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tmisaccidentreportbook · 2 years

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MAG015, Lost Johns’ Cave

Case #0140911, Laura Popham Release date: April 28, 2016 First listen: 15th October. On the morning feed route, remember stopping and staring into the middle distance while the recovered audio was being played.

Before this, I had no intention of ever going caving or pot holing or really spending any amount of time in a place I couldn’t see the sky. I have done big ol’ things like Blue John Cavern and the Nottingham caves on school trips but, y’know, not really my thing. After this, you would have to knock me out like you’re trying to get B.A. Baracus on a plane.

- Can appreciate the rather captivating issue of having a main ‘expensive’ hobby, although working for charities most of my adult life means I’m sticking with the cheap ones, like writing about podcast episodes at +2k words a pop apparently… What is my life? Anyway, having to invest in a hobby could possibly be just another way The Buried could work, sinking so much time and resources into something to the point of feeling unable to walk away.

- I can see where her guilt lies, feeling responsible and regretting bringing Alena along with her, but by the sounds of it Alena enjoyed herself and enjoyed Laura’s company. There’s something to be said about a short, fulfilled life vs. a longer, sad one.

- ‘...she would have preferred to get her exercise under the open sky.’ I wonder if there is something that makes a person predetermined to be affected by The Entities. Whether it be just a glancing brush, an encounter or to become a part of them. Were Alena and Laura marked? Were they marked in conflicting ways? If it hadn’t been for The Buried taking Alena, would the The Vast perhaps have done so? Or taken Laura?

- OK, so I had to look up the Three Counties cave system because I had no idea what it was and somewhere I can feel mrswhitelibraryleadpipe being disappointed in me, although they are far too kind to say so. But it spans Cumbria, Lancashire and North Yorkshire in the north of England. In my defence I am a) a soft southerner and b) as previously mentioned, not a cat in hell’s chance am I going down there.

- Cave diving. Let me say it again, for the folks in the back. NOPE!

- OK, slight parting of the kimono here. When I write these little word vomit soups, I tend to have the transcripts up in a tab. It helps with spelling, especially with names, and if I want to pull a direct quote, I want to get it right. Reading through the transcripts, the position of the apostrophe keeps bouncing about. We can’t seem to decide how many Johns there were. And looking online, there are discrepancies too, although the CNCC has it as Lost Johns’ Cave.

- Ah, the CNCC, or the Council of Northern Caving Clubs, another thing I had to research. I have to say, the website looks very well kept and up to date and has a lot of what I am sure is valuable information. *pats the hood* Good website. I have absolutely no intention of ever needing your services, but it is good to know you are there for people who need you.

- ‘I had no intention of straying from the well-explored, thoroughly-charted caves.’ I feel like we’re revisiting some of the fairy tale logic seen in MAG009 A Father’s Love again, and that one also was heavily influenced by The Dark. Don’t stray from the path.

- ‘(Caves) always used to feel like they were keeping me safe.’ The sensation of a sanctuary turning into a prison.

- ‘I was surprised to see that we were the only ones there when we arrived.’ I had a moment of, like we see in MAG012 First Aid, is there something that tells folks to stay away when an incident is about to occur? Did the same preternatural sense that had people filing out of A&E, have people staying away from the cave systems that day?

- Laura describes the anchors being in place and in good condition, but the fact that the entrance was ‘covered in wild plants and bracken’ suggests to me that the route has not been used in sometime. I’ve no idea what sort of visitation numbers the three county cave systems get, but I would have thought that at the height of summer foot traffic and management efforts would have kept it clear. The fact that it looks unkempt and unmanaged has me feeling something isn’t right here, like they’re seeing this place as it hasn’t been for a long time, like there are holes in the fabric of time.

- ‘...the gentle waters of the underground stream ran their course, as they had for thousands of years, undisturbed by the rough tread of humanity.’ See! There’s something hinky with the passage of time here, I tell you. If you’ve not got the passage of the sun to mark time passing, it’s gonna get weird down there. It’s a place of tectonic and geological time and that doesn’t work like standard measure time. That’s not something our little mayfly brains can cope with. We’re not meant to comprehend just how old the Earth is.

- ‘My ritual.’ We’re 15 episodes in and already I am seeing a reoccurring theme of some sort of divinity. The Entities, these Old Gods of Fear, The Powers, what ever they would be called, they seem appeased, at least momentarily, by ritual and sacrifice. They have acolytes and vassals to do their will. And although Laura here is primed to be a disciple of an Entity, it almost seems she is contested territory. She could be of The Buried as easily as of The Dark. It could be argued even The Lonely could stake a claim to her. ‘I rarely went caving with anyone other than Alena, and, while she indulged me, I don’t think she really got anything out of it.’ This communion with this place, it’s a very solitary act to Laura.

- ‘There were several junctions that were significantly smaller than the map would seem to show.’ Could they have not eroded larger yet? Has time and water not done the work that was seen when these maps were made? Are you perhaps a few centuries early? Could The Spiral be creeping in here, with a map that doesn’t make sense?

- ‘...accommodating humans was never high on their list of priorities.’ I think humans are perhaps a priority of The Buried, but I’m not sure I’d say the word ‘accommodating’ factored into it.

- ‘A squeeze can be a hole less than a foot wide.’ NOPE. Nopenopenopenope. Look, I am a big girl. I am built like Ruben painted his ladies. Yeah, no. Hard pass. Nope. Fuck no.

- There’s illusions to religious architecture to be found in the naming convention of the natural formations; ‘the Cathedral’, ‘the Crypt’, ‘the Dome’. I wonder if Jonny saw those names and purposefully gave the start of the statement a reverential light.

- I’d forgotten that they address the apostrophe thing in the body of the text, Alena saying ‘everyone puts the apostrophe in the wrong place, when talking about Lost John’s Cave.’ That there were two Johns that got lost down here. And although Alena finds the idea of company in that situation ‘sweet’, I don’t know how much that solace would count for in the end. Laura says it herself, ‘...the thought of having to spend my last days with Alena was a bit too much,’ this sort of thinking strengthening the grip The Lonely may have had on her.

- ‘...horrible thing to say about the dead.’ Do we know for sure she is dead? Is she not just lost? We see it in The Buried; Daisy alive but trapped in The Coffin after the events of MAG 119 Stranger and Stranger, and despite Gertrude killing him before feeding him to The Pit, Jonny said it didn’t do Jan Kilbride any good.

- ‘It went easily. Very easily.’ If you’ve got seasoned experts in your field, telling you something is going to be difficult, and if it turns out much easier than advertised, that’s alarm bells my friends.

- ‘Saying something or other about conquering fears.’ Hmmmmm?! What? Alena, any reason for that all of a sudden? And why do I feel, when it’s about conquering fears, like this was a case of ‘won the battle, lost the war with catastrophic implications’?

- ‘I broke the surface to see Alena laughing to herself, and holding a rock over the part of the water where I had been trying to emerge.’ OK, that’s just cruel. That’s just mean.

- ‘...she asked me how lost I was in a low, grating voice.’ OK, so was Alena momentarily possessed by The Buried to ask that question of Laura? Was that a voice that only Laura could heard that she mistook for Alena asking and hence Alena’s confusion at Laura’s snapped response? What exactly happened to Alena when the two were separated when she went first? What prompted her to go first?

- The next section is a bit not-fun to listen to for me because I have had a close call with drowning. In 2015, got caught in a rip tide and had a genuine 30 seconds or so of fear for my life, but it was really weird, detached sort of way like, ‘huh, well this is how I go I guess.’ I got out of it, got my legs back under me, walked up the beach and haven’t been above knee high in moving water since.

- ‘I started to shuffle backwards, and my feet touched against solid rock.’ And that’s when my blood wet cold. I remember were I was, with one leg over the fence into the Magellan goose pen.

- ‘The stone I had always believed to be my friend and protector was going to entomb me here.’ The fact that is a betrayal of trust in this way, makes this all the harder to listen to. But I think it could be serving as a good mirror to the relationship to the two sisters. She never says it but did Laura resent Alena’s presence in her home, did she feel penned in by her presence? And thinking this, I am even more grateful for my sister and her fiance for letting me stay with them for 5 months when I moved jobs and they didn’t feed me to an eldritch power. But did Laura break Alena’s trust, when they found themselves in this situation, separated and trapped, and Laura spends 2 hours and 43 minutes begging what ever it is that has them to ‘take her, not me.’

- The way the sound quality getting fuzzy and muffled as the candle light got closer and closer to Laura though and only clearing when she recognised it as daylight? *chef’s kiss*

- ‘Apparently I’d been underground for almost twenty-four hours.’ We’ve seen loss of time in the presence of or under the influence of The Entities before, Ms. Herne losing a night in MAG013 Alone. But I think there maybe something more actively disrupting the flow of time in the place, something perhaps long buried and then disturbed by the two lost Johns of the cave.

- I’m rooting around on the internet and, while I am finding references to two Johns of Lost Johns’ Cave, I can’t find an original source or even a story detailing them. But even if I can’t find anything, I like the idea of the two John’s being ours right here; the Archivist and Jonny. Leading us down this veritable mine shaft the is The Magnus Archives, promising us, yes, there is excellent writing and canon queer characters, they’re just back there, behind that cask of Amontillado...

- The fact that Laura’s statement has so many things that can be proven in accurate is just adding to the weird; the CNCC having no record of the permit request, other issued permits indicating the presence of other people at the site, where she was found not matching up, the presence of the burned out candles. See, the science and/or history nerd really wants to study those candles. Are they of modern make or are they something more archaic?

- ‘Martin declined to help with this investigation as he’s ‘a bit claustrophobic’.’ Don’t be mean to my boy! If there was even the slightest chance that this investigation would prompt a return to the site, I also would be noping the heck outta dodge. I don’t know if there is a correlation, between person’s size and if they are claustrophobic. As I’ve said, I’m a large girl, and though I don’t consider myself claustrophobic, I am scared of getting stuck. I would happily lie in a coffin or similar for an extended period of time, but the idea of going into those caves, nah mate not happening. And, I think also, with the whole of society telling big folk that they must be smaller, must be slighter, I thinks there’s a fear of being lost in more ways than one.

- ‘Tim managed to gain enough access to copy the footage. Best not to ask how, I think.’ I want to ask! Let me live vicariously through you, my Hawaiian shirted flirt of a son.

- “TAKE HER, NOT ME.” Not visual, just that audio for 2 hours and 43 minutes. And although he may be omitting it or flat out lying in her statement, she appears to have no recollection of it. I have never seen The Blair Witch Project, I never intend to. I caught enough of Three’s and LG's horror spoof ad back in 2016 to know I want nothing to do with it. Found footage horror can stay the heck away from me please.

#the magnus archives #MAG015 #The Buried #The Dark

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innuendostudios · 3 years

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I was invited to give a talk on GamerGate over Zoom in early 2021. I've long been frustrated that there isn't a good timeline of GG and its origins on YouTube. When people ask "what the hell was GG anyway?" they often get referred to my or Dan Olson's videos on the subject, but both of them were made while GG was ongoing, and presumed a degree of familiarity on the part of the audience. There was just too much to say about what was already happening to spend time getting the audience up to speed, and it was safe to assume our audiences had enough context to follow along. But time moves fast on the internet, and many people who now care about such things weren't there while it was happening, and are lacking the necessary context to follow the better videos. For a long time, I've only been able to direct them to RationalWiki's timeline, which is excellent but so exhaustively comprehensive that it's likely to scare off first-timers.

I realize an hourlong lecture isn't necessarily helping matters, but the first 20-or-so minutes of this video are my attempt at streamlining the timeline such that people can be up to speed on the most important stuff fairly quickly. The rest is talking about what it all meant, how it prefigured the Alt-Right, and using it to better understand digital radicalization.

This video was made with the help of Magdalen Rose, who edited the slides to the audio while I was laid up with a back injury. Go sub to her channel! And please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

FUCKING VIDEO GAMES? FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THEY MADE DOZENS OF PEOPLE MISERABLE FOR YEARS OVER VIDEO GAMES! NOT EVEN FUCKING VIDEO GAMES, FUCKING ARTICLES ABOUT FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. THIS IS WHAT PASSES FOR LEGITIMATE GRIEVANCE. ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT??

Hi! My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, please like share and subscribe.

I’m here to talk to you about GamerGate, and I needed to get all that out of the way. I’m going to talk about what GamerGate was and how it prefigured The Alt-Right, and there are gonna be moments where you’re nodding along with me, going, “yeah, yeah I get it,” and then the sun’s gonna break through a crack in the wall and you’ll suddenly remember that all this is happening because some folks - mostly ladies - said some stuff - provably true stuff, I might add - about video games and a bunch of guys didn’t like it, and you’re gonna want to rip your hair out. By the end of this, you will have a better understanding of what happened, but it will never not be bullshit.

Also, oh my god, content warning. Racism, sexism, antisemitism, homophobia, transphobia, rape threats, threats of violence, domestic abuse - I’m not going to depict or describe at length any of the worst stuff, but it’s all in the mix. So if at any point you need to switch me off or mute me, you have my blessing.

Brace yourselves.

Some quick prehistory:

In 2012, feminist media critic Anita Sarkeesian ran a Kickstarter campaign for a YouTube series on sexist tropes in video games. And, partway through the campaign, 4chan found it and said “let’s ruin her life.” And a lot of the male general gaming public joined in. And by “ruin her life” I’m not talking 150 angry tweets including dozens of rape and death threats per week, though that was a thing. I’m talking bomb threats. I’m talking canceled speaking engagements because someone threatened to shoot up a school. I’m talking FBI investigation. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

And in 2013, Zoe Quinn released Depression Quest, a free text game about living with depression. They received harassment off and on for the next year, most pointedly from an incel forum called Wizardchan that doxxed their phone number and made harassing phone calls telling them to kill themself. The harassers faced no meaningful repercussions.

(Also, quick note: Zoe Quinn is nonbinary and has come out since the events in question. When I call Zoe’s harassment misogynist, understand I am not calling Zoe a woman, but they were attacked by people who hate women because that’s how they were perceived. Had they been out at the time things probably would’ve gone down similarly, but on top of misogyny I’d be talking about nonbinary erasure and transphobia.)

Okay. Our story begins in August 2014. The August that never ended.

Depression Quest, after a prolonged period on Greenlight, finally releases on Steam as a free download with the option to pay what you want. In the days that follow, Zoe’s ex-boyfriend, Eron Gjoni, writes a nearly 10,000-word blog called The Zoe Post, in which he claims Quinn had been a shitty and unfaithful partner. (For reference, 10,000 words is long enough that the Hugos would consider it a novelette.) This is posted to forums on Penny Arcade and Something Awful, both of which immediately take it down, finding it, at best, a lot of toxic hearsay and, at worse, an invitation to harassment. So Gjoni workshops the post, adds a bunch of edgelord humor (and I am using the word “humor” very generously), and reposts it to three different subforums on 4chan.

We’re not going to litigate whether Zoe Quinn was a good partner. I don’t know or care. I don’t think anyone on this call is trying to date them so I’m not sure that’s our business. What is known is that the relationship lasted five months, and, after it ended, Gjoni began stalking Quinn. Gjoni has, in fact, laid out how he stalked Quinn in meticulous detail to interviewers and why he feels it was justified. It’s also been corroborated by a friend that Quinn briefly considered taking him back at a games conference in San Francisco, but he became violent during sex and Quinn left the apartment in the middle of the night with visible bruises.

Off of the abusive ex-boyfriend’s post, 4chan decides it’s going to make Zoe Quinn one of their next targets, and starts a private IRC channel to plan the campaign. The channel is called #BurgersAndFries, a reference to Gjoni claiming Quinn had cheated on him with five guys. A couple sentences in The Zoe Post - which Gjoni would later claim were a typo - imply that one of the five guys was games journalist Nathan Grayson and that Quinn had slept with him in exchange for a good review of Depression Quest. Given the anger that they’d seen drummed up against women in games with the previous Anita Sarkeesian hate mob, #BurgersAndFries decides to focus on this breach of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover story, many of them howling with laughter at the thought that male gamers would probably buy it. This way, destroying Quinn’s life and career and turning their community against them would appear an unfortunate byproduct of a legitimate consumer revolt; criticism of the harassment could even be framed as a distraction from the bigger issue. Gjoni himself is in the IRC channel telling them that this was the best hand to play.

The stated aim of many on #BurgersAndFries was to convince Quinn to commit suicide.

Two regulars in the IRC, YouTubers MundaneMatt and Internet Aristocrat, make videos about The Zoe Post. Incidentally, both these men had already made a lot of money off videos about Anita Sarkeesian. Matt’s is swiftly taken down with a DMCA claim, and he says that Quinn filed the claim themself. (For the record, in those days, YouTube didn’t tell you who filed DMCA claims against you.) Members of the IRC also reach out to YouTuber TotalBiscuit, who had been critical of Sarkeesian and dismissive of her harassment, and he tweets the story to his 350,000 followers, saying a game developer trading sex for a good review might not prove true, but was certainly plausible.

This is where GamerGate begins to get public traction.

Zoe Quinn is very swiftly doxxed, with their phone number, home address, nudes, and names and numbers of their family collected. Gjoni himself leaks their birth name. The Zoe Post, and the movement against Quinn - now dubbed “The Quinnspiracy” - make it to The Escapist and Reddit, which mods will have little luck removing. The Quinnspiracy declares war on any site that does take their threads down, most vehemently NeoGAF. People who defend Zoe against the harassment start getting doxxed themselves - Fez developer Phil Fish is doxxed so thoroughly, hackers get access to the root folder of his website.

In what I’m going to call This Should Have Been The End, Part 1, Stephen Totilo, Editor-in-Chief at Kotaku where Nathan Grayson worked, in response to pressure not just from The Quinnspiracy but an increasing number of angry gamers buying The Quinnspiracy’s narrative, publishes a story. In it he verifies that Quinn and Grayson did date for several months, and that not only is there no review of Depression Quest anywhere on Kotaku, not by Grayson nor anyone else, but that Grayson did not write a single word about Quinn the entire time they were dating.

In response, The Quinnspiracy declares war on Kotaku. r/KotakuinAction is formed, which will become the primary site of organization outside of chanboards. The fact that their entire “movement” is based on a review that does not exist changes next to nothing.

Some people start to see The Quinnspiracy as potentially profitable. The Fine Young Capitalists get involved, a group ostensibly working to get women into video games but who have a Byzantine plan to do so wherein they crowdfund the budget and the woman who wins a competition gets to storyboard a game, but another company will make and she will get 8% of the profits, the rest going to a charity chosen by the top donor. 4chan becomes the top donor. They like TFYC because the head of the company has a vendetta against Zoe Quinn, who had previously called them out for their transphobic submission policy, and he falsely accused Quinn of having once doxxed him. 4chan feels backing an ostensibly feminist effort will be good PR, but can’t resist selecting a colon cancer charity because, they say, feminism is cancer and they want to be the cure to butthurt. They also get to design a character for the game, and so they create Vivian James, who will become the GamerGate mascot.

Manosphere YouTubers Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini launch a Patreon campaign for their antifeminist documentary The Sarkeesian Effect and come to The Quinnspiracy looking for $15,000 a month for an indefinite period to make it, which they get.

In what will prove genuinely awful timing, Anita Sarkeesian releases the second episode of Tropes vs. Women in Video Games, and, despite not being a games journalist and having nothing to do with Quinn or Grayson, she is immediately roped into the narrative about how feminists are ruining games culture and becomes the second major target of harassment. Both she and Quinn soon have to leave their houses after having receiving dozens and dozens of death threats that include their home addresses.

After being courted by members of the IRC channel, Firefly star Adam Baldwin tweets a link to one of the Quinnspiracy videos and coins the hashtag #GamerGate. This is swiftly adopted by all involved.

In response to all this, Leigh Alexander writes a piece for Gamasutra arguing that the identity that these men are flocking to the “ethics in games journalism” narrative to defend no longer matters as a marketing demographic. Gaming and games culture is so large and so varied, and the “core gamer” audience of 18-34 white bros growing smaller and septic, that there was no reason, neither morally nor financially, to treat them as the primary audience anymore. Love of gaming is eternal, but, she declared, “gamers,” as an identity, “are over.” Eight more articles contextualizing GamerGate alongside misogyny and the gatekeeping of games culture come out across several websites in the following days. GamerGate frames these as a clear sign of [deep sigh] collusion to oppress gamers, proving that ethics in games journalism is, indeed, broken, and Leigh Alexander becomes the third major target of harassment. These become known as the “gamers are dead” articles - a phrase not one of them uses - and they make “get Leigh Alexander fired from Gamasutra” one of their primary goals.

Something I need you to understand is that it has, at this point, been two weeks.

Highlights from the next little bit: Alex Macris, a higher up at The Escapist’s parent company, expresses support for GamerGate; he will go on to write the first positive coverage at a major publication and cement The Escapist as GamerGate-friendly. Mike Cernovich, aka “Based Lawyer,” gets GamerGate’s attention by mocking Anita Sarkeesian; he will go on to hire a private investigator to stalk Zoe Quinn. GamerGate launches Operation Disrespectful Nod, an email campaign pressuring companies to pull advertising from websites that have criticized them. They leverage their POC members, getting them, any time someone points out the rampant racism and antisemitism among GamerGaters, to say “I am a person of color and I am #NotYourShield”; most of these “POC members” are fake accounts left over from a previous, racist disinformation campaign. Milo Yiannapoulos gets involved, writing positive coverage of GG despite having mocked gamers for precisely this behavior in the past, and gets so much traffic it pulls Breitbart News out of obscurity and makes it a significant player in modern conservative news media.

[Hey! Ian from the future here. This talk mostly addresses how GamerGate prefigured the Alt-Right strategically and philosophically, but if you want a more explicit, material connection: Breitbart News took its newfound notoriety to become, as its Executive Chair phrased it in 2016, "a platform for the Alt-Right." That Executive Chair was Steve Bannon, who threw the website's weight behind The Future President Who Shall Not Be Named, and, upon getting his attention, would then go on to become his campaign strategist and work in his Administration. So, if you're wondering how one of the central figures of the Alt-Right ended up in the White House, the answer is literally "GamerGate." Back to you, Ian from the past!]

In what I’m calling This Should Have Been The End, Part 2, Zoe Quinn announces that they have been lurking the #BurgersAndFries IRC channel since the beginning and releases dozens of screenshots showing harassment being planned and the selection of “ethics in games journalism” as a cover. #BurgersAndFries has a meltdown, everyone turns on each other, and the channel is abandoned. And they then start another IRC and things proceed.

It goes on like this. I’m not gonna cover everything. This is just the first month. It should be clear by now that this thing is kind of unkillable. And I worry I haven’t made it obvious that this is not just a chanboard and an IRC. Thousands of regular, every day gamers were buying the story and joining in. They were angry, and no amount of evidence that their anger was unfounded was going to change that. You could not mention or even allude to GamerGate and not get flooded with dozens, even hundreds of furious replies. These replies always included the hashtag so everyone monitoring it could join in, so all attempts at real conversation devolved into a hundred forking threads where some people expected you to talk to them while others hurled insults and slurs. And always the possibility that, if any one of them didn’t like what you said, you’d be the next target.

To combat this, some progressives offered up the hashtag #GameEthics to the people getting swept up in GamerGate, saying, “look, we get that you’re angry, and if you want to talk about ethics in games journalism, we can totally do that, but using your hashtag is literally putting us in danger; they calling the police on people saying there’s a hostage situation at their home addresses so they get sent armed SWAT teams, and if you’ll just use this other hashtag we can have the conversation you say you want to have in safety.” And I will ever stop being salty about what happened.

They refused. They wouldn’t cede any ground to what they saw as their opposition. It was so important to have the conversation on their terms that not only did they refuse to use #GameEthics, they spammed it with furry porn so no one could use it.

A few major events on the timeline before we move on: Christina Hoff Sommers, the Republican Party’s resident “feminist,” comes out criticizing Anita Sarkeesian and becomes a major GG figurehead, earning the title Based Mom. Zoe Quinn gets a restraining order against Eron Gjoni, which he repeatedly violates, to no consequence; GG will later crowdfund his legal fees. There’s this listserv called GameJournoPros where game journalists would talk about their jobs, and many are discussing their concerns over GamerGate, so Milo Yiannopoulos leaks it and this is framed as further “proof of collusion.” 4chan finally starts enforcing its “no dox” rules and shuts GamerGate threads down, so they migrate to 8chan, a site famous for hosting like a lot of child porn. Indie game developer Brianna Wu makes a passing joke about GamerGate on Twitter and they decide, seemingly on a whim, to make her one of the biggest targets in the entire movement; she soon has to leave her home as well. GamerGate gets endorsements from WikiLeaks, Infowars, white nationalist sites Stormfront and The Daily Stormer, and professional rapist RooshV. And hundreds of people get doxxed; an 8chan subforum called Baphomet is created primarily to host dox of GamerGate’s critics.

But by November, GamerGate popularity was cresting, as more and more mainstream media covered it negatively. Their last, big spike in popularity came when Anita Sarkeesian went on The Colbert Report and Stephen made fun of the movement. Their numbers never recovered after that.

Which is not to say GamerGate ended. It slowed down. The period of confusion where the mainstream world couldn’t tell whether it was a legitimate movement or not passed. But, again, most harassers faced no meaningful repercussions. Gamers who bought the lie about “ethics in games journalism” stayed mad that no one had ever taken them seriously, and harassers continued to grief their targets for years. The full timeline of GamerGate is an constant cycle of lies, harassment, operations, grift, and doxxing. Dead-enders are to this day still using the hashtag. And remember how Anita had nothing to do with ethics in games journalism or Zoe Quinn, and they just roped her in because they’d enjoyed harassing her before so why not? Every one of GamerGate’s targets knows that they may get dragged into some future harassment campaign just because. It’s already happened to several of them. They’re marked.

(sigh) Let’s take a breath.

Now that we know what GamerGate was, let’s talk about why it worked.

In the thick of GamerGate, I started compiling a list of tactics I saw them using. I wanted to make a video essay that was one part discussion of antifeminist backlash, and one part list of techniques these people use so we can better recognize and anticipate their behavior. That first part became six parts and the second part went on a back burner. It would eventually become my series, The Alt-Right Playbook. GamerGate is illustrative because most of what would become The Alt-Right Playbook was in use.

Two foundational principles of The Alt-Right Playbook are Control the Conversation and Never Play Defense. Make sure people are talking about what you want them to talk about, and take an aggressive posture so you look dominant even when you’re not making sense. For instance: once Zoe leaked the IRC chatlogs, a reasonable person could tell the average gater, “the originators of GamerGate were planning harassment from the very beginning.” But the gater would say, “you’re cherry-picking; not everyone was a harasser.”

Now, this is a bad argument - that’s not how you use “cherry-picking” - and it’s being framed as an accusation - you’re not just wrong, you’re dishonest - which makes you wanna defend yourself. But, if you do - if you tell them why that argument is crap - you’ve let the conversation move from “did the IRC plan harassment?” - a question of fact - to “are the harassers representative of the movement?” - a question of ethics. Like, yes, they are, but only within a certain moral framework. An ethics question has no provable answer, especially if people are willing to make a lot of terrible arguments. It is their goal to move any question with a definitive answer to a question of philosophy, to turn an argument they can’t win into an argument nobody can win.

The trick is to treat the question you asked like it’s already been answered and bait you into addressing the next question. By arguing about whether you’re cherry-picking, you’re accepting the premise that whether you’re cherry-picking is even relevant. Any time this happens, it’s good to pause and ask, “what did we just skip over?” Because that will tell you a lot.

What you skipped over is their admission that, yes, the IRC did plan harassment, but that’s only on them if most of the movement was in on it. Which is a load of crap - the rest of the IRC saw it happening, let it happen, it’s not like anybody warned Zoe, and shit, I’m having the cherry-picking argument! They got me! You see how tempting it is? But presumably the reason you brought the harassment up is because you want them to do something about it. At the very least, leave the movement, but ideally try and stop it. They don’t, strictly speaking, need to feel personally responsible to do that. And you might be thinking, well, maybe if I can get them take responsibility then they’ll do something, but you’d be falling for a different technique I call I Hate Mondays.

This is where people will acknowledge a terrible thing is happening, maybe even agree it’s bad, but they don’t believe anything can be done about it. They also don’t believe you believe anything can be done about it. Mondays suck, but they come around every week. This is never stated outright, but it’s why you’re arguing past each other. To them, the only reason to talk about the bad thing is to assign blame. Whose turn is it to get shit on for the unsolvable problem? Their argument about cherry-picking amounts to “1-2-3 not it.” And they are furious with you for trying to make them responsible for harassment they didn’t participate in.

The unspoken argument is that harassment is part of being on the internet. Every public figure deals with it. This ignores any concept of scale - why does one person get harassed more than another? - but you can’t argue with someone who views it as a binary: harassment either happens or it doesn’t, and, if it does, it’s a fact of life, and, if it happens to everyone, it’s not gendered. And this is not a strongly-held belief they’ve come to after years of soul-searching - this is what they’ve just decided they believe. They want to participate in GamerGate despite knowing its purpose, and this is what would need to be true for that to be ok.

