his side in response.

You: That’s a heavy burden to carry alone 

You don’t have to, you know. You’re not as alone as you think you are

His lips trembled as he absorbed the depth of your words, a tight knot swirling in his throat.

Deep down, as the rational, logical thinker he was, he understood he didn’t have to carry such a heavy burden alone, that he wasn’t as alone as he believed. But when you’ve lived in solitude for so long, when no one’s ever deeply stepped into the place you’ve been, it’s hard to believe you’re not the only one walking that path on this Earth.

Pep: It’s not just that

The manual dexterity of his fingers simply couldn’t keep up now with the thoughts tumbling out of his head.

I’ve been struggling 

with something else

something I’ve never told anyone 

not even my closest friends

Yet again, that damn cursor blinked at him mockingly on the screen. It sat tight, waiting for him to continue, taunting Luigi to spill more of his darkest, deepest secrets so it could one-up him.

You: Take your time Luigi 

I’m here

He closed his eyes, giving himself a moment to collect his strength and find the right words.

Pep: I’ve always felt like I was different there was something wrong with me. Something I couldn’t put into words

It’s not just the loneliness

It’s like I’ve been searching for something my whole life, but I don’t know what it is. and it’s tearing me apart

Trembling with trepidation, his pinky tapped the enter key after typing out that last part.

He didn’t understand why, in this moment, he felt so naked and afraid, vulnerable, even, despite knowing he was safe with you. You had already given him permission to take his time, to explain himself at his own pace, and promised to be there whenever he needed you. For all his trust in you, he felt bare, like he was standing stark naked before an audience, exposed to the world without consent. But this wasn’t the world; this was just you. You were the only one learning this part of him for the very first time, and the only one who ever would.

His heart pounded in his chest, each second stretching into an eternity as he awaited your reaction. ​​

And when you answered him back, it was plainspoken and straightforward, and most of all, reassuring—what he needed the most. 

You: Thank you for trusting me enough to share that. You’re not alone in feeling that way

A lot of people feel lost

like they’re searching for something they can’t quite name

It’s part of being human. But you don’t have to figure it all out right now

Just take it one step at a time, one day at a time.

He could barely breathe through the sudden flood of feeling.

Pep: I don’t know where to start

With shaking fingers, he poured out every last bit of the confessions inside him.

I feel like I’m stuck in this… this loop.

just going through the motions but I’m not really living

I don’t know how to fucking break out of it

You kept up right with him, as though they were already yours to begin with.

You: Start by being honest with yourself

about what you want and what you need

It doesn’t have to be all at once. Just take small steps

And remember, you don’t have to do it alone

I’m here.

As much as you’ll let me be

Luigi’s vision began to swim, and even if tears clouded his eyes too much to read what you wrote, he could still feel your message. He scrubbed at his eyes, fighting back the tide of tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

Even in his best moments, he couldn’t pretend to be worthy of you. You were more than he ever deserved. Someone like him had no business being loved by someone like you. He wouldn’t be the person he was without you and your reassurance, and for that, he would always be grateful.

Pep: I don’t know why you’re so kind to me

All this time later, he still didn’t know why.

I don’t feel like I deserve it

You: You don’t have to earn kindness, Luigi

You deserve it just because you’re you

you’re worth it 

Don’t ever doubt that

Staring back at the screen—and if he looked close enough, he could almost see his own reflection—his breath hitched. It was easy for you to say that he shouldn’t doubt he deserved you, or all the kindness you gave him, unrestrictedly.

Pep: I don’t know what to say

Thank you

For being here. For listening

For seeing me

You: Always, Luigi. Always

He shut his eyes, releasing a choppy breath. For the first time in what felt like forever, he could breathe again. The weight on his chest hadn’t vanished, but it had lightened, just enough to make it through. And for now, that sufficed.

Pep: There’s one more thing. Something I’ve never told anyone

Not even myself, really

His fingers trembled once more, and he knew he had to stop before all else. 

This was it. 

It was a moment of truth. This was another moment where he would open up to you, choosing to let it all out instead of shutting it away forever, because life’s too short to keep everything bottled up, like you said.

You: You can tell me anything, Luigi. 

