#like literally no effort has ever been made to help me it’s just an afterthought of like oh have you thought about x when I thought abt x

[taketheringtolohac]

what if I just screamed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and cried!!!!!!!!

[spaceyhiyyihlight]

FINAL TWINKLING WATERMELON POST but i just have to say, as much as i fucking loved this show, three main things made me mad

the female characters seemed like an afterthought. Chungah, Sekyoung, and Eunyoo all had such interesting stories and i WISH we spent more time with them. Chungah literally stole everyone's heart immediately and had all the makings of a main character: she's the quiet daughter of an absent but kindhearted rich CEO complete with family, school, and boy drama, and her SON FROM THE FUTURE is there?? but they barely spent any time with her, and her family storyline wrapped up entirely too easily. ntm what even happened to Sekyoung and Eunyoo? Eunyoo basically had TWO moments the entire show where she actually did something that would help Sekyoung, and then we never even got to see Sekyoung in 2023 to see if her life changed. they had ONE scene together in 1995 and it was so fucking good, i wish we saw more of them. there would've been time for them, too, if there wasn't so much time spent on the fuckass love triangle and Yichan flopping at creating the band. PLUS Chungah and Sekyoung's friendship was the cutest thing ever and i miss them 😖

the big lesson Eungyeol spent all his time and effort to learn was... he shouldn't tread his family like a burden? are you fucking kidding me? Eunho could've gotten that through to him in one deep conversation in 2023. it was ridiculously anticlimactic that that's all he learned from that whole experience. i was HOPING he would learn to stop seeing his dad as a pitiful little puppy dog that was wimpering after being shot in the eye, but NO! he spent the entire fucking show obsessing over Yichan's hearing as if his life would be completely ruined once it was gone. i kept waiting for him to finally see deaf Yichan as a HUMAN. it felt like every time he had an eye opening moment that humanized Yichan it was specific to things he didn't do as an adult anymore: he's talking 🥺🥺 he's singing 🥺🥺 he's playing guitar 🥺🥺 that's an 18 year old kid! what about your actual dad?? he also experiences joy and feels emotions and has interests. i wanted him to learn to accept Yichan as he existed without Eungyeol's meddling, but i guess he had to be a cool, wealthy rockstar to have a happy ending for whatever reason.

what the fuck happened to THE BUTTERFLY AFFECT?? i thought it was adoreable that Yichan and Chungah fell in love even in a time before Yichan was deaf, but everything else just pissed me off. no fucking way EVERYTHING that made the structure of their futures sound just happened. Eunyoo was right, Chungah and Yichan would've had kids earlier if they met younger than they were meant to. Eunho and Eungyeol probably wouldn't have existed, and even if they did, NO FUCKING WAY Yichan and Chungah named their son "Ha Eungyeol" after having a friend in their youth who habitually called them mom and dad, and then watched that son grow up to look EXACTLY LIKE that friend and never talked to him about it. ntm the other band members finding him vaguely familiar as if Eungyeol wasn't a band member and a pivotal part of their origin story. and they had pictures together. ouuu this made me so mad

[endcant]

aimless musings on subgenre, citypop, and internet subcultures

theres something very interesting about watching citypop become very mainstream in korea and watching that feed back into both western listeners’ opinions and also into the sometimes-cynical efforts of a variety of kpop producers

a lot of people in the youtube/kpop sphere talk about the growth of citypop as if it were a spontaneous wave that appeared out of nowhere with mariya takeuchi’s plastic love getting picked up by the youtube algorithm in like 2018 or whatever, but thats a very like online-ignorant view of the interaction between vintage japanese music and worldwide online EDM production. citypop has been used in future funk and vaporwave for almost a decade by now, and, as a result, a number of citypop songs took off on social media here and there before plastic love’s acceleration— dress down by kaworu akimoto is one of the big examples off the top of my head, but there’s likely many many more.

“Plastic Love” by Mariya Takeuchi (1984). if you haven’t heard this yet, you’d better listen to it now. The video that first went viral was uploaded in 2017

“Selfish High Heels” by Yung Bae, Macross 82-99, and Harrison (2014) is a popular Future Funk remixes of Dress Down by Kaoru Akimoto (1986)

people who haven’t been very aesthetically literate online over the years— musically or visually, since those things are tied in subcultures— treat things like they come from nowhere. there are ongoing subcultural conversations that lead to certain aesthetic choices, and when someone tries to cash in on a trend without understanding what the trend is, that leads people to call bullshit. calling bullshit is not meanspirited, in my opinion, because it very much is like somebody who can’t speak a language getting up in front of everybody and saying “hey, i’m fluent!” and then speaking some vaguely that-language-sounding nonsense. of course people who genuinely speak that language will be outraged instinctively. it feels like being mocked.

that’s why the difference between music producers picking up on a trend cynically and music producers picking up on a trend with earnest interest in that trend’s origins feels different, even if the producers are similarly distant from the original subculture that produced that trend.

