#he's asleep right now and. no video game could do this. no code could capture the way he's breathing or the dreams happening in his head

[shshshshshowrunner]

[post invisible to xigbar]

think i might actually be starting to believe it. about places and concepts i mean

[set-forth-a-dream]

Hizashi’s first car. An EraserMic one shot.

The sun was shining almost too bright today as Shota finished tying his tie around the collar of his uniform shirt. Looking in the bathroom mirror he noticed the growth of stubble on his chin. The thought of shaving didn’t cross his mind, in fact, he was glad. The fibers of his capture scarf weren’t made for comfort, it tended to be a little itchy if not sharp in some areas. It was a weapon after all. The addition of some facial hair would allow a barrier between the rough fibers and his otherwise smooth skin. And made him look mature, he’d been ready for some kind of change. Shake off the look of being a wide-eyed innocent hopeful hero. There was nothing innocent about the job. Beneath the paraded fame and glam of costumes, code names, special moves, and battle banter it was a dark and dangerous game of life or death that should be taken more seriously. With the addition of his facial hair his frumpy black waves now reached past his shoulders. Should he cut it? He thought moving it slightly back and up. That would mean taking routine haircuts to keep up an image. Why would he do that if he could keep up a less high-maintenance image for no money? He let the long hair fall back into place on his shoulders. That was enough of the mirror for today. He turned back to his room to finish getting his socks on and pack his backpack. His phone vibrated on the side table next to his bed. He spared it a glance but he still had the screen facing down. He decided it could wait whatever it was. Probably Hizashi sending a meme or cat video. He hesitated debating on whether or not to give in and look now that there was a chance of seeing cats giving the phone another glance. But he didn’t have time for distractions. He took the phone from its charger and slid it in his pocket and continued getting his backpack ready. Then he joined his parents in the kitchen, his father on his phone scrolling with dark circles under his eyes and a fork of cold eggs held halfway to his mouth.

“Good morning Shota.” His mother greeted setting a plate at the table.

“Morning.” He answered taking his seat and briefly placing his palms together over his plate, “Thanks.”

“Mornin’” His father finally came around out of his trance, “Fell asleep with my eyes open again.”

“Mhm,” Shota and his mother hummed.

The rest of the time it was quiet. Not an uncomfortable silence it was a whole family of people who preferred to do things mid-day to evenings. Mornings were meant to go slow, waking up naturally, dragging your feet across the floor, and maybe going back to bed after your first bathroom usage of the day. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how the world worked. So until mid-day, his family lacked the liveliness of someone awake and ready for the day. His phone vibrated again with another notification. Again Shota ignored it taking up his finished plate and headed back to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then he’d be off on his walk to school.

A rhythmic rumble shook the walls and he paused in his brushing. Some idiot had the music up way too loud in their car while passing by. He shrugged it off and continued only the pulsing music got closer and then it stayed. Who had the energy to be this annoying and inconsiderate this early in the morning??

“Shota!” His mother called from down the hall, “Your friend is here.”

Hizashi? Here? He finished with the water and hurried down the hall grabbing his backpack and stomping on his shoes as he realized, that loud music was right in front of his house! Unbelievable! What did he do, bring a whole stereo outside with him?! His cheeks heated up with embarrassment, the neighbors are going to stare!! He shoved open his front door to see a car, windows rolled down and Hizashi in the driver's seat having a karaoke session with his hair brush.

The neighbors were in fact staring, some shook their heads and made faces. Shota hurried over to the car.

“‘Zashi it’s too loud!!” If he could use his quirk on a car he’d be staring it down hard. “Turn it down!!”

“SHOTA!” Hizashi’s voice came with a wind that blew back his hair, “CHECK OUT MY SWEET WHEELS!”

“Your! Music! Is! Too! Loud!” He yelled over the clamor of a guitar solo.

“Get in!” Hizashi nodded to the passenger seat.

“Turn it down!” Shota demanded seeing his neighbors get increasingly annoyed and concerned. “Oh my god PLEASE turn it down!”

Hizashi pinched the volume dial and finally turned it down. “What’s the matter you don’t like ‘Hotel California’?” He asked a smile stayed plastered on his face, “Like the car? I finally saved up enough! She’s a little rough around the edges and the AC doesn’t always work but she drives!” He revved the engine but it didn’t give any flattering ‘purr’ just an annoying rumble. “C’mon get in!”

“No!” Shota answered back with irritable embarrassment, “I’d rather walk!” He pulled himself away from the car and stuffed his hands in his pockets then began walking down the sidewalk. His neighbors gave sheepish smiles and some laughed. He kept his head low waiting for the music and engine of the car to fade off the further he got. Only the music and engine stayed steady and right next to him.

“What are you doing?!” Shota groused snapping his head to look at the road where Hizashi slowly inched the car along to stay next to him.

“Offering you a ride to school dude. It’ll be faster if you just get in.”

“I’m not getting in that thing!” He hissed and picked up his pace.

Hizashi stayed next to him slowly rolling the tires and leaned his elbow out of the window peaking his green eyes out from his shades. “C’mon, bro! I told you I was going to pick you up!”

“No, you didn’t! And you didn’t have to do it while alerting the entire neighborhood!” Shota yelled. “You better go on, you look like a total creep right now.”

“Whoa! Who’s bein’ loud now?” Hizashi teased, “Yes I did! I sent you a text. Which I assume you never looked at. Again.” His voice dipped down showing his disappointment. Shota felt the phone in his pocket. The notification message.

Hizashi continued seemingly over the small pout of being ignored. “If you were outside waiting for me we would have sped off without causing a scene.”

“You ARE a scene,” Shota grumbled rolling his eyes.

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” He brushed back some blond hair in the weird updo he gave himself. “Now come on! You know ya wanna! You can take a nap on the way!”

There was no arguing or persuading his friend to leave. He sighed and stopped walking turning to the beige car. His friend looked like a glamor magazine model in a second-hand tin can. Entirely out of place. The color didn’t suit him but it was a milestone in a lot of people’s lives they couldn’t wait to achieve. He didn’t see the appeal. The noise, pollution, gas, and money it took to take care of a car could go to other more important and helpful things. Though at some point it would be logical to have one's private car. Popular Heroes in the public transportation system were impossible. They’d be swarmed with fans and never make it anywhere on time, or possibly make an otherwise safe area dangerous due to a villain tracking them down. Not that he thought he’d ever have to worry about becoming popular or having fans. He didn’t care about that so getting a car of his own could wait for a few more years or maybe forever. Hizashi on the other hand was bright, shining like the sun that morning. He made himself known, he’s a people person. Everyone knows him in some way or another. He was sure that one-day Hizashi would make the top ten in the hero charts. Not number one, but maybe 7 or 8. He thought he deserved it.

“Hhh, fine.” He walked over to the passenger side of the car taking off his backpack, “But keep the music down.”

“Hmm maybe.” Hizashi shrugged but excitedly vibrated in his seat. “Welcome aboard passenger! Please buckle your seat belt.” Hizashi mimicked a ride operator's announcements, one of the jobs he’d taken over the summer at a theme park. “Our destination today is UA High. Adjust your seat, sit back, relax, enjoy some sick tunes, and enjoy the ride.”

Shota shook his head a smile creeping across his face as the sun shone brighter from the clouds and in the seat driving next to him. “Y’know no one listens to that music anymore. Not even in America.”

“Whattya’ talkin’ about, of course they do!” Hizashi shrugged as another big hit in the 70’s-80’s played. “Hey, hey look at you!! Did you know you have a porcupine growing on your face?”

Shota rubbed the stubble on his chin with a smile, “Yeah, think I’ll keep it.”

“Damn,” Hizashi stayed with his eyes on the road and a smile, “You look so cool.”

Shota shrugged, “It’s just practical. Now I’m gonna nap before we get to school, don’t crash.”

“Please, I passed my test with funky fresh colors!” Hizashi chirped proudly, “Speaking of colors, the car I really want is gonna be blue.”

“M’kay.” Shota leaned the seat back slightly and covered his eyes with his arm resting over his face.

“Do you think you’ll get a car Sho? We’re already in our senior year. Did you take the driver's ed course?”

“I did. I do know how to drive. I just don’t think having a car would be logical for my line of work.” He answered quickly and then began to focus on his nap.

“So what you’re sayin' is, you want me to pick you up more often huh?”

“No.” He answered realizing he wasn’t going to get any actual sleep. But he settled for keeping his eyes closed. “I’m fine walking or taking the train and bus. My work will be less flashy than everyone else. Rooftops, ally ways, the underground kind of work. A car has no place there. Besides, driving it into battle would be asking for it to be totaled.”

“I’d love to pick you up and take you where ever you need to be.” Hizashi answered flicking on his blinker, “So long as I’m not busy at the same time. You just call me and let me know.”

Shota sighed, “Is that what you got from that conversation? I don’t need you to be my chauffeur.”

“Don’t worry it’s not gonna look like this forever! I’ll have a cool car, sleek, blue, sports car. Imported of course.”

Shota sighed, “Whatever if that’s what you want to spend your gas on.”

“Trust me, man,” Hizashi answered and Shota could hear him smiling, “you’re worth it.”

They arrived at school pulling up to the parking lot. Kayama was waiting in their usual spot and ran over to meet them.

“Oh my gosh!!” She cheered tackling Hizashi as he closed the door to the car, “You got the car! It’s so ugly!”

“Hey!” Hizashi wriggled from her hug and her hands that forced his face near the deep valley of her open-buttoned shirt. “Go easy on her Kayama this is getting us to vacation destinations and drive-thru’s when you don’t want to go inside to eat! Right, Sho?”

Shota didn’t say anything just unbuckled his seatbelt and pulled himself from the passenger seat.

“Oh no,” Kayama cackled, “It’s great! It really suits you, Yamada!” She snorted trying to keep from doubling over in laughter.

“Yo!” Hizashi snapped. Shota watched the two playfully insult each other Kayama trying to rustle Hizashi’s hair out of place or keep him in a headlock while he complained she was being too brutish for a woman, or how she smudged his glasses. Oboro would do anything to be in his place. To have sat in the passenger seat instead while listening to loud old American hits with Hizashi.