I’m here

One last time, he closed his eyes, gathering the final shred of courage he refused to take to the grave—not tonight, not when the night had been this honest. 

When he opened them, he kept going.

Pep: I think… I think I’ve been searching for someone. Not just anyone, but

you. 

I don’t know how to explain it but talking to you, it feels like I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. 

I know it sounds crazy, but—

You cut him off before he could finish.

You: It’s not crazy Luigi

I feel it too

Luigi almost fell out of his chair—if he’d really wanted to. It was only fitting. He just sat motionless, dead even, gaping wide-eyed at the computer.

Did you—did you really just say that?

Or perhaps it was just the late hour, in the heat of the moment, that led you to confess things you might not otherwise say?

Pep: Do you really mean that?

His fingers tremored erratically as he typed straight away, because he just could not focus on all the thoughts running through his head altogether.

Or is it just the insomnia talking?

You: I mean it Luigi. 

I’ve felt it 

This connection between us

It’s real. It’s always been real

Pep: I want it to be real

You: Then let’s make it real

His pulse quickened. The compulsion hung in the air, heavy and loaded. If he could in that very instant, he would’ve jumped right the fuck out of his chair, hopped on a plane, forgetting everything he owned, just to get to you and stay as long as you needed him.

More than anything, he wanted what you and he had to be real, truly, actually real. He’d thought about it more times than he could count, both awake and in his dreams: hearing your voice in real space instead of through his computer speakers, seeing your face up close (which he could only imagine to be the most beautiful), and feeling your presence beside him, just close enough to reach out and touch, to trace the warmth of your skin with his fingertips. But it felt like a dream, just a figment of his imagination, the kind of thing that, if he were being self-aware, might qualify as maladaptive daydreaming. It was always just out of reach, far from any real possibility.

This was an online relationship, not a face-to-face or in-person one. It was different than anything else he’d experienced with other people in his life.

Needless to say, he was well aware of the critical shortcomings of online relationships, especially when compared to in-person ones, where chief among them was the lack of face-to-face interaction. Some would even argue that online connections carry less emotional weight than real-life relationships, and relying on them could be seen as a sign of weakness. The side of Twitter he’d been following as of lately would certainly hold those beliefs to be self-evident.

And worst-case scenario?

What if you weren’t actually you?

What if the person he’d been confiding in for the past few months was really some middle-aged guy that knew how to manipulate the sound of a woman's voice over videochat living in the middle of nowhere of America, going through a crisis and finding twisted solace in catfishing an Ivy League alum and data engineer with chronic back pain and peak mid-twenties loneliness like Luigi?

Pep: But there’s so much distance. I don’t know if I’m ready for that

If I’m even capable of it

I know you’re real

and this is

but I want to feel it, too

He hadn’t meant to say so much, so quickly, but now, it was impossible to hold back. 

You: I get it, I really do 

But what if we didn’t have to figure it all out right now

What if we just… let ourselves want it? 

Even if it’s just for tonight

I mean, what if we stopped pretending like this isn’t something real? Like we’re just two strangers

who happen to be online at the same time

Because we’re not

We’re more than that

I don’t want to hide it anymore

He sighed, the release like a breath of fresh air. If you no longer wanted to hide it, then maybe it was okay that he didn’t want to anymore, either.

Pep: I don’t want to hide it either

I do want this. I want you

even if it’s just like this, for now. 

even if it’s just words on a screen

it just feels so real to me

You: Then let’s stop pretending. Let’s just… be. Together

Even if it’s just for tonight

He hesitated for a heartbeat, his heart pounding in his chest. Letting out a slow, calculated breath, he felt the pressure ease slightly, now knowing deep down what he wanted: he wanted you. And, at long last, you were there, waiting for him with open arms and a warm embrace, even if it would be digital for the meantime. But knowing you two, it wouldn’t be long before you found your way into each other’s arms, closing in on the long distance, in the flesh of reality. He was no longer alone. In this present moment, moving forward for however long the night would last, it would be just you and him—and only you and him. 

And ultimately, it was going to be real, just as it always had been.

Then, slowly, he typed.

Pep: Okay

Let’s be together.