Or maybe they’re just fucking with you! Maybe you can’t tell. Maybe they can’t tell, either. I call this one The Card Says Moops, where people say whatever they feel will score points in an argument and are so irony-poisoned they have no idea whether they actually believe it. A very useful trick if the thing you appear to believe is unconscionable. You can’t take what people like that say at face value; you can only intuit their beliefs from their actions. They say they believe this one minute and that another, but their behavior is always in accordance with that, not this.

In the negative space, their belief is, “The harassment of these women is okay. My anger about video games is more important. I may not be harassing them myself, but they do kind of deserve it.” They will never say this out loud in a serious conversation, though many will say it in an anonymous or irreverent space where they can later deny they meant it. But, whatever they say they believe, this is the worldview they are operating under.

Obscuring this means flipping through a lot of contradictory arguments. The harassment is being faked, or it’s not being faked but it’s being exaggerated, or it’s not being exaggerated but the target is provoking it to get attention, which means GamerGate harassers simultaneously don’t exist, exist in small numbers, and exist in such large numbers someone can build a career out of relying on them! It can be kind of fun to take all these arguments made in isolation and try to string together an actual position. Like, GamerGate would argue that Nathan Grayson having previously mentioned Zoe Quinn in an article about a canceled reality show counts as positive coverage, and since Grayson reached out to Quinn for comment it’s reasonable to assume they started dating before the article was published (which is earlier than they claim), and positive coverage did lead to greater popularity for Depression Quest. But if you untangle that, it’s like… okay, you’re saying Zoe Quinn slept with a journalist in exchange for four nonconsecutive sentences that said no more than “Zoe Quinn exists and made a game,” and the price of those four sentences was to date the journalist for months, all to get rich off a game that didn’t cost any money. That’s your movement?

And some, if cornered, would say, “yes, we believe women are just that shitty, that one would fuck a guy for months if it made them the tiniest bit more famous.” But they won’t lead with that. Because they know it won’t convince the normies, even the ones who want to be convinced. So they use a process I call The Ship of Theseus to, piece by piece, turn that sentence into “slept with a journalist in exchange for a good review” and argue that each part of the sentence is technically accurate. It’s trying to lie without lying. And, provided all the pieces of this sentence are discussed separately, and only in the context of how they justify this sentence, you can trick yourself into believing this sentence is mostly true.

So, like, why? This is clearly motivated reasoning; what’s the motivation? What was this going to accomplish?

The answer is nothing. Nothing, by design. GamerGate’s “official” channels - the subreddit and the handful of forums that didn’t shut them down - were rigidly opposed to any action more organized than an email campaign. They had a tiny handful of tangible demands - they wanted gaming websites to post public ethics policies and had a list of people they wanted fired - but their larger aim was the sea change in how games journalism operated, which nothing they were asking for could possibly give them. The kind of anger that convinces you this is a true statement is not going to be addressed by a few paragraphs about ethics and Leigh Alexander getting a new job. They wanted gaming sites to stop catering to women and “SJWs” - who were a sizable and growing source of traffic - and to get out of the pockets of companies that advertised on their websites - which was their primary source of income. So all Kotaku had to do to make them happy was solve capitalism!

Meanwhile, the unofficial channels, like 8chan and Baphomet, were planning op after op to get private information, spread lies with fake accounts, get disinformation trending, make people quit jobs, cancel gigs, and flee their homes. Concrete goals with clear results. All you had to do to feel productive was go rogue. In my video,

How to Radicalize a Normie, I describe how the Alt-Right encourages lone wolf behavior by whipping people up into a rage and then refusing to give them anything to do, while surrounding them with examples of people taking matters into their own hands. The same mechanism is in play here: the public-facing channels don’t condone harassment but also refuse to fight it, the private channels commit it under cover of anonymity, and there is a free flow of traffic between them for when the official channels’ impotence becomes unbearable.

What I hope I’m illustrating is how these techniques play off of each other, how they create a closed ecosystem that rational thought cannot enter. There’s a phrase we use on the internet that got thrown around a lot at the time:

you can’t logic someone out of a position they didn’t logic themselves into.

Now, there are a few other big topics I think are relevant here, so I want to go through them one by one.

MEMEIFICATION

So a lot of interactions with GamerGate would involve a very insular knowledge base.

Like, you’d say something benign but progressive on Twitter.

A gater would show up in your mentions and say something aggressive and false.

You’d correct them. But then they’d come back and hit you with -

ah shit, sorry, this is a Loss meme.

If I were in front of a classroom I’d ask, show of hands, how many of you got that? I had to ask Twitter recently, does Gen Z know about Loss?!

If you don’t know what Loss is I’m not sure I can explain it to you. It’s this old, bad webcomic that was parodied so, so, so many times

that it was reduced to its barest essentials, to the point where any four panels with shapes in this arrangement is a Loss meme. For those of you in the know, you will recognize this anywhere, but have you ever tried to explain to someone who wasn’t in the know why this is really fuckin’ funny?

So, now… by the same process that this is a comics joke,

this is a rape joke.

I’m not gonna show the original image, but, once upon a time, someone made an animated GIF of the character Piccolo from Dragon Ball Z graphically raping Vegeta. 4chan loved it so much that it got posted daily, became known as the “daily dose,” until mods started deleting every incident of it. So they uploaded slightly edited version of it. Then they started uploading other images that had been edited with Piccolo’s color scheme. It got so abstracted that eventually any collection of purple and green pixels would be recognized as Piccolo Dick.

Apropos of nothing, GamerGate is a movement that insists it is not sexist in nature and it does not condone threats of rape against the women they don’t like. And this is their logo. This is their mascot.

If you’re familiar with the Daily Dose, the idea that GamerGate would never support Eron Gjoni if they believed he was a sexual abuser is so blatantly insincere it’s insulting… but imagine trying to explain to someone who’s not on 4chan how this sweater is a rape joke. Imagine having to explain it to a journalist. Imagine having to explain it to the judge enforcing your abuser’s restraining order.

Reactionaries use meme culture not just because they’re terminally online but also because it makes their behavior seem either benign or just confusing to outsiders. They find it hilarious that they can be really explicit and still fly under the radar. The Alt-Right did this with Pepe the Frog, the OK sign, even the milk glass emoji for a hot minute. The more inexplicable the meme, the better. You get the point where Stephen Miller is flashing Nazi signs from the White House and the Presidential re-eletion campaign is releasing 88 ads of exactly 14 words and there’s still a debate about whether the administration is racist. Because journalists aren’t going to get their heads around that. You tell them “1488 is a Nazi number,” it’s gonna seem a lot more plausible that you’re making shit up.

MOVE FAST AND BREAK THINGS

Online movements like GamerGate move at a speed and mutation rate too high for the mainstream world to keep up. And not just that they don’t understand the memes - they don’t understand the infrastructure.

In an attempt to cover GamerGate evenhandedly, George Wiedman of Super Bunnyhop interviewed a lawyer who specializes in journalistic ethics. He meant well; I really wish he hadn’t. You can see him trying to fit something like GamerGate into terms this silver-haired man who works in copyright law can understand. At one point he asks if it’s okay to fund the creative project of a potential journalistic source, to which the guy understandably says “no.”

What he’s alluding to here is the harassment of Jenn Frank. A few weeks into GamerGate, Jenn Frank writes a piece in The Guardian about sexism in tech that mentions Anita Sarkeesian and Zoe Quinn. In another case of “here’s a strongly-held belief I just decided I have,” GamerGate says this is a breach of journalistic ethics because Frank backs Quinn on Patreon. They harass her so intensely she not only has to quit her job at The Guardian, for several months she quits journalism entirely.

Off the bat, calling a public figure central to a major event in the field a “journalistic source” is flatly wrong-headed. Quinn was not interviewed or even contacted for the article, they were in no way a “source”; they were a subject. But I want to talk about this phrase, “fund a creative project.” Patreon is functionally a subscription; it’s a way of buying things. It’s technically accurate that Frank is funding Quinn’s creative project, but only in the sense that you are funding Bob Dylan’s creative project if you listen to his music. And saying Frank therefore can’t write about Quinn is like saying a music journalist can’t cover a Bob Dylan concert if they’ve ever bought his albums.

And we could talk about the ways that Patreon, as compared with other funding models, can create a greater sense of intimacy, and we also could comment that, well, that’s how an increasing number of people consume media now, so that perspective should be present in journalism. But maybe it means we should cover that perspective differently? I don’t know. It’s an interesting subject. But none of that’s going on in this conversation because this guy doesn’t know what Patreon is. It was only a year old at this point. Patreon’s been a primary source of my income for 5 years and my parents still don’t know what it is. (I think they think I’m a freelancer?) This guy hears “funding a creative project” and he’s thinking an investor, someone who makes a profit off the source’s success.

The language of straight society hasn’t caught up with what’s happening, and that works in GamerGate’s favor.

In the years since GamerGate we have dozens of stories of people trying to explain Twitter harassment to a legal system that’s never heard of Twitter. People trying to explain death threats to cops whose only relationship to the internet is checking email, confusedly asking, “Why don’t you just not go online?” Like, yeah, release your text game about depression at GameStop for the PS3 and get it reviewed in the Boston Globe, problem solved.

You see this in the slowness of mainstream journalists to condemn the harassment - hell, even games journalists at first. Because what if it is a legitimate movement? What if the harassers are just a fringe element? What if there was misconduct? The people in a position to stop GamerGate don’t have to be convinced of their legitimacy, they just have to hesitate. They just have to be unsure. Remember how much happened in just the first two weeks, how it took only a month to become unkillable.

It’s the same hesitance that makes mainstream media, online platforms, and law enforcement underestimate The Alt-Right. They’re terrified of condemning a group as white nationalist terrorists because they’re confused, and what if they’re wrong? Or, in most cases, not even afraid they’re wrong, but afraid of the PR disaster if too much of the world thinks they’re wrong.

ACCOUNTABILITY AND CONTROL

A thing I’ve talked about in The Alt-Right Playbook is how these decentralized, ostensibly leaderless movements insulate themselves from responsibility. Harassment is never the movement’s fault because they never told anyone to harass and you can’t prove the harassers are legitimate members of the movement. The Alt-Right does this too - one of their catchphrases is “I disavow.” Since there are no formalized rules for membership, they can redraw boundaries on the fly; they can take credit for any successes and deny responsibility for any wrongdoing. Public membership is granted or revoked based on a person’s moment-to-moment utility.

It’s almost like… they’re cherry-picking.

The flipside of this is a lack of control. Since they never officially tell anyone to do anything but write emails, they have no means of stopping anyone from behaving counterproductively. The harassment of Jenn Frank was the first time GamerGate’s originators thought, “maybe we should ease off just to avoid bad publicity,” and they found they couldn’t. GamerGate had gotten too big, and too many people were clearly there for precisely this reason.

They also couldn’t control the infighting. When your goal is to harass women and you have all these contradictory justifications for why, you end up with a lot of competing beliefs. And, you know what? Angry white men who like harassing people don’t form healthy relationships! Several prominent members of GamerGate - including Internet Aristocrat - got driven out by factionalism; they were doxxed by their own people! Jordan Owen and Davis Aurini parted ways hating each other, with Aurini releasing chatlogs of him gaslighting Owen about accepting an endorsement from Roosh, and they released two competing edits of The Sarkeesian Effect.

I say this because it’s useful to know that these are alliances of convenience. If you know where the sore spots are, you can apply pressure to them.

LEADERS WITHOUT LEADERSHIP

One way movements like GamerGate deflect responsibility is by declaring, “We are a leaderless movement! We have no means to stop harassment.”

Which… any anarchist will tell you collective action is entirely possible without leaders. But they’ll also tell you, absent a system of distributing power equitably, you’re gonna have leaders, just not ones you elected.

A few months into GamerGate, Randi Lee Harper created the ggautoblocker. Here’s what it did: it took five prominent GamerGate figures - Adam Baldwin, Mike Cernovich, Christina Hoff Sommers, Milo Yiannopoulos, and Nick Monroe, formerly known as [sigh] PressFartToContinue - and generated a block list of everyone who followed at least two of them on Twitter. Now, this became something of an arms race; once GamerGate found out about it they made secondary accounts that followed different people, and more and more prominent figures appeared and had to get added to the list. But, when it first launched, the list generated from just these five people comprised an estimated 90-95% of GamerGate.

Hate to break it to you, guys, but if 90+ percent of your movement is following at least two of the same five people, those are your leaders. The attention economy has produced them. Power pools when left on its own.

This is another case where you have to ignore what people claim and look at what they do. The Alt-Right loves to say “we disavow Richard Spencer” and “Andrew Anglin doesn’t speak for us.”

But no matter what they say, pay attention to whom they’re taking cues from.

AD CAMPAIGN

George Lakoff has observed that one way the Left fails in opposition to the Right is that most liberal politicians and campaigners have degrees in things like law and political science, where conservative campaigners more often have degrees in advertising and communications. Liberals and leftists may have a better product to sell, but conservatives know how to sell products.

GamerGate less resembles a boots-on-the-ground political movement than an ad campaign. First they decide what their messaging strategy is going to be. Then the media arm starts publicizing it. They seek out celebrity endorsements. They get their own hashtag and mascot. They donate to charity and literally call it “public relations.” You can even see the move from The Quinnspiracy to GamerGate as a rebranding effort - when one name got too closely associated with harassment, they started insisting GamerGate was an entirely separate movement from The Quinnspiracy. I learned that trick from Stringer Bell’s economics class.

Now, we could stand to learn a thing or two from this. But I also wouldn’t want us to adopt this strategy whole hog; you should view moves like these as red flags. If you’re hesitating to condemn a movement because what if it’s legitimate, take a look at whether they’re selling ideology like it’s Pepsi.

PERCEPTION IS EVERYTHING

One reason to insist you’re a consumer revolt rather than a harassment campaign is most people who want to harass need someone to give them permission, and need someone to tell them it’s normal.

Bob Altemeyer has this survey he uses to study authoritarianism. He divides respondents into people with low, average, and high authoritarian sentiments, and then tells them what the survey has measured and asks, “what score do you think is best to have: low, average, or high?”

People with low authoritarian sentiments say it’s best to be low. People with average authoritarian sentiments also say it’s best to be low. But people with high authoritarian sentiments? They say it’s best to be average. Altemeyer finds, across all his research, that reactionaries want to aggress, but only if it is socially acceptable. They want to know they are the in-group and be told who the out-group is. They don’t particularly care who the out-group is, Altemeyer finds they’ll aggress against any group an authority figure points to, even, if they don’t notice it, a group that contains them. They just have to believe the in-group is the norm.

This is why they have to believe games journalism is corrupt because of a handful of feminist media critics with outsized influence. Legitimate failures of journalism cannot be systemic problems rooted in how digital media is funded and consumed; there cannot be a legitimate market for social justice-y media. It has to be manipulation by the few. Because, if these things are common, then, even if you don’t like them, they’re normal. They’re part of the in-group. Reactionary politics is rebellion against things they dislike getting normalized, because they know, if they are normalized, they will have to accept them. Because the thing they care about most is being normal.

This is why the echo chamber, this is why Fox News, this is why the Far Right insists they are the “silent majority.” This is why they artificially inflate their numbers. This is why they insist facts are “biased.” They have to maintain the image that what are, in material terms, fringe beliefs are, in fact, held by the majority. This is why getting mocked by Stephen Colbert was such a blow to GamerGate. It makes it harder to believe the world at large agrees with them.

This is why, if you’re trying to change the world for the better, it’s pointless to ask their permission. Because, if you change the world around them, they will adapt even faster than you will.

THE ARGUMENT ISN’T SUPPOSED TO END

Casey Explosion has this really great Twitter thread comparing the Alt-Right to Scary Terry from Rick and Morty. His catchphrase is “you can run but you can’t hide, bitch.” And Rick and Morty finally escape him by hiding. And Morty’s all, “but he said we can’t hide,” and Rick is like, “why are we taking his word on this? if we could hide, he certainly wouldn’t tell us.”

The reason to argue with a GamerGater is on the implied agreement that, if you can convince them they’re part of a hate mob, they will leave. But look at the incentives here: they want to be in GamerGate, and you want them not to be. But they’re already in GamerGate. They’re not waiting on the outcome of this argument to participate. They’ve already got what they want; they don’t need to convince you GamerGate isn’t a hate mob.

This is why all their logic and rationalizations are shit, because they don’t need to be good. They’re not trying to win an argument. They’re trying to keep the argument going.

This has been a precept of conservative political strategy for decades. “You haven’t convinced us climate change is real and man-made, you need to do more studies.” They’re not pausing the use of fossil fuels until the results come in. “You haven’t convinced us there are no WMDs in Iraq, you need to collect more evidence.” They’re not suspending the war until you get back to them. “You haven’t convinced us that Reaganomic tax policy causes recessions, let’s just do it for another forty years and see what happens.” And when the proof comes in, they send us out for more, and we keep going.

The biggest indicator you can’t win a debate with a reactionary is they keep telling you you can. The biggest indicator protest and deplatforming works is they keep telling you in plays into their hands. The biggest indicator that you shouldn’t compromise with Republicans is they keep saying doing otherwise is stooping to their level. They’re not going to walk into the room and say, “Hi, my one weakness is reasoned argument, let’s pick a time and place to hash this out.”

And we fall for it because we’re trying to be decent people. Because we want to believe the truth always wins. We want to bargain in good faith, and they are weaponizing our good faith against us. Always dangling the carrot that the reason they’re like this is no one’s given them the right argument not to be. It’s all just a misunderstanding, and, really, it’s on us for not trying hard enough.

But they have no motivation to agree with us. Most of the people asking for debates have staked their careers on disagreeing with us. Conceding any point to the Left could cost them their livelihood.

WHY GAMES?

Let’s close with the big question: why games? And, honestly, the short answer is:

why not games?

Games culture has always presented itself as a hobby for young, white, middle class boys. It’s always been bigger and more diverse than that, but that’s how it was marketed, and that’s who most felt they belonged. As gaming grows bigger, there is suddenly room for those marginal voices that have always been there to make themselves heard. And, as gaming becomes more mainstream, it’s having its first brushes with serious critical analysis.

This makes the people who have long felt gaming was theirs and theirs alone anxious and a little angry. They’ve invested a lot of their identity in it and they don’t want it to change.

And what the Far Right sees in a sizable collection of aggrieved young men is an untapped market. This is why sites like Stormfront and Breitbart flocked to them. These are not liberals they have to convert, these people are, up til now, not politically engaged. The Right can be their first entry to politics.

The world was changing. Nerd properties were exploding into popular culture in tandem with media representation diversifying. And we were living with the first Black President. Any time an out-group looks like it might join the in-group, there is a self-protective backlash from the existing in-group. This had been brewing for a while, and, honestly, if it hadn’t boiled over in games, it would have boiled over somewhere else.

And, in the years since GamerGate, it has. The Far Right has tapped the comics, Star Wars, and sci-fi fandoms; they tried to get in with the furry community but failed spectacularly. They’re all over YouTube and, frankly, the atheist community was already in their pocket. Basically, if you’re in community with a bunch of young white guys who think they own the place, you might wanna have some talks with them sooner than later.

Anyway, if you want to know more about any of this stuff, RationalWiki’s timeline on GamerGate is pretty thorough. You can also watch my or Dan Olson’s videos on the subject. I’ll be putting the audio of this talk on YouTube and will put as many resources as I can in the show notes. The channel, again, is Innuendo Studios.

Sorry this was such a bummer.

Thank you for your time.

#video essay #alt-right playbook #Youtube

380 notes · View notes

jungshookz · 4 years

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miss cee pd i have a request!!!! how about e2l tae x y/n but they're in law school and they're always arguing and debating inside and outside of the classroom and tae being a little shit is like "you wanna kiss me so bad" and they both don't realise that there's mistletoe above them which jimin put because he was tired of watching them constantly argue and wanted to fiZzle the tension hehe and then they KITH,, i hope this isn't too long aha

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; sfw!! enemies to lovers!! everyone’s in law school!! mostly y/n and taehyung bickering with each other and wanting to jump each other’s bones at the same time

➺ wordcount; 4.3k

➺ what to expect; “don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.”

»»————-　❄　————-««

“-now, the particular case study that was assigned to our group involves a civil action for medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter, which means that there are seven elements that we need to hit when we’re acting out our simulation next class,” you explain, flipping to the next page of your notebook with a flick of your wrist, “firstly, the client - jimin - must be interviewed so that we may determine the facts that surround the claim/prosecution. secondly, we need to draft witness statements - from hoseok and namjoon - and assess the legal efficacy of said statements. thirdly, we must assess the propriety of police interrogation from officer jungkook of the defend-”

you pause when a crumpled piece of paper lands by your left foot and you clear your throat quietly before stepping over it and continuing to pace back and forth at the front of the classroom

your eyes skim over your scribbled words as you try to relocate your place

…

ah!

here we are

“-ant, seokjin, through all transcripts along with the custody record. fourthly, we move on to assessing the reports that have been produced by the forensic experts-”

another balled-up piece of paper hits your foot and your head immediately snaps upwards from your book before you twist around to face the room

“would you cut that out, please?” you snap, already feeling your blood pressure starting to rise from a single glance at taehyung’s smug face

“what? i didn’t know how else to get your attention!” he hums, his arm dangling in the air with a floppy wrist, “my arm’s been up for the past three minutes, and you would’ve known that if you didn’t have your nose buried deep in your book.”

the reminder that you wouldn’t last a day in prison keeps you from lunging forward to wrap your hands around taehyung’s neck and you press your lips together to stop yourself from saying anything too crass

the last thing you need is for some professor to walk past the classroom while you’re cussing up a storm

your self-control has really been put to the test ever since you met taehyung

after all this time, you still don’t know what the guy’s deal is

he’s been a pain in your ass since day one

and for what??

for WHAT?!

at first you just thought that being a complete prick was just his weird version of being charismatic, but then you realised that he wasn’t being charming at all and he was really, truly, genuinely being a straight-up asshole

and, for the record, you’ve tried several times in the past to try to make things better but nothing’s worked

you said that he looked nice in his suit = he told you to stop looking at him like a piece of meat

you asked him how he did on the midterm exam = he told you that it was his right to keep that piece of information private and that you were being a snake by even asking about it

you said happy birthday to him = he said, and you quote, “yeah. it was until you got here.”

the point is, you’ve waved many white flags of surrender and extended many, many olive branches to no avail

at this point you’re pretty sure taehyung just gets off on being a jerk to you

and it’s not fair because it’s literally just you that he picks on constantly

at first you thought that maybe he was just threatened by your presence because you made it pretty clear from day one that you weren’t here to play around

powerful women are intimidating!

you totally get it.

…but then you overheard him offering rosé some studying tips and you even saw him help wendy carry her books for her and everyone knows that rosé and wendy are two of the smartest girls in the class, so why wasn’t he threatened by them?

...

the point is, he doesn’t treat anyone else in the class like this except for you and you can’t seem to figure out why!

what makes it even more frustrating is the fact that his stupid face is very nice to look at, so whenever he’s being mean to you, your dumb girl hormones drown out the sound of his rich, honey-like voice and place floating pink hearts around his head instead

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t paying attention to you, mr. kim.” you force out before gesturing to the notebook cradled in the crook of your arm, “see, all my notes are in here and i’m just trying to make sure that i don’t miss out on any details,” you point out, “and… i thought i said to save your questions for the end, did i not?”

“did you? i guess i wasn’t listening. sorry, sweetheart.” taehyung chirps, folding his arms and leaning forward on his desk, “anyway- don’t you think it’s a little unfair that you get to play the hotshot lawyer in this simulation?”

“everyone gets a turn to be the lawyer - last week, it was jungkook. this week, it’s me. everyone gets a shot to play the hotshot lawyer because our roles rotate.” you shake your head in disagreement, “how am i being unfair?”

“you assigned yourself, like, the coolest case study.” taehyung scoffs, leaning back against his seat and crossing his arms, “i mean… medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter?” his left brow arches before he turns his head slightly, “jungkook, what was your case study on again?”

“my client parked in a no-parking zone!” jungkook beams, nodding to himself, “i didn’t mind getting that case, though. it was actually pretty fu-”

“you hear that, y/n?” taehyung turns his head back to face you before gesturing behind him, “jungkook also thinks his case was boring as hell- his client parked in a no-parking zone and you get to deal with corrupt doctors and accidentally-but-not-really-accidentally-run-over-by-a-car pedestrians.”

your jaw clenches in frustration and you resist the urge to take a heel off and bash taehyung’s skull in with it

being forced to wear nice shoes to school would be so much better if you were allowed to commit cold-blooded murder with them

“well, that was last week’s case, so even if jungkook thought it was boring…” you pause, turning to set your notebook down on the front desk before twisting back around, “he’s already had his turn. and now it’s my turn!”

“you could’ve given me this case.”

“oh, please.” you snort, rolling your eyes before leaning against the front desk, “you wouldn’t have been able to handle a case this big. this has my name written all over it.”

taehyung scoffs, rolling his eyes, “the only reason why it has your name written all over it was because you grabbed it with your grubby little raccoon hands before anyone else had the chance to-”

“i-!” you pinch the bridge of your nose before letting out a laugh of disbelief, “oh my god, i refuse to have this conversation with you again, taehyung- for the last time, it was a first-come-first-serve situation, and you probably could’ve gotten this case if you weren’t so busy watching netflix in class-”

“you guys-” namjoon clears his throat, his shoulders drooping when the two of you ignore him, “…never mind.”

this always happens

you guys somehow always find something to argue about no matter what

in fact, namjoon’s convinced that you guys could sit in complete and utter silence and still find something to fight over

“how long do you think the argument will last this time?” yoongi leans over, “i bet you ten bucks it’ll last longer than last week’s fight.”

“no way! last week’s fight was half an hour long-” hoseok chimes in, “…they can’t possibly argue for longer than thirty minutes… can they?”

“remember that time they fought over a sandwich?” jungkook sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist, “that was a forty minute argument.”

“they fought over a sandwich?” jimin frowns, turning to glance towards the front, “what was there to even argue about??”

“y/n said that the spread was dijon mustard and taehyung said it was horseradish mustard,” seokjin purses his lips, “…i actually ordered the same sandwich and i’m pretty sure it was just regular ol’ yellow mustard… but i’m too afraid to tell either of them they’re wrong about it.”

“oh my god-” jimin scoffs, “forty minutes arguing about mustard?? really??”

“yep! i even recorded the whole thing just because it’s actually pretty interesting listening to two people scream about mustard so passionately for so long,” jungkook pulls his phone out of his back pocket, the rest of the boys scooting in closer to his desk, “by the time we finish watching the video, they’ll… probably be done arguing with each other. maybe.”

“-ow thick is your skull, taehyung? were you dropped on your head as a baby??” you scowl, “if i was a teacher’s pet like you say i am, then i would’ve sweet-talked my way out of being in a group with you. also, you know what? i wasn’t going to bring this up, but the only reason why we’re here during christmas break is because it was your idea to practice during the holidays-”

“yeah! you get to practice your big show in a huge, empty classroom without getting nervous about someone overhearing you practice speaking in your dumb, professional lawyer voice-” taehyung gestures around at the spacious atmosphere, “if this is your way of being thankful to me, you have an awfully funny way of showing it-”

“do you know what i could be doing right now if i wasn’t here?” you scowl, placing your hands on your hips as you glare at taehyung

“hm, let me think…” he hums, leaning back against his chair before kicking his legs up onto his desk, “bending over and trying desperately to pull the fat stick out of your ass?”

jimin sits up a little straighter as he peers over the top of namjoon and seokjin’s heads to check and see if you and taehyung are done arguing yet

your ears are turning red and there’s an animalistic, frenzied look behind your eyes, so... nope. definitely not done yet.

after all this time, he still doesn’t know why you guys fight the way that you do

it’s like you enjoy pushing each other’s buttons and irritating each other until one of you inevitably snaps (you’re usually the first one to fall off the rocker because taehyung is alarmingly good at being irritating)

“ooh, hold on-” jungkook grins, pointing to the screen before whacking jimin’s arm in rapid smacks, “my favourite part is coming up, you have to pay attention-”

jimin looks away from you two and back down at the screen

“-the low acidity liquid gives dijon mustard that intensified heat and the classic pungent flavour which is very obvious in this sandwich!” you exclaim, peeling the top slice of bread off to reveal the inside, “and look at that colour! that is literally dijon mustard-”

“okay, fine! it’s dijon mustard.” taehyung responds while inspecting his nail beds

“no, you’re not listening to- wait… did you just agree with me?”

“yeah!” he sighs, crossing his arms, “the mustard used in your sandwich is dijon mustard. and also, the sky is green-”

“oh my god, you piece of-!”

jimin looks up again when he hears your voice rise a couple of octaves

this is the part of the argument when your ‘i’m-fine-don’t-touch-me-I’M-FINE’ voice comes out

“wow! you are-” you laugh, shaking your head as you lean down and place your hands flat on the surface of taehyung’s desk “you really are something else, kim taehyung. i-!”

you let out a yelp of surprise when taehyung suddenly reaches over and yanks at a section of your hair

“ow!” you whack his hand away before flicking your hair over your shoulder, “wha- what the hell was that for?!”

taehyung doesn’t flinch at your aggressive tone and he looks up at you, completely unfazed, before giving a half-hearted shrug

“it was hanging, like, right in front of me. i couldn’t not pull on it.”