“Sho! Help me out, man! Don’t leave me alone with her!” Hizashi called from up the stairs. The sun made his yellow-blond hair glow so much that Shota had to squint his eyes and lifted a hand. Kayama also waved for him to catch up lest he be mistaken for owning the ‘ugly’ car.

“Alright!” He answered with a smile, “I’m coming.” He started up the stairs to join the two for the rest of the day.

[myhockeyworld87]

Under My Skin - Matthew Tkachuk

Word Count: 3,644

POV: Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, NSFW

Summary: Matthew can be a pest but what happens when your ex, Auston Matthews get under his skin.

Notes: So I’m having a sad bitch moment and thought, why not post this. I finally broke down and wrote for this boy. Who knows if it’ll happen again...haha! At any rate hope you guys enjoy. Happy Reading!

Matthew first met you over a year ago when you’d moved to Calgary for work. You had just finished your degree and a job opportunity had landed you in the same city where he was playing. You’d been out at the bar with some co-workers and had caught his eye immediately. You were everything that Matthew was looking for in a woman, smart, funny, incredibly gorgeous, with a charm that seemed to draw everyone around you in. You were like a magnet and Matthew couldn’t resist your pull.

 That first night he’d barely been able to talk to you. You’d been besotted with people left and right, and it seemed as though every time Matthew worked up the courage to speak with you, you would get pulled away. Matthew finally ran into you on the way to the restroom. Like, literally ran into you. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Matthew apologized steadying you with a hand on your waist. His hand lingered a little longer than necessary but you weren’t complaining.

 “It’s ok I wasn’t paying attention.” You held up your phone in defense. You’d been so distracted by a text, that you really weren’t watching where you were going. “Did you ever have someone text you that you hoped you’d never hear from again?”

 It was an interesting introduction to a conversation but then Matthew would take any opportunity he could get to speak to you. “Actually, yes.”

 “It’s so annoying, right?”

 “Well, there is a way to solve that problem.”

 Your eyes held his with rapt attention, and Matthew could tell you were clinging to his every word. It was then that it struck him that he never wanted that look to fade from your face. “How?”

 “Come have a drink with me and forgot about whoever it is on that phone.” You smiled. It was a bright, brilliant thing of beauty that Matthew swore could light up the night sky on its darkest days. He was sold right then and there, and with just that simple gesture you had no idea that you’d swooped in and stolen his heart that night.

 You forgot about that text message fairly quickly and just settled into an easy conversation with Matthew. The night flew by and before you knew it, your co-workers were calling it a night and you were all heading home. Matthew asked for your number which you gave in hopes that he would call you soon. Little did you know that after you left, Matthew debated with himself on how long to wait to text you. Every unsaid rule in the code of dating said to wait for at least forty-eight to seventy-two hours before making a move, but Matthew was never one to follow convention. As he lay in bed, he decided to send you a quick message.

 Had a great time tonight.

 It was short and to the point, and Matthew figured if you answered then he would ask you out again. Unfortunately, for Matthew, he wasn’t the only one texting you as you crawled into bed after taking off all your makeup. You were just getting ready to reply to Matthew when another text came in. It was the fourth of the night from the same person that had messaged you before, Auston Matthews.

 You hadn’t spoken to him in months, back when you were in Toronto, and you didn’t plan on speaking to him now, though he seemed to be trying his hardest to get your attention, just as he had been for the last couple of months. Your relationship with Auston had been nothing short of toxic. Oh sure, at first it was all hearts and roses in the beginning. Auston swept you off your feet with that charming smile of his, but then you were young and the flashy NHLer said all the right things, at first.

 You weren’t normally one to tumble into bed right after the first date, though that’s what happened with Auston. He made it seem like you were the only one, but after dating him for only four months you’d found out that wasn’t true. Oh, he tried to brush it off, make it seem like he wasn’t cheating. That the panties you’d found lying tucked between the nightstand and the bed were some old fling and not some random hookup he’d brought home. You wanted to believe him and so you let your heart overpower your head and stayed with him until you’d literally walked in on him in bed with another woman. There was no talking his way out of that one.

 It was an easy decision to break things off with him, though he kept trying to win you back. You were good for his image and he thought that he could keep you happy while he had some fun on the side. The only thing was you didn’t want him back, even though his friends tried to helped his cause. That’s when you decided to take the job in Calgary. It was an easy decision six months ago. Which is part of the reason it surprised you when he texted tonight. He was in Calgary for a game and wanted to talk. You’d honestly were debating seeing him when you’d run into Matthew.

 Matthew, you sighed. His curly hair and shaved sides gave off this bad boy vibe, but as you sat there and talked to him, you’d realized he had to be one of the sweetest men out there. You hadn’t realized at first who he actually was. Auston had turned you off to the NHL scene altogether, so you no longer paid attention to the games, even if hockey was Canada’s major sport. Honestly, you wish you didn’t know he was in the NHL. It was part of the reason you were debating about answering him. Maybe you would just sleep on it and decide in the morning.

 Meanwhile, Matthew was having a mild panic attack. He told himself that maybe you lived close to the bar and had already fallen asleep before you got his text, or that you’d turned off your phone the minute you got home. He constantly kept checking his, looking for those three little dots letting him know that you were sending something back. It was torturous.

 You laid there all of twenty minutes before you decided that you couldn’t resist the curly-haired man that had captured your attention tonight. Grabbing your phone, you shot off a quick, I did too. You typed and erased it three times, wondering if you should add more before finally pressing the send button. There it was done, if he said something back, you’d go from there. Fifteen seconds later, you knew you were in trouble.

 Maybe we could do it again sometime?

 Matthew was sweating as he hit send. He’d never been this nervous before about a woman. They either liked him or didn’t, but you, you were different. He knew that from the moment he saw you. It was even more prevalent now after he’d spent most of the night with you.

 I’d like that.

 Was your simple reply back. One that had Matthew ready to jump up and out of bed with excitement. And so the texting went on for the next ten minutes until he finally ended up calling you. The two of you talked for over an hour, almost as if you’d known each other all your lives, and you completely forgot about the texts from Auston.

 Matthew took you out three days later to an exclusive restaurant in the city. This time you told yourself you’d not make the same mistake you’d made with Auston. So, when the night drew to a close, Matthew drove you to your apartment then very properly walked you to the door and only kissed you on the cheek. It wasn’t what you expected. You’d thought he’d go for more, but Matthew wanted to do things right. He knew you were special and he wasn’t going to mess things up by sleeping with you on night one. He was in this for the long run.

 That was over a year ago. Sure, it had been difficult at first to give him your complete trust, but Matthew had earned it and over time you knew that although he may be a pest on the ice, he was anything but that in your personal life. Now the two of you shared a home and were on your way to making a life together.

 You’d kept your relationship on the down-low, staying off of all forms of social media to keep the wolves at bay. Which meant that no one, including Auston, knew that you and Matthew were dating. That was until he and everyone else saw you in the background of Taryn’s video for Brady’s twenty-first birthday. The picture highlighted Brady but behind him, there was Matthew nibbling on your neck and ear. Fans picked up on it right away, wondering who you were and Matthew decided he was tired of hiding the two of you. A week later he was posting a picture of the two of you holding hands on your way back to Calgary.

 That was dozens of posts and months ago. Your life with Matthew was nothing short of amazing, until the Flames played the Leafs. Matthew was in Toronto while you stayed back in Calgary for work. It was an early game and you joined the other wives and significant others in a small little watch party. Drinks were flowing freely, so you really didn’t catch the exchange between Matthew and Auston in warmups.

 Matthew was minding his own business as he stretched near the centerline. That’s when Auston started with the little jabs. “Nice little piece of ass you picked up Tkachuk.” Matthew was used to guys talking shit about all kinds of things on the ice, though normally it was about him being a dirty player or how Brady was the better Tkachuk on the ice; all that shit he could handle. He wasn’t used to someone taking stabs at you.

 “Shut the fuck up Matthews,” he replied then skated away. If Auston was looking for a fight, he’d get one if he kept up this banter, but not until the game started.

 It wasn’t until the end of the first that Auston got a chance to chirp Matthew again. “Tell me, Tkachuk, does (Y/N) still make the same pretty moans…”

 “Finish that and you’ll regret it,” Matthew told him. It was the only warning Matthew was going to give. Of course, Matthew knew that you’d dated someone in the hockey world and that he’d been a verifiable asshole. He’d never pressed the issue too much as he was trying to turn that stigma about hockey players around. He never liked Auston, he was always cordial to him in non-ice settings but now that he knew he was the cheating bastard who basically used you; he liked him less.

 Play resumed before anything else could happen and Matthew was sure to get in a few good checks in before heading back for the first intermission. When he was back on the ice for the second Auston picked up right where they had left off. “So, you like my sloppy seconds, Tkachuk?” Matthew saw red at the insult, and before he knew what he was doing he dropped his gloves and hit Auston. Inwardly, you cringed at the fight, not wanting to let on to the other girls that you had an idea what the exchange was about. Auston went down easy, with Matthew barely touching him, and so off the penalty box he went, while the Leafs went on the power play. You could see him just sitting there stewing, though you weren’t sure if he was mad at himself for letting Auston get to him or mad at you.

 The game ended up tied in the third, and little did you know that Auston took the opportunity to get a few more digs into Matthew. “Does she get as wet for as she did for me, or do you have to work for it?” Johnny had to hold him back from leveling him after that, but Auston didn’t let up. “She was such a fucking slut for me in bed. You know I fucked every hole…” That’s all he got out before going down hard as Matthew planted a right hook to his jaw. But Matthew wasn’t done and went after Auston as he lay on the ice. Matthew was ejected from the game and the Leafs scored on the power play.

 There was no interview after the game with Matthew, so you had no idea what he was feeling or how pissed he was. As soon as you got home, you tried to call him but it went straight to voicemail. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t mean anything that maybe he never turned his phone back on after the game or maybe they were already on the flight back to Calgary, as the team played at home the following day, but you just weren’t sure. So, you laid in the king-size bed you shared with Matthew, wrapped up in your favorite old t-shirt of his, simply staring up at the ceiling.