[anemovictorious]

The Viscous Cycle of Tori Procrastination

Common Sense: Okay, Tori. It's getting late, and you tend to have more inspiration when it's late. Therefore, since you want to impress your old friend AND be productive, you should work on the things you need to do. Me: *Gets on computer* Common Sense: Oh, are you going to work on your computer for once? Usually you work on your phone. Maybe a change of pace- Me: *Inches cursor towards Final Fantasy XIV* Common Sense: No- Me: *Clicks it and launches the game* Common Sense: Why?! Every time, it's playing some sort of game all day or goofing off and watching YouTube, or just goofing off doing nothing! Why are you like this? *This repeats for days on end as I girlflop and girlfailure through life.*

[aryacollegeofengineering]

Computer Science Projects for the Beginners

Projects for Computer Science

Computer Science is itself Logic with Knowledge. Computer Science is the combination of computation and application, specifically to the design of computing machines and processes. It is the scientific and practical approach to working on the application. It performs computations and makes logical decisions. It can transform data into information.

Computation is a type of calculation that followed-define a defined model ex Algorithm

Personal Computing: General-purpose computer.

Client/Server Computing: Responds to a computer network to provide a network service. So that we can do work to be done in a specific manner as per client requirements.

Cloud Computing: A pool of computing resources accessible over a network. Pay as per you go model

Best Engineering Collages in Rajasthan says The first step to enter the computer science world is to have passionate about these fields. - Decide to learn, learn and learn.You have to learn also you have to be productive and share new ideas with science community. - Basic topic to learn and write a software in any programming language.

Programming means designing, writing, testing, debugging, and maintaining source code of computer programs.It was a difficult task in the early eras, as machines were not programmable at first. With the computer science, programming became an easy task that every one can learn. Your goal from the programming process is to create a set of instructions that computers use to perform specific operations. A programmer should be aware of different subjects including the application domain, algorithms and others.

As per the Top Engineering Colleges of Jaipur announced in one of the student seminars Existing Career in Programming, operation system, Networks, Graphics, and Database Management.

We can divide computer science into two major parts

Theoretical computer science: - Theory of Computation. - Information and Coding Theory. - Algorithms and Data Structures. - Programming Language Theory. - Concurrent, Parallel, and Distributed Systems. - Databases and Information Retrieval

Applied computer science. - Artificial Intelligence. - Computer Architecture and Engineering. - Computer Graphics and Visualization. - Computer Security and Cryptography. - Health Informatics. - Software Engineering.

Advantages of Computer Science:-

 The fastest way of communication.

Arithmetic problems can be easily solved.

Top Btech collages of Jaipur have some projects in computer science for beginners:-

 Face detection

Crime rate prediction

Android battery saver system

Symbol recognition

Evaluation of academic performance

e-Authentication system

Cursor movement on object motion

Public news droid

Search engine

Online eBook maker

Mobile wallet with the merchant

Software engineering is the application of engineering to software, it is also the process of making, testing, and documenting computer systems. Computer science includes taking information, putting your knowledge, Language processing, and human-computer interaction as its main areas. Then it comes with Business analysis to identify the business need and provide solutions for the same. system analysis is one of these roles:- Strategy, architecture, and system analysis.To make some project in computer science first need to Select your field and then put information then it will go to information systems and technology also it takes MIS work(management information system ) decision support system then it gave profit to a business or any organization.

It contains more things like

Information system analysis

Data analysis

Information Security

Project management

Knowledge management

Information engineering

Information systems development

Life Cycle

System engineering

Information system planning

Information system Strategy

Information system integration

Information system Management

Information system Exploration

Information Governance

Scope of Computer science:- The Job Prospect of computer science engineers from Top engineering colleges are increasing rapidly Both in India and abroad because of booming in the industry, employment in computer science is the fastest growing occupation. It will be increased by 38% in near future.

Necessary Skills are creativity, Curious, Detail oriented and logical thinker also know how to work in a team. Should know math, science, computers, etc.

Conclusion:-

Computers and Networks produce a new tangible digital dimension that adds to the physical one, as a collective result of the ongoing efforts of many different people. Computer Science deals with theoretical and practical techniques for the implementation and application of these foundations. Computer science has good career opportunities in terms of job and business.

Source: Click Here