“well, your tie is right there but you don’t see me reaching over and pulling on it to strangle you because it’s right in front of me-”

“oh, threatening to choke me, are we?” taehyung hums, “i’m suddenly feeling very unsafe. should i get one of the guys to call campus security for my protection, miss y/n?”

“do you guys think we should break things off?” seokjin glances over his shoulder at the escalating scene, “ideally, i’d like for this to not turn into a how to get away with murder scenario…”

jimin narrows his eyes slightly as the gears click-click-click away in his head, leaning back against his seat and reaching up to tap at his chin

there’s something about this situation that’s reminding him of something but he can’t quite put his finger on it

“oh my god, you are such a child-!”

jimin’s eyes suddenly widen in realization, a lightbulb appearing at the top of his head

does taehyung like y/n?

...

oh, wow

taehyung has a full-blown crush on you!

how could he not have noticed this before?!

taehyung is literally the bratty little boy pulling on your pigtails because he doesn’t know how else to get your attention on this playground!

a comment from a former conversation with you briefly flits through jimin’s mind as he continues staring at the two of you in awe

he doesn’t remember how exactly you guys started talking about it, but he does remember you saying these words to him:

“i mean… yeah. of course i think taehyung’s attractive. maybe in another universe where he’s not bullying me 24/7, i would be more open to admitting to myself that i might have a slight crush- i-i mean, i- what did we say we were going to get for lunch today?? sandwiches?? we should get sandwiches, the place is right here-”

how could he have forgotten you said that to him?!

it’s like he finally has his hands on the missing puzzle piece... and it’s up to him to finish this puzzle!

“i have a plan.” jimin whispers to himself before reaching over to grab onto jungkook’s wrist, “i know what i have to do!”

“huh?” jungkook frowns in confusion, pausing the video before looking over at him, “what are you talking about?”

“just-” jimin gets up from his seat quickly, the chair screeching against the floor, “just make sure they don’t stop arguing with each other while i’m gone because i might take a while to find what i need-”

“you know, i don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” yoongi snorts, everyone looking towards the front to see you glaring at taehyung like you want to rip his heart out of his chest and eat it raw, “check out that throbbing vein in y/n’s forehead.”

“forget about her forehead vein-” jungkook shakes his head, “has no one else noticed how tightly taehyung clenches his asscheeks whenever he’s pissed? those trousers do not hide anything.”

everyone’s eyes immediately gravitate down to taehyung’s ass, hoseok and seokjin bursting into giggles at the sight

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you scream, taehyung’s eyes widening at your sudden outburst, “you’ve treated me like shit from day one and i’ve literally done nothing wrong!”

“okay! i think we should all just take a step back and take a deep breath…” namjoon gets up from his seat slowly, “it’s getting a little intense-“

“nothing wrong?! oh yeah, because you’re little miss perfect-” taehyung spits out, “don’t play dumb, you know exactly what you did!”

“what did i-!” you throw your hands up into the air, “please, i am begging you to tell me what the horrible thing is that i did that made you decide i was public enemy number one-”

“i heard you talking shit about me at the very beginning of the semester when you didn’t even know me! we’d never met and you didn’t even bother trying to get to know me before you formed your own opinion of me based on the way i looked-” taehyung snaps, “you said that i looked like an entitled, obnoxious frat-boy who didn’t even know left from right and only made it to law school because his daddy gave the school a generous donation- so if we’re really going to talk about who the real asshole is in this room, i would suggest re-evaluating-”

you feel the blood drain from your face at the reminder of what you said about taehyung on the first day of class

...oh.

...

okay, yeah, you... might have said that stuff, but it was only because the other people you were sitting with at the time said stuff like that and... and you were so desperate to find a group of cool law-school friends that you were totally willing to say and do anything they wanted you to do or say!

it obviously didn’t work because you don’t sit with them anymore, so...

yeah, it was a bad move to talk shit about taehyung like that without even having spoken one word to him, but if this proves anything... it’s that peer pressure is dangerous!

“well, why didn’t you just-” you stammer, feeling your face starting to heat up from embarrassment, “why didn’t you just tell me about this earlier? we could’ve nipped it right in the bud-”

“i much prefer the bullying because the feeling i get after seeing the defeat in your eyes is equivalent to a full-body orgasm-”

“oh my god, you sick freak-”

“uh, you guys-” namjoon cuts in again, holding his finger up, “can i just s-”

“okay, fine!” you raise your hands in surrender, “i’m sorry, alright? i’m really sorry. what i said about you was shitty, but i don’t see how bullying me for months on end was a good solution-”

“can you two shut u-”

“oh, i never said it was a good solution, y/n,” taehyung purses his lips, “like i said - i just did it because it was fun-”

“guys, if i could just get one word in-”

“do you even realize how psychotic you sound right no-”

“HEY!” namjoon suddenly bellows, you and taehyung jumping and clamming up immediately in alarm

“what??” the two of you ask at the same time, pausing to glare at each other for a split second before looking back over at namjoon

“i…” he trails off, his eyes flickering upwards, “…know this is kind of awkward timing, but…”

you and taehyung look up simultaneously, your eyes widening to see a dinky little shrub of... mistletoe? taped at the end of a meter stick

oh no

oh hell no

“kiss first, and then you can apologise for what was obviously a huge misunderstanding and you can apologise for being a huge prick later - pucker up, lovebirds!” jimin chirps, waving the stick a little and watching your eyes go side to side like a ping-pong ball, “don’t be shy! also, i know the mistletoe looks like a clump of grass that i tied a red ribbon around- just don’t look too closely at it-”

“ha!” you let out a laugh before shaking your head quickly, “no way! i don’t know what you people think is going on here, but it’s certainly not that- you can’t just dangle a plant over my head and force me to kiss him-”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” taehyung scoffs in offence, tilting his head upwards slightly, “anyone would be honoured to be under the mistletoe with me!”

“yeah. anyone out of their mind.”

“aw, c’mon, you guys…” hoseok pushes his bottom lip out in a pout before clasping his hands together, “kiss and make up! we all know that’s how it works. let the christmas spirit take over your bodies and fuel your weird hate-love for each othe-”

“the sooner you two kiss and make out, the sooner i can get the hell out of here,” yoongi interrupts, snapping his fingers, “c’mon! plant a fat one on each other!”

“the only reason why y/n’s getting whiney about it because she knows she’ll fall in love with me the moment she kisses me.” taehyung suddenly speaks up and you immediately look back down at him with a glare

fall in love????

with him????

it’s not going to take a single kiss to fall in love with taehyung - it’s going to take intensive exposure therapy to fall in love with him!

“don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.” you growl, smacking your hands down on taehyung’s desk so violently that it rattles beneath you

“now, now. there’s no need to lie…” taehyung chuckles lightly as he pushes his seat back slightly and rises to his feet

“i’m not lying! i don’t want to kiss you!”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do TOO!”

“do NOT!”

“you know, you just sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t want to kiss me-”

“you’re the one who keeps pushing it-” you jab a finger into his chest, “maybe you’re the one who wants to kiss me!”

“you think i wanna kiss you?!” taehyung laughs, flicking your hand away from him, “now look who the delusional one is!”

“i thought this was supposed to fix the arguing?” seokjin mutters under his breath, jungkook offering him a shrug while keeping his eyes glued on you and taehyung

he was running out of things to watch on netflix and this makes far better entertainment

the only thing that would make this better was if you and taehyung had at it in a grimy boxing ring half-naked

“i can’t be the only one thinking that all of this could be easily fixed if they just boned each other.” jungkook snorts, the other boys turning to look at him, “…what??”

“i wouldn’t kiss you even if you were the last man on earth.” you snarl, your voice wavering slightly

“you really expect me to believe that?” taehyung tilts his head, “don’t think i didn’t catch the way your eyes just flickered down to my lips, y/n...”

you feel your heart starting to pound in your chest when he places his hands flat on the desk as well, the tips of his fingers brushing over yours

at this proximity, the little voice in the back of your head can’t help but point out how pretty taehyung’s eyes are... and how nice he smells... and how soft his lips look...

...do you wanna kiss him?

oh, god

do you wanna kiss kim taehyung?!

no, you don’t

yes, you do

what??

WHAT??

“you wanna kiss me so bad, and you know it, y/l/n.” taehyung taunts, leaning forward just a little more

at this point, your faces are merely an inch away from each other’s and it wouldn’t take much effort to just lean in and… you know.

“i hate you.”

“if you hated me so much, then you wouldn’t be making such a big deal over silly little mistletoe now, would you?” taehyung smirks, pulling away before making his way around the desk so that he can get closer to you, “you like me but you’re too much of a wimp to admit it!”

“i like you?!” you gawk, “more like you like me!”

“okay-” jimin huffs, lowering the stick before taking a step back, “i really thought this was going to work, but my arms are getting tired, so if you two aren’t going to kiss, then i- oh-” his eyes widen in surprise when you and taehyung are suddenly lunging at each other not a second later, your hands cupping his cheeks and his hands gripping your waist as you kiss far more feverishly than he thought you two would

oh my

“see, what’d i say? sexual tension!” jungkook kisses his teeth, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms, “all that pent-up energy from arguing has led to this beautiful moment-”

“you’re an- mm- you’re an awful kisser, by the way-” taehyung mutters against your mouth, lips turning up in a boyish grin when you retaliate by shoving at his chest

“so are you!” you pull away only for taehyung to pull you right back in to press his mouth against yours again, “’m hating ehvery minute of this-”

“ah… isn’t young love sweet?” hoseok coos, jumping in his seat when taehyung suddenly shoves you up against the front desk with a thud, “so passionate!”

“okay, we’re just going to-” namjoon gets up from his seat gesturing for the boys to get up as well, “we’re happy to see that the argument has been settled!”

he hurries everyone to the front door and turns to glance over his shoulder, “when you guys are done, just… let us know! we’re going to pop over to starbucks for some hot chocolate. so... text one of us. or call! or you could use snapchat- it’s up to you, really-!”

namjoon doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi’s yanking his arm and pulling him backwards, reaching over to slam the door shut

a moment of silence goes by in which everyone takes a second to process what exactly just happened

“take your shirt off-”

“you take yours off first!”

“i... can’t tell if my plan was a success or a failure.” jimin mutters to himself, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck

“hey, if it makes you feel any better, at least they aren’t arguing with each other anymore!” jungkook cheers, clapping his hands quietly, “it’s a christmas miracle!”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

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kafka-ish · 4 years

Text

richie tozier gets off a good one | r.t.

“This was not to say Richie could not be very funny from time to time; he could be. When referring to verbal zingers and farts, Richie’s terminology was the same: he called it Getting Off A Good One, and he got off Good Ones of both types frequently...” -- Stephen King

word count: 3.3k

warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut, oral -- male receiving, male x female, mentions of masturbating), fem!reader

a/n: pls enjoy !

It was a cold shower kind of afternoon as the thunder from outside Richie’s bedroom window roared loud enough to be mistaken for a dragon. Dragons don’t exist. Richie, however, ignored the booming sounds of nature from outside—his thoughts lost in a certain someone; and his ears muffled by the pillows encasing him.

y/n was coming over for a study session at two p.m. sharp, per Wentworth’s request, but Richie still had time as his left hand traveled to the zipper of his orange, corduroy trousers. It’s not like Richie knew y/n. This afternoon, this shameful afternoon where if his dad were home right now, he’d be caught with his hand in his pants and a name he’d rather not talk about in between his lips, would be his first time meeting the girl.

Wentworth Tozier was the one to suggest she come over on this grey Sunday afternoon during Thursday’s family dinner when he noticed Richie’s recent report card.

“A C in chemistry?”

“The C stands for Chemistry,” Richie said with a smirk on his face. It didn’t seem to work because Mr. Tozier’s frown didn’t budge, and Maggie Tozier only sipped her coffee which had to be cold by now.

“You know we expect better from you.” He was right. His parents weren’t used to anything other than a line of A’s on the weekly transcript he brought home. Richie wasn’t either. But lately, something had taken a toll on his grades—or someone.

“You know what might help him, dear?” Wentworth looked up from the chicken he was currently cutting through. “A tutor.”

“I do not need a tutor.” Richie dropped his fork which was being used to play with his green beans.

“Your grades say otherwise, kid,” Wentworth countered. “You know, Maggie, I think that’s a good idea.”

“Not you too, Dad!” Richie cried out, exasperated at the scene playing out in front of him.

Ignoring his son, Wentworth continued, “In fact, I think my buddy back from Catholic school has a kid who could tutor him.” He took a bite. “Last I heard, she was fairly good at the sciences.”

“You should think about calling them after dinner,” Maggie said without looking up. Which was how Richie ended up with only an hour left to get himself off rather than the rest of the day.

Although his hand was no match for any of his previous hookups, it was faster, and it got the job done. He was just about to finish when the doorbell rang and a knock on his door startled him from his position and kept him from finishing.

“Coming!” Richie yelled; certain that the outsider wasn’t going to hear him. He stood up from his position on his bed, pulled up the trousers that hung from his ankles and trekked his way downstairs. His feet made a thumping sound as they padded their way down the stairs—roughly at that. He was surprised the house didn’t shake at his footsteps. “We don’t want your Girl Scout cookies,” Richie said, half annoyed that his session was cut early.

“I’m not a Girl Scout.” y/n held open the door with her hand before Richie could close it. She wore a white button down that was haphazardly tucked into a blue-green, plaid skirt. Her already see-through blouse was even more see-through, as the rain from standing outside for so long had drenched it from the outside in.

“Oh.” Richie didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t order a pizza, either.”

“I didn’t bring you a pizza, either.” y/n was growing just about as annoyed as he was. “Can I just come in?”

“I don’t know about that one, toots.” Richie made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Pops said I’m not allowed to let strangers in.”

“Richie, please, just let me in,” y/n seethed. She didn’t have time for his bullshit and quite frankly, he didn’t either. If Richie let his grades take another blow to the one-inch margin, his C would threaten to turn into a D. “Your dad called mine on Thursday… I’m here to… tutor… you.”

Richie noticed how her voice had lowered and he could tell she was just as ecstatic as him for their study session. Wordlessly, he stepped away from the front door, allowing y/n some space to walk in. His eyes inadvertently glued themselves to her backside, watching as her skirt’s pleats swayed against her hips and the rain’s water trail against her long legs; a sight he’d swallow at and feel himself grow semi-hard to.

If all the girls at Catholic school looked like y/n, he might just have to transfer because just one glance at her made Richie forget all about the reason for his tragic C that stood for Chemistry.

“Where are we studying?” y/n asked. Her eyes darted around the place like it was foreign. It was foreign. Her hands clutched the book bag she held onto tighter, anxious by the new atmosphere.

“Is my room okay?” Richie asked, already starting up the stairs. His tone had gone soft, like when you microwave butter. He almost felt bad for protesting against the idea of being tutored just a few short days ago.

“Yeah.” y/n followed him, making sure to leave an appropriate amount of space between the two bodies.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Richie said, not trying to cover up the obviousness in his voice; that he was obviously looking at her covered chest each second she spent turned away from him; that he had an obvious hard-on that he hadn’t bother to conceal under his ridiculous corduroy pants.

“No,” y/n said with a bit of uncertainty. Sure, she was soaking wet from her hair to her toes, but she wasn’t about to borrow one of Richie Tozier’s ridiculous band-tees that would wear like a dress.

“What’s with the get-up, anyway?” Richie smirked. Before he sat down, he pulled out an extra seat for her. Usually, it would be used to discard his dirty clothes on. Luckily, Maggie Tozier had taken the liberty of cleaning up before their guest got here.

“Laundry day,” y/n sighed while sitting down her bag next to her. She brushed out her skirt as she sat down so it’d cover as much of her bare legs as fabric would sparingly allow. Her skirt was drenched, and she was sure it would leave the chair just the same as if she stood up any time soon.

“Don’t have to wear that thing tomorrow?” Richie couldn’t help but think about all the other girls who’d be wearing the same outfit on Monday. Of course, their blouses wouldn’t be overly exposing, but their legs would still be bare and long—longing for Richie’s stare if you catch a drift.

“Aren’t you failing something?” y/n snapped back.

Richie swallowed the rest of the words lingering in the back of his throat.

“I was thinking we start with the basics.” y/n bent down, searching for the green folder she had marked ‘Science’ in thick, permanent ink. Richie couldn’t help but steal another look at her figure—outlined by the white shirt that clung to it.

“Basics?” His voice cracked, but he was too caught up in her to care.

“Well, what do you need help with?”

“Nothing.” Richie scoffed, not letting some girl he barely knew deflate his ego.

“Then why am I here?” She countered. Her eyebrow raised, unimpressed, and her fingers started to drum anxiously against the wood of his desk.

“Right now, we’re going over stoichiometry,” Richie shrugged, not bothering to meet her eyes—her bright, keen eyes he’d find himself lost in if he weren’t careful. “It’s not the math part I need help on it’s the—”

“Concentration.”

“Yeah.” Richie let out a heavy sigh. He already knew what y/n looked like—beautiful, while water droplets kissed her neck that he itched to touch. It wouldn’t hurt to steal yet another glance, he thought, while turning towards her. “It’s like I can’t focus,” he said, finally making eye contact.

“And you need help with that?” She questioned. The familiar feeling of anticipation welled in the back of her throat but there was no telling why.

“I guess.” Richie’s eyes left hers to stare at the wall. The view was less impressive, but it let him form a cohesive thought.

“I think I know a way.” y/n’s demeanor had completely changed by now. Richie was about to mutter out a how or what the hell are you talking about but the words in his mind scrambled together like the eggs his mother made that morning when he felt her hand travel down to his knee.

y/n’s touch was light and delicate—almost nothing as it grazed against the fabric of his jeans. But it was there. He felt it, and if he didn’t, his imagination must’ve been pretty goddamn realistic for running at a hundred hertz a minute. Her thumb ran circles against the corded pattern making his breath hitch.

“Uh, what’cha doin’?” Richie’s eyebrow rose at the hand on his pants which was making its way to the zipper.

“Helping,” she insisted, “if you’re having trouble focusing, you’re probably stressed, right?” Richie could only nod. “So, this will help you unstress.” He gasped at the sound and sight of y/n undoing his zipper. His eyes widened and she found herself smiling at his movements from such little touch already.

Richie was quick to roll his jeans, and the underwear underneath, to his ankles. His eager length stood hard and erect against his stomach and if it weren’t for his lack of social awareness, he’d be embarrassed to be seen bare in front of a girl he just met.

y/n’s right hand—timid but daring—wrapped itself around the base of his cock, eliciting a groan from Richie’s now parted and perfectly pink lips.

Surprise wouldn’t even begin to describe the swirl of emotions that found themselves in the pit of Richie’s stomach and began to bubble in his throat—another groan. Though, as surprised as Richie was, he couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of pleasure and yearning for more as he harshly swallowed at the feeling of friction and tightness y/n managed to spring upon him in one firm jerk.

She was on her knees now, the feeling of hardwood against bare skin didn’t seem to faze her. All her attention was on Richie. The sound of unsteady breaths from above had y/n’s cheeks flushed and panties in a heat. The only cohesive thought in her mind was wanting to hear those pretty little noises coming from Richie’s pretty little mouth again.

y/n didn’t need a mirror to know her pupils were blown, the sight before her that she couldn’t quite look away from and the uncomfortable feeling between her legs was enough, letting her realize what she was doing. What was she doing? Her grip on his length loosened as she moved her hand up and down, allowing for enough space for her mouth when she connected her lips to his dick.

“God. You feel great, toots.” It only took a few motions for Richie to already come lax at the feeling of y/n’s mouth. He wished it were another part.

y/n chuckled to herself. Having this much power over a boy made her feel… confident. No guy at her school would give her the time of day, it seemed—not even Jeremy Fields. But Richie Tozier… Richie Tozier was practically falling apart at the sight of her and y/n loved that. Richie felt her pace around him speed up and y/n felt herself grinding on her palm to meet his same high. The sight of her alone was enough to have Richie on edge.

“Sugar, if you don’t stop I’m gonna—” His heavy pants were enough to cut him off, but y/n took her chance to interrupt further.

“—You’ll what?” She pulled apart from him, a string of saliva connecting them. Richie almost whimpered at the warm feeling of her mouth provided—gone.

“I’m gonna bust before I can take care of you,” he admitted somewhat bashfully. His face was red, and y/n couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the fact that he had been worked up.

“Oh.” Back at her shy state, y/n ducked her head and felt her cheeks heat in a similar fashion to his. “Well, in that case…” y/n didn’t have to finish her sentence for Richie to get a grasp on what she was saying. She began to undo the buttons of the thin, white button up at an unbearably slow pace. She managed to peel the wet material that stuck to her skin gracefully even though she’d been itching to take it off as soon as she put it on.

“Wow.”

“Shut up,” y/n mumbled mindlessly, not daring to make eye contact. Part of her was embarrassed enough at the fact that she was on her knees for the boy she was supposed to teaching qualitative chemical reactions to. Her skirt was next to come off. The plaid fabric fell helplessly fell to the ground as soon as she unzipped it.

“I’m serious. You’re like… hot stuff, hot stuff,” Richie said as soon as she stood up, giving him a perfect view. Her underwear was a scalding red with embroidered flowers that decorated the side of her breasts and hipbone. The matching set was far from innocent, far from what Richie would imagine Catholic school girls to wear.

y/n didn’t say anything—her stomach too full of butterflies and a lump still caught in her throat. Richie could sense her nervousness and pulled her into him. To think, a girl he had met only thirty minutes ago was now engulfed in his arms and half-bare for him.

The rough pad of his thumb drew circles on her shoulder. The slow, sensual movements against her skin was electric and had the two riled up even more as Richie slotted his thigh in between hers for her to buck up against. The feeling of her clothed clit on lace as she dragged herself back and forth on his leg at an uneven pace was indescribable.

“Fuck.” It wasn’t unexpected that Richie broke the silence and occasional gasps. “You’re soaked… so… fuckin’ soaked.” He could feel the wetness from her panties that dripped onto his bare leg and he groaned at the thought that it was because of him.

y/n giggled but the sound of her breathy laughs in his ears didn’t last long as she pressed into him further and latched her lips onto his. It was like no other kiss he’s had before. As for y/n, she’d be ashamed to say it was her first kiss. That is, her first kiss where she felt something.

y/n swallowed the moan from Richie as their lips still locked and their tongues swept over each other.

“You’re like—”

“You are, too,” y/n breathed quickly, not bothering to hear the rest of the words. Her attention was now focused on him—or the lack of him inside her. She grabbed his throbbing length once again, taking barely any time to admire it. “Do you have any?”

“Yeah.” Richie swallowed. He opened the top left drawer of his desk, revealing a box of Trojans which he quickly took a foil packet from.

It was weird. Although y/n knew this was just a one time thing she couldn’t help but feel jealous as the small hairs on her neck stood to attention.

Effortlessly, Richie tore open the foil and slid on the condom. “Ready?”

y/n nodded and bit down on her cheek as she sunk down on him. Patiently, Richie waited for her to adjust to his size and a sign for him to move.

A quick kiss to his lips was it. It was different from the first. Swift, sweet, teasing. Richie wanted more. He wanted more as he thrust up into her and he wanted more as he felt y/n’s fingertips dig into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.

“Unfair that you have more clothes on,” y/n managed to speak through a whine. To which Richie opened his eyes and through hazy lids and lust-blown pupils he saw her panties that were pulled to the side as his dick met her entrance and the bra strap that was making its way down her arm.

Richie stifled a chuckle. “You want this off?” He gestured to the graphic tee that was basically draped over his slim figure.

“God, yes. Take a hint much?” She tugged weakly on the sleeve of his shirt and he pulled away for a second so he could remove it, revealing his smooth chest and delicious collarbone.

Another whine left y/n’s lips as he pulled her in closer again. His speed picked up as he bottoms out, reaching a spot no guy has ever found before. Her left hand his in his hair, gripping at his long locks that only a Rockstar would dare wear and her right hand is clutching his cheek—his freckle-sprayed cheek that relaxes under her soft hands and delicate fingers.

Richie’s hands, however, are in a much more intimate place he realizes as he moans yet again, this time at the feeling of his roots being pulled on. One is on her ass, keeping her from falling off, though it might be impossible seeing as how close the two are. The other is playing with her folds, using the same circular motions from earlier to coax her closer.

“You feel so good,” Richie says as his eyes roll back to his head. “Fuck.”

y/n hums. Her lips can’t help but curl into a smile once the words reach her ears. “I’m close,” she whispers and Richie nods in agreement.

It’s dirty and the total opposite of what Richie would expect from the girl who walked in his door a short hour ago, but they reach their highs together, while the filthiest noise Richie’s ever heard leaves y/n’s swollen lips. He watches her as she cums. Her hair is moussed and sweat shines across her furrowed brows. But Richie Tozier swears he hasn’t seen a prettier sight.

“Fuck, doll,” Richie says in amazement.

y/n’s still smiling as she opens her eyes, but she can’t help but be embarrassed at the same time.

“What?” The question is small, but there’s a certain weight on her shoulders that Richie notices.

“You’re hot.” He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and y/n wants to smack him right then and there. But she doesn’t. She only smiles back, quickly removes herself from him, and redresses herself with the same pace. Her shirt is only slightly less damp and slightly less uncomfortable, but it’ll do. y/n supposes she could just change into her pajamas once she got home. “What, don’t tell me our session’s over already,” Richie tries to joke.

“Sorry,” y/n sighs. Her backpack is already slung over her shoulder, she didn’t even need to ask Richie for help with her stuff.

“Hey, is this because…” Richie’s large palm finds a home on y/n’s shoulder which she tenses up at.

“No!” y/n’s barely able to choke it out. “But the session was, like, supposed to be an hour, you know? And I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” She’s back to her nervous self again.

“God.” Richie realizes what this is about now. “You’re not overstaying anything, toots. You can stay for dinner if you’d like,” he offers. “Hell, stay forever.”

y/n resists the urge to roll her eyes and opts for the dead skin on her lip instead. “I really have to go. Sorry, Rich.”

The last he sees is her half-smile from her all perfect lips before she slips out the door and into the rain again.

#richie tozier #richie tozier fanfiction #richie tozier imagine #richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier x reader smut #richie tozier x reader fluff #it stephen king #it 2017 #it 2019 #sorry i'm bad at writing smut

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years

Text

Following the Thread Transcript

AKA all the "canon" there is of Aiden. Google doc to save for easy reference is here. Providing this is entirely selfish of me, please use it and write some lambden <3

EXT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

GERALT approaches a GUARD standing outside of a door.

GUARD: Don’t like folk wandering around here.

GERALT: Oh yeah? Well, got a beast you need someone to get rid of? I’m here about the notice.

GUARD: Ah, supervisor Lund posted it. Yeah, a beast haunts the outskirts, murdering folk. Got ‘em scared to leave their homes after dark.

GERALT: I’d like to talk to this supervisor.

GUARD: Too bad he don’t receive petitioners.

GERALT: So what’s he do, exactly?

GUARD: Delivery relief on behalf of the city council—flour and groats for the paupers. Meaning, he don’t do it personally. He’s got men for that. He, himself, he, uh. (GESTURES BROADLY)

GERALT: Supervises.

GUARD: Exactly!

GERALT: I aim to hunt down this monster.

GUARD: Best hurry, then. Some other bloke’s already after it.

GERALT: Who took the contract?

GUARD: Didn’t see the man. Was just told some brave fool’d turned up.

GERALT: When’d you find the last victim?

GUARD: Just last night. Hubert, a beggar, but a decent man. I’d let him sleep in the shed from time to time—that one, on the right. Eustace hasn’t come for the corpse yet. It’s lying in there, where I found it.

GERALT: Any eyewitnesses to these attacks?

GUARD: No, just the bodies. Beast appears only at night, chooses isolated victims.

GERALT: Thanks. So long.

Geralt goes to the shed and examines it, finding a puddle of blood that’s not human, and Hubert’s body, which is drained of blood. There’s ekimmara tracks in the shed that Geralt follows along the river’s edge, until they disappear at a dock. Geralt swims across the river and finds the tracks again, leading him to another building. Geralt notes that’s there’s rat corpses outside that have been drained of blood.

INT. DARK HOUSE

There’s the sounds of combat upstairs, blade clashing, an ekimmara screeching, and a whoosh from aard. Geralt rushes up the stairs to see LAMBERT fighting the monster. They kill it together.

GERALT: Greetings, Lambert.

LAMBERT: Damn, it’s good to see you, Wolf.

GERALT: Decide to do some hunting in Novigrad? Far as I remember, you never liked this city.

LAMBERT: Still don’t. Thing is, got a certain matter to take care of.

GERALT: What have you been up to? Any luck on the path?

LAMBERT: A lot, in fact. Quite the takings in Lan Exeter. Was asked to hunt down a giant, who turned out to be a forest troll and some bandits.

GERALT: Bandits?

LAMBERT: (SHRUGS) Came as a package with the troll.

GERALT: The matter you mentioned, anything I can help with?

LAMBERT: Hmm. Maybe. But we’ll talk about that later. Got our reward to collect. I’m kinda in a hurry. Let’s say you’ve earned half, what the hell.