 At some point, you must have fallen asleep, for you didn’t hear the door open or Matthew dropping his bag like you usually did. It wasn’t until he crept into bed that you finally knew he was home. He was laying on his back, hands behind his head when you finally rolled over letting him know you were awake. You’d thought about what to say to him before falling asleep but waited for him to say something to you. When he didn’t you simply whispered, “If you want me to go I will.”

 “Go?” Matthew questioned now rolling on to his side so he could see you. “Why would I want you to leave?”

 “I never wanted to be a problem for you, Matthew, especially not with other players.” It was part of the reason you’d never told him that you’d dated Auston, though you should’ve known that Auston couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

 You went to say more, but Matthew stopped you. “You’re not the problem (Y/N). You could never be one.” His fingers ran up and down your arms lightly, just caressing your skin. “I love you, baby.”

 “I love you too.” His lips found yours then, and you melted into the feel of him, savoring how his body started to relax against you.

 “Auston’s an asshole.” Matthew finally said, when the two of you broke apart.

 “Do I even want to know what he said?”

 “Just shit to get me riled up, and it worked.” Your one hand went to the back of his neck, massaging the knotted muscles there. “I’m not stupid. I realize what probably happened between the two of you. I just don’t like hearing it.”

 “We both have pasts, Matthew. We can’t change that, but you’re my future.”

 He gave you a real quick peck to your lips. “And you’re mine. At least I don’t have to deal with him for a couple weeks.”

 You pushed him onto his back before straddling his hips. “Don’t let him get under your skin, babe. When he starts to say something…” you looked him right in the eyes. “And you know he will. Just remind him how you’re the only one I want with me.” You flexed your hips before running your hands up his bare chest. “And in me.” Matthew’s hands went to your waist, where he played with the band of lace on your panties. “You’re more to me than he’ll ever be. Both here,” you taped your heart and then his. “And here.” Lifting your hips, you took your hand and cupped the length of him. His cock instantly hardened under your touch.

 Your words spurred Matthew into action, for the next thing you knew he was ripping your panties, before shimming out of his boxers. His fingers went to your folds, where he found you ready for him. “Fuck you’re so wet.”

 “Only for you Matthew. Only for you.” It was extra reassurance that you knew Matthew needed and tonight you’d give him as many as he needed. He guided your hips down onto his cock and you sighed out with pleasure as he filled you like no one else ever had.

 As you grabbed the hem of your t-shirt Matthew whispered harshly, “Leave it on.” It was one of his Flames shirts; one that had both his name and number on the back. Leaning down you kissed him long and hard, before starting to ride him. It was slow at first, a pace meant to build you both up but not push you over the edge. His hands were everywhere, under your shirt caressing your breasts, wandering down your back to cup your ass, and moving up and down your thighs to quicken your speed.

 Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and he flipped your bodies so that he loomed over top of you. His thrusts were deep and hard, almost punishing if your body hadn’t wanted him so bad. “You belong to me.” He said as he flexed into you, pushing you up against the headboard.

 “Yes, baby. Only you.”

 “Who?” He asked again and you realized that he was not in the mood to hear any pet names.

 “You, Matthew, you,” you answered knowing that he owned you both body and soul, just as you owned him.

 “That’s right, baby.” Matthew's thrusts were deep and sure, as he knew what would bring you pleasure, and with a few more flexes of his hips, he sent you spiraling out of control, screaming his name.

 “MMMAAATTTTTTTTTTHHHHEEEEEWWW.”

 That was all he needed to catch his high and follow you down, your name on his lips. He rolled onto his side taking you with him; your breaths mingling together as you both calmed. Your nails skimmed down his spine aimless, something you tended to do after sex. Matthew always said he loved the continued intimacy it brought, and tonight it felt like you both needed that. His lips found yours, the kiss loving and tender. “I love you, (Y/N),” Matthew whispered while brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “And I promise, I won’t let Auston get to me next time.”

 “Good, because you’re the only man I love Matthew, and the team doesn’t need you getting ejected from games because of me.”

 “It won’t happen again.” You truly hoped that it wouldn’t but with Matthew’s temper you never knew.

 It was a little over two weeks later that the Flames were taking on the Leafs, this time at the Saddledome, where you were in attendance. Admittedly, you were a bit nervous on the inside as to what would happen between the love of your life and the once lowlife that you'd briefly called boyfriend. You tried to shake off your nerves with idle chatter with some of the girls, but your eyes always seemed to drift back to where Matthew and Auston were on the ice.

 Matthew for his part stayed away from center ice for warmups, just like he told you he would. It wasn’t until the second period after a blown whistle that Auston finally decided to poke at him. “How’s that girlfriend Tkachuk? You know if I told her I wanted her back she’d leave you in a second.”

 “I doubt that Matthews. She told me you couldn't satisfy her in the bedroom. Something about cumming too soon.” Anger started to radiate across Auston’s face. “You should see a doctor about that.” Matthew skated away, completely ignoring anything Auston would be able to say back.

 The game was tied late in the third once again when Auston tried to rile Matthew up again. Considering he had two assists you understood why they wanted your boyfriend out of the game. “It wasn’t me who had the problem Tkachuk, (Y/N)’s pussy was wider than the Grand Canyon.”

 “Hmm,” Matthew taunted back. “Must be your small pencil dick, because she’s so tight it’s like a vice-grip around me.” Auston took offense and cross-checked Matthew into the boards right as the play began, earning him two minutes in the penalty box. Matthew laughed at him as the ref took him over. Auston wasn’t there for long, as Matthew scored the game-winning goal forty-some seconds into the penalty. You jumped up out of your seat with the rest of the girls cheering and screaming.

 Even though they pulled the goalie, the Leafs couldn’t seem to find the back of the net before the buzzer sounded ending the game. You made your way down to wait outside the tunnel with the rest of the significant others. Most everyone was gone before Matthew finally came out, scooping you up in his arms. “Did you see that baby?”

 “I saw Matty,” you told him, kissing him on the lips. “That goal was impressive.”

 He finally set you back down on your feet. “No babe, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t let him get to me.”

 “Yeah, I saw that too. I’m so proud of you.”

 “Well, he can’t get under my skin about you, when I get to be all over yours.” His hands slid under your sweater and inside your jeans to cup your ass. “Speaking of your skin…let’s go home so I can get you out of all these clothes and see you.”

 You kissed him, long and languidly, before pulling back. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.” The two of you left the arena hands interlaced just as your bodies would be as soon as you got home.  

.

[emma-nation]

In My Veins - KamilahXMC Fanfiction (Chapter 9)

Summary: Inspired by Lovestruck’s “Havenfall is For Lovers” (Antonio). Amy is a regular, small-town girl looking for her first job in New York City. When she gets kidnapped by the powerful CEO, Kamilah Sayeed, she’ll have to discover her true goals… before it’s too late.

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Tag List: @begging-for-kamilah, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @lulu-the-cat

Notes:

- English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes - This fanfic is slightly inspired by Lovestruck’s story Havenfall Is For Lovers - Antonio, but I intend to make it more interesting and steamier too :P

- I hope you enjoy it, your likes and reviews are always appreciated.

- I’m sorry for taking so long to update this fic. I caught a flu and I’ve feeling like crap ¬¬

Even the exhaustion caused by Adrian's serum wasn't capable of making Kamilah sleep. She was lying, in the same position and eyes wide open for the entire night. A sudden movement made her whole body stiffen. Asleep, Amy turned to her side, wrapping an arm around her body. Tightly. As if she was seeking for protection. Kamilah was willing to protect her but... her beating heart, the blood running in her veins, were the only thing that separated her from having her beloved brother back. She had spent her entire life searching for a way to bring him back to life and when she found it, she was giving up. Was it betrayal? Was she trying to replace her brother with a mortal lover? Her mind wouldn't stop making all these questions.

In the morning, when Amy woke up, she was still awake.

"Good morning," the girl smiled and kissed her cheek.

"Good morning, Amy."

"Are you feeling better?"

"Not much, I'm still tired."

"Okay," Amy quickly stood up. "Then stay here while I prepare us some breakfast."

As Amy left, she grabbed her phone to read that email one more time. She took a deep breath. Adrian mentioned he was searching for an alternative, but what if he wasn't capable to find? And there were more people that knew about Amy's blood properties. If she decided to do it, it had to be immediately.

The girl came back bringing a tray of food, where she placed a glass of milk and a plate of pancakes. She also decorated it with a small vase of flowers. Before Kamilah could stop herself, the corners of her mouth curled into a smile.

"I know you like flowers," Amy spoke. "So I added some to bright up your day.”

"Hmmm, gerbera daisies?"

"I know only rare flowers to make your heart beat faster, but... I thought it’d cheer you up."

"Thank you, Amy," Kamilah grinned. "It was lovely."

After eating and thinking for a long time under the shower, Kamilah made her decision. She followed to her office, grabbed a pen and a paper to write some instructions. Then, she called Amy.

"I need you to do me a favor," she said.

"Sure, what is it?"

"Do you know the Metropolitan Museum of Art?"

"It's my favorite museum."

"You'll enter a unobtrusive side entrance with a numeric keypad. You’ll type this code. Inside, you'll meet a man named Scholar Jameson. Tell him I sent you and hand him these instructions."

"Okay..." Amy looked at the envelope, intrigued. "Can I ask what is this about?"

Kamilah sighed, remembering how curious Amy could be.

"He'll perform you a ritual called... Debriefing."

"A ritual? What kind of ritual?"

"It's for your protection."

Amy trusted her and followed her way to Musea Sanguis. She'd never return. By the next day, after waking up in her hometown, she'd receive a call. A job opportunity in California. She wouldn't remember Kamilah or anything that happened between them. She'd be far, far away from Kamilah's sight. Where she wouldn't be reminded that was a possibility of bringing her brother back to life.

"Good bye, Amy," Kamilah whispered to herself. "It was good while it lasted."

Amy followed Kamilah's directions. It was easy to find the entrance to Musea Sanguis. As she told, Scholar Jameson came to meet her. While he read Kamilah's letter, she examined the rest of the library. The rare artifacts, the books... All about the mysteries of the supernatural world. Only a few months earlier she'd have thought all of that was fantasy.