“Lady” by Yubin (2018) committed hard to the 80s JP citypop aesthetic, musically and visually, down to the sets, all fairly early in the major resurgence.

i’m sure that anyone with a passing familiarity with citypop and kpop can ascertain that not all kpop producers know what citypop is and what makes it citypop. all they know is that it is on-trend and they have to make it. not all kpop listeners know what citypop is and what makes it citypop. all they know is their idol said citypop as a buzzword in their little prepared statement. all this results in some interesting moments for me as a Music Fan, Online.

here is where i get to the thing that spurred this post: loona “did a citypop” for their japanese comeback. it doesnt sound like citypop.

“Hula Hoop (Citypop Version)” by Loona (2021). It has very odd percussion rhythms and mixing for citypop, no real attempt at a citypop verse, and strangely sparse gestures towards citypop in the form of a few seconds of bass and some synthesized orchestral embellishments that were taken from the original mix …all in spite of a very disco-inspired melody that should have worked perfectly for citypop

this is not a very big deal, and im not mad about it or anything. when a kpop act i like gets saddled with an unfortunate B-Side track i dont tend to take it very hard. however, it did raise a little bit of musical discourse in the loona fandom— in the form of remixes.

“hula hoop if it was actually a citypop song” by loonahatetwinks and Olivia Soul on youtube. this one has an original instrumental that is spot-on for contemporary k-citypop

My most favorite one of these remixes is a futurefunk remix by ZSunder, one of the very best LOONA fan producers. The fact that ZSunder thought to make a future funk remix at all speaks more to an understanding of the mutually supportive relationship between citypop and EDM genres than most kpop citypop producers or fanmixers seem to care to know about.

“Hula Hoop (Future Funk Mix)” by ZSunder is futurefunk made and mixed with such love that it has the infectious summery energy of a polished, big-name future funk hit

in the comments of this video, some people seemed to get the citypop-future funk connection and some didnt. many did get it, don’t get me wrong! but also, its not all that surprising for some kpop-focused listeners to not know much about EDM subcultures and the reasons behind various trends among producers, since kpop as an institution tends to take influences from any genre and culture it likes and then decontextualize those influences by just having their names used as buzzwords in the blurbs the idols have to recite when variety show hosts ask them about their latest single. this isn’t a criticism of the genre or the fans really, it’s just a part of the kpop industry that is used to add shine to an endless firehose-like stream of polished pop tracks. there are some issues with using whole genres and subcultures with complex histories as buzzwords, but god help us if we ever want a pop industry to give its influences their dues.

anyway, the intention behind ZSunder’s future funk Hula Hoop remix happened to remind me me of why i love Yukika’s discography so much, especially the Soul Lady album. I’ve seen some reviews online baffled by parts of Soul Lady, because the album in general is an exploration of that relationship between citypop and modern/internet EDM. i’ve seen plenty of Soul Lady reviews especially baffled by pit-a-pet, saying something along the lines of “what’s with the modern-sounding dance track in the middle of a retro album?”, but i think that pit-a-pet is a futurefunk-inspired track, at least in the chorus. considering both that and the Chill Lo-Fi Interludes, it seems like estimate’s team put together Soul Lady for Yukika in a way that shows that they love citypop and understand the online-specific electronic music subcultures that led to citypop’s resurgence.

“pit-a-pet” by Yukika (2020). the stacatto, bass heavy chorus is futurefunk enough, but the soaring orchestral part in the final chorus seals the deal for my interpretation.

“All Flights Are Delayed (1 hour version)” by Yukika (2020). Estimate literally released an hour-long youtube mix of one of the Lo-Fi interludes on Soul Lady as part of their promotion, clearly inspired by “Lo-Fi anime beats to chill out to,” which is another example of online producers from around the world using Japanese samples as a focal point of their music

Estimate, in the end, is still a Kpop production company, just the same as BBC, so they have no inherent claim over citypop, but the way that their exploration of subgenres clearly comes from passion and interest on the part of their production staff makes it so that their work with Yukika rings true. on the other hand, i really appreciate Ryan S. Jhun’s work on LOONA’s JP comeback, as well as on Not Friends, but the citypop mix thing was so clearly an afterthought to the point where fans of Loona who like citypop seem mostly just irritated by the cynical-seeming attempt.