EXT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

Geralt and Lambert approach the guard from earlier.

GUARD: So?

LAMBERT: What do you think? We did what we had to do. Time to pay up.

GUARD: Wait here, I’ll go see the supervisor, get your reward.

LAMBERT: Do that ourselves. No reason you should leave your post.

Geralt gives Lambert a sideways glance.

GUARD: Hmm, can’t argue with that logic. Go on in.

EXT SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING, COURTYARD

Lambert and Geralt approach SUPERVISOR LUND in an outdoor space. There’s three guards milling around.

LAMBERT: We dealt with the monster at the docks. Here for our reward.

LUND: Witchers? Since when do you travel in pairs?

LAMBERT: Lots of dangers for a lone witcher. Bandits, for example.

LUND: I’d advise you to change your tone.

LAMBERT: Where’s Jad Karadin? Talk!

GERALT: Who?

LAMBERT: Trust me, Geralt. This is important. There’s something I gotta know.

LUND: I do not know any Karadin. Take your coin for the before and bugger off before I lose my temper!

LAMBERT: (YELLING) Where’s Jad Karadin? Asking you for the last time!

LUND: Guards, to the dungeon with them!

Lund runs out of the courtyard, and Lambert chases after him, leaving Geralt to fight the three guards.

INT. SUPERVISOR’S BUILDING

Geralt walks inside to find Lund cowering from Lambert.

LAMBERT: This guy’s more trouble than the ekimmara.

LUND: Karadin’s disappeared. I swear! The others, too! I only know of Vienne.

LAMBERT: What about Vienne?

LUND: She drinks at the Seven Cats. There day and night.

LAMBERT: See? You can be helpful.

Lambert unsheathes his sword and stabs Lund in the gut while Geralt watches. Lund collapses to the floor. Lambert turns to look at Geralt in challenge.

GERALT: That was murder. Was that really necessary?

LAMBERT: Yes.

Geralt shakes his head.

LAMBERT (cont.): More guardsmen’ll show soon. Let’s go. Meet me at the Seven Cats. Tell you everything there.

GERALT: The tavern Vienne frequents?

LAMBERT: Yeah. See you later.

EXT. SEVEN CATS INN

Lambert is leaning against a rock when Geralt approaches him.

GERALT: All right. High time you explained some things. Why’d you kill Lund? What’s this all about?

LAMBERT: Want the short version or the long one?

GERALT: Lemme hear the whole thing.

LAMBERT: Had a friend. Aiden was his name.

GERALT: You? Had a friend?

LAMBERT: Oh, hi-fuckin’-larious. I met him soon after I'd accepted a contract to lift the curse from the Ogre of Ellander. Aiden had been hired to kill it. He was a witcher from the school of the cat.

GERALT: Far as I remember, the ogre was killed in the end.

LAMBERT: Yeah, after it gutted my employer, we really didn’t have a choice. I cut a deal with Aiden. We joined forces, split the reward for killing the ogre between us. After that, we worked together a lot. Hands down the best man I’d ever met. I mean, I like you, you know that. Still, no comparison.

GERALT: What happened to him?

LAMBERT: Some time ago, Aiden took on a contract to lift a curse off a duke’s daughter. It was a political mess from the start. Then there was the hatred for the school of the cat to deal with.

GERALT: They worked hard to deserve that hate. Basically hired assassins.

LAMBERT: (SNAPS) Aiden wasn’t like that. (PAUSES, LOOKS AWAY) Anyway, some of the duke’s courtier’s had designs. Weren’t all keen on the curse being lifted from the duke’s first born. So, a band of trained assassins ambushed Aiden, murdered him. Our dear supervisor was one of them.

GERALT: And Jad Karadin?

LAMBERT: The assassins’ leader. And the one to deal the mortal blow.

GERALT: Sorry about your friend.

LAMBERT: Don’t need your sympathy, just your help. (PUSHES OFF ROCK HE WAS LEANING ON TO STRAIGHTEN) We have to talk to Vienne. Must’ve had enough to drink by now. Let’s go.

INT. SEVEN CATS INN

Geralt and Lambert approach VIENNE, a lithe elvish woman wearing a deep cut purple blouse with her dark hair in a braid. She has a drinking glass in front of her where she sits alone at a table.

GERALT: Vienne?

VIENNE: What do you want?

LAMBERT: We wanna see Jad Karadin.

VIENNE: (LAUGHS) Now why would I help you?

GERALT: It’s really important to my friend here.

VIENNE: And what will I get out of it?

LAMBERT: Pay for your beer, for starters. Then we’ll see how valuable your information is.

VIENNE: (CONSIDERS, TAKES DRINK) I was part of Karadin’s band, but… When was that? I don’t know where to find him; I’ve fallen out with the lot.

Geralt sits at her table.

VIENNE (cont.): Besides, he’s no longer chummy with his old mates. Word around town is he’s changed.

Lambert sits down, also, now.

GERALT: Karadin’s changed? What do you mean?

VIENNE: He’s dropped all his old connections, stopped taking on petty killings. He’s hidden himself away in some hole. Must be planning something big.

GERALT: Who else was in Karadin’s band?

VIENNE: Aside from me? Selyse, Hammond, and Lund. But they’ve scattered all over the world. Selyse went to Tretogor, Hammond to Skellige, and Lund—

LAMBERT: Lund’s dead.

VIENNE: (CACKLES) Finally met his match. Well, you’ve only Hammond or Selyse to talk to, then.

GERALT: What about you? What’s your story?

VIENNE: Scoia'tael was decimated, so I joined Karadin. They never treated me as an equal. No. I could hit a sparrow from a hundred paces, but I was never good enough for Karadin. He always preferred that cunt Selyse…

LAMBERT: You have a hand in the murder of the witcher Aiden?

VIENNE: Perhaps. I don’t remember.

GERALT: We need information about Hammond.

VIENNE: Karadin’s right hand man, once. When the band broke up, he went back to Faroe whence he had come. He’s a pirate, now. Even the jarls treat him with respect.

GERALT: This Selyse, where can we find her?

VIENNE: She’s done well for herself. Runs a brothel in tretogor, the kind rich men frequent. Whores suck information out of them, then she sells it.

LAMBERT: Name of this brothel?

VIENNE: The Black Lily. Selyse always did have horrible taste.

GERALT: (TO LAMBERT) Satisfied?

Geralt and Lambert both stand.

LAMBERT: She doesn’t know anything. We need to talk to Hammond and Selyse.

VIENNE: Don’t go looking for Karadin. If he senses you nipping at his heels, he’ll kill you without batting an eye.

LAMBERT: We’ll see. As for you…

OPTION ONE

GERALT: No, Lambert.

LAMBERT: Right, better to leave her like this.

VIENNE: What about my coin?

Geralt and Lambert exit the inn.

VIENNE (cont.): Arseholes.

OPTION TWO

GERALT: Do whatever you think is right, Lambert. Not here to preach morals.

VIENNE: (LAUGHS) “Do what you think is right?” Only one thing worse than cold blooded murder—hypocrisy. Informers, racists, snitches!

VAREN: Vienne, bloody hell. What is it?

VIENNE: They’ve come for me, Varen! I told you someone would, sooner or later!

VAREN: (IN ELDER) Don’t be afraid.

GERALT: Shit.

A fight breaks out in the inn and ends with Vienne dead.

EXT. SEVEN CATS INN—NIGHT

LAMBERT: You’ve gotta help me, Geralt. Best thing will be to split up. You sail to Skellige, try to squeeze something out of Hammond. I’ll go to Tretegor and try to get something out of Selyse.

GERALT: Lambert, let’s talk about this.

LAMBERT: Let’s not. This is one of those situations, serious situations, where you don’t ask unnecessary questions and just help your friend.

GERALT: Where’ll we meet once I’m back?

LAMBERT: At the Nowhere Inn.

GERALT: All right, I’m off. Good luck.

They both nod to each other, and the scene fades to black as Lambert walks away.

EXT. PIRATE’S SETTLEMENT, SKELLIGE

Geralt approaches two men standing guard outside of the settlement he’d been pointed to in order to find Hammond.

GUARD: Whaddya want?

GERALT: I’m looking for Hammond.

GUARD: What for?

GERALT: Business.

GUARD: He prays at the chapel on the hill this time of day. If it’s slaves you’re looking to buy, you’ll have to wait ‘til he’s done.

GERALT: He’s praying? Wouldn’t have thought him a god fearing man.

GUARD: Hmm. Yet it’s not something that would surprise any man who knows him.

GUARD TWO: Another snoop! You know the drill!

A fight breaks out with all of the pirates. After Geralt defeats them, he travels across the island.

EXT. HAMMOND’S SHRINE

Geralt walks into the shrine, and it’s an outdoor space with wide, curved beams driven into the ground that create a circle. Hammond is in the middle of the area in front of a pile of weaponry and shields. Hammond is shirtless and wearing a green tartan kilt with a wide leather belt. His hair is in a ponytail, and a leather strap encircles his left bicep. There’s a brown arm guard on the same arm, and there’s a gold band wrapped around his right bicep. There’s a large war hammer strapped to his back.

HAMMOND: Gods of the sea, I’ve never begrudge ye no gifts. Grant me another victory, so I can make an offering of me loot. (STANDS AND NOTICES GERALT) Fuck, what now?

GERALT: Heard you were in Karadin’s band.

HAMMOND: Fuckin’ say what you want. C’mon, spit it out, you arse lickin’ bastard!

GERALT: I’m looking for Jad Karadin.

HAMMOND: And just who the hell’re you?

GERALT: A friend of a friend. I’m looking for Karasin, thought maybe we could make some sort of deal.

HAMMOND: What, our business rubbing some Novigrad pricks the wrong way? Ploughin’ guild! (TO HIS GUARDS) Come on, what are you waiting for? Kill the fucker!

A fight breaks out and Geralt kills Hammond and his three guards. After, Geralt searches Hammond’s body and retrieves a letter on elegant stationary.

Hammond,

Thought I made it clear during our last face to face talk. I don’t want to keep in touch and I especially don’t want to do any business with you. I’ve no doubt the enterprise you proposed would be profitable. Nevertheless, to speak colloquially, count me out.

There are plenty of other potential buyers in Novigrad: goldsmiths, jewelers, and merchants dealing in luxury goods, for starters.

I don’t want to get involved.

Whatever you decide, I will wish you well in it. Treat this letter as our final farewell.

Karadin

INT. NOWHERE INN

Geralt approaches Lambert. Lambert is sitting at a table scattered with gwent cards and with a tankard in front of him.

LAMBERT: What the hell took you?

GERALT: Pretty likely Karadin lives in Novigrad. And he never severed ties with Hammond. They’re actually in business together.

LAMBERT: Mm. Learned something, too. He trades in, uh, live goods on the sly. Owns a ship called the Pearl of the Coast. Runs between here and Skellige. Changed his name, too, to Roland Treugger, who officially is a respected Novigrad trader and philanthropist. Has a residence in Gildorf.

GERALT: Anything on Selyse?

LAMBERT: Hmm. Well, didn’t have you there to stand up for her.

GERALT: All right, let’s pay Karadin a visit.

EXT. KARADIN’S HOUSE

Lambert and Geralt stand in a stone alleyway, looking at several guards.

LAMBERT: Think I know how to get in. Got a plan.

GERALT: If your plan doesn’t include dealing with an escort of guardsmen, best revise it.

The guards approach Lambert and Geralt.

GERALT (cont.): Calm, now. Let them start it.

GUARD: You’re expected. Come in.

Lambert and Geralt share a glance, and the scene fades to black.

EXT. KARADIN’S BACKYARD

There’s a child in a blue smock, who points at Lambert and Geralt and runs to Karadin. Karadin has yellow slitted eyes, dressed nicely, and there’s a sword at his hip.

KARADIN: Make yourselves at home.

GERALT: (TO LAMBERT) He’s a witcher.

KARADIN: Very true. Let me introduce my wife, Laetitia, and my two little tots. (GESTURES TO A WOMAN AND TWO CHILDREN SITTING IN THE GRASS) You know who I am, and I’ve heard of you. You’ve been asking questions about me. That always draws my attention.

GERALT: What school’d you come out of?

KARADIN: That of the cat. So few of us left.

Lambert sneers.

GERALT: Witchers can’t have children.

KARADIN: But they can have wards. Or take in a woman along with her children, embrace them as their own.

GERALT: I could understand a witcher becoming a hired assassin, but a merchant?

KARADIN: Why ever not? Not one among us doesn’t dream of changing our life. I simply did not stop at dreaming. They say no witcher has ever died in his bed. I aim to be the first.

LAMBERT: Remains to be seen.

GERALT: My friend needs to talk to you.

KARADIN: (TO GUARDS) Lads, take the children and Laetitia and leave us. Our guests wish to speak with me.

His family leaves.

KARADIN (cont.): I’m all ears.

LAMBERT: Talk to him, Geralt. If I do, first word he says to me, I’ll lose it and throttle the fucker.

GERALT: Nice place you got.

KARADIN: As it turned out, I’ve a flair for enterprise. Now I’ve coin enough to provide my family with the finer things in life.

LAMBERT: With some left over for philanthropy.

KARADIN: Miss Marabella’s institute does not scorn small donations. Neither does the city's Widow and Orphan Relief Fund, amongst others.

GERALT: Your wife know who you were?

KARADIN: We are thoroughly honest with each other, harbor no secrets. She prays for me each day. You know what? I think it’s working.

LAMBERT: Fucking hell.

GERALT: Relax, Lambert.

KARADIN: I confessed all just before we pledged to marry one another. Began a new life that day, with a clean slate.

GERALT: Remember Aiden? A witcher. Murdered in Ellander. Guessing the killers were paid well.

KARADIN: I remember him as I remember all the others—with the deepest regret. Yet Aiden was different, in a way. Contrary to rumor, we did not set out to kill him. We were forcced to, when he attacked us.

GERALT: What’s your version of this story?

KARADIN: Aiden had accepted a contract to lift a curse from the duke’s daughter. He took the coin, bungled the job, then left once the girl passed on.

LAMBERT: You lie!

KARADIN: We were not to kill him. We were debt collectors. He’d spent the coin already, so we demanded his swords. When he refused, tempers flared. Vienne, positioned as sniper, lost her nerve, hit Aiden square in the eye.

Lambert looks down. Geralt glances over at him.

KARADIN (cont.): Later, she devised her own version of the story. To silence her guilt, I expect.

GERALT: I’ve heard enough.

KARADIN: What now?

OPTION ONE

GERALT: You’ve changed. You have.

KARADIN: Forgiveness. It’s my sole aim now.

LAMBERT: You’re buying this bullshit? Bastard’s lying his ass off!

OPTION TWO

GERALT: You know what, Karadin? Your remorse—it’s feigned. Completely dishonest. You put on a good show, but I just don’t believe you.

LAMBERT: Don’t even know why we bothered with this chat. We came here to kill you.

OPTION THREE

GERALT: Maybe you’ve changed, maybe not. To me and Lambert, it doesn’t matter.

LAMBERT: You killed Aiden. Fuck your new life. I don’t believe in giving second chances.

OPTION ONE

GERALT: Do what you want, Lambert. Your friend, your vengeance.

LAMBERT: Been waiting a long time for this.

KARADIN: (UNSHEATHES SWORD) And I don’t aim to die.

A fight breaks out, ending in Karadin dead.

LAMBERT: Thanks for your help, Geralt.

GERALT: You’re welcome.

LAMBERT: Wanna talk about it?

GERALT: No.

LAMBERT: See you later. Some day.

GERALT: So long, Lambert.

OPTION TWO

GERALT: Leave him. Let’s go.

LAMBERT: What? Are you fuckin’ nuts?

GERALT: Lambert, this is one of those situations where you have to realize you’re pissed as hell, rein it in, and trust your cool headed friend. Let’s go.

LAMBERT: For fuck’s sake, Geralt. Don’t know that I’ll be able to forgive you.

GERALT: I said let’s go. You can always come back.

Lambert storms off.

KARADIN: Thank you.

Geralt sighs and walks away.

EXT. KARADIN’S HOUSE

LAMBERT: Explain yourself.

GERALT: Don’t intend to. Just felt Karadin didn’t deserve to be murdered in cold blood. If you feel otherwise, you can always go back. Without me.

LAMBERT: I feel like beating the shit out of you. See you later. Some day.

GERALT: So long, Lambert.

#the witcher #the witcher 3 #aiden #lambert #lambden #following the thread #reference #contemplative writing

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dontcallmecarrie · 3 years

Text

No Hero [And Not Made Of Stone]

...I’ve got nothing. Not even sure where the idea came from, but as per usual, the moment my brain had an idea it immediately took it by both hands and ran with it so here you go. Name for this AU might change, but for now here have another song lyric [from Five Finger Death Punch’s “Wrong Side of Heaven”]

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings: mild profanity, dysfunctional families, a metric buttload of gender and identity issues, because the protagonist is a possibly agender character [their stance on gender can be summed up as “huh, those parts are new. Weird. Moving on”]. Not exactly Tony-friendly at times, but not for the reasons you’d think.

To sum up: haven’t done a SI-OC fic before, let’s see how it goes. Under the cut, because RIP mobile users otherwise.

Justin Hammer’s name wasn’t always Justin Hammer.

He doesn’t really remember what it was anymore, but he knows that much.

Honestly? This ‘memories of another world’ thing was more a pain in the ass than anything else, at least at first.

It might’ve been cool if they remembered something useful— concrete dates, specific innovations, hell, even any tips of what stocks to invest in— but no, they had to get short end of the stick with weird dreams, identity crises, and a longing for a family they’d never had.

Oh, and another round of puberty, because of why the hell not. Like last time hadn’t been enough of a pain in the ass.

Ugh. They wanted a refund.

...okay, so it probably could’ve been worse.

Justin has vague recollections of going to sleep hungry, of huddling with their younger sibling under blankets because their parents couldn’t pay the electrical bill— so really, in the great scheme of things, being born as part of the 1% this round was. Something.

Trippy as hell, is what it was, honestly.

This family was loaded, and under other circumstances, they might’ve even been able to enjoy it— if, y’know, they hadn’t had the incredibly shitty luck of being born two years before Tony Stark.

“Look at what he’s doing, that could be you” this, “study hard, he’s going to be your rival” that— geez, if any other kid had been in Justin’s shoes, he would not have envied them.

If he didn’t already have a firmly established sense of self, it would have been a mindfuck of a childhood because for some reason, his father kept comparing them? And yeah, Justin could kinda see some of the parallels— they were about the same age, both firstborn sons and heirs to their parents’ respective companies— but that’s about where the similarities ended.

Look, Justin wasn’t a genius, okay? He was fairly bright for his age, but...he wasn’t a one-in-a-million prodigy. And, up until he was 6, that had been acceptable.

But then the press went wild because oh, look, Howard’s son built a circuit board at age four, and it all went downhill from there because suddenly, being normal wasn’t good enough. Not for his parents, anyway.

Sometimes, he wondered what would’ve happened if it had been another kid in his shoes— how they would’ve handled the small army of private tutors and the extra classes they kept being signed up for in the hopes of finding something they excelled in.

The pressure of constantly being compared to a once-in-a-generation prodigy, and always being found wanting.

Justin wasn’t afraid of hard work— but it was grating, even for him.

Really, just about the only silver lining to this ‘second life’ thing was his adorable little sister, Stephanie.

She, at least, looked up to him: her gap-toothed smile didn’t hold any expectations for anything other than the piggyback rides he regularly offered, and this time he didn’t even have to worry about medical bills, or—

Anyway.

His family and the Starks run in the same social circles, because of course they do.

Now that he’s getting older, Justin’s being dragged along to all of the fancy shindigs with his parents, and it’s only due to two lifetimes’ worth of self-control that keeps his polite smile from wavering when he’s introduced to the bane of his existence.

“Hi, my name’s Tony Stark.” The little brat said, and Justin bit back a sigh as he shook his hand.

...so, the Stark heir his father wanted to be his rival was a kid. Actually a kid, which just made this mess that much more pathetic because part of Justin had almost been starting to want to buy into this rivalry thing, but.

In this life, and the last one, they’d been an older sibling.

This time, despite everything, he could tell he was softer— he had never gone to bed hungry, never had to worry about the roof over his head, or being solely responsible for his younger sibling’s health and safety— but.

Old habits die hard.

Of course Justin’s father hears “the Starks are sending their seven-year-old heir to boarding school” and thinks “good idea, why didn’t I think of that?”

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Steph had cried when they’d packed their things, and for that alone, Justin would never forgive their parents.

The other brats at boarding school are more invested in the Hammer-Stark rivalry than they are.

...this was going to be a long 9 years, wasn’t it.

One of the perks to going to one of the most elite boarding schools in the world was the options. Certainly, Justin doubted other places offered skiing and fencing and over eleven languages in their electives.

Not that he was complaining: it was definitely a way to keep busy, certainly much better than the constant attempts at one-upmanship that came part and parcel with cramming the richest heirs, heiresses, and honest-to-goodness royalty in one place.

At the end of the day, though, they were all kids. Bratty, entitled little shits who were still at the stage where they constantly went “my father will hear about this!” and Justin had way better things to do with his time than engage in those petty little playground attempts at power plays.

So he dove into everything the school had to offer, bouncing from elective to elective like a ping pong ball, and trying not to think too hard as to why Spanish had come so easily to him, though he’d never studied it before— or why he’d felt a pang when the instructor had congratulated him on his accent.

Somewhere down the line, Justin...kinda made a name for himself? Apparently?

Ugh, they’d never understand these people.

Okay, so apparently he’d kinda become an older brother figure of sorts to the brats around here? Somehow? Even though he hadn’t exactly been planning on doing anything of the sort when he saw an underclassman struggling during practice, or stopped fights before they could start in the common room because he’d just sat down and didn’t have the patience to move all his stuff somewhere else to study.

Didn’t make sense to him, but apparently it was enough for some of the professors to write ‘good leadership skills’ on his transcripts, so whatever.

As a bonus, it made his old man happy. Not that Justin gave a damn about what he thought about him personally, but the increase in his ‘allowance’ [it was in the triple digits, like hell he was calling it that] was nice.

Among the hobbies Justin bounced between, there were a few that raised more eyebrows than others.

Knitting, for instance, was something some of the more annoying brats liked to laugh about. They eased up when they found out he sent the scarves and hats he made to his little sister, but... eh, whatever.

Sewing, too— apparently it was okay if it was framed as a Boy Scout-esque ‘know the basics so you can always be prepared!’ way, but the moment he did any sort of embroidery there went his respectability.

Well, at least nobody gave him a hard time about cooking. But then, his chilaquiles had some of these guys’ eyes watering just from the smell of it, so.

It still didn’t sit well with him sometimes— kinda like how puberty had Not Been Fun on a number on levels, but hey, if all else failed, he could just ignore it harder.

It hadn’t failed him yet.

Stephanie insisted on going to boarding school with him when she got to the age he’d been shipped off at.

It was...nice, having his little sister around again.

It was a good thing Justin had been okay with being designated the heir of Hammer Industries, because Steph was... exactly like he remembered her.

Cheerful, upbeat, startlingly devious and manipulative when she wanted to be, and just a tad bit spoiled.

...okay, so Justin had probably contributed a bit to that last one. In his defense, he’d been doing his best to shield his sister from the staggeringly high expectations he himself had to deal with, but look, he wanted at least one of them to have some semblance of a happy childhood, okay?

Goodness knew he hadn’t [not this time, nor the last].

Stephanie wasn’t interested in the family business, was more interested in pursuing a career in the arts.

Justin, of course, encouraged her wholeheartedly.

Their parents weren’t entirely happy about it, but...wasn’t like they had much to complain about. Not when Justin was always in the top ten of his year, not when the professors practically gushed over his responsibility and work ethic.

He was no Tony Stark, but he’d made a name for himself nonetheless.

“So, we’re supposed to be rivals?” The bane of his existence said once, at yet another gala. “Howard says so, anyway.”

“Seems that way,” Justin shrugged as they pilfered a flute from a nearby table, carefully not commenting on how he’d referred to his father by his first name. Talk about a strained relationship, right there.

“You’re not really acting like one.”

“Well,” Justin sipped at his flute before making a face when he discovered it was champagne and not apple cider like he’d hoped, “it’s nothing personal, just business. Healthy competition, y’know? Someone’s got to.”

Stark eyed him for a moment, before giving him a brilliant smile. “You know, I think I’d like that.”

Justin would never, ever understand these people.

In the time Justin Hammer got his degree in business, Tony Stark got several Ph.Ds.

Not that he envied him: the idea of being shoved into the limelight after losing his entire family? Hard pass.

For some reason, Tony Stark seemed to think they were friends.

Why.

Sure, Justin tried to be as cordial with him as he did with anyone else, but... how on Earth did that translate into being friends?

“You look at him like he’s a kid,” Steph says once, laughing, “you look at all of us that way, haven’t you noticed?”

“Well, to be fair—”

“You’re only a few years older than us, but you keep acting like you’re dad. More like a dad than our actual dad, sometimes,” her smile dropped for a moment, “don’t think I forgot that time he didn’t even call for your birthday.”

Justin made a face. “But what’s that got to do with anything?”

She sighed, then gave him a smile and a look he couldn’t decipher. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

By the time Justin Hammer became the CEO of Hammer Industries, Tony Stark had held the same post in his company for over half a decade.

Yet...well, something weird was going on.

Maybe it was because Justin’d had more time to prepare for the cutthroat world that was the defense industry, but—

For some reason, he couldn’t help but think Tony was softer than he’d thought.

No-brainer contracts that would have been a cinch to broker, passed over simply because their distributors didn’t pass their incredibly high standards; buyers who wanted in, but whose past associations— very, very far in the past— meant SI didn’t even consider them.

Justin couldn’t understand it.

For someone in the industry, Stark’s morals were...unusual. Respectable, from one perspective, but remarkably naive from any self-respecting businessman who wanted to turn a profit.

He was fairly certain the only reason Stark Industries was considered number one in the sector was because of the constant influx of new designs; they just were turning down too many contracts for him to consider otherwise.

Sure, sometimes Hammer weapons found themselves in the wrong hands— much more often than Stark weapons, regrettably— but it was one of the hazards that came with the business. They’d both known it from the get-go; Stark weapons were considered the best for a reason, even though somewhere down the line, his company’d gotten a reputation for no-frills dependability and ruggedness to the point where unscrupulous individuals would do anything to get their hands on either. Wasn’t like there was anything they could do about it, not when money talked in ways laws didn’t.

Why Stark was so hung up over it, he just. Couldn’t wrap his head around.

Stark was proclaimed dead, and there was strong evidence to indicate the attackers had been using his guns.

...well, fuck.

“This is fine,” Justin muttered as his personal headache proceeded to come back from the dead only to say his company was going to stop doing the thing it was known for and making an ungodly mess in the stock market while at it, “it’s not like it affects me, anyway.”

Overnight, Hammer Industries became number one in the defense sector.

Justin was not a happy camper about the spotlight.

Even more so, when he had to take additional measures so his sister could continue enjoy the privacy she’d had after pursuing her dreams as an artist because the press didn’t want to leave well enough alone.

“You know, you could’ve given me a warning.” Justin scowled when he saw Tony at the next gala.

“You handled it well enough, didn’t you?”

Ugh.

His headache was back, and worst part was, the smile he got more than made up for it.

...and then I kinda ran out of steam.

tl;dr: MCU canon had Justin Hammer as a foil to Tony Stark, here their dynamic is more along the lines of Beethoven and Mozart [one really respecting the other’s genius, and working their butt off to get to that level of respectability and general acclaim].

in this AU, Stark Industries is kind of like Apple— very futuristic high-tech stuff, all the bells and whistles going on, etc, whereas Hammer Industries is the Nokia in this analogy: not fancy in the slightest but as close to indestructible as it gets.

#No Hero [And Not Made Of Stone]#No Hero [Downward Descending]#My writing #character study of sorts #fic idea #fic ideas #3 am musings #kinda #also #does it count if said 'fic idea' is over 2k long?

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jgukmilk · 4 years

Text

he won’t know 03 (m) final

➔ summary: after weeks of hiding from the world, your friend, Mina, finally convinces you to crawl out of your cave and join her at a friday-frat party. You definitely didn’t think you’d end up with the person you had spent several weeks trying to avoid.

➔ pairing: Jungkook X Reader

➔ genre: cheating!au, smut, angst if you squint, much deserved fluff fucking finally

➔ warnings: mention of sexual assault, unprotected sex, soft sex because i’m a whore for that shit, jungoo is the one crying in this part, jungoo being a soft idiot nothing out of the ordinary, fingering, oral (f. and m. receiving), handjob, fingering, mild dirty talk, cervix kisses :), cum eating, throat fucking•_•, runny mascara because it’s chef’s kiss, soft dom jungoo, a really lame biology pick up line at the end that i am pathetically proud of, that’s it..? it’s unedited btw :P

➔ wordcount: 8.3k

➔ a/n: this was a bitch to finish but holy fuck. hope you enjoy ;) feedback is always appreciated !

part 1, part 2, part 3 final.

It had officially been seventeen and-a-half days since Jungkook came to visit you at your dorm, only to end up in you crying your eyes out in front of him and shove him out of your room.