She grabbed a book and started reading it. Vampires of America, 34th Edition. She flipped straight to Kamilah's page.

"Kamilah Sayeed, CEO of Ahmanet Financial. Turned by Gaius Augustine, the second son, in 30 BCE..."

Gaius Augustine. As she read that name she felt a shiver going through her spine. Kamilah didn't like talking about him. She mentioned he had done horrible things to her. Amy started feeling an uncontrollable rage. She closed the book. Something else in another aisle of the library got her attention, an old, strange looking sarcophagus. For some reason she felt drawn, attracted to it. She took a few steps in the sarcophagus direction.

"Amy?" Jameson appeared, touching her shoulder, "are you ready?"

Amy shook her head, coming back to reality.

"Of course. Let's do it."

Jameson placed her seated on a chair. He asked her to close her eyes and started massaging her temples. His massage conducted her to a state of relaxation where she was unable to feel the sharp pain on her jugular. The liquid that Jameson injected made her weak, unable to express any reaction. She tried to scream but no sound would come out from her mouth. Before she could fall on the ground, Jameson held her with a smirk on his face.

“It was easier than I planned.”

Solitude. Quietness. After weeks in Amy's presence, Kamilah was alone again in her mansion. There was no sound coming from the living room, where Amy usually played video games or watched her favorite TV shows. There wasn't the sound of her energetic laugh or of her footsteps running around the house whenever she wanted to show Kamilah silly videos or funny texts she received from Lily.

At the same time, she was still everywhere. In the clothes spread around the house, in the Flamin' Hot Cheetos bags in the kitchen, the scent of her hair was still in the pillows...

She turned on the radio and grabbed a glass of wine. Amy loved expensive wine, she remembered. The song that started playing also described exactly how she was feeling at the moment.

Kamilah rolled her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to be grieving Amy’s absence. She should be feeling nothing at all. Amy was just another mortal. But a mortal she was falling in love for.

"Didn't you hear the door bell?" The male voice made Kamilah jump out of her chair and turn off the radio.

"Adrian, my apologies. I got a little distracted."

"Hmmm, I never knew you liked this kind of music."

"Not all modern music is bad."

She offered him a glass of wine and sat beside him on the couch.

"This house is strangely quiet... where’s Amy?” Adrian asked, after spending the next couple minutes looking at different directions of the mansion, looking for the girl.

"I-I... I sent her away."

"Kamilah, why?!"

"We were getting too close and having her around reminds me all the time that she's the only thing stopping me from having my brother again."

Unable to hide her unhappiness, Adrian involved her in a comforting hug.

"I collected a sample of her blood," he told. "I'm studying it and who knows someday we can find an alternative. You should call her back, Kamilah. You like her, I can see it in your eyes."

"It's too late," Kamilah lamented. "I asked Jameson to debrief her."

Adrian's expression changed, his eyes widened in fear.

"Oh no, we need to go after her right now," he got up from the couch straight to the front door.

"Why?" Kamilah followed him, not understanding his reaction.

"The reason why I came here... Jameson is working for Gaius. He's behind the ferals and Lily's attack."

"A-Are you sure?"

Adrian nodded confirming. He also suspected Jameson could be responsible Amy’s capture a few weeks before.

As soon as they made to the library entrance, Kamilah desperately typed the password multiple times, getting only an error message as response.

"T-They have changed it..." she punched they keypad.

"1...3...2...8..." Adrian patiently tried to confirm what she said. "They did. We'll need Lily to crack the new password."

Kamilah returned to the car, feeling angry at herself. She acted selfish, immature. Afraid of facing her feelings, she sent Amy to a trap. She could be dead right now and the fault was entirely hers.

Not so far away, Amy attempted to open her eyes but she was too weak, too drowsy. She barely could see anything in front of her. Her vision was blurry and unfocused. At distance, she could hear two voices on a conversation.

“Has my plan come to fruition?”

“Yes, Master. We’ve got the girl as you asked. Now, after draining all her blood, we’ll extract her heart and we can finally bring our Majesty back to life.”

The two voices got even more distant, indicating they were moving away.

“I need to get out of here,” Amy thought, forcing to keep her eyes opened.

She tried to get up but she was unable to move. When her vision finally became stable, she looked down, realizing she was lying on a bed and both of her arms and legs were restrained. Looking to her side, she noticed her blood was being drained by a machine. Uselessly, she attempted to free herself from the restraints.

"I'm not going to die like this!" She said to herself, before starting screaming. "Help! Somebody help me!"

No answer.

“Please...” she started crying. “Somebody get me out of here...”

She gave up, tears streamed down her face. She wondered if Kamilah noticed she was taking too long to come home. It was her only hope.

Minutes later, a figure rushed through the door. Pulling a katana from his back, he easily freed Amy’s limbs.

“Hurry! Let’s get out of here,” he ordered while unplugging her from the machine that was draining her blood. “They’re coming back.”

“I can’t...” Amy moaned. “I’ve lost too much blood...”

“Okay.”

The male figure took Amy in his arms and streaked away in a advanced speed. A speed only vampires could reach.

In security inside a warehouse, Amy finally had opportunity to look better at him and confirm, he had fangs and his eyes were glowing red.

"W-Who are you?" She questioned, unsure if he was an enemy or an ally.

"Nice way to say thanks," he spoke. "I'm Jax Matsuo."

[fairyling]

code orange // part 4

summary:  mike gets admitted to a hospital. he’s scared and he doesn’t know what to expect, but maybe it isn’t what they show in movies. maybe it’s just some kids that are like him in one way or another. maybe it’s just some kids trying to find some ways to hurt less

a/n: this took way too long and it’s shorter than i’d like. this chapter fleshes out bill and eddie’s relationship a bit. the next couple of chapters are going to focus more on the dynamics between the characters rather than progressing the story. let me know what you think !! you can also read it here

word count: 1632

Stan had been on building restriction fort three days and he had a one to one for a week and a half. He eventually convinced them that he could be safe on his own and, as much as Richie disagreed, they let Stan go without a one to one. Richie wanted to argue with it, but he seemed to think better of it and keep his complaining between him and Mike after lights out. The more Mike listened, the more he wanted to understand the relationship between Stan and Richie. However, whenever he thought about probing, he remembered hearing Ben’s voice. Ben told him that he prefers to mind his own business and every time Mike remembered that, he realized that if Richie wanted to share more than he would.

Last night Richie had fallen asleep in Mike’s bed. Mike didn’t have the heart to kick him out, but about ten minutes later a staff member came through for a roomcheck. She stayed in the doorway for a minute and watched the boys before she walked in the rest of the way. Mike shut his eyes and pretended to sleep while she gently shook Richie awake. Her voice was soft as she guided Richie back to his bed and Richie was compliant, voice still laced with sleep. Richie collapsed back on his bed and Mike didn’t move until Amanda left the room. She had gently reminded Richie of the rules before she tucked his blanket around him and left. Mike rolled over on his side and watched Richie as he drifted off to sleep.

When Mike woke up, he was surprised to see that Richie’s bed was empty. It was rare that Richie was awake before Mike. Changing into a clean pair of clothes, he shuffled out of the room. Mike was rubbing his eyes as he checked to see if the kitchen was open. When he found out that it wasn’t, he poked his head into the dining room. Bill was laying back on the loveseat that was beside the picnic tables. Richie was standing by the bench, staring at the television with a Wii remote in his hand. Stan was sitting on the bench and watching boredly with a remote in his own hand. It took Mike a moment before he noticed Eddie was sitting on the couch with Bill’s head in his lap.

Mike came in and sat on the table, near Stan. He watched the game for a moment while he stole glances at Eddie and Bill. Bill had his eyes closed while Eddie hummed and ran his fingers through his hair. Eddie was watching Bill’s face with such admiration, Mike wondered if he even realized that the others were in the room. Mike turned his attention back to the game on the television just in time to see Richie hit a home run.

“You fucking suck at this, Stanley.”

Stanley hardly looked over at Richie. Instead he glanced at Mike and offered the remote to him. “I don’t want to play with this fucking idiot. This game is stupid and I don’t see how it’s supposed to make me feel better. I don’t know why they have this video game in here instead of putting in another group.”

“Stanley step off your soapbox and give the remote to Mike since you’re such a sore loser.”

“Fuck you, Tozier.”

Richie rolled his eyes and the remote was thrust into Mike’s hands. Mike watched as Stan got up and walked out of the room. His fingers brushed Richie’s wrist on the way out which was seemingly enough to get Richie’s attention. He was looking over his shoulder and he missed the pitch that Mike threw in the game. Richie turned his attention back just in time to watch his character get a strike. A frown settled on Richie’s lips before he leaned in to press a wet kiss to Mike’s cheek.

“I’ve got to go track down my man. He’s such a drama queen.” Richie winked before he darted out of the room.

Mike glanced at the television before he decided to power off the game. He looked over at Eddie and Bill before he set the remote on the table. “Hey, guys, Bethany is coming around for roomchecks.” he warned, softly as he walked out of the room.

Eddie sighed and tapped his fingers against Bill’s cheek before he leaned down to press a kiss to Bill’s forehead. “Bill? You gotta sit up.” he mumbled and Bill sighed before pushing himself up. Bill leaned back against the couch so that him and Eddie were no longer touching. He tilted his head back against the window behind him and let his eyes fall shut once again. “Why are you so tired, Bill?”

“I don’t s-sleep.”

“Tell them. They can give you a sleep aid.”

“I have a s-sleep aid. I keep it in my ch-cheek.”

“What do you do with it after?”

“Usually S-stan wants it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“W-what?”

“What do you mean what?”

“He didn’t do t-that.”

“He got coded two fucking weeks ago.”

“That isn’t my f-fault.”

“Bill! You shouldn’t be giving him your medication!”

“I don’t w-want it.”

“Tell them! Don’t just give it away! What if you’re responsible for someone’s death?”

Bill fell silent, but he shot a glare in Eddie’s direction. The hard glare was easily seen through, though. Bill’s lower lip trembled and Eddie could see his watery eyes. Almost instinctively Eddie reached out for Bill. He paused when he heard Bethany’s voice chirp from the doorway. “Roomchecks! What are you two doing in here?”