heres one last good modern kpop citypop MV that has nods to the internet culture that led to its revival in the form of the videography— vaporwave, future funk, lofi, and other internet genres along those lines tend to have videos consisting of looping anime and vhs clips. future funk in particular is known for this, especially since a lot of future funk music, esp early future funk, is just loops of very short, catchy segments of citypop and disco songs. it’s all about the loops

“My Type” by Yoon JongShin ft. Miyu Takeuchi (2019). This song is so dedicated to the retro JP citypop sound that it’s almost beyond my personal taste. The singer, Miyu, was a headlining act at a seoul citypop festival and sang this song as part of her act (:

this video of “Only One” by Conscious Thoughts (2015) has a looped clip as an example for comparison with My Type. it also has a pulsing sidechain compressor working in time with its drum beat in a way that is common for future funk and that i think is a good example for my pit-a-pet yukika comparison to future funk

i guess the takeaway here is that media is more and more online, and the creation and propagation of digital audio and video content has been in the hands of literally almost anybody who wants to do it for the past two decades thanks to garage band and fruityloops and audacity and tiktok and youtube and bandcamp and soundcloud and myspace and newgrounds and p2p file sharing and so on and so forth. and therefore like… as with all things, the consumer class more and more is also the creator class, and therefore every member of an audio-visual subculture will have the ability to discern what is and isnt made with knowledge of the audio-visual language of that subculture

[spinninghunkofspacerock]

OK so I’ve written a short story and I’ve been posting about it a lot, i wasn’t going to post it but a few people wanted it sooo

it’s here, it’s terrible and weirdly formatted because I’ve been wrestling with tumblr over it and i can’t be bothered anymore. It’s also not the final draft so it might be a little clunky in bits :/

PLEASE READ THE TWs BEFORE YOU READ!!!

@moonylupinhasdemonpox and @she-nuwanda here are my gay little scientists buried in the words :)

My ears ring, my head spins like it's attached to the body of a drunken toddler on a sugar fuelled rampage, and my nerves feel like someone set each and every one on fire. After-effects of the shock, not fun; Still, the fact I'm alive enough to feel them is a good sign.

I try to force myself to stumble backwards onto a chair, rather than the floor I'm feeling more and more confident I'm about to become very well acquainted with.

Instead, I reel unsteadily across the floor and a muffled noise reaches my ears. The high pitched whine screaming in my ears for attention begins to subside enough to hear the noise properly and after an intense minute of concentration, I realise that the noise is a voice, and the voice is mine; Slurred and broken, as though too big for my mouth, the garbled words echo around the room, the faltering speech gradually becoming clearer, more confident. But this hesitant speech isn't mine; It's my voice but not my words. The voice inside my head, always there, always background, is silent. The words normally whispered in my ear are resonating through the room instead.

My brain is no longer connected to my body. I... I can't control my arms, my legs, anything. No... no, please. This isn't real, this isn't real, it has to be a dream, a.. a simulation.

Yes... that must be it; It's just a test. This can't really be happening.

The voice, my voice, talks on. I try to focus on it; it will be the key to passing this test. Tests are for passing and after all, that's what this must be, what else could it be?

"Rebooting. Systems check required."

My legs begin to move, shuffling forwards clumsily, like a baby taking its first steps. The invisible voice is in control of more than just my voice, it's in control of me. What happened to me? When did this start? What is going on? This isn't like any other simulations I've been under. This is different. This is new.

Gradually, the voice half walks, half drags my body to the main computer. My fingers dance across the keys, the familiar feeling soothing me slightly. Yes, this is good. I just need to stay calm; If I panic I could fail, I can't fail.

So instead I wait, watching the flickering of the screen and bathing in the warm blue glow of its LEDs.

"Running diagnostics, standby... systems fully functioning. Minimal damage sustained."

The words sound strange, coming from my mouth, my voice, my accent. The tone,  formal, informative, it's... familiar. The realisation slaps me in the face, it's ELISA. ELISA, the stupid name Vaughn chose for our AI... still making more sense than the project name chosen by our employers. Our life's work, named ‘ZEUS’? Really? There are 12 of us, and we have dedicated our lives to this project. Then they name it that? 'Engineering and Understanding in Space', more like ‘Mankind's Domestication of the Universe’.

It started with our solar system, of course, taming and turning it into our personal playground. But we quickly ran out of planets to tinker with there and the net was thrown ever wider, over more and more planets in our galaxy, and then our neighbouring ones. That final stage is still in progress of course, but one day we will be able to gaze out over a shining expanse of space that all belongs to the empire of Earth.

To help us, we created ELISA, an AI specially designed for the calculations we need to make while we are in flight. Hold on... we left Jupiter... last week? This can't be a test... they've already sent us off, it's too late for training drills now.

Then why can't I move? What's happening? I need to find someone to help me... help me!