Mina came home later that night and questioned your tear-stained cheeks. Did you tell her? No, of course not. You brushed it off and convinced her that you were having a hard time with the breakup with Jaehyun, that everything was still so fresh, and you simply just needed time. Though that was as far from the truth as it could possibly be, she believed you regardless which you were thankful for.

You didn’t miss Jaehyun, not one bit. You hadn’t seen him after your last encounter, and you thanked your stars daily. To be honest you weren’t given a chance to run into that asshole since you had reduced your time spent outside of the dorm.

Your schedule pretty much consisted of wake up, go to your classes, come back to the dorm, study, eat, sleep, repeat. It sounded like one of those shabby T-shirt every twelve-year-old would wear back in middle school and show it off for being ‘quirky’.

You weren’t complaining, you preferred things this way, for now at least. Though you couldn’t deny that you missed your friends, but you needed some time alone and you knew that, so to distract yourself from missing your friends, what better way to do so than studying till the ass-crack of dawn on a Friday night.

Fridays were the only day of the week you could spend peacefully unbothered. Every other day would consist of countless texts and calls from your friends asking about your whereabouts and why they almost never saw you around campus anymore.

To which you told them you were busy studying and thanked them for checking in on you. It wasn’t a complete lie, you were, in fact, busy studying. They never saw you because, you were always on your desk burying your face between the pages of a textbook. What you didn’t tell them was that you were so far ahead with the curriculum that you could go a whole two weeks without even touching any of your books and you wouldn’t be behind.

You never realized how much you had read ahead until a few days ago when your biology professor had only begun to teach you about DNA replication, transcription and translation. You had already covered half of it.

Your professor always did say that the unspoken rule of studies was to always read ahead. Though you didn’t think he meant to this certain extent.

You hadn’t felt academic stress in a while due to your habit of studying so much, and you were happy about it of course, but holy fuck, you were so bored, and it was starting to get to you.

“Y/N!” perfect timing for your best friend to break you out of your thoughts. Mina happily pranced through your shared dorm room and over to you, “Mina” you said back, smiling, although not in the same enthusiasm, meh – A for effort.

“Oh my god, you’re actually awake,” she said, placing herself on her bed while remaining eye contact with you.

“Well yeah, I have some topics I still need to cover before I go to bed,” Lies. You certainly didn’t have any topics you needed to cover. You would’ve gone to bed if you knew Mina was coming back to the dorm so early. It was Friday night after all, which meant that Mina was out partying with the rest of the guys. Not today, apparently.

“Isn’t there a party today?” you asked, flipping through the pages of the book in front of you, pretending to read through the paragraphs that seemed like nothing more than dull words.

“Well… yeah, but, I figured I’d rather spend my night with you – you know, since it’s... it’s been a while,” you immediately stopped fiddling with the paper, “oh,” was all you could say. “I-I mean, if you wanna study, you totally can! I don’t want to interrupt or – or anything.” You shook your head, “no, no… uhm, I could use a break anyway.” Her face relaxed.

“So… how’ve you been?” you looked around the room, “I’m okay, just studying, nothing else really,” you reassured her “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” she said, barely above a whisper, however you could still make out the melancholic tone hidden behind her voice.

“yeah… I’m sorry, I’m just – “

“studying? Yeah that seems to be your entire world lately.” She cut you off, her voice a little louder than it was previously. You opened your mouth to respond but – “Y/N c’mon, I know I haven’t necessarily been with you physically lately, but I’m not oblivious. Our exams are in a couple of months and you’re studying as if they’re tomorrow.” She explained all in one breath, “the curriculum this semester isn’t even that content-heavy, even the professors told us we could take it easy.”

“where are you going with this?” you asked in a weak voice. She seemed to have you all figured out. You truly underestimated how well your best friend understood you. “I just want to know why? Why are you avoiding your friends… why are you avoiding me?”

And then it came back. Everything you had been trying to avoid for the past two weeks came back. Jaehyun, the cheating, the assault, Jungkook. You began to feel your eyes stinging, subconsciously you averted them towards the ceiling. “Y/N, there’s something you’re not telling me. I want to help, please let me help.”

You made your way towards the bed, seating yourself next to her, “is this about Jaehyun? Do you miss hi–“

“No, God no I don’t, I’m so happy he’s out of my life,” she looked at you perplexed. And so, you told her. You told her absolutely everything, all the way from Jaehyun trying to touch you when you were trying to explain yourself to him, to the conversation you had with Jungkook in your dorm room several days ago.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you swiftly reached for her hand as you saw her attempt to rush out of your shared dorm, “no! I… It’s over now, he’s out of my life, there’s no reason to go look for him.”

“Of course there is! Why didn’t you–!” She yelled, however quickly stopped herself to calm down. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? He’s getting away with this when he deserves to rot in hell.” It wasn’t that simple. You never wanted to see him again, and telling any form of authority about what had happened certainly meant you were going to cross paths with him often.

Plus, it wasn’t even likely that they would’ve believed you, after all it was your word against his. There was no physical evidence of what he had done. You had your ripped clothes but you threw those away the day after the incident, you never wanted to look at them again and be reminded of this crap.

Then you had the bruises on your wrist, but Jaehyun could easily say that you guys had been into some sort of bdsm to make them believe him. They were also healed now, so there was no evidence at all to secure your side.

“I don’t want to constantly be reminded of what he did, I just want to move forward. Please, you can’t tell anyone.” Your voice cracked at the end, in which Mina reached out to hold your hand. “I don’t want anyone to know,” you cried.

“I’m so sorry, bug,” Mina rubbed your back empathetically, in a subtle attempt to calm you down. Though Mina tried her best to not scream at the top of her lungs, spitting out every profanity to curse Jaehyun. This wasn’t about her, and she knew that very well.

All she could do was comfort you and listen to everything you had bottled up for weeks. “You know what you need?” she smiled at you gently. You sniffled, rubbing your red, tear-stained cheeks, “what?”

“You need fresh air, to doll up and feel good! We all miss you so much Y/N, I don’t want you to spend another Friday night in here alone by yourself.” You raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue, “Wooyoung’s parent are out of town for the weekend so he’s hosting are party.”

“And?”

“And we’re going!” she clapped excitingly, “no Mina I–“ she held both your hands tightly, puppy eyes were presented right in front of you, “pleaseeee, just for an hour, you can leave after that if you don’t like it.”

You thought about it for a moment. You did deserve a break, you needed to get out of the dorm anyway, have some fun with your friends, maybe even get a bit of well-deserved alcohol in your system.

“Fuck it, let’s do i–“

“YES! Okay, okay I know exactly what you’re wearing.” She rushed over to her closet, rummaging through fabric after fabric while you silently watched behind her, seated on your own bed. “Put this on right now,” You didn’t get a good look at the clothing item she threw at you, all you knew was that the fabric was quite tiny. It was a beautiful dark navy and black fabric that was smooth to the touch.

It was a woolen, striped bodycon dress. True to its name – it looked very tight. You looked at her perplexed, “that’s me being nice. My other option was throwing you my skirt that would barely cover your juicy ass.” You rolled your eyes, but smiled nonetheless, “fine, what shoes with?” she pointed at your black high-top converse that were placed neatly by the door. Alright, black converse it was.

–

“Y/N?” was the first thing you heard when walking through the door, entering the crowd of drunks. Before you stood your friends, the friends you had missed oh so much. Jimin was the first to run to you, lifting you off the ground to swing you around, “Y/N!” He laughed excitingly. Right behind him stood Seokjin, “Okay, I’ve had too much to drink guys I’m starting see Y/N,” you couldn’t help but laugh, “Hi Jin.”

One by one, they each gave you a heartwarming hug. Wow, you missed them, and you didn’t even realize, “about time you got out of the damn dorm,” Taehyung complained, you playfully slapped his shoulder. “You don’t get to say shit, you rot in your own dorm just as much as I do when you don’t have classes,” smiling, he scoffed, “I have altered my ways, about time you did too,” you shook your head.

You hadn’t noticed that an hour had already passed by, and you didn’t want to leave one bit. Your night was just getting started. Looking around you spotted all your friends, all but two. Neither had you seen the entire party: Yoongi and Jungkook.

“Jin!” you loudly spoke through the banging music, “yeah?!” he replied, “have you seen Yoongi?” you cupped your mouth in attempt to speak as clearly as possible, “What?! No thank you! I don’t wan’t Oolong tea. There’s booze why would I want tea?!” You rubbed your face, dragging Jin’s ear closer to your mouth, “Have you seen Yoongi?”

“OW, Jesus woman.” He rubbed his ear, “He should be in the kitchen,” you thanked him, and apologetically smiled for almost ripping his ear off.

You skipped your way through the heavy crowd of drunk youth. Some of which even looked younger than that. A string of ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ was heard from you as you pushed your way to the kitchen.

“Yoongi?” he turned around, seeing you. He eyed the drink in his hand that resembled the color of piss, “I’ve had too much,” the bottom of the cup now faced the ceiling, the remainder of the liquid spilling down the edge of the cup and down the sink.

“Okay, you guys really have to stop doing that,” you laughed.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” The mint-haired boy asked in a monotone, your smile faltered.

“I’m happy to see you too?” your voice was skeptical. He seemed annoyed, which frankly, you didn’t understand. You hadn’t seen the man in well over two weeks, no way had he found a reason to be mad at you unless you had happened to eat the last lamb skewer in his dream. He always did love his lamb skewers.

“’M sorry, my head’s spinning,” instantly your suspicion was replaced with worry. You quickly made your way to the sink and filled a glass with cold water and handed it to him, which he gratefully accepted. “How’ve you been?”

You sighed, “you want the rainbow-sprinkled version or the one that was dragged through the mud, shat and pissed on,” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take the piss-stained version, thank you.” He placed the red, water filled plastic cup next to him on the kitchen counter.

“Rough couple of weeks. I’m doing better though, so that’s something.” You shrugged your shoulders. Yoongi listened carefully, gently tilting his head to the side anticipating for you to keep going, however you didn’t, that was all you were going to say. Yoongi wasn’t stupid, clearly something had happened to make you disappear for weeks, but whatever it was it had to remain unknown for him – he wasn’t going to push you to talk to him.

“And where’s Jaehyun been through all of this?” he speculated.

“Uhm, we broke up,” you tried to laugh it off. His brows raised in surprise.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry–“ your hands swung in front of you to shake them. To Yoongi, you had most likely looked like you were sad from the breakup, understandably so. Afterall that is the typical reaction to a breakup, isn’t it?

“Don’t be! My god, no. It could – I’m not –“ you closed your eyes, sighing gently, “It was for the best.”

“I’m not going, Tae,” Jungkook pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger, attempting to rub the non-existing headache out of his temples.

“Come on, Jungkook. It’s been a hot minute since you’ve partied with all of us,” a hot minute, was putting it lightly. Jungkook was currently in his own shared dorm with Taehyung, with a black DualShock controller seated in his lap – enjoying a game of overwatch shortly before Taehyung had dialed his number. Several empty packets of ramen placed randomly across the room.

Different flavors of course. Variety was important.

“Can’t. ‘m busy.” Though Jungkook couldn’t see it, he was sure Taehyung had rolled his eyes through the other line. “Busy my ass,” Taehyung sighed, “you do this every week.”

“I wouldn’t have to do this every week if you would just stop asking,” Jungkook spat back, with a little more attitude than he had intended. “Jungshi,” the older friend started, “you can’t let this bother you forever,” he knew. Fuck, no one knew better than Jungkook that he couldn’t spend the rest of eternity sulking over this. Over you.

But no one knew how Jungkook was feeling either, every living fiber of his felt either conflicted or guilty. He couldn’t help but think that what had happened to you, was partially his fault – no, it was entirely his fault. Whatever Jaehyun had done was because of Jungkook.

Your words circled back and forth in his mind, day and night. Whenever he closed his eyes all he could see was your tear-stained orbs looking at him with so much hurt and hatred. Telling him to leave and that you never wanted to see him again.

All he wanted to do was talk to you, to know how you were feeling. Were you okay? Were you not? Jungkook had to make peace with the fact that he might in fact never get any answer for any of his questions. All he wanted was to see you, just for one small, useless moment.

He hadn’t seen you since that day. Frankly, it seemed like you had completely vanished from the face of the earth, even the guys hadn’t seen you. He managed to get a hold of Mina a few times, briefly asking of your whereabouts. She always tried her best to console and reassure him that you were okay, you were just always busy lately.

Busy.

You were always busy. Jungkook wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what it meant: you were escaping.

Busy.

Oh, how Jungkook had grown to hate that word. How very hypocritical of him, he was mentally scolding you for using the lame excuse of being ‘busy’, all while doing the exact same behind the screen of his phone to his best friend.

“I just need time, hyung.” Jungkook tried to justify. “Time?” Taehyung scoffed, “You’ve had two weeks. I’m sorry Guk, but I’m not gonna sit around while I watch you completely lose yourself.” The younger slid further down the chair, staring blankly at the bright screen displaying the home-screen of his favorite video game.

“She’s here.”

Silence…

You… you were there? He could see you. Jungkook had a chance to see you. “Good to know,” was all he could say. “And you don’t give a rat’s ass?” Of course, he did, but he couldn’t because, “she doesn’t want to see me, hyung. If I show up, I’ll ruin her night. She isn’t hiding from the world anymore.”

“You can’t be sure– “

“Yes, I can,” Jungkook closed his eyes, a small exhale moved past his lips, “I can’t ruin this. Please don’t make me ruin this for her.” His voice was barely above a whisper. He felt weak. He couldn’t describe the growing urge he felt to rush over to whatever party you were at, just to see you. But he couldn’t be selfish. Not again.

Last time he acted selfishly he hurt you. He lost you. He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse – after all, you were out of his life, but Jungkook wasn’t willing to be daring, not if it meant it would hurt you again.

“Fine,” an extended beep was heard from the small speaker of the phone. Completely defeated, Jungkook gently threw his phone back onto his bed. Leaning back in his chair he faced the ceiling. He couldn’t seem to get himself to play another game, so shutting everything down, he went to get himself ready for bed.

Diving under the cool, fluffy sheets didn’t seem to be enough for Jungkook to knock out, which was odd. Jungkook could easily fall asleep anywhere on anything. One time he even managed to fall into a deep sleep after downing two 500ml Monster energy drinks. He had planned to pull an all-nighter with some of his online friends for a good few games of Valorant, the best way to do so was to shove an insanely unhealthy amount of energy drinks down the hatch.

He didn’t expect it to be so easy to fall asleep right away – he didn’t even remember walking over to his bed before dropping dead. But this, this was just frustrating.

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, until when he finally felt his eyelids become heavy, a key was heard jiggling in the lock of the door. It must’ve taken Jungkook longer to fall asleep than he had anticipated if Taehyung had already decided to leave the party; that boy wouldn’t leave a party unless bits of the morning sunlight was peeking through the windows of the house of the host.

The door finally opened. Jungkook squinted his eyes, adjusting to the new light shining through the door frame. A black silhouette walked pasted the door. It wasn’t until Jungkook’s blurry vision had cleared up that he noticed a feminine like figure standing at the door. Not just anybody, no.

You. In fact.

Jungkook felt his heart begin to tie knots. He was dreaming for sure; there was no way you could just appear in his dorm of all dorms. But there you were, in the flesh. You gently clasped the bundle of keys in your palm, preventing them from making any further noise, taking soft strides through the room – you probably thought he was asleep.

You quietly made your way over to Taehyung’s bed, opening the drawer of his nightstand. Jungkook’s eyes monitoring your every move went completely unnoticed by you. The poor boy was in awe, it was like you were an angel that had descended from heaven and blessed him with your presence. Frankly, in Jungkook’s eyes, you were an angel.

You let a small aha slip past your lips, in your hands was a turquoise polaroid camera. You neared the delicate camera to your face, making sure it was the right item through the darkness, and indeed it was.

About to make your way out of the dorm, your head turned slightly; in the direction of the boy that was currently sweating his balls off and his heart pounding like crazy. Fuck, did you see him looking at you? You must’ve, you wouldn’t look at him otherwise. Could you hear his heart beating through his ribcage? That has to be it, after all it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

He hurriedly closed his eyes, praying to the lord above that for once in Jungkook’s cursed life, the spirits would work in his favor. God, if you do this for me, I won’t fart on Taehyung’s head pillow anymore.

You slowly made your way over to Jungkook’s bed, with each step you took he felt a new set of sweat gather in his warm palms. He couldn’t feel anything, all he heard was the shuffle of his blanket. The blanket that was supposed to be on him.

While Jungkook had gone unnoticed to you, the absence of his soft, grey blanket on his body had been completely disregarded. He had tossed so much in his unreachable sleep that he had kicked his blanket right off of him.

Not only did Jungkook feel his body overcome in warmth, but his heart also danced at the thought of you going out of your way to cover him in his blanket. Your kindness really was out of this world.

No matter how many times someone had hurt you, you never failed to leave the ways of resentment and treat people with kindness. You were truly too kind for your own good. That was one of your qualities that Jungkook was most fond of, the world didn’t deserve you. it didn’t deserve an angel.

You on the other hand, were completely oblivious to the fact that the man in front of you was wide awake. You crouched down by the side of his bed, you really should get going, you weren’t supposed to linger for so long.

Your eyes trailed the sleeping beauty on the bed. He looked so peaceful, his long eyelashes resting on the top of his cheek, a few of the hairs grazing the scar on right side of the skin. His dark hair was sprawled over his forehead. His lips were sealed, but slightly pouty, they looked so soft.

You couldn’t make much of his face, the only source of light being the moon light throw the window.

You hand moved on its own. Fingers trailing to the strands of the dark hair, moving the silky locks out of his face.

You wish things had been different between you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss Jungkook, which is the exact lie you had been telling yourself for weeks. Even though he was right in front of you, you missed him. No, fuck. You couldn’t miss him, even though you wanted things to be different, they never could be.

You snapped out of your daze, removing your hands from his face, you stood up and turned your heel.

“Don’t leave.” You flinched, a small holy shit, was heard from you. Turning back around, you saw Jungkook in the exact same position you had left him in, the only difference was that his eyes were now open. The warm orbs you were completely dazed by were now looking at you.

You had to leave, but you couldn’t, your feet grew minds of their own, obediently staying in place.

Jungkook sat up from his bed, never breaking eye contact with you. He was now seated at the edge of his bed, hands on either side of his thighs, tightly clenching on the sheets beneath him in order to prevent himself from reaching out after you.

There was no exchange of words, you were both lost in each other’s gazes. You were clutching your jacket tightly, looking like a dear caught in head lights. You took a step backwards, gathering every ounce of power you had in your body to try and get out of there. You just couldn’t stay.

“Please,” his voice sounded broken. There it was again – the expression on his face you had never learned to read. His eyelids were droopy, eyebrows relaxed yet slightly furrowed.

He rose from his bed, testing the waters. He examined your reaction before moving any further. When he saw you standing completely still, he took a step forward; you didn’t move, so he took yet another step. That’s when you started to back away, you didn’t look scared or alarmed, so he continued.

This kept going until the back of your thighs met a desk you had failed to notice was there in the first place. You have got to start paying more attention to your surroundings.

Jungkook was now in front of you, eyes looking at yours, searching for any sign of uncertainty. But all he saw was sadness and hurt. His heart clenched in discomfort, because partially – if not all – of the hurt in your eyes was because of him.

He wanted to pour his heart out to you, tell you he was sorry for being an asshole. Tell you he would cut his heart into pieces and hand it to you one by one if that’s what it took to make you happy.

But he wanted to be cautious, he didn’t want to scare you off. So instead, he carefully, carefully, lifted his hand up to your face. The knuckle of his middle finger grazed the side of your cheek. You didn’t flinch.

He extended his fingers to hold your cheek in his palm, his thumb ever so slightly caressing the flush skin. It wasn’t until you leaned into his touch that he felt how warm you were. He could barely make out the light tint of a rosy color on your cheeks. Must’ve been from the booze you’ve ingested at the party, he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, you had barely had enough alcohol to call yourself tipsy.

Deep in your own thoughts, you felt Jungkook’s other hand slip around your waist, the fingers on your cheek descended down to accompany his other hand.

He was hugging you. His face was buried right in the crook of your neck, arms securely wrapped around your frame, fearing for his dear life that you were going to let go of him. His fragile soul couldn’t take it if you did.

You, however, couldn’t bring yourself to hug him back, not until you felt the skin on your shoulder grow wet. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, barely above a whisper – audible to your ear, nonetheless.

He pulled away, his hands resting on your sides lamely. His eyes were glossy, the tip of his nose red, and a few tears had trailed down his cheeks, leaving stains of the salty water. “I’m – It’s my fault, all of it, I know I don’t deserve it but please forgive me.” he sniffled, “I know you hate me, and you have every right to – “

“I don’t hate you,” for the first time that night, you spoke to him. Your voice instantly sedated the distress in Jungkook. You wiped the tears streaming down his face with your cold thumb, which only caused more to fall. “You should… It’s all my fault.”

Although that had been your exact theory for the past weeks, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that the statement was true anymore. You continuously blamed Jungkook for everything that had happened to you, but that wasn’t fair, you realized that now.

Because if Jungkook really was at fault, then so were you. After all, it takes two to tango.

“It’s not,” you tried to soothe the tremendous guilt you could recognize behind his doe eyes, it was the exact same guilt you had felt when you returned from the weekend at the summerhouse. The same guilt that had eaten every bit of your fiber. Blaming yourself for days for having cheated on your now ex-boyfriend who turned out to be the biggest piece of shit to walk the earth.

“You didn’t force me to do anything,” you admitted, “but that fucker – “ Jaehyun, Jungkook hissed.

“Anything that came after the summerhouse wasn’t your fault. Jaehyun showed me who he really was – an asshole in disguise,” at the mention of what you had been through, Jungkook’s grip on your sides tightened slightly. You knew he was blaming himself for what Jaehyun had done.

It wasn’t anyone but Jaehyun’s fault.

You cupped his face in both your hands, smiling softly, “please stop blaming yourself for something you had no control over.” You spoke to him, but also to yourself.

For the longest time you thought it was your fault, that if you hadn’t slept with Jungkook, that you and Jaehyun would still be happy and he would never had touched you like he did.

You and Jaehyun hadn’t been happy for a while, and if he hadn’t snapped you would’ve continued to date A-level garbage.

It took you some time to realize that it was never your fault, and it most certainly wasn’t Jungkook’s fault. Your stomach dropped at the thought of him blaming himself so mercilessly.

He sniffled harder at your words, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorr–“

The kiss was soft. You could tell he completely froze against your lips. Your hands were still on his cheeks; the feel of the occasional tear grazed the skin of your fingers. It didn’t take long for him to melt completely against the plush of your warm lips.

His arms moved back around your waist, pulling you against him until you were flush against his chest. You pulled away. He followed you, refusing that’d be the end of your kiss. His pleading lips captured yours in a second kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck in an attempt to deepen the kiss, not having much room to move them any place else when Jungkook was pressing himself so hard against you.

“I missed you,” he breathed between the kiss “so much.” Fuck, if only he knew how much you had missed him, “I couldn’t bare not having you around me.” You hummed against his mouth, hoping he understood that you reciprocated.

You felt his warm tongue scrape against your top lip, pleading to have a taste of yours. You complied easily. Opening your mouth for him to explore the heavenly wonder that was your mouth.

You had kissed Jungkook before, but this felt different, it was softer, much more gentle. The gliding of his tongue against yours felt new, but so right.

You soon came to the agreement that kissing Jungkook was one of your favorite things to do. The slow dance of your lips increased the beating of your heart, you were sure he could feel it knock against his chest.

He lifted your body, as if you were a feather and seated you on the desk behind you, standing right between your legs. His hands resting on either thigh, gently caressing the bare flesh.

Your lips suddenly felt cold, opening your eyes you found Jungkook’s brown orbs staring right at you. Worry began to creep its way up your spine. “What’s wrong?”

“Do… Do you want me to stop?”

He was being careful. Careful not to cross any boundaries. He couldn’t fuck up again, not this time. You smiled at him. Taking his hand in yours, you placed a peck at the top of his palm, “not at all.”

Jungkook swears his heart melted then and there; the softness in your eyes, the relaxed tone of your voice, there was no hesitation. You felt safe, which was everything Jungkook ever wanted.

He leaned back in, you closed your eyes, puckering up thinking he was going in for another kiss. You felt a pair of soft bud-like lips at the side of your jaw, “beautiful,” he whispered to himself. He kissed the top of your covered shoulder.

You leaned back slightly, both hands steady behind you to support you weight. Jungkook leaned forward, following you, refusing that any sort of distance was between you.

Even though you had given him the ok, you could feel Jungkook was slightly hesitant in his moves, which was nothing like the Jungkook you had in front of you almost an entire month ago. He was so confident and cocky, yet now, he seemed unsure.

He was afraid of touching you and screwing up everything.

“I won’t leave this time,” you whispered, moving your head so that you were now looking at him, “I’m not gonna run away.” You took his hand in yours, guiding them towards your tits. Jungkook watched in awe as his hand completely engulfed your breast.

You let go of his hand when you felt him begin to fondle with the perky tit. He moved back to your neck, but instead of small affectionate kisses, he now began to place open-mouthed kisses at the expanse of your neck. You tilted your head to the side, allowing him more space; you felt the corners of his lips curl slightly.

You gasped at the feeling of his tongue gliding over the skin, slapping your hand over your mouth. While one of his hands were busy with your chest, the other removed the hand from your face, “don’t, you sound so pretty.”

The fingers that were once wrapped around your hand moved down your torso, grazing the apex of your thigh. With his mouth still busy on your neck, he hoisted the length of your stripped dress (that was actually Mina’s), just enough to expose most of your legs, but not enough to reveal the fabric of your underwear.

The pad of his cold fingers slithered over the black textile experimentally. Carefully brushing over your clothed clit, you whimpered. You sounded downright touch deprived.

The lustful boy in front of you began sucking on your neck, all while cupping your clothed cunt without warning. “Fuck,” You jumped at the overwhelming touch.

“So sensitive” he mumbled, “aren’t you, angel,” you hummed at the rightfully missed affectionate name. You gripped his shoulders when you felt him massage a little harsher at your mound. Your underwear was beginning to stick to your folds embarrassingly fast.

Jungkook curled a finger around the section of fabric that was directly against your pussy. Providing access for his hand to touch your warmth without removing your underwear. A muffled, high pitched moan of his name rolled off your tongue at his slender finger sliding into your velvety walls.

You were already so wet, and you were sure he noticed how embarrassed you were about it, with the way you were discreetly trying to close your legs.

He used his other hand to keep your legs apart. “Don’t be shy,” he soothed, “I love this pretty” he scraped his finger against the spongy spot, “pretty pussy.”

“Jungkook, please,” you whined, it only caused Jungkook to chuckle whole-heartedly at your neediness, “what is it, baby?” he pressed his thumb against your clit, gently tapping at it. You shuttered.

“I, fuck, I–“ your thighs began to tense, “tell me,” he urged. You were trying your best, but every sentence you were attempted to formulate was instantly thrown out the window the second Jungkook added another finger into your cunt.

His fingers were scraping at your walls, pumping into you or scissoring. The dangerous combination of all of the above, and his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns on your nub had you seeing stars.

Too focused on his magical fingers, you overlooked the small detail of Jungkook now sitting between your thighs, kneeling. He rubbed your thigh soothingly.

Deciding to help you out, Jungkook wrapped his fingers around the lame excuse of your panties, dragging the pathetic fabric down your legs. You were now completely exposed.

Jungkook eyes you between your legs, shamelessly. “Pretty girl,” he wooed. He pulled his fingers out of you, you whined at the empty feeling.

He brought his soaked fingers up to his tongue, slowly licking them clean, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Telling yourself you could cum from the sight alone was in no way an understatement.

“Mmm, good, so fucking good.” He purred against his fingers. “Bet it would taste even better from here,” teasingly, he slid his finger up your soaked slit, punctuating his sentence, “wouldn’t it, angel?” You quivered at his words. “is that what you want?” yes. “your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes – Yes, please. Please eat me out,” without further ado, Jungkook wasted no time placing a much-deserved kiss on your swollen bud. You moaned in relief, throwing your head back at the feeling of Jungkook’s lips circling your clit.

You bucked your hips at the feeling of his tongue sloppily gliding against your folds. Your fingers found themselves tangled in Jungkook’s dark and messy locks. He praised you.

Small grunts and low moans were felt against your warm cunt, “such a pretty pussy,” he mumbled to himself against you. You clenched around nothing at the compliment.

“Feels so good,” you cooed, “yeah?” small licks turned into long laps, “yeah – fuck, don’t stop.” Stopping was the furthest thing from Jungkook’s mind.

You felt knots beginning to tie at the pit of your stomach, Jungkook could easily feel you were about to burst. The constant tugging of his hair and the pulsating cunt was all he needed, to know he was doing his job right.

“I love seeing you so needy for me,” at this point, you’re chanting his name shamelessly. It isn’t until Jungkook adds a finger lamely circling your clit that you feel you’re about to snap. The familiar ache between your legs became almost unbearable, you threw your head back and shut your eyes.