“Just talking. When is the next group?”

“Well, Pat had to leave early today. There isn’t a group until after lunch.”

“Does everyone know that?”

“We’re letting people know as they ask.”

“Good luck.”

Bethany shot the boys a smile before she nodded and ducked out of the room. Eddie could hear her knocking on doors and announcing that she was entering as she went down the hallways. Eddie turned his attention back to Bill and rested a hand on the boy’s knee. “What happened with Georgie wasn’t your fault. I know you think it was but it wasn’t. Even if it were, there’s nothing that can change it now. Help other people now. You can save other people. You can help by not giving Stan your meds.”

“I hate s-sleeping, Eds.”

“Tell the doctor.”

“They’ll keep me hear l-longer.”

“Is that so bad?”

Bill let his gaze fall to their linked hands and didn’t say anything. Eddie knew that he was starting to get upset and that it was only harder for him to speak when his emotions got stronger. “I’ll be here, Bill. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why?”

“I still cry when someone sneezes on me.”

“That’s who you a-are, though! Why do they have to ch-change who you are?”

“Because it makes it hard for me to function, Bill. Same reason they’re working with you. We all love how protective you are, but you have no impulse control and you talk with your fists.”

“There’s nothing w-wrong with me.”

“I didn’t say that, Bill.”

“You think I need to be h-here. I could be out l-looking for him.”

“Bill…” Eddie started. Bill lifted his head to meet Eddie’s gaze, but he crumbled when their eyes met. Eddie didn’t say anything else as he wrapped his arms tightly around Bill’s frame. Bill leaned in to Eddie and slumped against him. Edde leaned back against the arm of the couch and Bill followed him, clinging to Eddie’s small frame. They stayed like that for a while with Eddie whispering into Bill’s ear until Bill calmed down enough for Eddie to feel like everything would be okay.

While he had his head buried in Eddie’s shoulder, Bill wondered why Eddie did all of this for him. Bill had fucked up countless times but Eddie was always right by his side. Even when he didn’t agree with what Bill was doing, he’d set aside his morals to support his friend. Bill frowned when he realized that this was all because Eddie was hopelessly in love with him. Lifting his head, Bill used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his face. Eddie’s mouth twisted in disgust, but he didn’t say anything. “We s-shouldn’t be this close.” Bill said, turning so he could study the treeline just past the window.

“What do you mean?”

“It isn’t healthy, Eds.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re o-obsessed with me.”

“Bill, we’re best friends. That’s it.”

“Then how do you explain the k-kisses.”

“We don’t have to do that.”

Bill bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew he didn’t feel the same way about Eddie. He had too much guilt in his heart to try and think about how he felt about another person. Still, he knew that if he pushed Eddie away then he’d truly be alone. Biting his lower lip, Bill’s gaze fell to his hands. He was still for a while and he heard Eddie’s breathing pick up as his anxiety rose. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Bill leaned in and captured Eddie’s lips with his own.

“I don’t w-want to.” he mumbled when he pulled away, holding Eddie’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Eddie’s eyes were wide and part of Bill felt bad for leading Eddie on like this. It wasn’t fair, but the alternative would crush both of them. Neither boy could handle that in their current state.

“I love you.” Eddie whispered, grabbing the hem of Bill’s shirt and trying to pull him closer. He meant it.

“I love you, t-too.” Bill replied, voice low as he leaned in to kiss Eddie again. He didn’t mean it.

[politicaltheatre]

The Long March, pt.2

History will not be kind to John Bolton.

As thrilled as so many are with him this week because his book exposes Donald Trump’s corrupt ass-kissing of autocratic rulers such as China’s Xi Jinping and Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan, what many can’t fail to recognize is that he could have and should have told all of these stories sooner. Much sooner.

That he didn’t is because he has a book to sell and he wanted to wait until close to its release date so he could boost his book sales. That should tell you all you need to know about John Bolton.

Oh, he was one of the architects of the 2003 invasion of Iraq that killed millions and destabilized the entire region thus killing millions more. You should know that, too.

He’d really like us to invade Iran. Right now. This minute. That probably won’t happen, but it’s definitely something you should know. John Bolton is not someone you want in power.

Donald Trump, of course, is furious, and not just because even just the few details that have emerged about the book have made him look bad in front of the “other” strongmen, but because, like all bullies, he absolutely hates being exposed as a bully. Which he is. It’s worth repeating.

We focus so often on Trump’s incompetence, lies, and buffoonery that we seem to neglect talking about his being a bully, and understanding his bullying is the key to understanding everything about him.

Which brings us to Tulsa and Donald Trump’s “fuck you” of a campaign rally. Trump is all about propaganda, which for him means pushing buttons and provoking responses, much like a bully on a playground getting a rise out of his chosen victim.

His choice of Tulsa on Juneteenth was clearly intended for this. It allows him to play the bully and it allows his supporters to cheer him on as he does it.

This, in fact, is why he lies so often. He knows his audience. Whether or not they know he’s lying, they don’t care; as long as he’s hurting someone they don’t like, they’re happy. In professional wrestling, this is called “playing the heel”, and this very much is how they see him and why he appeals to them.

Go back and look at his rallies. He’s performing to his audience, but they, like the audiences at pro-wrestling matches, are performing, too. They’re no “marks”. It’s interactive, and that carries over to all of his public appearances and especially his daily rants on Twitter.

What, then, could be a bigger “fuck you” to to those fighting racism and police brutality than defiling a day celebrating freedom from slavery in a place just beginning to remember and overcome its own brutally racist history? Even pushing it back one day, Trump still gets to take credit. As bonus, he hopes, speaking Saturday will bring more protesters and counter-protesters primed for violence.

He wants videos of protesters losing their cool. He wants “Antifa” protesters seen to be doing violence. He wants a campaign ad that shows everyone looking for some kind of justification for voting for him (again) that they are right to support a culture (and economy) that relies pushing others down and keeping them there.

As those shared videos of hammer-wielding, fire-starting not-protesters keep showing us, this generation of protesters are more than capable of recognizing the threat posed to them and their movement by being blamed for violence they haven’t done. They understand full well how images of violence may be weaponized against them.

Trump won’t get his riot, not from them. On the contrary, any attempt to provoke a riot or perform one professional wrestling-style is very likely to be captured, shared, and exposed for the fraud it is.

This is an enormous advantage over previous generations. Countless past movements in countries all over the world failed in no small part because their ability to communicate was limited, either naturally or forcibly, and they allowed those working against them to control how they were perceived.

What Trump will have, though, is the opportunity to misrepresent the phrase “Defund the Police”. Much like “Antifa”, another term sure to get plenty of misusage at the rally, what it means can change depending on whom you ask.

This isn’t exactly a shock. “Black Lives Matter” has long been misrepresented by Trump and his supporters, and surely will be again in Tulsa. When bullies can’t make a rational argument to defend their behavior, they attack and they use obvious misrepresentation to do it.

Trump’s game here is the same as the one he played recently with “Obamagate”. Use the vagueness of the term as leverage. It can mean what each listener wants it to mean. Details just get in the way.

It’s all a variation on “The Big Lie”, a con made infamous by Adolf Hitler’s PR guy, Joseph Goebbels. Tell a lie that’s obviously a lie, such as, “Jews control the world”, keep repeating it (or dog-whistling it), let people read their own fears into it, and use that to get people to exploit themselves for you.

Contrary to what Trump’s audience will hear for the next four and half months, “Defund the Police” does not mean abolishing the police. There’s already a term for that: abolishing the police.

To defund the police is to redirect money from the police budget to programs better equipped through training and better suited in mindset to handle non-violent crime, such as a man asleep in his car at a drive-thru, and social issues, such as addiction and homelessness.

This means demilitarizing the police, both in the gear and weapons they’re using and in the adversarial mindset that is so entrenched among them that many who watched those same videos of police cracking the skulls of old men and young women thought it was a perfectly justified use of force.

The hope is to make policing less about statistics and quotas and war and more about recognizing those whom they have sworn to protect as equals and treating them as they would want to be treated themselves.

This, then, is what Donald Trump will attempt to do in Tulsa. With a lot of help from his own, personal Goebbels, Stephen Miller, Trump will tell his supporters that Black Lives Matter protesters want to abolish all police, that they want criminals to run free, and that they want to destroy what makes America great. And he’ll use that one phrase, “Defund the Police”, as the anchor to do it.

Another button Trump will push, which is to say, another Big Lie he will tell, will be about the statues of Confederate leaders (and other equally racist ones) being taken down and rising support for renaming ten military bases named for Confederate generals.

Like others pushing back at this necessary change, Trump will attempt to frame it as protecting history. “Heritage” is a code word we will likely hear, likely more than once. Like other coded language, it obscures truth rather than revealing it, which is just what those statues and base names were meant to do, obstruct our memory and sell us on a lie.

The lie they told normalized the racism those men stood for. It scrubbed clean the atrocities they and others committed to hold power over others and destroy their hope.

That lie has succeeded for so long because when we had the chance after the Civil War to complete the long march towards justice and equality for all, we gave up as we so often do. We had fought a war and were weary of it, and we had achieved…something, enough for people different than us and far away from us, so we stopped.

We’ve had opportunities since and each time we’ve made it a bit farther down the path, but each time we stopped, and those statues and names were no small part of the reason why. They held stature in our eyes, and that gave the lie power. They gaslit us, telling us our own memories were lies.

As with police brutality, they have served both as an expression and reinforcement of the imbalance of power in our society. Tearing the statues down and renaming the bases deprives power to the lie of our past. It restores the power of memory. We need to do that in order to move forward.

Memory is everything. This is why Trump and the strongmen he so admires attack it. Our memories serve to protect us, to keep us from making mistakes and repeating those of the past.

It’s why Trump frenemy, Premier Xi, has built his career on suppressing memories of the massacre in Tiananmen Square. Without free speech and the memories that generates in a culture, you end up with something like we see in China, where few born after those pro-democracy protesters were killed even know it was done, or Hong Kong, where memory of Tiananmen is being criminalized.

Or worse, you end up with something like North Korea, another self-proclaimed “socialist” regime that denies its people two of the most basic tenets of actual socialism: free speech and freedom of movement.

The end of Japan’s brutal colonial rule in 1945 must have filled North Koreans with some sense of hope of those freedoms and more. Instead, they have endured a hereditary dictatorship - one that appears to be transitioning to its fourth “supreme leader”, Kim Yo Jong - that uses images of its rulers and idealized servant-citizens to suppress the truth of their misery and reinforce the imbalance of power between the ruling class and them.

Memory is everything.

The term “The Long March” refers to the military retreat of the Chinese communist army early in their civil war. The retreat lasted over a year. It saw the rise, fall, and second rise of Mao Zedong as leader of the communists. It is taught in China as a triumph of courage and will, as the test that proved Mao’s leadership and the virtue of following his lead.

Of course, Mao wrote that history. What the communists knew when they started their rebellion was that Chiang Kai-Shek was a corrupt, authoritarian ruler who was as weak - he had no answer for the Japanese colonial invasion - as he was greedy and cruel. Anyone would have been better than him.

Sound familiar?

What they got in Mao was change, but while China has finally achieved its place as a global economic and nuclear superpower, it has done so by crushing dissent, killing millions upon millions of its own people, and creating a brutal class system exactly like the ones of Chiang Kai-Shek and the emperors before him.

Ask the victims of Tiananmen Square if the long march ended well for them. Ask the people of Hong Kong right now.

It isn’t enough to make change. We must maintain it and expand it. That means holding the police accountable on body cam footage so they actually use the cameras. That means pushing them on public access. That means electing politicians who want to represent their communities rather than corporations. That means taking the time and effort to research candidates and to vote. That means finding a way to stay engaged.

Whatever has been accomplished in these first few weeks, it is just the first few steps down a long road. If this movement is to succeed, enough of us will need to go the distance, and to do so not merely following anyone else’s lead. This means asking questions we may not want to ask and passing on memories both of what we have done right and what we have done wrong.

Let someone tell you what questions need asking and what memories are worth remembering, and you hand over your lives to them, what they have been and what they can be. They will tell your story as theirs and they will change it to suit their needs.

On this day, the 19th of June, we owe it to ourselves and to future generations never to surrender that particular power to anyone ever again.

- Daniel Ward

[sylvermyth]

to keep it

*sidles up*  So, it’s been...quite a rough few months for me, in general, but also writing-wise.  I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for MONTHS. It’s been awful, because I LOVE writing, and I couldn’t get anything to come out that I actually enjoyed writing.

UNTIL NOW.

I finished FFXV two days ago and I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS, AND I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY, OKAY.  So, my first offer to the fandom, an incredibly indulgent, Prompto/Noctis fic.  It can be read as platonic or as early slash, takes place around Brotherhood times.  If you’d be so kind as to comment and reblob if you like it, I would appreciate it!

to keep it (also on AO3)

Prompto couldn't sleep.

It wasn't unusual. Sometimes it was a restless, anxious energy that he couldn't shake, nerves alight and waiting for-he wasn't sure what, but it was like something hard-wired into him, to be ready to react at a moment's notice.

Other times, it was nightmares, the ones that made him claustrophobic and panicky, and caused him to start awake. He didn't remember much of those, except that they made his stomach clench, and in their aftermath he always clasped his left hand over his right wrist, inexplicably terrified that someone would notice the mark there, that he would be snatched away, to never escape a hell he only had vague impressions of.

Sometimes, if he was alone, and certain he was alone, he would be filled with a morbid fascination with the lines etched into his wrist, even and precise, a tiny series of numbers just below the bar code, spending the small hours of the morning studying them, unable to return to sleep. The tattoo had something to do with the restlessness and the nightmares. He was sure of it, somehow. Instinct, maybe, or a forgotten memory.

It was the nightmares, tonight, the shock of thunder from outside pulling him from his fitful sleep, and, once awake, the flashes of lightening, dark interspersed with light, almost sending him into a panic until he'd turned to the window to see rain pelting at the glass. Just a storm.

It was just a storm.

Prompto sighed, and, giving up sleep as a lost cause, moved to the window that made up one wall of the room. He was at Noct's; crashing on his couch was becoming a common occurrence—ostensibly because he kept missing the last train home when they got too caught up in a video game or a movie, losing track of time, but truthfully, Prompto found himself dreading the return to his own apartment. There would be no one there when he got back, the empty quiet deafening and unbearable now that he'd become accustomed to a different kind of silence—that of quiet companionship.

Prompto worried the band over his wrist, making sure it was covered, as he looked out over the city spread before him. It was little more than indistinct lights twinkling in the rain beyond the glass, but it was beautiful nonetheless. It only took a couple steps to retrieve his camera and bring it to the window, fiddle with the settings until he'd captured a few passable shots. It wasn't something a camera could quite do justice, but he'd be satisfied in capturing the feeling of it.

Returning the camera, Prompto snagged his blanket and pulled it around his shoulders. Noctis was asleep in the other room, and that was a comfort, knowing he wasn't the only soul in the apartment. Even so, he tiptoed to Noct's room to confirm it, nudging the door open just enough to catch sight of a sleeping form and a tuft of black hair. It made him smile, a little; Noct looked so peaceful. Prompto envied him his ability to sleep seemingly anywhere and any time, but he was glad for it, glad that Noct wasn't disturbed by his own restlessness. Prompto watched over him for a few minutes, finding the gentle rise-and-fall from Noct's breathing calming, and it was probably a little weird, to watch his best friend sleep, so Prompto turned and moved back to the window in the lounge, instead.

It was a little easier to shake the malaise from the nightmares when he wasn't alone, even if Noct was asleep, and Prompto didn't think he'd ever stop being grateful for Noct's friendship. Because a part of him knew that Noct knew he'd rather be here than home, and that Prompto wasn't the only one who conveniently lost track of time.

Or maybe Noct was lonely, too. Prompto might've found that difficult to imagine—after all, Noct had Iggy and Gladio and a father—but he'd seen that look in his friend's eyes, the one that was familiar because it was one he'd seen so often in the mirror, and if Prompto's company helped, who was he to refuse? Prompto couldn't bear to see Noct anything but happy, even if it meant plastering on a smile when he was courting a panic attack.

A sound behind him made him tense so hard it hurt, the fear from his nightmare returning with its sharpened nerves.

But it was just Noct. That was all it could be, the soft shuffle of bare feet against the floor, and Prompto took a breath, forcing himself to relax, and then Noct came to a stop next to him, leaning his head on Prompto's shoulder, banishing the tension with the simple action.

"Hey." Noct's voice was gruff with sleep, and Prompto was surprised he was awake enough to walk and talk—the same Noctis who took ages to climb out of bed in the morning, and he wondered if Noct had actually been asleep, after all. It was sometimes hard to tell, with him.

"Hey." Prompto tried not to dwell on the possibility that he'd been caught watching Noct sleep.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"The storm woke me up." It wasn't a lie, not entirely. He didn't want Noct to worry, or worse, to inquire after his nightmares—not that he could give any kind of accurate account of them, anyway, but he'd rather just put it behind him.

Noct hummed a response, his hair tickling Prompto's cheek.

"I've probably said this before," and yeah, he was about to babble, but that was okay; Noct never seemed to mind, "but you've got a great view up here." Prompto gestured down at the lights sprawled below them, twinkling. "I got a couple shots, you know, the rain and the lights and everything, it looks really cool through the window." Abruptly, he realized Noct would ask to see them—he usually did—and he'd be happy to, later, but just now, he didn't want to give up this comforting closeness, so he changed tack. "Hey, but what about you? Can't you like, sleep through an earthquake or something? How come you're awake?"

Noct shrugged. "Dunno." He shifted, wrapping an arm around Prompto and effectively snuggling into him; it took a conscious effort not to glance down at his wristband to make sure it was still in place, and instead just let himself relax more into the embrace, but it was a worthwhile effort.

Prompto tilted his head until it bumped Noct's. This kind of affectionate contact was still new between them—in fact, Prompto couldn't remember ever being this close to someone else—but it was nice, welcome. It made him full and warm and happy, and he wanted it to last forever, so he fished his phone out of his pocket—it wasn't worth disturbing them to retrieve his camera—and snapped a selfie. The lighting wasn't great, but there was enough ambient light from outside to capture the shapes of their faces, hair both light and dark mingling together.

Noct made a sound of amusement when Prompto angled the screen toward him. "Your hair is a mess, Prom, you sure you wanna keep that one?"

"Nooooct!" Prompto jabbed him with his elbow half-heartedly, and slipped the phone back in his pocket. He gave an exaggerated sniff. "I don't expect you to understand the true art of photography."

"Yeah, okay." A yawn cut off Noct's low chuckle.

"You should go back to bed," Prompto murmured. "Iggy'll have a fit if you doze off tomorrow." He reluctantly started disengaging himself from Noct's hold, but Noct only tightened his grip, a small, disappointed sound in his throat. "Uhm, Noct?"

And when he shifted enough to see his friend's face, Prompto pursed his lips. Noct's expression was carefully guarded, but Prompto was experienced in reading that look, the one that said don't leave me alone—as if Prompto could!—and the hand clutching Prompto's arm that underlined the sentiment. So he just smiled and leaned into Noct.

"Alright, but if you fall asleep on me, I'm not carrying you back to bed! You know I'm not strong like Gladio."

Noct rolled his eyes, something like mischief quirking his lips. "That's not a problem if we're already in bed." And when Prompto said he wasn't strong like Gladio, he meant he wasn't really strong at all, not even as strong as Noct, who was tugging him back towards his room with maybe a little more force than necessary, considering Prompto wasn't inclined to resist.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming!" Prompto wasn't exactly sure what this situation would entail, but he would probably follow Noctis to the end of the world if he had to, so following him in the safety of Noct's apartment was a small matter. When Noct practically tackled him onto the bed, and they collapsed in a pile of laughter, he changed his mind—this was no small matter.

It was everything.

It took a few minutes, to figure out how to arrange their limbs so they were both comfortable, but once they did, it was perfect. Warm and soft, and Prompto was pretty sure it was as close to heaven as someone could get, and that he'd never been happier, his nightmares and restless energy forgotten as he melted into the bed with Noct.