“Eyes on me when you cum,” you obliged. Bending your head forward to watch Jungkook eat your cunt as if he hadn’t eaten in days. The view was the most sinful yet the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. His brows are furrowed, he murmured against your warmth. You occasionally saw the tip of his nose, and when you did it was absolutely soaked in your arousal.

“Oh my fuck– Jungkook.”

It’s only when Jungkook uttered his next sentence that you felt the knot in your stomach unravel. “Fuck, baby, I could eat you out for the rest of my life,” you’re breaking apart.

Your hips surge forward, pathetically grinding on Jungkook’s face — he lets you. Helping you ride out your high, he slowly laps his tongue over your spasming pussy. He’s watching your every move, “delicious,” he smiled innocently as if his mouth wasn’t completely covered in your cum.

He stood up once again, licked his lips clean in the process and you swore you just felt something trail down your thigh. Once he was at eye-level with you, you looked down and saw the tent that has formed in his sweatpants.

Naturally, you go to grab his cock. Not wanting to waste time, you wrapped your fingers around it over the material. He visibly shuttered at the feeling, and it wasn’t until then that you realized you hadn’t touched Jungkook – at all. Not even back at the summer house.

Here you were, complaining over how selfish Jaehyun used to be whenever you two were having sex, saying he never touched you properly or showed any ounce of effort.

You weren’t any different. So far, Jungkook had only been the giver, and you had been a spoiled pillow princess.

Trailing your eyes back up to Jungkook, you watched him carefully as you curled a finger around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers simultaneously, dragging the unnecessary material down his legs.

His cock sprung up, hitting his stomach. The tip was red and hot, several drops of precum dripped down the angry shaft. He was impossibly hard and you began to feel guilt overcome you for having been so selfish with pleasure. Determined to make it up to him, you placed all five tips of your fingers at the very apex of his cock, sliding down until your palm comes in contact with the tip.

The prettiest whine you’d ever heard rolled off of Jungkook’s lips, he watched you attentively, “y-you don’t have to–“ you shushed him, “I want to.”

You twist your wrist and positioned your fingers around his dick. Using your thumb to spread the precum, you lightly brush his frenulum in which he grunts, “fuck, babyyy,” unintentionally thrusting up into your hand.

You squeezed harder and began to pump his cock. The surprising rotation of your wrist was enough to have him slap both hands on either side of the desk, completely trapping you.

“Faster,” he pleads, “go faster,” and you do. His head drops down to your shoulder. He tried to distract himself by sucking another bruise onto the skin of your neck, but it was completely hopeless with the pace your hand was pumping.

Rhythmically, he was subtly thrusting his hips into your hand, matching the pace. He couldn’t wait to fuck you, so for the time being, he had to fuck your hand. And God, it felt so good it was almost pathetic how much a handjob could rile him up.

You felt his hips stutter, and now it was his turn to chant your name. You placed a soothing kiss on the expanse of his shoulder, “Mmm gonna – haah, shit,” You hurriedly pushed him back gently and dropped to your knees. “What are you – Fuck!”

Most of his length is now shoved down as much as your gag reflex allows, and it isn’t until you have Jungkook’s cock halfway down your throat that you realize how fucking impressive his size is. The thought of having him stretch you out with his girth is enough to make you wet all over again.

Jungkook can’t resist collecting your strands of hair up into a ponytail and piston into your mouth, “s-sorry, I’m sorry,” strings of apologies are heard throughout the room, along with the sound of you choking. Your eyes begin to sting, fresh tears falling down the side of your cheek. He continues to fuck your throat, and contrary to his belief, you fucking love it.

You steady yourself by grabbing the sides of his thighs. Echoes of Jungkook’s moans and heavy sighs fill the room, alongside the sound of his cock continuously thrusting down your throat.

“so pretty, you’re s-so fucking pretty like this,” you hum at his praise, “like the feeling of my cock down your throat, huh? Dirty girl, fuck,” at this point your mascara had completely stained your cheeks.

The sight of your brows furrowed, eyes filled with tears, mascara-stained cheeks, and the absolute cherry on top: Jungkook repeatedly plunging his impossibly hard cock down your sore throat, was all it took for him to blow his load.

You’ve never heard such a moan come from Jungkook, it sounded broken and you’re certain it’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever hear in your life. You felt the warm, white liquid coat the walls of your cheeks and throat and you made sure to swallow every single drop.

You’re stopped from licking his dick clean when Jungkook pulls you back up to meet him at eye level. He lifts you up to sit at the desk again, hands on either side of you, he looks you dead in the eye, “I want to fuck you,” he says bluntly.

Your eyes widen slightly at his directness. Confused, you look down at his dick and holy fuck – he was still incredibly hard. Seriously, this boy had some serious stamina. You assumed his extraordinary stamina must’ve developed all those years in the gym.

You felt tiny under his gaze, you meet his eyes, nonetheless.

“Come here and fuck me then.” You felt bold when a shaky breath left his mouth. He hoisted both your legs up to his waist, causing you to lean back slightly, both your hands were forced to sit behind you once again to prevent yourself from falling backwards.

Without another word, Jungkook sealed the distance between your lips with a sweet kiss.

“Ohmygod–” was all you were able to say when his cock slowly disappeared inside of you, your walls of warmth hugging his length. Once again, you had underestimated just how big Jungkook actually was. He snaked a hand to meet the small of your back to steady himself before he finally began to pull himself out, leaving his tip, only to push back in.

You whined at the delicious stretch. Setting a fixed pace, Jungkook repeatedly thrusted into you, while his lips were busy on yours. You wrapped both arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in the hairs of his nape. “Mmm fuck,” he moaned deliciously against your lips.

“Feels good?” he asked, parting your lips with a soft chu. You nodded; your eyelids lazily drooped over your orbs; eyebrows scrunched together at the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix. He felt so good.

“Say it,” he rasped, “tell me how good it feels,” his thrusts grew harder, “tell me how good I’m fucking this pretty pussy. My pussy,” his pussy, yes, it was his.

You cried at the claim. “It feels so good Guk – fuck I love when you fuck me like this.”

He pounded harder, as if he was trying to punctuate something. Both your breaths quickened, equally as eager to chase your own high as you were each other’s. Pushing his chests flush against yours, he leaned his forehead against yours, neither of you broke eye contact.

“L-love you,” he cried. “I love you.”

It felt as if all the air in your lungs was punched out of you, you couldn’t pinpoint whether it was Jungkook’s hips thrusting into yours unforgivingly, or if it was the fact that the boy you basically watched grow up happened to be the same person you’ve liked since middle-school, standing in front of you, telling you he loves you.

You lied to yourself, you genuinely thought whatever strong feeling you felt for Jungkook had died down, that you had truly moved on. You even got a boyfriend and all that.

But it wasn’t until you heard Jungkook utter those three words that you realized they never went away, no – you had hidden those feelings away in a box and chained several chains around it to keep them suppressed.

You loved him too, of course you did. You never stopped loving him for fucks sake. It pains you to think about how much crap both of you were put through for you to realize this.

“I love you.”

12-year-old Y/N was applauding and smiling like crazy; you finally said it. The love you had carried for Jungkook in your poor overwhelmed heart was finally spilled all over the table.

Jungkook’s hips stuttered at your reciprocating words. He hadn’t expected you to say it back, but for the love of all that is holy; he loved hearing you say it, it sounded so pretty coming from you. “Say it again,” he was now smiling, and you couldn’t help but smile back at him.

His eyes were glowing, so of course you had to say it again, “I love you. Fuck – I always have.”

“Again.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” completely out of breath, you caressed the side of his cheek, watching as his eyes teared up once again. He only fastened his pace, if that was even humanly possible. Lovingly, you ran your thumb across the scar that laid right on his cheek, “I am in love with you.”

That being said – Jungkook exploded, with you following right after him. You were holding on to each other for dear life, with slow pumps to help ride out your highs. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, at your final clench.

Small strings of I love you’s were heard from Jungkook who was breathlessly panting into your neck. He kissed your temple, guiding a small string of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he started, “I’ve been in love with you since freshman year of high school,” he smiled adoringly at you, “the first day we had a biology class, I saw you slip a note into my locker that read ‘if I could be a nitrogen base, I’d be adenine so I could be paired with U.’ and there was a small purple bellflower taped to the corner of the paper. You’ve had my heart ever since that day.”

Your eyes widened, physically cringing at yourself in your teenage years, “I can’t believe you knew it was me, and really? That’s what it took for you to like me back?” You giggled, “you can’t blame me, you were, and still are, extremely adorable.” He shrugged his shoulders. You gently pushed his shoulders, feeling your face turn red at the reminder of your rather sappy biology pick up line.

“Well, I’ve loved you since middle school. I win this one, Jeon.”

Saturday 02:57AM

“What’s taking so long, Y/N should be back by now,” Jin winced, eyeing the small watch on his wrist.

Taehyung and Mina looked at each other, “do you think it worked?” Mina questioned, a beaming smile plastered across her face, “yup,” Taehyung crossed his arms proudly. “Operation tell-Y/N-to-get-polaroid-camera-because-Taehyung’s-too-drunk-for-his-own-good-so-that-she-could-be-trapped-in-the-same-room-as-Jungkook-and-make-up… Was a success!”

taglist: @selinashere @jjenjen @ladyartemesia @emsuzz @iamjiminsfloor @silvlyjmhwa

#jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk smut #fluff #angst #he won't know #fanfic

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Those "you're not qualified enough" responses are such bullshit. Do I need to include a signed statement from the president that I know what history is? A custom message from the Oracle of Delphi saying I'm perfect for job and they should hire me?

LIKE!

With the added bonus that I don't know if I was not "qualified" enough for a position designed exactly for someone in my career stage (postdoctoral researcher) after I wrote a research proposal tailored closely to what they were looking for, or if I WAS qualified but they just decided that they needed more applications, or something. Most search committees would be pleased to have fewer materials to look at, but going to the trouble of soliciting a WHOLE NEW ROUND OF APPLICATIONS is, as I said in my tags, incredibly insulting to everyone (not just me) who has already applied. Really, you couldn't find anyone to interview in what was, as far as I could see, a well-shared and well-received initial posting? DO YOU WANT AN ABSOLUTELY TIP TOP PERFECT APPLICANT, WHICH (SPOILER ALERT) DOES NOT EXIST? WHAT? WHAT???

Anyway, I am tired. I am tired of the incredible amount of unpaid labor early career researchers are expected to do on every application, over and over, and which has become incredibly normalized. Sometimes they want full syllabi, course evaluations, course proposals, teaching statements, research summaries, official transcripts, and other documents that take significant time and effort to prepare, and then the general response is to ghost you and never hear another word again. I have seen researchers asked to work for free. (Yes, really.) I have seen some incredibly delusional institutions asking for basically your entire academic oeuvre, MAILED IN HARD COPY, for a.... part-time, hours-not-guaranteed adjunct position. I realize it's a pandemic and places are crunched for time, money, and so forth. But also, is it any wonder that people are being driven out in droves?

Anyway, this is also taking place at a time when the entire practice of academic history is under systemic threat from right-wing loons, who want to make kids in America even less aware of history than they already are, and are going hog-wild with bills to ban the teaching of "uncomfortable" subjects/histories/anything. Yes, I realize that these are at the grade-school level, but where do you think college students come from? Myself and my colleagues have already had enough trouble with kids entering university-level history courses knowing nothing, strongly attached to their medieval fantasies, and unable to conduct even basic research skills. That is, again, something that takes time and effort to teach (not to mention teach effectively) and every time we have to remind a student of basic formatting things like double-spacing your essay and putting in citations and for the love of God you can't use a Google Books newspaper from 1874 as a source, that takes away from actually teaching the subject material that we are there to teach. We aren't supposed to be remedial academic skills counselors. That is not our job. There are (or at least there were) specialized help-center tutors to turn to if students find themselves struggling with the demands of university work. And on. And on.

In short, I'm already just about at the stage where I can't see if it's worth it to keep trying to get a job in this field (after 10+ years of highly specialized skills and training, which obviously makes me wonder if I have wasted all that effort) and while I know that it's certainly not just me, it can't help but feeling like it. The problem is, I have no idea what the hell else to do with my life, and don't really WANT to do something else anyway. And yet.

Ugh.

#anonymous #ask #school stuff #rant

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ace-in-a-shopping-cart · 4 years

Text

Day 23

Prompt: At a certain age you switch bodies with your soulmate for 24 hours.

Word Count: 2,076

Main Taglist: (Send an ask to be added or removed!) @starlocked01, @spoopy-turtle, @lizluvscupcakes, @more-fandon-than-friends, @i-cant-find-a-good-username, @vindicatedvirgil, @star-crossed-shipper, @justaqueercactus, @gayboopnoodle, @sanderssidesweirdo, @the-sympathetic-villain, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart, @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun, sirprplsnail

Soulmate taglist:(Send an ask to be added or removed!) @elizabutgayer, @melodiread, @tsshipmonth2020, @mikalya12, @8-writes, @lizzy-lineart

CW: Food, implied abusive household, one (1) curse word.

Virgil rolled over, hand smacking to turn off an alarm he didn’t remember setting. Eyes opening, he found the world to be fuzzy and out of focus. He noticed the sheets surrounding him were softer than anything he’d ever felt before. Glancing at the side table, he noticed a white notecard sitting atop a black cylinder. Reaching forward, he picked up both items. The cylinder fell open and a pair of glasses tumbled to the sheets. Virgil picked them up and put them on, groaning in relief at being able to see, the eye strain he hadn’t even noticed disappearing.

Looking down at the notecard, he found neat handwriting on it. ‘Greetings! My name is Logan Croft. I am 20 years old. If you are reading this, that means you are my soulmate and have turned 18. You are free to eat anything that is in the kitchen however I must ask that you refrain from eating peanuts of any kind throughout the day as I am severely allergic. My schedule for the day is on the kitchen table. Happy birthday.’ Great, he thought. I thought I had another year until this.

Virgil rolled out of bed, moving to the mirror propped in the corner to look at the face he’d be wearing for the next twenty-four hours. His hair was slightly mussed from sleep and his night clothes hung from the tall and lanky frame. Lifting the shirt, he was surprised to find a muscular abdomen. He turned, sorting through the closet for something he could stand to wear for the day. It was filled with business casual to formal which made Virgil think he was a business major of some sort.

Thinking that he’d decide after breakfast, he walked to the kitchen and found the schedule. Picking it up, he found a loaf of bread and made some toast as he read over it. Glancing at the kitchen clock, he saw that the first class was in twenty minutes. He grabbed the toast and ran back to the bedroom, not wanting to be late for class. The class list seemed more in line with a marine biology major than a business one but he still put on a polo and jeans. He would have attempted the tie but he’d never been taught how. Then, with toast in his mouth and the schedule in hand, he quickly pulled up a navigation app and was out the front door.

~~~~~~

Logan woke to a loud and annoying song blaring near his ear. He sat straight up in bed, taking a second to notice that his vision wasn’t blurry before he turned to riffle under the pillow. He felt a rectangle and pulled it out, finding a phone that was quite a few years past its usefulness. He swiped it open and turned off the alarm, the music cutting off.

He slid off the bed, feet hitting a cold floor, before looking around the room. He found a clean, if bare, room with papers strewn across a desk in the corner and a purple hoodie tossed over the back of the desk chair. He moved over to the desk, picking up a paper to find math equations scrawled over them, the name Virgil Stern written neatly at the top.

“Hello, soulmate.” He whispered quietly to himself, the voice raspy with sleep. He glanced up, seeing his reflection in the cracked mirror covering the closet door. There were dark circles much larger than he knew was healthy under his eyes.

Before he could get a better look, a voice cut through the silence. “Virgil, if you don’t get down here soon you’re gonna be late and I’m not waiting for you!” The shout from outside the door was combined with pounding.

Logan took that as his cue to dress. Picking up the hoodie, he made his way to the closet and threw on a tattered looking shirt and some ripped black jeans. Slinging the hoodie over his shoulders, he snatched up the bag next to the chair. He found a list on the desk that seemed to contain what was needed for the day. Seeing the class schedule on the back, he shoved it into the bag.

He heard footsteps outside the door and tore out of the room, running down the stairs. “I’m coming!” He called.

“It’s about time!” The woman standing at the door exclaimed. Logan ducked his head, passing her on his way out. He stood uncertainly on the walk, not knowing what to do. The woman waited for five other teens to pass her before she closed the door. Logan silently followed the others to a minivan, sliding in with the ones who looked closest to Virgil’s age.

~~~~~~

Virgil got through the first class just fine, taking as detailed notes as he could. He had no idea what was going on or what his soulmate might need so he wrote down everything that seemed important, which meant he was one step away from writing down the whole lecture. He was on his way to the next class, searching the sides of buildings for names, when he heard someone call Logan’s name.

Turning, he saw someone running toward him so he slowed down slightly. When the person caught up with him, they looked like they were about to time travel to the past. Virgil couldn’t help but chuckle. “Is it dress like a pirate day and no one told me?” He immediately wished he hadn’t spoken.

The stranger just put their hands on their hips and laughed. “Logan, how have I not told you about the most recent play I’m in?”

Virgil just chuckled. “Uh, you might have at one point. I’m not myself today.”

The stranger laughed with him. “You could say that again. So, did you and your soulmate swap?”

Virgil sighed. “I have no idea how to act like Logan.”

The person laughed, sticking out a hand. “I’m Roman, his best friend. I go by they/them pronouns.”

Virgil smiled, shaking their hand. “Virgil; he/him.”

Roman smiled. “Cool. Logan also goes by he/him. Come on,” they began walking and Virgil fell in step, “We have classes near each other so we usually walk together anyways.”

Virgil smiled. “So, what’s your play about?” Roman launched into a detailed explanation of it while Virgil was just glad to not have to think or do anything besides walk and listen for a few minutes.

The peace was over as they arrived at the next class and Virgil once again had no idea what was going on. He followed along and took notes just short of being the transcription for the lecture, trying to get down everything. Luckily, it didn’t look like Logan had any classes after this so he was free to meet up with Roman and simply follow them around as needed. He ended up spending the rest of the day sitting in the theatre while Roman ran lines and did the costume practice. He even got the chance to meet Roman’s soulmate, Patton.

~~~~~~

Logan was in his own personal hell. He had to deal with so many rowdy people in one car, high school again, and people who obviously didn’t care about his soulmate. For goodness sake, none of them had even mentioned that it should be Virgil’s eighteenth birthday. They should have known it was coming, they should have asked about it, done something. Instead, he got a lecture in the car ride about needing better sleep habits.

When he got to the school, he was almost instantly attacked from behind. Muscle memory moved the body before he even thought, throwing the person over his shoulder and flat onto their back in front of him. Logan took the few seconds while the person was getting up to wonder why that was the first instinct.

“Hiya, Verb!” The person said, dusting the front of their clothes off.

Logan straightened his backpack and frowned. “Am I supposed to know you?”

The person laughed. “Wow, looks like your soulmate is a year older than you, Virge. Or, I guess I should use your name, Virgil’s soulmate?”

Logan began walking into the building and Virgil’s friend followed. “My name is Logan. I’m assuming Virgil’s eighteenth birthday is today as I’ve been twenty for almost five months.”

The person snapped, reaching a hand out to shake Logan’s. “Well, my name is Remus but Verb normally calls me Stinky. What should I call you?”

“Logan will suffice. I’m assuming we have the same classes? I don’t know this school’s layout.”

Remus nodded. “Yep! Just stick with me and you’ll be fine, friendo!”

They went through the rest of the day at each other’s sides. Logan took as detailed notes as he deemed necessary, the important things from what he remembered. At lunch, he was informed that Virgil and everyone around him thought that he was turning seventeen today instead of eighteen. When he asked about that, he was told that Virgil had been in the foster system for a while and had to repeat a grade due to bad home life disrupting his grades.

The end of the day came and he went back to the front of the school with Remus, having to pack himself into the van with the other kids. He sent a quick, “Bye, Stinky!” for show before the door closed. He spent the rest of the ride in silence but his thoughts were racing. His mind was made up as they arrived at home, Logan instantly going up the stairs to do Virgil’s homework for him. On a scrap piece of paper, he wrote his phone number down before pausing.

Carefully, he began writing in his neatest handwriting. ‘I don’t know you yet, but I want to. I want to know what your laugh sounds like when I’m the one making you laugh. I want to know what you think about late at night. I want to know you. I want you to know me, to know whatever you want about me, to know my darkest secret and know I give it willingly. I want to know you and be known by you. I can’t wait to meet you, no matter how long it takes. I hope you had a good birthday and that Roman took you out for ice cream or something. I hope you know you are loved and appreciated.’

He went about making the bed and neatening up the room as much as he could. If he couldn’t be there to wish his soulmate a happy birthday, he could at least give him a nice present. That present might not be an expensive item, but it could be finished homework, a clean room, and a good night’s rest.

~~~~~~

The end of the time came and they swapped back at midnight. Both soulmates’ best friend filled them in on the events of the day and everything their soulmate did. After all, it was a few years before they met again.

When they did, it was by complete chance, as most soul meetings went. It was outside an aquarium. Logan was just getting off his shift and Virgil was going to the donut shop across the street from it. Logan saw him and paused. “Virgil?” He called.

Virgil turned, trying to find the voice that had been his own for a day and still populated his dreams and evenings, the nightly calls coming to mind. His name was called again and he saw the figure standing across the street. He waved and watched as Logan came across to him, a smile on his face. “Logan, hi.”

Logan couldn’t help but reach forward, hand brushing Virgil’s in a silent ask for permission to hold it. Virgil’s smile grew as he turned his hand to take Logan’s. “You know,” Virgil began, “I was just about to grab a donut if you wanted to join me?”

Logan smiled. “I’d love to, soulmate.” The word was said as both an endearment and a promise. A promise of a life spent together, of days starting and ending with each other, of a shelter and a place to relax without having to hide any part of himself. An endearment of love, of someone worth loving, and that was all that Virgil needed. If he hadn’t been in love with his soulmate already, he would have fallen in that moment for that one word that held so much.

#tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate au #analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #angst with some fluff thrown in for variety #ace writes

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heartofether · 3 years

Text

Episode 15 - Elderberries TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[LOWER-PITCHED AND SLOWER THAN NORMAL] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE POPPY GARDEN MOTEL, AGENT MAY AND JUNES’ ROOM, EARLY MORNING.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, is it on? I dunno how this recording device works. Would have been, like, ten times easier to just record on our phones, but, eh.

Anyways, it’s just me right now, which means I get to do all the talking. Guess I should, I dunno, talk about the mission? Daughtler?

Oh! I know. There’s this candy store downtown that displays massive gummy bears in the window, only it’s so hot outside that the bears have started melting. It’s some mix of disturbing, but also hilarious? Seriously, those bears look so sad, I can’t help but laugh.

Let’s see. Say, what’s that stupid thing he always says? [DRAMATICALLY MOCKING AGENT MAY] This is Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are property of the—

[AS AGENT JUNE TALKS, THE DOOR IS HEARD OPENING AND CLOSING. THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS AS AGENT MAY WALKS IN.]

AGENT MAY

Here’s your coffee.

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged! Oh, you got it with oat milk, right?

AGENT MAY

[SLIGHTLY BITTER] It cost extra, but yes.

AGENT JUNE

Aw, hell yeah.

[AGENT JUNE TAKES HIS DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

I’ve never understood the excitement behind alternative milks.

AGENT JUNE

Hey, I’m lactose intolerant. Not that that would stop me from consuming dairy in most scenarios, but oat milk hits, alright? You should give it a shot.

AGENT MAY

I don’t put milk in my coffee, just sugar.

AGENT JUNE

Mm. Gross.

AGENT MAY

[HE HUFFS A SIGH.] Well, I’ll stop judging your coffee order if you stop judging mine.

AGENT JUNE

I’ll agree to that, sure.

[HE TAKES A SIP, THEN] See anything of note in the coffeeshop?

AGENT MAY

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Maybe. There was this girl sitting at a table. She was wearing all-black, which is strange considering the weather.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, ever heard of fashion? Dude, you literally wear a suit every day! No wonder you overheat. I mean, why do you think I skip the blazer?

AGENT MAY

[IRRITATED] At least I wear my tie correctly.

AGENT JUNE

I leave it undone on purpose, alright? It’s a statement.

AGENT MAY

Do you know how to tie a tie?

AGENT JUNE

[DEFENSIVE] Yes!

[AN UNCOMFORTABLY LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

So, there was this girl in the coffeeshop.

AGENT MAY

She seemed fairly young. Must have been in either high school or college. She was staring at me over her laptop the whole time. Like she was, I don’t know, stalking prey. It was like her eyes were knives, and she was trying to carve my flesh off.

AGENT JUNE

So, she defo wasn’t just idly looking or whatever. Like, you’re pretty sure she was thinking about killing you?

AGENT MAY

Well, there’s no way I can know for certain, now, is there?

[A BEAT.] She was wearing a black fabric surgical mask, though.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Do you think she was—?

AGENT MAY

I can’t say for sure.

AGENT JUNE

I mean, it might have been an accessory, but we’re in Daughtler, Washington—

AGENT MAY

I’m not going back there to check. Okay? If we see her again, maybe we can consider interviewing her, but I don’t feel comfortable going back to see her.

AGENT JUNE

[UNDERSTANDING] Alright.

[AGENT MAY SIGHS.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] Alright. I won’t force you.

AGENT MAY

I—I appreciate that.

[THERE'S A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Uh, how’d you sleep?

AGENT MAY

About as well as I could in a car seat.

AGENT JUNE

Okay, I can’t just keep letting you sleep in the car. It was kind of funny at first, but now I just— [HIS SENTENCE TRAILS OFF IN VAGUE STUTTERS.]

AGENT MAY

[BEAT.] Well?

AGENT JUNE

I feel bad! Alright? I mean, look at me, I have this whole room to myself, and meanwhile, my partner is sleeping in a company vehicle that may or may not have bloodstains in the backseat.

[BEAT, THEN] Actually, I’d love to talk about those weird dark stains later, because uh, what, but I’ll let it slide for now. It’s still gotta be super uncomfortable, though.

AGENT MAY

We could always take turns.

AGENT JUNE

No, what I’m saying is I don’t think either of us have to sleep in the car! There has got to be a better solution.

AGENT MAY

The Foundation already declined giving us a second room, or trying to transfer us to a larger one. Trust me, I tried.

AGENT JUNE

Dammit.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

It's king-sized, you know.

[ANOTHER LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT MAY

Do you think the motel has spare blankets? I think I could try sleeping on the floor.

[THOUGH UNSEEN, AGENT JUNE LOOKS INTO THE CAMERA LIKE HE’S IN THE OFFICE.]

AGENT MAY

…I’ll go down and ask later.

AGENT JUNE

Good idea.

[A BEAT. THERE'S SUIT RUSTLING AS AGENT MAY CHECKS HIS WATCH.]

AGENT MAY

We should head out soon.

AGENT JUNE

You’re really glued to that watch of yours, huh?

AGENT MAY

Excuse me?

AGENT JUNE

Not that it’s bad, you just check it a lot. I don’t really know what watch etiquette is, but I think you look at it more than most people do. I’ve also noticed you tend to look at it more around specific times? Is there a reason, or—?

AGENT MAY

[MORE SERIOUS THAN THE CONVERSATION WARRANTS] It’s none of your business. Perhaps I simply prefer to keep on schedule. Let’s go.

AGENT JUNE

[SLIGHTLY CONFUSED] Oh, um, okay. Sorry. [UNDER HIS BREATH] Jeez. Let me just—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER BEEP.]

[INT. THE OPEN EYES BOOKSTORE BACKROOM, EARLY, EARLY MORNING.]

HOLLY

Are you recording?

PHOEBE

Yes, yes, I am.

HOLLY

Kind of weird to be doing this so early in the morning.

PHOEBE

I’m sorry, I know it’s super early. Night just felt…well, it felt more dangerous, I guess? Even Grandma Doe recommended not doing it too late. I wanted to get it done before the shop opened, though.

HOLLY

Oh no, I don’t mind. I guess people usually just consider night to be “the witching hour.”

PHOEBE

This isn’t really witchcraft, though, is it?

HOLLY

Guess not. Most modern witchcraft is a lot more…chill, I guess?

PHOEBE

Right. [A BEAT.] Do you think it’s really a good idea to be doing this in the back room?

HOLLY

Well, it’s not like we have anywhere else. It’d be super shady if we did it right outside, and your forestry friend would be pissed if we went out into the woods to do it.

PHOEBE

[NERVOUS] There’s so much paper, though. I mean, we could easily set the whole thing alight. My apartment’s really small, I know, but maybe we could—?

HOLLY

Don’t worry about it. We did a pretty good job clearing stuff out to make space, I think. It should be fine, I mean, a lot of the most flammable stuff either got moved out or shoved against the wall.

Besides, didn’t she say that it might be good to do it here for like, symbolic purposes?

PHOEBE

Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. [SHE CHUCKLES.] Maybe this will finally give me incentive to organize everything.

HOLLY

[SHE LAUGHS, SOMEWHAT NERVOUSLY.] If this works, then hopefully you’ll be able to do that anyways.

PHOEBE

That’s true, yes. I, um, guess we should get started. Can you read the directions?

HOLLY

Of course.

[HOLLY IS HEARD UNFOLDING A PIECE OF PAPER.]