"Bed's more comfy than the couch," Noct mumbled, voice already thick with sleep.

"Yeah." Prompto smiled. It never took Noct long to fall back asleep. "Very comfy."

Noct nuzzled closer—Prompto hadn't thought it possible, but he was being proved wrong—and Prompto thought his heart would burst at Noct's next words: "I'm here, Prom. I'm here for you."

It never failed to surprise him, when Noctis had these little moments: moments of perfect perception (or maybe Noct was saying what he wanted to hear from Prompto, but the two of them were alike, in many ways, in tune with each other as only the closest friends could be) that set the world to rights even as Prompto was trying to hide that anything was wrong at all. Prompto felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears as he pressed his face into Noct's hair.

"Me too, Noct," and even though he was whispering, his voice felt too loud in the quiet of the room. "I'm here for you, too." Noct's arms tightened around him in a hug.

Noct's breathing evened out after only a few more minutes, and Prompto pressed an affectionate kiss into his dark hair.

No photos would ever be able to capture this, but that was okay, because Prompto would hold onto it in his heart for as long as he lived, held onto it even as he drifted off to sleep, finally; peaceful, safe.

Loved.

[sequencefairy]

Planet-side Spin

Yoruichiruki. Fluff. I blame @gunnerpalace and his cult of rare pairs. This is sort of a prequel to Up All Night to the Sun. As with his, this is set vaguely in the future of the Grounded universe that he and I have been quietly building. ~1400 words.

Ichigo misses them like breathing. 

[ AO3 ] 

The water here is an out-of-this-world colour of blue - Rukia would tell him it was azure, but she’s the one with the vocabulary right out of a game of scrabble. He hates this place already. Well, he doesn’t hate the place exactly, it’s more that he hates being here without them. 

Ichigo turns away from the sweep of beach-fronted shoreline and walks back into the hotel. The open-to-the-sky lobby mills with tourists of all kinds, and Ichigo makes his way to the desk, intent on getting his key and knocking off for several hours of sleep.

There’s a small rigamarole to get his room sorted - his soon-to-be-ex-at-this-rate assistant had helpfully booked it for him under her own name instead of his - and then Ichigo is on his way up in an unnecessarily posh elevator. His feet drag as he walks down the long hallway to get to his suite and by the time he’s pushing the door open, the only thing on his mind is crawling into bed and not moving for the next twelve or so hours, never mind that it is the middle of the day.

Ichigo’s concession to adjusting to this particular timezone is to set an alarm to wake himself in an hour and a half, because there is a meeting at nine the following morning, and there is the herculean task of preparing for it to be done ahead of that time. He’s asleep almost before his head hits the pillow.

When the alarm goes off later, Ichigo swats blindly at his phone and it topples onto the floor. It lands on the plush carpet with a dull sound. The alarm continues to ring. Ichigo groans and pushes himself up to sitting. His head is full of cotton wool and his eyes feel like he’s spent the last three days in a desert, but he can’t afford to sleep any longer.

Reaching down for his phone, he silences the alarm and checks the time difference. He should be able to catch Yoruichi at home, and if he’s lucky, Rukia will be there too. But first, to make himself presentable, because if he knows Yoruichi, it’ll be facetime and Ichigo imagines his hair is a nest of unruly orange spikes.

The shower in this suite is big enough to hold at least five people comfortably, and Ichigo diverts himself while washing off the seven hour flight plus nap by thinking about how the three of them could take advantage of the space, and the bench across the back of the glassed-in enclosure. He gets distracted enough by the image of Rukia between his knees, water beading on her skin, hooded eyes looking up at him that he nearly forgets to rinse out his hair before stepping out of the shower.

Towelling off and dressing take no time, and Ichigo dials Yoruichi while lounging on the shaded balcony, the gentle wind off the ocean ruffling his hair.

She picks up after three rings, and Ichigo has to stifle a laugh at the way she barks her greeting at him.

“It’s me,” he says, and he can hear her fumbling with her phone before she comes back.

“Sorry, I thought you were work.”

“What’s the point of having caller ID if you don’t look at it before you pick up?”

“Piss off, I was making dinner.”

“Oooh.” Ichigo’s mouth waters at the thought of Yoruichi’s cooking. “What’re you making?”

“Nothing fancy,” Yoruichi hedges, and Ichigo makes a noise of annoyance. Yoruichi laughs. “I’m doing that noodle thing that Rukia likes, you know the one.” Ichigo does. His stomach makes a hopeful sound.

“Is Rukia home yet?”

“Not yet,” Yoruichi says, and he can hear the clatter of utensils in the background. “Soon though, she called me when she landed - ‘bout an hour ago? She should be home any minute.”

There’s a silence across the line. Ichigo stares out at the ocean.

“How’s the hotel?” Yoruichi asks, and Ichigo can tell she’s left the kitchen by the way her voice sounds closer - warmer. He thinks she’s probably lounging on the couch, and turns his mind forcibly back to the conversation at hand. It’s been far too long since he’s been home if this is all it takes.

“Nothing fancy,” Ichigo says and Yoruichi groans. Ichigo laughs, and then leans back. “It’s nice, but it’d be nicer with company. There’s this huge shower, and one of those in floor tubs - reminds me of that first time.”

Yoruichi hums. “That was a good time.”

Ichigo agrees. It was, and it lead them down the first couple of steps towards here, and in his sappier moments, he thinks about how lucky he is that it worked out like this, how easy it was for the three of them to slot together like puzzle pieces, and how complete the puzzle is now that they are together.

“Oh,” Yoruichi breathes, breaking Ichigo out of his reminiscence. “Rukia’s home!” Ichigo can hear the way her voice has upticked into pleased contentment. “Give us an hour or so to eat and then we’ll call you back?”

There’s a part of Ichigo that wants to say no, that he wants to talk to both of them right now, because he misses them like he misses a phantom limb but he swallows it down and agrees, making Yoruichi promise that they will let him call them - his phone is paid for by work after all, and it behooves him to take advantage.

Ichigo putters through unpacking and sorting through the files he’ll need to have handy for the meeting tomorrow, spreading the lot of them on the big table in the suite. The case is, for lack of a better word, boring as fuck, but it’s a staggering number of billable hours, and Ichigo does appreciate the padding his bank account is receiving - Christmas is coming and there are two ladies who are deserving of something positively fabulous - so he’s trying not to complain overmuch.

His phone rings twice and stops, Yoruichi’s code for letting him know they’re ready to talk. Ichigo calls her back and takes the initiative to make it a video call instead of just voice and when she picks up, he grins, wide and pleased. Rukia is there next to her, the pair of them crowded into the view screen.

They wave at him and Ichigo wiggles his fingers back at them.

“How’s the hotel, Ichigo?” Rukia asks, and Ichigo turns his phone so they can see the view. Yoruichi ‘oohs’ appreciatively and Ichigo turns it back to himself. “Not bad,” Rukia says, “what about the room? Yoruichi said there was a big tub.” Rukia waggles her eyebrows in what, Ichigo is sure, she thinks is a suggestive manner. Mostly it makes her look ridiculous and he laughs. Rukia pouts prettily for a moment before Yoruichi cards a hand through her hair, and Rukia’s face smooths into a serene smile.

Ichigo misses them like breathing. “Tell me about your day?”

Rukia launches into a story about the pilot on the flight crew she’s been assigned to on this rotation. Ichigo settles more comfortably into his chair, letting her voice wash over him. He watches the way her eyes light and her face changes as she tells the story, the way he can see the barest movement of her hands in the bottom of the frame - and when she gets to the punchline, he watches as Yoruichi laughs, her head thrown back, while Rukia stifles her giggles with a hand.

After, Rukia insists he show them around the hotel room, so he does, before sprawling down onto the bed and holding the phone up over his head. They look down on him. Ichigo wishes them goodnight, and Yoruichi blows him a kiss and Rukia waves. Ichigo swipes his hand across his phone screen, capturing a screenshot of their faces smooshed together and then they end the call together. He stares at the screenshot for a long time before setting his phone down and getting started on his meeting prep.

The rest of the week passes quickly and soon Ichigo is at the end of a marathon day of flights filled with turbulence and delays.  He finally lands in the dead of night, in a near empty airport. He’d told the girls not to wait up, and he is pleased to see they haven’t, even if it means he has to get home from the airport himself. He hikes his shoulder bag more firmly onto his shoulder and strides purposefully for baggage and then the customs desk. It’s quick work to get a cab after that and Ichigo sinks into the seat gratefully.

He’s going home.

Finally.

[thegodshavehorns]

Capture the Wind (5/5)

Chapter 5: Luft

You don’t run far, before you stop to flip your coins, and turn right. At first you’d thought you’d flip just whenever you felt like it, but then it occurs to you that doing so might be too easy for her to sense, so instead you flip at every intersection.

You wander in wide circles and lazy zig-zags, past streetlights and parking lots and dark buildings, 24-hour convenience stores and shuttered businesses. You come to the edge of town, and the coins tell you to turn onto the highway.

You don’t plan, you don’t think about what you’ll do as the night wears on, where you will sleep, or what you will eat tomorrow. You just walk, one foot after the other, wandering as the coins direct you.

Your feet hurt. Walking sucks.

You kick a pebble, and it vanishes into the dark.

At a little after four in the morning, you’re so tired that you’re seriously considering just lying down and sleeping on the grass even if a coyote does come and eat you. Then you stumble face-down into a ditch.

Maybe I should just stay here, you think groggily, face pressed against the wet ground. Maybe I’ll die in a ditch. That’d show her.

But you don’t. You manage to clamber out of the ditch, getting completely covered in mud as you do. But no sooner have you done so then a blinding light hits you in the face from above.

You lift up a dirt-covered hand to shield your eyes, and gasp stupidly. “Wha?”

For a few seconds, you think it’s a spaceship. You’ve seen them before, videos of them, pictures, .GIFs online. Toys. But it’s not a spaceship. It’s a helicopter.

The wind is whipping around you, nearly blowing you over as you stand there like a pole-axed deer. It feels like you’re in the middle of a mini-hurricane.

The helicopter is sleek and shiny in the glow of its red and blue lights, and it lands only a few yards away. The letters “CEO” are emblazoned on its side, and a logo that looks sort of like a blocky house.

You just stand there like an idiot as the door opens and two people step out: a large man and an alien of some sort. They both look at you expectantly.

Maybe you’re just tired, but you have no idea what the fuck is going on.

“John Egbert?” says the large man, and you nod dumbly. He jerks his thumb at the interior of the helicopter. “Boss wants to see you.”

The alien reaches forward and ushers you in. You don’t really resist, but you do look curiously at the alien as you pass (him? her? them?) it. You don’t see a lot of aliens in Maple Valley, as they usually stick around the major tourist destinations. This one is slender and green, with two fish-eyes in the middle of its face, one above the other. It doesn’t seem to have a nose or ears or hair, but it’s got a leaf on its head. It looks kind of funny and not very threatening.

You step into the helicopter. There’s no lighting inside, except for that coming from more than a half-dozen LED screens. There are two big ones in the front, one showing what looks like the news, the other showing an aerial view of a map in infrared, of the field you were just walking through. There’s a smaller screen on a mobile arm, and another fixed to the back of the pilot’s seat that’s complete with a keyboard. Both are filled with code. There’s a screen on a tablet propped against an empty seat, showing a cartoon on mute, and another discarded on the floor that’s open to some kind of video game on pause. The last screen is the smallest, a smartphone held by the other occupant of the helicopter.

He’s completely disheveled, he’s wearing a wrinkled-looking robe in dark green and black, he’s skinny, and he kind of smells like he hasn’t bathed in a while. But he also has four pointed horns poking out of his greasy black hair. He's only the second god you’ve ever met, and seeing as you’re also severely exhausted, you’re suitably impressed. And also wondering how life got you here, to this point.

He’s talking into a headset, and doesn’t even look up from his phone when you come in.

“Yes, I know the uranium strike is entering its umpteenth year, what I’m telling you is that it doesn’t matter…. Import more workers from off-world, my god…. Yes, that’s an expression you fuckwad…. I’m very aware of what’s at stake, I’m telling you that energy infrastructure isn’t something we can compromise….Yes, that’s right….I don’t care. Give them Dolphin drips if they aren’t getting the rest they need. Half a brain is better than none…. Fucking hilarious. You lot think I pay you to be comedians?”

Only he says it comedianth and thtrike and ekthprethon. This god lisps, and you’d maybe smile about that if you weren’t so tired

“Uh,” you say, and stifle a yawn. “Are you the Mage of Doom?”

“I swear, I give you way above your pay grade if that’s the best you can blubber out- hold on a second, FD, I’ve got someone on the meat-line.”

And maybe if he wasn’t looking so irritated. He keeps glancing down at his phone, texting between every other word. “What do you want, kid?”

You blink in confusion. What do you want? HE is the one who just invited YOU into his helicopter, not the other way around!

You say “huh?” and stare at him kind of stupidly. He groans, “I don’t have time for this shit.”

And then he goes back to talking to ‘FD.’

You sit down on the empty seat next to him, not sure what else to do. You glance at the cartoon playing on the tablet. Oh man, Squiddles, you remember watching that when you were a little kid. But you’re too old for cartoons now.

After a many long minutes, the Mage of Doom hangs up. “Okay,” he says again, still texting. “You might be hard of hearing, or maybe stupid, so I’ll ask again. What do you want?”

You try to think a little harder this time. You think maybe you get it. “I guess... I want to get away from the Seer.”

The Mage snorts, almost giggles. “Good luck with that, kid. We can’t always get what we want. Anything else?”

You really think, this time.

“I… maybe would like to go home?”

“What is it about home that you miss?” The god’s eyes, mismatched and glowing in the dark helicopter, are almost like dual LED screens on their own.

“My friends, I guess? The ones I met at church?”

The god blinks, and the lights in his eyes flash off, then on. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The two (are they bodyguards? henchmen? pilots?) people in suits climb into the helicopter, and it shudders to life, taking off with surprising smoothness.

The god is talking on the phone again, this time to someone named “FF.” You tune him out. You think that maybe you should ask where you’re going, but you’re feeling tired and sullen and you don’t really care. You’re kind of half-asleep for most of the ride.

When you land, it’s not in front of the motel. It’s a normal-looking house. Outside, your dad is waiting.

You step out of the helicopter, and the Mage of Doom places a hand over the receiver of the headset and calls out to you; “Give Terezi my regards.” Before you can ask who that is, the ‘copter takes off again, droning.

The sun is rising. You’ve been up all night.

You turn away from your dad, your face burning in shame. You didn’t make it. You didn’t even manage to run away properly.

“Son.”

Your dad’s voice is quiet, and it sounds… you glance at him quickly. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. But your dad doesn’t ever cry; that’s preposterous.

“Dad?” you ask, and he hugs you, tightly.

“You were very brave, Son,” he whispers, and brings you inside. You’re too tired to fight it.

The Seer is inside, in the living room. She looks completely uninjured. She’s smiling.

“Good job, John,” she says. “Very, very good. You are just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You glance down at your feet. You are totally covered in mud, wow. Like, you look like a mud man.

“Look at me, John.”

You look at her. She is completely at ease. “This house is your house, now. No need to thank me.” She leans forward, and rests her hands on her knees. “Consider it a gift, and some measure of recompense.”

“Thank you, Seer,” says your dad, his voice flat.

The Seer tilts her head at you. “John, for you I have a very special gift, as well.” She motions, and now she’s holding a- it’s a laptop. Nothing too fancy, but it looks brand new.

“All your favorite movies and software are already downloaded,” she says. “Of course, you are free to add more.”

You want to go sleep, maybe forever, but you haven’t had any computer access for weeks, and a part of you is interested. “I don’t understand,” you say. “This makes no sense. Why are you happy with me?”

“John,” the Seer smiles. “Why would I have revealed my weakness to you if I didn’t want you to take advantage of it? Now, take the laptop.”

You take the laptop, feeling numb inside, and your dad gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Thank you, Seer,” you say, with barely more emphasis than your dad.

She smiles. “You can call me Terezi, John. That’s my real name. Remember, we’re not enemies. I’m here to help you.”

And she leaves.

Your dad squeezes your shoulder again, and you try not to flinch when it aggravates a bruise.

“Next time,” he says. “Hit her harder.”

It’s not that you believe the Seer… believe Terezi, not entirely. You’ve figured out that she’s trying to manipulate you. You just don’t know what she’s trying to manipulate you to do, exactly.

And it’s not like you believe your dad completely, either. You don’t think that Terezi is going to kill you. She could have done that TONS of times already, but she hasn’t. And she doesn’t want to just keep hurting you forever, either. If she did, why would she give you a laptop? Something doesn't add up.

The first thing you do, after showering and changing, is open up the laptop to set up Pesterchum, since Anna must have thought you died or something, and you’re pretty sure you can just go tell her the truth, now.

Besides, you've missed having a computer.

Pesterchum is already set up on the laptop, but when you try to log in, you can’t. Your account isn’t logging on, so you try setting up a new account. This time, it works. You choose a new chumhandle: ectoBiologist, because for some reason ghostlyTrickster won’t work.

You see that your new ectoBiologist account has three friends loaded automatically. turntechGodhead. gardenGnostic. tentacleTherapist. That's weird. Is this someone else’s laptop?

gardenGnostic is pestering you.

-- gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 6:45 --

[GG]: hi john!

[GG]: i know you don’t know me, but i know all about you!

[GG]: okay, not ALL ABOUT, because that would be a lot, and maybe kind of creepy, but i know some things!>

[GG]: youve been talking to gods, right?

[GG]: well, me too! theyre my friends!>

[GG]: anyway, let me know when you get this message! i cant wait to get to know you!

[GG]: you got the computer already, right?

[EB]: hi?

[GG]: hi!

[GG]: :)

[GG]: :D

[GG]: john !!!!!

[EB]: you know my name?

[GG]: well, yeah! youre one of us!

[EB]: us??? what is going on, i am so confused.

[GG]: yeah, john! we’ve been waiting for you!

[GG]: me and TT and TG!

[GG]: sorry, this is just so exciting, and im the only one online to greet you!

[GG]: the others are missing out, lol!

[GG]: okay, let me start over.

[GG]: we have been chosen, all four of us, to be gods in a new universe!

[GG]: and i know you have been lonely. i was lonely too, but you dont have to be!

[GG]: we are here for you.

You stare at the bright green text. There are more people like you? Why would the Seer only tell you this now? Did they all know each other before except you? You feel slightly hurt, even though you know it's not GG's fault.

But... maybe they know more about the 'trial' and stuff? Maybe they know how to fight gods, or play 5th-dimensional chess. Maybe they had to grow up as atheists. Maybe they had to leave home, too.

[EB]: wow this is a lot to take in

[EB]: i did not know there was anyone else.

[EB]: so you have been training with the seer too?

[GG]: oh, terezi comes by sometimes, but i mostly work with feferi and sollux!

[EB]: oh ok. i do not know who those are, but ok.

[GG]: witch of life and mage of doom :)>

[GG]: and its nice, but i am so excited to meet other humans!

[GG]: tell me about yourself!!

You end up talking with gardenGnostic, who reveals her name to be Jade after only an hour or so of chatting, for most of the morning. You haven’t slept in over 24 hours, and you feel high and jazzed from sleep deprivation. You don’t have to sleep. You can do anything.

And when they get online later, you talk with tentacleTherapist, and turntechGodhead as well as Jade, all day long, until you literally pass out on your keyboard at about 4pm. You wake up only briefly to your dad putting a blanket around your shoulders.

Tomorrow, you’re sure, you’re going to strife with the Seer again. She’s going to make you play stupid games, and now that she knows you know how to beat her, it’s going to be about a million times as hard.

But now you have someone to talk to. And even if their experiences seem a bit different from yours (you wouldn’t really call Terezi a friend, a mentor, or a guardian), you can share with each other without being afraid. After all, you have the same future ahead of you.

And somehow, someway, you feel like everything is going to be alright.

(eventually, you remember to message Anna)

(Anna never responds)