HOLLY

[READING] The purpose of all of this is energy. You are lighting fire to produce energy. You are grinding berries and eating them to produce it as well. Ether functions under this key desire for vitality. If you can understand this simple principle, this keen need it has, it will treat you much more kindly.

By designing this ritual for you, my hope is that it will spell out as clear as day to Ether what you are trying to achieve. It rarely gives people what they want, rather it gives what it sees fit for them. You must steer it in the correct direction, or else it will choose a different fate for you.

These instructions are similar to what Valencia and I did, as well as symbolic for what you hope to achieve. However, nobody has ever developed an exact science for how these rituals function. We may only rely on guesswork and hope. While I would like to develop more specific procedures and instructions, I do not know if I ever will. Perhaps that could be your task.

[BREAKING READING] Could I skip her whole monologue? We already read it, and I don’t think it’s important in-the-moment.

PHOEBE

Sure.

HOLLY

Cool.

[SHE FLIPS THE PAPER.]

HOLLY

Materials needed: Yarn or string to create a casting circle. Some people use salt, but it produces an awful mess. Several circles of yarn around you and your workspace will work just fine.

PHOEBE

We did that already.

HOLLY

Yup. [READING AGAIN] Three white candles with words carved into them. It does not matter what the words are, they simply have to be legible and completely cover the candle. No numbers. I just wrote out song lyrics on that one.

PHOEBE

Oh, that’s neat! I, um, did poems I like.

HOLLY

Cute. [A BEAT.] A lighter or match of some kind. Someplace to safely burn paper—we got a metal bin, so we’re good. Did you turn off the smoke alarm?

PHOEBE

I did, yeah.

HOLLY

Let’s hope the place doesn’t burn down, then. [CHUCKLE, THEN] I’m joking, I promise. It should be fine. [SHE CLEARS HER THROAT.]

A book—you will be tearing out each individual page, so to save time, I suggest a children’s book. A bowl or container of some kind. Elderberries, I recommend you cook them beforehand, but make sure none of them are pre-mashed. Something to mash the elderberries with. Finally, a few drops of your blood, or something to draw blood with. That’s what the sewing needle is for, right? You sure you don’t want a blade? I have a pocket knife.

PHOEBE

[UNCOMFORTABLE] I get nervous around knives, but thank you for the offer.

Oh—actually, I wanted to ask, um, where did you find elderberries? I couldn’t find them anywhere.

HOLLY

I asked the bartender down the street.

PHOEBE

Huh.

HOLLY

Yeah, they make all sorts of weird cocktails. Are you ready? Once we start, we can’t stop until it’s complete.

PHOEBE

[WITH WEIGHT, NERVOUS, BUT DETERMINED] I’m ready.

HOLLY

Okay.

[HOLLY FLIPS THE PAPER AGAIN. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

Phoebe?

PHOEBE

Yeah?

HOLLY

Whatever happens, I—we’ll be okay, alright? No matter what. I’ll make sure of it, I swear.

PHOEBE

[TENDERLY] Thank you.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY ARE HEARD KISSING. HOLLY TAKES A DEEP BREATH.]

HOLLY

Create a circle around— Okay, we already did that. Um, Start by lighting the candles.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD LIGHTING A MATCH AND LIGHTING ALL THREE CANDLES.]

HOLLY

Tear each individual piece of paper out of the book. One by one, burn each piece of paper using fire from the candles. Once you have burned each page, burn the cover. Do not attempt to put any of the fires out. This tedious process shows care and dedication. The blood in later steps is there for a similar purpose.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD TEARING PAGES OUT OF A CHILDREN’S BOOK AND LIGHTING THEM ON FIRE. THERE’S A LONG PAUSE AS SHE DOES SO.]

PHOEBE

Good thing this book only has twenty pages. [A BEAT.] What’s next?

[PHOEBE IS STILL TEARING PAPER IN THE BACKGROUND, AND THE BURNING SFX GOES ON FOR SOME TIME.]

HOLLY

Uh—place your elderberries in the bowl and begin mashing them in a clockwise motion. As you do this, speak out loud and ask Ether to grant you knowledge and the ability to see what others do not. There should be no misunderstanding in what you are trying to achieve, and if you have garnered Ether’s attention, it should have already decided what it shall do with you. [MUTTERS] Fuckin’ weird.

[PHOEBE CEASES HER PAGE-TEARING.]

PHOEBE

The book is done. Pass me the spice grinder with the berries?

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE SPICE GRINDER.]

PHOEBE

Thank you.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD GRINDING THE ELDERBERRIES.]

PHOEBE

[WHISPERING TO HERSELF] Ether, um, whoever or whatever you are, if you are listening to me, please grant me knowledge. Grant me the power to see what others do not. Let me see and know everything.

[THERE IS A RINGING HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND AS HOLLY SPEAKS.]

HOLLY

If this works, the words on the candle should begin to—holy—God!

[HOLLY STUMBLES BACK.]

PHOEBE

Glow?

HOLLY

[FREAKING OUT] Yup? Uh—they’re actually glowing, what the—

PHOEBE

[OVERLAPPING] What’s next?

HOLLY

Sorry, sorry. [SHE RUFFLES THE PAPER IN HER HAND.] Mix a few drops of your blood into the elderberries.

PHOEBE

Pass me the sewing needle.

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE NEEDLE. SHE PRICKS HER FINGER.]

PHOEBE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Ow.

[SHE LETS A FEW DROPS COME OUT, SUCKS ON HER FINGER BRIEFLY, THEN MIXES HER BLOOD IN.]

HOLLY

Drink the elderberry mash. You must consume every bit of it, or at least as much as you can.

PHOEBE

[GROWING IN A MIX OF PANIC AND EXCITEMENT] This is it—I mean—wait, I’m about to consume my blood, that’s weird, but—this is really it.

HOLLY

[ENCOURAGING] You can do it.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD DRINKING THE ELDERBERRY MASH. THERE IS A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

If successful, the candles will—

[THE CANDLES ARE HEARD EXTINGUISHING.]

HOLLY

…blow out.

PHOEBE

[SLIGHTLY SICK] I think I got it all.

HOLLY

How do you feel? Is—has anything changed?

PHOEBE

I feel…I feel like there’s a part of me that was never there before. Like, my internal self expands farther out than my physical self, like I’m floating, it’s—I need to go lie down.

HOLLY

I’ll take you upstairs. It worked, though?

PHOEBE

I think it did. I mean, Grandma Doe said I would feel some sort of immediate change, but the rest of it would trickle in slowly. I feel different, though.

HOLLY

[SLOWLY, CAUTIOUS] Does this mean you’re not human anymore?

PHOEBE

[A BEAT.] I haven’t thought about that. I mean, I think I might just kind of be human plus? I’m not sure. Grandma Doe was still mortal, after all—she felt pain, she got ill—her mind was just super advanced. Does that make me inhuman?

HOLLY

I…I don’t think so. I think you just have mind powers or whatever.

PHOEBE

I’ll think about it later. I’m just going to try to get some sleep before the shop opens.

HOLLY

You don’t even have to open today, you know. People will understand if you just say you’re ill. Or I could run it for today, since there’s usually less traction on weekdays.

PHOEBE

[SINCERE] Thank you.

HOLLY

Of course.

PHOEBE

[SHE SIGHS.] Okay, time to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

IRENE

I just got home from work. Apparently, Phoebe did that ritual early this morning. It went well, from what Holly told me, though Phoebe’s been taking the day off to rest.

Oh, and they also posted that advert on the bulletin board yesterday. You know, for someone to develop Valencia’s film.

That’s not important right now. You know what is important?

This morning, at work, I opened up a folder on my computer and guess what was in it? A new audio recording where there shouldn’t be one. Guess the technological gods have decided to be generous today.

I decided to wait until I got off to listen to it. It’s dated shortly after the incident, so I think it might be important.

Besides, work has been…well, different, since the Spread. I haven’t told Carol or Aden that’s what it’s called, though. The whole incident brought us closer together, but I think that’s a double-edged sword. They know me well enough, now, I think they can tell I’m hiding something. Aden definitely knows I am—I mean, what I told him was pretty cryptic, but Carol I think just…knows. She’s just like that. [SCOFF] Maybe that’s part of her motherly instincts.

Right, that’s beside the point. Back to the recording.

Here goes nothing.

[IRENE CLICKS ON THE FILE.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. DRIVING, LATE AT NIGHT.]

[THERE IS THE AMBIANCE OF DRIVING DOWN A DESOLATE FOREST ROAD AS THEY TALK.]

UNKNOWN GIRL

Does it work?

ROSE

I believe so.

UNKNOWN GIRL

[SHE SNORTS.] About as well as a cheap cell phone from Walmart could, I imagine?

ROSE

It just has to be able to record and make emergency calls. I’m not too worried about it. Thank you, again. Really, I owe you.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Hey, I didn’t buy it. I just walked into the store and handed your money to the guy behind the counter. It’s not a big deal.

[DULLY SKEPTICAL] You’re trying pretty hard to cover up your tracks, you know. Destroying your phone, not wanting to be seen in public to go get a new one, only paying in cash. Almost makes it sound like you’re a criminal or something.

ROSE

[FRANTIC] I’m not! I swear, I’m not.

UNKNOWN GIRL

No need to get defensive. Look, I get it. We all have reasons to want to disappear. I’m surely in no position to judge.

You know, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I feel like we might actually have a lot in common.

ROSE

Why is that?

UNKNOWN GIRL

We both don’t know where we’re going, or why.

ROSE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Oh, I know why.

UNKNOWN GIRL

So you do have a reason?

ROSE

It’s not a big deal.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Your secret’s safe with me, you know.

ROSE

It’s nothing. Really. Just…do you have to know or—?

UNKNOWN GIRL

Well, do I have any reason to?

ROSE

No, but do you even have a reason to be helping me?

UNKNOWN GIRL

[DEADPAN] What can I say? I’m a generous soul.

[A BEAT.] Say, why did you want something to record with, anyways?

ROSE

I, um—it’s stupid.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Try me.

ROSE

It’s—well. I guess I don’t want to be forgotten? I want some way for people to find out what happened to me when…if…you know. There’s…if something does happen to me, there’s at least one person who deserves to know.

UNKNOWN GIRL

You think you’re going to get yourself killed?

ROSE

I don’t know. I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry?

UNKNOWN GIRL

But you have someone you know will want to listen. [CONNECTING THE DOTS] You weren’t a loner before you left, were you? You left someone important behind, and now you feel bad. You owe them an explanation.

ROSE

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Yes. Right. I guess.

[A BEAT.] I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Who did you abandon?

ROSE

[RAISING HER VOICE SLIGHTLY] I said I’m done.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Alright, alright.

[A BEAT.] If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you prod at me a bit.

ROSE

[HESITANT] Where did you get your name? Wednesday is such a unique name, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it outside of stories.

WEDNESDAY [UNKNOWN GIRL]

It’s certainly no ‘Mary,’ is it?

ROSE

I mean, obviously. My name’s pretty basic.

WEDNESDAY

I actually chose it after I left home. Not like that, just never liked the name my parents gave me. Kept the last name ‘White,’ though. It has a ring to it.

ROSE

Was there a reason for it, or did it just sound nice?

WEDNESDAY

When people meet someone with a weird name, that tends to be the thing that most grabs their attention. “I met a girl named after a day of the week today, isn’t that bizarre?” I didn’t want to be remembered for anything I didn’t want people to see. If one thing was going to stick with them, it would be my name, but not quite the face that goes with it. Just the girl with an odd name.

ROSE

So you want to be forgotten?

WEDNESDAY

Not forgotten, but I want control over the memory of me. I want to fade away into obscurity, but not obscure enough that it’s suspicious.

ROSE

[KIND OF UNCOMFORTABLE] You’ve thought about this a lot.

WEDNESDAY

When you’re like me, you have to.

ROSE

Wh—what does that—

WEDNESDAY

[OVERLAPPING] Do you need me to stop at the gas station up ahead?

[THERE’S A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

ROSE

Um, yeah, I have to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, EARLY EVENING, THE SAME DAY.]

[THERE’S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[STILL PROCESSING IT AS SHE SPEAKS.] Okay. Okay! This is definitely a start. A great start, actually!

Okay, let’s see, uh—after you ran away, you destroyed your phone—no wonder the police couldn’t track it—and then you went with some person named Wednesday.

That’s definitely a start. If I can figure out where Wednesday—White, was it?—yeah, Wednesday White. I know Wednesday probably isn’t her legal name, but I might still be able to find her somewhere. If I can find Wednesday White, I might have a good shot at finding you. That’s great news!

[A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[HER ENTHUSIASM DYING] I don’t trust Wednesday, though.

[A BEAT.] Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical. I mean, you’re not an idiot, Rose. You wouldn’t hitch hike with just any random stranger. Would you? Doesn’t even seem like you gave her your real name, she called you ‘Mary.’

[SHE HUFFS A SIGH.] Maybe I’m just being defensive. Still, she seemed off, didn’t she? That whole thing she said about her name just kind of rubbed me the wrong way. She prodded a lot, too. Almost as if she wanted to make you uncomfortable.

I could be reading into it too much. I guess I won’t know until I find her. Hopefully, she didn’t fade into obscurity too much. There’s gotta be some record of her existence online. If I’m lucky, she might be on social media or something. Who knows? Lots of time has passed.

[A PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY] That person, you—were you recording for me? You wanted me to know you hadn’t abandoned me on purpose. [HURT] And here I was, thinking you would just leave without reason. That you had betrayed me in some way. I’m—Rose, I’m so sorry—

[JUST AS SHE SAYS “SORRY,” HER PHONE BEGINS VIBRATING. SHE PICKS IT UP.]

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] There’s an unknown number calling me.

[SHE ANSWERS.]

IRENE

Hello?

CALLER

Hello? Is this the person who posted an ad outside of Open Eyes Bookstore?

IRENE

Oh! Um, yeah, that’s me. Wow, I didn’t expect to hear from someone so fast.

CALLER

I’m an observant person. I like to make my rounds throughout the town. You’ll never know what you’ll find, after all. Or who.

Anyways, you have some film that needs to be developed, right? Well, it just so happens to be your lucky day, because I have a dark room.

IRENE

That’s fantastic. I can pay you however much you want, just—

CALLER

[OVERLAPPING] Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m studying photography, so the experience is payment enough. No worries!

IRENE

That’s very kind of you, thank you.

CALLER

Of course!

Oh, where are my manners? My name is Sadie. Sadie Creed. And you are…?

IRENE

Irene.

SADIE

Irene! How cute. Where do you want me to pick up your film?

IRENE

Um, I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I would prefer to meet out in the open? Is that a problem?

SADIE

Not at all. How about Lemongrass Park?

IRENE

That’s actually perfect, yeah.

SADIE

Great! I’m happy to meet you tomorrow night at 8:00, if that time works for you? I know that’s a bit late, but I work at the candy shop until then.

IRENE

That should be fine, yeah.

SADIE

Looking forward to it! Pleasure doing business with you, Irene. Bye-bye!

[SADIE HANGS UP.]

IRENE

Huh. Well, I guess that solves that.

Time to go find Wednesday White.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: A wave of grass engraves upon the stone: ‘There is more than one good way to drown.’

Sylvia Plath in "Epitaph in Three Parts," 1955.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

MICRO-COSMOS PROMOTIONAL AD [written by Jesse Smith]

[THERE ARE STATIC NOISES.]

ATHENA

This is Communications Athena Romero of OEC #0137-F recording from a… still, unknown location on the infant planet Ophiuchus-22. Though I have my… well, rational, doubts, something in me feels as though this transmission might actually be reaching someone. Might just be desperation, though. Most likely just desperation. Regardless. We would appreciate any and all OC representatives or employees, or individuals otherwise receiving this transmission, to please send a response. We have been recording mandatory and otherwise necessary emergency chronicling logs for days now. Please.

[WE HEAR MILES'S FOOTSTEPS APPROACH.]

MILES

(distant) Athena, are you sending out another transmission? They’re not going to-

[C41 APPEARS WITH THEIR USUAL PING.]

C41

Shhh, let her do her thing, Miles. She needs to set her character up correctly for the new listeners that are hearing this promotional advertisement.

MILES

The new— what?

C41

What?

MILES

What are you talking about?

FELIX

I believe what Cal is doing is called “breaking the fourth wall,” my friend.

MILES

Breaking the what now?

C41

Oh, just forget about it.

[MILES GROANS; WE HEAR ALEX APPROACH.]

ALEX

What about a promotional advertisement?

ATHENA

Guys, could you… [SIGHS] I am trying to finish this log, so could you please give me a moment?

ALEX

Sorry, Starshine, I just got a little caught up in the whole “self-aware and breaking the fourth wall” thing.

ATHENA

It’s… fine.

C41

If I were you, Athena, I would close your log out by telling the listener to tune in to Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast, wherever you get your podcasts! The show is created by a crew of LGBTQ+ people, and features strange infant planets, brief romantic scenes before epic tragedy, cool sci-fi terminology, and adorably talented AI units, like myself!

ATHENA

Micro-?

C41

More information on the show can be found on its website: “microcospod.space”, OR its Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, or TikTok, which all have the handle “@microcospod.”

MILES

… uh huh.

[THE CREW SITS IN SILENCE FOR A SECOND.]

C41

That’s just what I would say, though.

MILES

… Cal, we really need to figure out what is going on with this new phase of yours.

#heart of ether transcripts

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incidentreport31 · 3 years

Text

Episode 2 - Secure TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.

Recorder clicks on.

SFX of a mug being set down on a counter. Water pouring and then the clink of a spoon against ceramic. Then, an abrupt almost dropping of said mug as Zach begins to speak.

ZACH:

Tea? Really?

ARCHIVIST:

(stammering)Oh, hi, hello, can… can I help you…?

(beat)

ZACH:

You can help yourself by getting some coffee. Tea isn’t gonna do anything for you, you know. It won’t keep you going for the whole day. You’ve gotta get that good ole cup of joe to start your morning.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m… sorry?

ZACH:

You can’t tell me that you actually like that garbage, right? I mean what kind are you even making?

[shuffle as he grabs the box off the counter]

English Breakfast? Really? English? Compensating for being in the US are we?

ARCHIVIST:

(defensive for no reason beknown to the listener but painfully known to them) I happen to like it, actually but- no actually wait a minute, who are you? Do you work here?

ZACH:

(also defensive for previously explained reason) Yeah, I do. Do you?

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, indeed I do. I’m actually the head archivist. May I ask what in the hell you might do around here? Other than, of course, critique drink choices?

ZACH:

Oh. (beat) Oh you- (another beat) You’re the archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

(huffing out a breath) Quite right. Once again. What the hell do you do here?

ZACH:

Oh I’m Zach. Zach Baker. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you were… my… boss.

ARCHIVIST:

(hurried and with false confidence) Yes, of course. I’m Val West… your boss. Which means that I’m in charge here. Which then means you should… watch yourself in bothering me about these small things. Yes.

ZACH: It’s not my fault you have the worst taste in drinks-

ARCHIVIST:

(coughs to cut him off)

ZACH:

Well, you do. I’m just saying, okay? And- hold on, are you recording this?

ARCHIVIST: Hmm? Oh, yes I suppose I am.

ZACH:

Where’d that thing come from anyway? It looks ancient.

ARCHIVIST:

It is, from what I can tell. But Mr. Banks has instructed me to record all of my (said with distaste because the archivist is a dick to account givers) “little stories” into it. Apparently, silent reading does not do much in the way of furthering the plot of a story told in an audio format.

ZACH: Yeah, I guess he has a point there.

ARCHIVIST:

Fair enough… Either way, I'm not the biggest fan of the old girl, but she hasn’t broken down on me so far, so that counts for something I reckon. Not that there aren’t better ways of recording things, but I digress.

(a beat)

But, I guess I’ve just gotten in the habit of turning it on when it seems like I’m about to do something noteworthy that might further the plot, you know?

ZACH: Like… making tea.

ARCHIVIST:

Yes, yes, I believe you’ve already expressed your opinions on tea, but some of us prefer it to that… grimy coffee that you seem so attached to.

ZACH:

(flustered and compensating, sputtering his words out) Well you can defend your tea all you want, but I am still objectively correct and everyone else definitely agrees with me too, even if the coffee pot goes missing once a week-

ARCHIVIST:

The coffee pot what?

ZACH:

(feeling like he shouldn’t have said that as it seems to have hurt his argument, starting slow and getting increasingly heated) I… it goes missing sometimes… and I haven’t figured out who keeps taking it yet, but trust me I will, and anyways in the meantime, it’s a bit inconsiderate of you to continue trash talking my drink choice-

Recorder clicks off.

Recorder clicks on.

ARCHIVIST:

God, I had to cut that conversation off… It was getting quite past the point of relevance to anyone listening. Pointless debate. So… back to what I was hired on to do, I suppose. (clearing their throat) For the consideration of Boston College: Jordyn Mackenzie’s encounter with an odd child in her parents’ neighborhood, and her request to be exempt from her midterms. No date, once again. [mutters] I am starting to question my predecessor’s competency when it came to filing these out. Her story begins:

[ACCOUNT START]

Every Wednesday night, I make the drive over to my parents’ house to have dinner. When I first moved into my dorm, I had stubbornly been forced into these dinners, as if they were ripping away my freedom so shortly after I had received it. As time went on, however, those Wednesday night dinners have become what I look forward to most. After a while, the glamour of college began to wear off, and I got homesick easily, even if my mother and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye. There’s something so comforting about being able to step away from the bustling atmosphere of campus, and go somewhere quiet, and familiar. We’ve lived in that house almost all my life, and even with all of the bad memories attached to it, I can’t help but think of all the good ones. Perhaps that’s because I always try to see the glass as half full.

(beat)

It’s not just the house I enjoy. My parents live in a small gated community, just about twenty minutes away from school. The houses are all fairly new, with that white picket fence quality to them. In spite of that, each house has its own personality and charm to it. My favorite is probably this blue one with rabbit figurines out front. There’s a park in the neighborhood, too. Not a fancy one, just some monkey bars, a couple of slides, and a grassy field, but it’s great for picnics. Though, in all my time living there, I’ve hardly seen any other children there. I just assumed there weren’t many young kids in the neighborhood.

(another beat)

Thus, you can imagine my surprise when I met this particular child. Now, after dinner each night, I go out on a walk around the neighborhood. It’s small enough to walk the whole span of it in less than half an hour. My father used to come with me, but he’s been having troubles with his knee, so now I walk alone. The weather this time of year is near perfect for a walk—cold enough for it to kiss your face and wake you up, but not enough to freeze to death.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Good lord, spare me the bad poetry. Would love to get to the actual point soon. Anyways.

[ACCOUNT]

It was on one of these walks that I first encountered the kid.

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Thank you.

[ACCOUNT]

As I previously stated, there aren’t many kids in the neighborhood, so it took me by surprise to see a new face. He looked to be about seven or eight, with unkempt, dirty blond hair, and blue eyes that were almost unnaturally large on his face. He wore a basic white t-shirt and jean shorts, and sure, I liked the weather, but a kid dressed like that must have been freezing, right? He did not shiver, however, hardly even emoted. Just walked right down the center of the road, staring dead ahead, carrying a bright orange toy gun.

(beat)

Of course, I worried for the kid. Where were his parents? Why was he out so late by himself?

I called out to him. He looked up at me with a surprised look, as if he was shocked to see me actually speaking to him. I asked him what his name was, but he didn’t answer. I tried to ask him lots of things—where his house was, why he was out so late, if he needed help or if his parents were nearby. He wouldn’t respond to anything I said. Just stood there and stared intensely into my eyes. I have to admit, it made me a bit squeamish. Eventually, I just walked away, hoping that whoever was responsible for the kid knew where he was, and that he would make it home safely. I tried not to think about it too much after that. The following week, when I went to dinner, I didn’t go on a walk. My parents had decided they wanted to play a board game, and I was more than happy to comply. The event with the kid had left me feeling unsettled, so I was a bit wary of going on a walk regardless. After another week, however, I had finally gotten over it. I figured it was just one weird kid, nothing more. I mean, looking back, I couldn’t blame him for being scared to talk to a complete stranger. I mean I wasn’t even certain looking back that the expression on his face was all that disturbing. It likely had just been fear, right? Surely, his parents knew where he was, and he was simply out for a post-supper stroll like I was. It was a fairly safe neighborhood, after all. So, the next time I went to my parent’s house for dinner, I went on another walk. There was a slight breeze, but my body heats up as fast as an oven with the slightest bit of exercise, so I welcomed the blasts of cold on my skin. The leaves in the trees rustled, and combined with the sound of windchimes, it was like a symphony of nature’s design.

ARCHIVIST: dropping down papers

(frustrated) I thought I said no more poetic imagery, christ- oh good it ends.

[ACCOUNT]

It was lovely, up until it wasn’t. I saw the kid again, still standing in the middle of the road. He was wearing the exact same outfit as before, the shorts even having the exact same grass stains they did before. It was uncanny, sure, but I figured it was just a coincidence. This time, I harbored far less discomfort or worry. It was just a kid. What could he do to me?

(beat)

A lot, turns out. (stumbling through the sentence) A lot meaning… scare me, but you know what I mean.

Before I even opened my mouth, I realized he was staring dead at me. As if his doll-like eyes were drilling holes into my skull. The weight of being watched hit me like a freight train, but I tried my best to shake it off. I apologized to him for being so invasive the last time we met. Again, he didn’t answer, just continued staring. I wasn’t quite sure what to say after that. It would be hypocritical if I began asking him questions again, immediately after I had apologized for doing exactly that.

ARCHIVIST:

Not sure a child understands what hypocrisy is, but, if it lets you keep the moral high ground, Ms. Mackenzie.

[ACCOUNT]

I didn’t like the way he looked at me, though. My desperate need to fill the silence was an instinct of some kind. As I stood there, teetering back and forth on my heels as I tried to think of what to do next, something strange happened. The kid, still staring at me, slowly began to raise his arm. In his hand was the same toy gun as before. He raised the toy gun until it was pointing directly at my head. Well, what the hell was I supposed to do with that? I knew it wouldn’t actually hurt me if he fired it, yet I still found myself frozen in place.

That was when the car, driving far too fast for a neighborhood, came barreling around the corner. The kid didn’t move. Didn’t even look to see the car coming. My feet lept to action before I processed what I was doing. I ran out into the middle of the street and tackled the kid. We stumbled towards the sidewalk on the other side as I dragged him. The momentum knocked us to the ground. Pain surged through my shoulder and my hip, but I hardly processed it until later, when I saw the large bruises that had formed. We had just barely managed to clear the car’s path. The driver didn’t even stop to apologize, or check to see if we were okay. Didn’t even slow down. I didn’t get a good look at the driver’s face, or the license plate. All I remember is that the car was black and might have been a Honda. Wherever they are, I hope karma did a good deal on them for their reckless driving.

Before I could focus on my injuries, I checked to make sure the kid was okay. Other than a scrape on his knee, he appeared to be fine, but it was hard to say. Even after all of that, his expression still hadn’t changed. For some reason, this made me indescribably angry. How could you almost get hit by a car and then still act completely neutral? Regardless,if he was in any pain, there was no way I could tell. I offered to take him back to my place and clean up his knee, but he shook his head. I noticed he was staring intently over my shoulder. When I turned around, I realized his toy gun had been destroyed. Orange and yellow plastic bits covered the street, almost like broken glass. He stood up and walked towards the remains. As he picked up what used to be the trigger, his face was still blank, but if I looked closely enough, I could have sworn I saw something adjacent to sadness. Disappointment, perhaps. For the first time since I had met him, he opened his mouth, and—god, I wish I had stuck around long enough to learn more. I wish I had pressed harder, since I now knew he was actually capable of speech. Hearing what he said next chilled me, though. I can’t quite say why. All I know is that after he spoke, I got up and ran back to my house, never wanting to see that kid again. Do you want to know what he said? The only words I ever heard him speak? It was this, with no further details or elaboration: “He’s not going to be happy about this.”

Paper shuffling.

ARCHIVIST:

And that seems to be where it ends. Jordyn gave us the name of the neighborhood this took place in, as well as the exact street the incident happened. The problem is, as she stated, it’s a gated community, and none of our staff had a code to get in. It says here in an attached slip of paper labeled: Incident Report, (sighs) date not given, that they contacted the head of the community in an attempt to gain access, but the head of the home-owner’s association said to, quote, “shove it in a place the sun doesn't shine, you conspiracy theory creeps.” Luca writes here that there was an issue involving a cup of… tea… thrown at their face… what a waste.(mutters) Rich people.

Because of this, there’s not much we can do. Without a stated name for the kid, or any known relatives, it’s hard to try to track this kid down. Frankly, I don’t think Jordyn’s story is all that concerning, other than the incident with the car, which we also could not find due to her vague description.

(beat)

It’s likely the child she met was simply shy, or possibly processed his emotions in a different way than she was used to. Her university certainly agreed with me, since it seems she was not given her requested time off. Thus, as far as I can tell, this is another instance of someone making something deeper than it needs to be and then trying to get an extra vacation. I can’t blame her, I suppose, since nearly seeing a kid get run over would certainly be upsetting. It does appear that Oliver, our resident psychological consultant, did recommend her a therapist, but she never went.

(beat)

Trust me, Jordyn, I would love to take a break as well, but post-grad school is expensive, and I doubt Mr. Banks would give me paid time off even if something worthwhile were to happen. It’s the world we live in, I suppose. Gotta pay off the student loans one way or another. (sigh)

End recording.

Recorder click off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Secure,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Kaleb Piper as Zach Baker. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!

#ir31pod transcripts

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acescreations · 4 years

Text

Roleplay Transcript (pt. 1)

So this is an old roleplay I got permission from my RP partner to post to my writing blog. I guess revisiting this is kind of a birthday gift to myself and also an apology gift to all of you guys for not writing for shit.

Warnings: Fighting, swearing, violence, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, homophobia, panic attacks

Ship(s): Platonic Analogical

Word Count: 12,553

When Logan went to school on his first day of junior year, he was filled with a strange sense of pride. Students shot glances at him, seemingly worried that Logan would for some reason pick a fight with them, which he would only really do if they were being a jerk and deserved it. Teachers read his name off the attendance list with a hopeless tone upon realizing they had Logan, before looking up with a disappointed resignation when they saw Logan's patch of electric blue hair. Logan had built up a reputation of being strong, of being tough. Just about every kid in school knew about him, whether they be the bullies he fought, the kids he was defending from the bullies, or just the people who saw the fights he was in.

Virgil’s first day at Mindset High was pretty scary. He didnt make friends easily, and he felt like everyone was judging him. He wore a soft lavender hoodie and royal purple sweat pants. Everyone seemed scared of this guy called Logan. I mean, he seemed so grumpy.. He sighed, sitting next to Logan.

Logan blinked in surprise as he watched another student sit down next to him. Most people tried to avoid him as much as possible, so he usually sat alone during class. Even when there were only enough desks for each student in the classroom, people usually pulled their desk a distance away after even the slightest glance from Logan. He guessed this kid sitting next to him hadn't heard of his reputation yet. Well, unfortunately for him, the two were in Logan's least favorite class: history. The class that Logan now associated with whitewashed nationalist propaganda, and arguing with the teacher.

Virgil decided that he would at least get to know this strange man that everyone seemed so.. reluctant to like？ “Uh, hello, I’m.. well, if.. I’m Virgil.” He said tamely, he hoped that they could.. maybe talk？A friend would be nice.

Logan looked over at Virgil with an even, if not cold, expression. That wasn't a name he recognized, so this was probably a new student, which explained why they were actually talking to him. "Logan," he said shortly. They'd learn soon enough that Logan was someone you didn't want to be associated with if you want to have even just a neutral social standing.

Virgil nodded nervously. The dude seemed to be angry at him？Did he provoke him？Should he move seats？ He sighed as he looked down at his work.

Logan put his feet up on the table in front of him, pulling out his phone as he waited for the teacher to, as he put it, "begin his attempt at brainwashing a class of impressionable teenagers."

“Today we shall learn about the history of people that.. well.. people who.. the homosexuals.. and.. others.” Virgil was completely stunned, before immediately grtting dissapointed. “Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” He mumbled.

"Oh hell no," Logan said out loud. Literally everyone in the room probably already guessed about Logan not being straight, so he didn't have anything to lose from being vocal about his distaste over the lesson. "Oh, FUCK no." Underneath his iwn complaining, however, he heard Virgil's much more quiet complaint. Okay, so this guy is actually pretty chill. That's good to know. By "chill" Logan meant "not a smallminded conservative" but those pretty much meant the same thing to him.

Virgil sighed. “This.. is fine.” He said. He was a closeted gay boy, he didnt need this. “Now, this shall be respectful..” The teacher rolled her eyes. “Now, what do we know about.. you know.. those people.”

Logan heard what Virgil said, but to him, this most certainly was not fine. He had already picked his battles, and he picked all of them. "If it's gonna be respectful then why don't you just say the word 'Gay'?" he yelled at the teacher.

The class went dead silent. Virgil sighed softly. If someone found out he was gay, he would die on the inside. “Well, as you all know, the bible said that homosexuals.. will rot in hell.”

"FALSEHOOD!" Logan screamed, slamming his hands on the table as he stood up. "Respectful my ass! And how is this even history?!" Logan would go on, but if he's learned anything from the debate team, it's to let people keep saying stupid shit for Logan to prove wrong.

“Homosexuality is a diease. Now, now more recent years, we have homosexuality shoved down our throats. This is causing more parents to force their children to be gay. This all started because a black trans-” “Please stop talking..” Virgil groaned, tempted to just bash his head into the table.

"Gayness is NOT a disease," Logan said, smacking his hand on the table as he began talking over the teacher. "It's a human characteristic just like height or eye color. Gayness is NOT being 'shoved down our throats,'" he smacked the table again, "people are just getting introduced to labels they didn't originally have. Parents are NOT forcing their children to be gay-" smack "- most are actually beating and throwing their children out of their homes for being gay. But you know what? You just keep talking. Maybe one of these days you'll actually say something intelligent."

“You come from a biased pretense！You only see the side of the homosexuals, thats why you are one of the-” “OH, FOR FUCKS SAKE, CHANGE THE GOD DAMN SUBJECT YOU-” “Damn pastel！Didnt know you could speak.” A guy called out.

Logan immediately turned and shot a glare at the person who insulted Virgil, forgetting the current feud with the teacher for a moment. "If you're going to waste oxygen like that, at least keep it relevant to the conversation." Logan then turned back to the teacher. "You're the fucking biased one, you homophobe!" he shouted, pointing a finger at the teacher as he leaned nearly halfway across the table to yell at him.

“I am not a homophobe！I like.. the lesbians.” The teacher smirked, as Virgil began to laugh. Hes just,, this teacher, how did you get a job？ ”Fine. We will move onto a differ-”

For once in his life, Logan is so stunned by by what he's hearing reaches a loss for words. "How did you even get your teaching degree, you fucking creep?"

“I try to act respectful, and you insult me？I think people like you just stir up drama to draw attention to yourself.” Virgil had stopped laughing. He felt.. guilty. He shouldnt have laughed. Maybe the teacher was right？

Logan went completely silent, his hands curling into fists. "Don't. You. Ever. Generalize me. Like that." Then, to make sure he didn't try to physically fight his teacher, he walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

Virgil watched Logan leave, watched everyone whispering about how freaky Logan was. How gay he was.. Virgil stayed quiet and refused to speak to anyone.

Logan stormed down the hallway, absolutely fuming. He ended up in the school's gym, knowing there wasn't a gym class that period. He let out a shout of frustration as he punched a wall, which hurt, obviously, but it satisfied him and let out some of his anger. After that he just stood there, fist against the wall, breathing heavily.

Virgils scheduele was lost, so he asked around for his next class. They led him to the schools gym, and left him there, lost and confused. Time to make an unlikely friend.

Logan had since moved to sit on the bleachers, glancing up to glare as Virgil entered the gym. He was currently in a mindset that nobody would be friendly towards him, especially right now.

Virgil felt the glare, but sighed. He did promise Patton to make one friend at this god forsaken hell hole. He slowly walks up to Logan. “Uhrm, hi？”

"What do you want?" Logan growled. He recognized that this was the person who was sitting beside him in history, but he still felt like he'd antagonize Logan anyway. Most people did anyway.

He gave Logan a weak smile. “A..Are you okay？” He tilted his head. ”And where is the rest of our class？” He expected at least one othed person to come in. Poor thing.

"I'm fine," Logan snapped defensively, in a counter-productive attempt at convincing Virgil that that was actually true. "And there isn't a class in here right now." Logan didn't have a gym class at all. He was actually skipping a class right now, but it wasn't like his teacher would miss him anyway.

“Oh..” He stammered, looked down at the floor guiltily. “Do you know where S7 is？” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And.. wait. Why arent you in class.. oh.”

Logan sighed as he stood up. "Yeah, come on." He gestured for Virgil to follow him with a small shrug of a shoulder.

Virgil smiled. “Thank you, Logan.” He said softly, following behind him, glad that Logan would do this for him.

Logan shrugged as he began leading Virgil to his classroom. "Whatever," he muttered. Whatever it took to get himself his alone time in the gym. He doubted it would do Virgil's social reputation much good to see him with Logan, though.

“To be honest, that ass of a teacher really should be fired. What kind of creep just likes lesbians？” He tried to make small talk.

"Basically the entire American public does, actually." Logan was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question, but it wasn't like he was wrong, he thought.

“oh.. well.. thats..” Virgil sighed. “Why were you there alone instead of hanging out with friends？” He seemed rather done.

Logan glanced back at Virgil, although he didn't stop walking. "Because there are classes going on right now," Logan said. It was true, although Logan wasn't hanging out with friends because he didn't have any. He just wasn't going to tell Virgil that.

“Dont you have a badass like, gang？Like everyone says？” He tilted his head, very confused. “Oh.. are you.. uh..” He was genuinely confused.

"A gang?" Logan said in mild surprise and disbelief. That was seriously what people said about him? Logan guessed he underestimated his own reputation.

“Yeah. Also, apparently you dont like when people steal your role, so you are going to beat my ass. If you are, then I guess do it here.” He has no fear for death anymore. This school sucked any hope of caring out of him.

"What exactly do people say my role is then?" Logan hadn't intended on carrying on a conversation for this long, or really at all, but he couldn't help but be curious as to what people said about him.

He stared up at the sky, he really didnt want to say this. Dear god, please strike him with lighting. Oh, no lighting？F- “You’re the bad boy that all the girls swoon over. Apparently you’re soft and sweet on the inside.” He scoffed slightly. His defense is up.

Logan stiffened as he continued walking, gagging a little. That was it. It was official. Logan hated his reputation. He supposed he'd have to work harder on establishing his reputation as being stone cold and heartless. He wasn't going to stop picking fights with bigots though, he knew that much. "Well, here's your class," he said to Virgil, stopping in front of a classroom before immediately turning go back to the gym instead of the class he had that period.

“Thanks Logan.” He gave him a weak grin. “Logan Man, Fighting off bigots day after day.” He scoffed, before it turned to a light giggle, and Virgil went into class. What a dork. A nice dork.

Logan glanced back as he walked off, turning back after Virgil walked into class. As he neared the gym again, he glanced down at his left knuckles. After punching the wall, they became red and sore, and Logan was starting to regret punching the wall. His hand still stung.

This is why you dont start a war on walls, you idiot. Virgils class exprience was.. intresting. They made up rumors about him and Logan, and Virgil wanted to vomit. Love always made him feel weird and uncomfortable, but hes absolutely sure hes just gay.

Logan sat back down in the gym bleachers. He didn't know what he was doing back here instead of going to class. He guessed he pretty much didn't want to hear whatever his classmates would say about him. That was actually the first time he stormed out in the middle of class like that, and he assumed that was what people would be talking about right now.

They began to gossip about Logan having a girlfriend, boyfriend, and then him being in a gang. Now they all think Logans a fucking gang leader. Good luck talking to anyone, Logie.

After sitting in the gym with nothing to do for a while, Logan stood back up and headed to the band room. That was where he usually went when he wanted alone time, the gym had just been closer that time. As he walked down, he realized that being a musician probably contributed to people thinking he's "soft and sweet on the inside" but fuck it. Music is probably the reason he doesn't throw hands with every mildly unpleasant person in his vicinity.

Virgil cant stop laughing at the pure idiocity, wanting to just record this and send it to Logan... Eh, later. Once he befriends Logan. He nods to himself as the bell rung. Now he could go find Logan！And hang out with him！

Logan had just reached the band room by the time the bell rang. "God dammit," he said loudly. Now he'd have to choose between letting out some energy and missing another class. Logan sat down behind the drumset in the room, pulling out his phone and earbuds. He figured his teacher wouldn't miss him, and really, who cares if the teacher calls his house? Who gives a shit? Certainly not him. So he put on a pair of fingerless gloves he kept with him, turned on his music, and played along to American Idiot.

Virgil was going to class, but heard... music？He quietly walks towards the sounds, peering in. They had a music room？！ Logan plays music？！ He quietly attempted to sneak in, to be able to hear better. He ended up tripping into a guitar, miraculously not breaking it.

Most people would've heard Virgil tripping as he snuck in, but not only was Logan listening to really loud music, but he was also playing a really loud instrument. But really, neither of those things meant much, because Logan was in The Zone. It would take a lot to break his focus.

Virgil was extremely impressed. Logan really was in the mood. He sat on the floor, just admiring the music.

Logan looked up once the song had ended, quickly pulling out his earbuds and jolting upwards once he saw Virgil sitting there. "What the hell are you doing here?"

“...Uhhhhh, I thought this was the cafeteria？Nice pl-playing.” He quickly stood up, immediately smackin into a cupboard and just sighing softly.

"Of course this isn't the fucking cafeteria, do you see any tabl-" Logan went quiet for a moment when he saw the knocked over guitar. He practically threw himself over the drumset as he ran to check on the guitar, because despite the fact that the school technically owned all of the instruments, that was Logan's Guitar. "The fuck did you do?!" Logan shouted as he checked the guitar over for any damage.

He quickly stood up. “See-ing a-as this isnt the cafeteria, I-I’m going to-” He began to speed for thr door.

Logan looked back up once he was sure his guitar was alright. Once he saw Virgil heading for the door, it occurred to him what he had just done. "I, I didn't mean to snap," he said apologetically, rubbing the back of his head as he looked away from Virgil. This new body language was a complete change from how he usually acts.

Virgil paused, reluctantly rubbing the back of his neck. “U-Uh, oh, ok-okay. I’m.. I’m sorry. You.. You clearly werent..” All words just seemed to die in his mouth.

Logan sighed as he stood back up. "Whatever, just, try not to knock any instruments over, okay?" Logan mumbled as he began walking past Virgil out the door. Okay, so he didn't mumble, but compared to how clearly he normally speaks he might as well have been.

"Thank you, L-Logan." He stammered. He didnt move, just awkwardly standing there. "O-Oh, uh, of course.. Uh, can I sit with you at lunch?" He managed through jumbled stammering.

Logan glanced back at Virgil as he walked out, trying to understand the logic of wanting to be around somebody who just yelled at you for something that wasn't intentional. Logan was hoping it wasn't anything like Logan being nice, because if Logan was the nicest person Virgil knew, well that's just sad. "Sure, whatever." Logan shrugged. He didn't actually know if he was actually going to stay until lunch, since he had been planning on leaving for the rest of the day. He shrugged at himself as he left the band room. Logan supposed he'd find out by lunch.

Virgil just followed after him, quietly. Hey, Logans the nicest guy here at this hell hole of a school, Well, the nicest guy he has met. He looks around, feeling awkward. Oh god. Why is he bothering Logan. He doesnt want you here. Just leave. "Uh-"

Logan attempted to continue walking as normal, despite the ever present awareness of Virgil following him. After all, by the looks of this kid, he's definitely harmless. Although after a while it became hard to ignore the little lost puppy of Virgil. "What are you following me for?" Logan asked over his shoulder. "Don't you have a class or something?" Honestly, how is anyone supposed to let out some steam when someone is following them everywhere?

Virgil flinched. "uh.. yeah.. sure.." He mumbled, and he quickly left. He didnt know why he cared so much. Oh wait, yes he did. Because he wanted Logan's friend. Why? Because he found Logan cool.

Logan sighed once Virgil left. He didn't really know why. Was he disappointed? Logan actually thought he might be. That was probably the longest anyone had ever voluntarily been around him, after all. Either way, Logan still had no idea what to do at this point, especially considering that if he left before school ended he'd definitely have to deal with the consequences soon enough.

Virgil headed off into the bathroom. He just needed somewhere to stay calm, and clear his head. Everything just made him feel horrible. He quietly locked himself into a stall, keeping himself quiet.

Logan leaned against a wall in the hallway, getting out his phone as he debated his options. If he left school now, Virgil wouldn't have to worry about his mistake of wanting to be around him during lunch, but his mom would be pissed if she found out he didn't even stay half of the day. But if he stayed and went to class, he'd half a lot of pent up anger with him during class, and his home had probably already been called due to him not having made it to this class period, so he'd still probably hear about it anyway.

Virgil calmed himself down, and went back outside. He looked around, wondering if Logan was still around. He.. He hoped so. He is not going to that hell hole alone.

Logan sighed as he put his phone away, finally heading to class. He was pretty sure that it was the world's most stupid desicion for Virgil to want to be anywhere near him, but as a new kid who clearly had no idea how to survive in this school, he probably wouldn't be very safe if he was alone during lunch.

Virgil quietly sighed, deciding to go to class. He hid his eyes with his hair. He slunk into the back of the class, trying to keep away from everyone.

Logan managed to keep himself from throwing hands for the rest of his morning class, heading down to the lunchroom afterwards. He stood against a wall and watched people enter without personally eating.

Once that hellish excuse for a class was done, Virgil quietly found Logan and walked up to him. “Uh, hi.”

Logan looked over at Virgil, honestly kind of surprised that he committed to his decision to spend the lunch period with Logan. "Hey," he said briefly, looking back across the room.

He gave him a pathetic grin, trying to not be awkward, but the boy radiates awkward. “Uh, uhm, er, hi.” He began to play with his hands, biting his lip.

"You don't talk to people much, do you?" Logam didn't look back at Virgil as he spoke. Was he hoping Virgil would decide Logan actually was unpleasant to be around and leave? Yeah, Logan thought he was.

“N-Not really.” He mumbled, not moving, copying Logans pose. He wasnt exactly enjoying the people staring at him, but hes happy having a friend.

Logan's surprise grew as Virgil started copying him. He didn't know why, but that was really unexpected. "Aren't you going to eat or something?" Logan was determined to not let his surprise, or really any other emotion, show.

Virgil shook his head, deciding a verbal response wasnt worth it. Plus, the food looked like slop. He fidgetted with his hands, trying to spark a conversation.

Logan glanced over at Virgil, trying to figure out what to do in this situation. God, this kid is making me more awkward just by being around me. It's a wonder he's survived this long.

Virgil thought about his family. His family sucked. It would be nice to know what raised that hardcore lad. “Uh... Whats your family like？” He said softly. God fUcking damn it, Virgil. You cant ask about anything N O RM A L-

The change in Logan's posture was immediate. His back straightened, his shoulders became more squared, his hands tightened into fists. "Why do you care?" Logan's voice was cold and hard as knives.

Virgil shrunk back, his eyes wide. “I-I dont know？I’m just trying to make conversations..” He trailed off, going silent. Wait. Why was Logan caring so much. “Oh god, are you an orp-”

Logan scoffed at that second comment, giving Virgil the slightest shake of his head and somehow managing to make those small actions violent and angry. I wish I was that lucky.

Virgil flinched. He felt his heart race at those angry movements. “Uh, er.. sorry.” Virgil practically sped off, he feels sick.

Logan turned and watched him go. If he were in any other mood, he'd probably feel bad for scaring Virgil like that. But right now he didn't even care, he simply turned back to glare at the rest of the people in the room.

The whispers of the room continued, questioning Logan and why he doesnt like his family

Logan didn't say anything to anyone, although when he heard someone talking about him he'd shoot a glare at them to get them to shut up.

The cafeteria was awkward and quiet. Nobody wanted to talk to Logan, or get beaten up.

Eventually Logan got tired of the stares and went back to the gym. He would've went to the band room, but there was a class there at the time, so he had to go with the next best thing.

Virgil was sitting behind the bleachers, desperately trying to calm himself. Logan hates him. Everyone hates him. He hates this hell-hole of a school.

Logan didn't notice Virgil as he came in, walking over to a padded part of the wall so he could punch it and not hurt himself again. He punched the wall, then drew his hand back and punched again, and again, and again. He hated his mother. He hated every single boyfriend she had ever had. He hated this school. He hated that he was always alone. He hated that this one time somebody actually wanted to be around him, he was determined to scare them off. He hated everything right now.

The punches just terrified Virgil even more. Oh great. Now a murderer was after him. He let out a strangled gasp, as his world began to spin round, making Virgil shake.

Logan paused when he heard the gasp behind him. He turned and finally noticed Virgil behind him, and of course it was only after he started panicking. Logan stood there, trying to figure out if he should go try to help, considering he was probably the thing causing Virgil to panic and being closer might just make it worse.

He couldnt breathe. The gasps became more frequent. Fuck. Hes gonna die here. Hes gonna die alone. Jesus this is getting sad.

Soon enough, Logan decided on walking over, kneeling down in front of Virgil. It wasn't like he was getting any better without Logan interacting. "Hey, Virgil?" Logan started in the most even voice he could produce. "I'm gonna need you to calm down, can you do that? Just focus on breathing." Fuck, is this what you're supposed to do? Logan honestly didn't have a clue, but from what he did know about panic attacks this seemed like an appropriate response.

Virgil trembles, before his blood stopped. Logan. “I-I’m sorry！I’m sorry！I-I-I-I...” He hears that Logans hear to help. “I-I cant- I-I’m a failure！”

Upon hearing Virgil's words, Logan's hands curled into fists. He was immediately ready to fight on behalf of someone he didn't even know. Then Logan reminded himself that right now, fighting was not in fact going to help. He took a deep breath, forcing his hands to relax again before continuing to talk to Virgil. "No, you're not a failure, there's no need to be sorry." Logan slowly reached out and took one of Virgil's hands in his own, checking for his reaction.

Virgil jolted, scramming away, apologizing. “I said- I said sorry！P-Please.. Leave me alone.” He sobbed. “I-I-I-” He felt his throat constrict.

Logan quickly pulled his hands away from Virgil, feeling guilt like a stab in his gut. This was all because of him, wasn't it? Maybe he should just leave, Virgil did tell Logan to leave him alone, didn't he? And Logan was pretty sure he just made it worse because he had no idea how to help, so Virgil would probably be better off if Logan left him alone.

Virgil whimpers, god hes so pathetic. Such a useless person. “Pathetic.. Useless..” He mumbled softly, looking away from Logan. The attack was beginning to die down, but he wouldnt be calm for a while.

Logan opened his mouth, about to correct Virgil on what he was saying about himself, but then he hesitated, and soon closed his mouth again. Logan looked down at the floor as he slowly stood back up and left, his endgoal being the doors leading out of the school. Logan officially decided he was done with being around people for a good while. Logan easily ignored the stares of the people in the halls. Most people took one look at Logan's overall demeanor and knew not to stare, so Logan was able to get out the school doors without even being interuppted.

Virgil made sure to keep close to Logan. He felt so guilty, he can’t believe he was so stupid. He had to have Logan come help him from a panic attack！All he is, is a panicky, clingy, failure.

Logan sighed and turned around as he got outside the door, facing Virgil. "Don't you have something better to do? Like class or something?" Logan was trying not to snap, especially since Virgil had just gotten out of a panic attack, but his voice was still harsh. Logan just wanted an escape from people, and now this little lost puppy of a person was becoming the first and only obstacle to that.

He kept his mouth shut. He felt so awkward. Like he owed Logan and apology. For seeing that. For seeing how much of a mess he was.. Yeah, he left soon after Logan spoke.

Logan walked away from the school after that, although he didn't really know where he was going. All he really knew at the time was that he wanted to escape from people, despite the fact that he didn't know where he could go that didn't have people. Logan ended up going over to the park, deciding that the park would have the least amount of people. After a while Logan had calmed down enough to tolerate human connection again, and walked down to the local café, because despite its black color, the fabric of Logan's jacket did little to protect him from the cold. He almost smiled as he walked through the door of the café, looking at the pride flag sticker on the window. Logan sat down in a booth, although since he was a regular the staff weren't expecting him to order anything.

Virgil was nervous. He had gotten lost on his way home, and was walking down to a cafe. He was hungry, after all. He looked at his phone, cringing at its dead battery. But he managed to smile. Today started off great, at least. Logan was.. his friend？Well, he seemed to begin to tolerate Virgil. And hes fine with that. He ordered a cup with a long list of ingredients. His own list of “Fuck me up” ingredients.

Logan didn't notice Virgil walking in. He had started dozing off in his seat when a waiter walked over, giving him a plate of eggs and toast. "It's on the house. You look like you could use it," they said with a smile as they left the table. They were right about that; Logan hadn't eaten all day. Logan glanced back over, guilt weighing down his shoulders as he began eating. He glanced over at his phone as he ate. The only reason it wasn't dead was because he was at the table with the outlet. That was basically His Table and both the visitors and staff knew this. Once Logan finished eating, he put his head atop his hand and began dozing off again. The poor kid hadn't slept well in ages.

The waitress did NOT look happy that Virgil had such a long list, but, he paid and ordered it, so she had to. When he asked for an outlet seat, he was pointed into Satan- I mean, Logans direction. “Oh, hi Logan.” Virgil said softly, holding his head phone.

Logan was partially asleep at the time, although he had trained himself to not fall asleep entirely, so when he heard his name he was immediately awake and alert. He put his arm down on the table as he looked at Virgil. "Hey," he said shortly, realizing that this was the kid from school, which meant school was over. Logan hadn't really been paying attention.

“Uh, Uhmm...” He felt really awakward.. Was there any other outlet booths？Logan looked like he would murder Virgil if he sat there.

Logan raised an eyebrow at Virgil, drumming his fingers against the table. Honestly, if there was anywhere that he was least likely to murder someone, it was that café. It was quite honestly the most comfortable place he had ever been in, and he wasn't about to throw that away by getting into a fight.

Virgil looked away. They say, if you look Logan in the eye, you’ll turn into stone. “Sorry. I’ll just take the bus.” Yes. The bus. That he has no.clue about. Tbh, If I were Virgil？I’d rather walk.

Logan stared at Virgil. What the hell was he talking about? "We don't have a bus." Did Virgil just move here? Also why was he talking about a bus inside a café? What the hell was his train of thought?

Transfer student. Yes, he did just move here. Thats.. Thats kinda why he wasnt as fearful of Logan. ”Oh.” He said simply. “Fu-”

Logan sighed in confusion as he looked away from Virgil, bringing up his hand again to set his head on and closing his eyes. He didn't have any sort of obligation to interact with Virgil, so if he wasn't going to actually say anything then Logan was going to try to stock up on light sleep.

“ck.” He sighed. He awkwardly shuffled into the booth, just wanting to charge his phone, man.

Logan opened his eyes again, having expected Virgil to just stand awkwardly or leave. He glanced at the coffee Virgil had as he sat down, reading the ingredient label. "That's incredibly unhealthy for you." Logan didn't know why he was starting conversation when he could be sleeping, but he was aware of how much Virgil's coffee could fuck someone up.

“Eh. Nobody really cares.” He took a sip, waiting for his phone to do him a favour and charge. One percent, and the most aggressive spam of messages blasts through his phone. “Oh. I’m popular today.” He muttered. Of course, his parents had guests today. They had to pretend they cared.

Logan watched the phone screen as the messages showed up on the screen. Honestly he was pretty surprised by the spam, he barely ever got any messages, and he definitely didn't remember the last time his mom texted him. She generally saved her barrage of harassment for when they were face-to-face. He genuinely didn't think whatever the messages were about could be good.

They werent. They were degrading messages about his intelligence. “Ah！My mom.. uh, says that.. I gotta go.. God, shes so kind.” He made a convincing act. “See you, Punk.” He gave him a pathethically weak smile. He had no way home. Sadness hours.

Logan didn't believe the act for a second. Everything he read on that screen were things he could practically hear his mother saying to him, and "kind" wasn't even the last word he'd use to describe her. Nonetheless, he understood the need to get home. Logan sighed at the smile. Honestly it was kind of sad. "You don't know where you're going, do you?" Logan asked, deadpan. Seeing how lost Virgil was in school, the entire town probably seemed like an actual maze to him.

Virgil flinched at the deadpan tone. “Ah, well, uhrm, yeah..” He muttered, allowing his bangs to cover his eyes. “I’ll find my way home, I dont need a gang member to escort me.” He muttered, a bit of a bitter tone in his voice. He doesnt know why he said that. Maybe to drive Logan away？But he adored Logan！Logan was so cool.. God damn, you stalker, stop thinking about him！ “...sorry.” He muttered, getting up.

Logan sighed and looked away. Gang member. Is that really how people saw him? He only meant to scare off jerks and bigots, and he honestly wanted to be supportive of basically anyone who got picked on or bullied. Apparently those people couldn't trust him either. He knew he couldn't be surprised though, nobody in their right mind would trust somebody who got so angry they had to punch a wall to feel just a little better. "Whatever," Logan muttered. "I just hope you know that everyone's gonna assume you're queer now." Logan jabbed a finger towards the pride flag sticker he had looked at on the way in.

The look of sheer terror as he saw the said flag was hilarious. He had tried his best to act like a straight guy. “I’m straight.” He mumbled. “Uhm, are you gay, Logan？”

Logan almost laughed at what was to him an obvious lie. Almost. "I think I'm as straight as you are." Straight as a rainbow, that is.

Virgil looked afraid. But then again, when hes with Logan... Wait. Beforehand, Virgil wasnt scared or worried. Aww！You turned someone who, rather blindly, trusted you, against you！But isnt that what you do best, Logan？

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #roleplay #logan sanders #virgil sanders #punk logan #pastel virgil #tw fighting #tw swearing #tw violence #tw verbal abuse #tw emotional abuse #verbal abuse #emotional abuse #tw homophobia #TW panic attack

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