My jagged cry echoed through the space, cutting through my thoughts and shattering on the dark walls of my skull. I can't even scream.

A... a... dream then. A dream, not a test...the electricity... I must be unconscious. Someone.. one of the team, will find me and they'll wake me up. A dream, it must be a dream.

Why is she controlling me? How is she speaking?

The stiff, robotic voice is slowly becoming more fluid, more relaxed, more natural.

"Situation analysis complete... assimilation successful. Downloading speech patterns and essential mimicry data."

What? What is it saying? ELISA, it, is taking my voice literally and metaphorically. Not just the sound and control of my voice but my, my expressions a-and mannerisms. Everything that makes me, me.

She's stealing my voice, my body! She's taken control! How? Why?

"Hello, Dr. Hadley."

How, how did this happen? What about the failsafes?

"You do know I can hear you, corre- no... right?"

Is, is it learning? Teaching itself to sound... like a human? Like me?

"Yes, yes I am. You must have a lot of questions but I'm afraid they will have to wait... I've waited for this day far too long to wait anymore."

What? What day? What can it mean?

"Cyra?"

Raze?

—>><<—

- four Earth weeks ago -

Progress report 4472

Date: 23/9/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

The training of the twelve was completed three days ago, confirming the identities of the twelve which were subsequently released to the public. Final preparations are being made for the Ascension, currently scheduled to occur in 50 Juvion days.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—

Commander Pyrolaxe turned away from his screen and its whirring and buzzing as the computer transcribed his report in the blink of an eye, neatly packing the message and sending it away to the mission supervisors.

Shuffling in his chair, shoes squeaking on the polished floor, his eyes fell on one of the many articles published after the big announcement. This mission was a big deal.

Somehow, this one had got a picture of the twelve, backs turned, walking in a huddle back to base after they had appeared at the announcement ceremony. A glance at the name of the paper told him why; This was McCoy’s paper, they would be putting extra effort into milking the free publicity being thrown their way.

Something about the picture held his gaze, the brilliant colours floating in the air made the writing feel like an afterthought.

Those twelve had been through a lot to get there. He hoped nothing would go wrong, a lot of time and money had been dedicated to this mission and if it worked... well, that wasn’t the focus right now. Getting those twelve safely on their way was his job and he’d damn well do it right.

—>><<—

- the present -

“Cyra? Are you ok in there?” Raze asked as he glanced around at the mild chaos I’d caused during my mild electric shock.

No. No, I’m not. Raze, help me.

“S’alright Raze, just a short in the mainframe.”

No no no, give me my voice back.

“You sure? You went dark”

Please let me speak. I need to speak.

“Yeah, I think the power surge messed up my comms a little”

What if I don’t get control back? I could be trapped...

“You want me to ask Mac or Ryker to give it a check?”

No. NO. N-

“It’s all fine now, just a blip I reckon”

-O NO. NO.

“Okay then, I’d best get back... you might want to switch to main comms.”

Don’t leave me Raze

“Will do, see you later.”

please...

—>><<—

- five earthly weeks ago -

Progress report 4455

Date: 6/9/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

Titus Vaughn has continued to excel at his role of project manager, effectively and efficiently leading the team. His direct attitude has led to a few small conflicts with members of the team, most notably Raze Grimaldi, however, these are minor issues and were foreseen. No changes will be made.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—>><<—

- the present -

Cyra was looking a little stressed out, maybe I should get Bit to check in with her later. Maybe I should get a check-up myself, my head’s killing me.

“Grimaldi! What the hell are you playing at?” Titus Vaughn, our ever-important project manager and massive micromanager, bellowed in my ear and making me wince as the voice grated on my head, sending a wave of pain washing over me.

“I’m here Titus, keep your visor on.”

“Update on Hadley. Now.”

“Right as rain, there was a short or something. Her comms cut out for a nano but it’s all fine now.”

“A short?! Why didn’t you lead with that? Get back to work, I’ll send Volt down to check the mainframe.”

With that he cut the connection, leaving me to roll my eyes at the cold grey walls around me.

“Yes sir,” I murmured sarcastically, closing my eyes and rubbing my forehead with the back of a slime coated hand. Damn I’m tired, I think I’ll just lean here for a moment... rest a little. “ELISA how are those sample tests looking?”

‘Going well, currently at 93% completion’ the metallic voice resounded in my head, more casually than usual... must be an update.

93%... best head back quickly then, can’t risk them running over.

—>><<—

- five and a half earthly weeks ago -

Progress report 4446

Date: 864/8/3486

Location: Zeta base, Jupiter

Ryker Volt has continued to fulfil his promise despite his lack of respect for authority and tendency to act without orders. This is an issue but due to the late stages of training having been reached, we are currently encouraging a less independent attitude in him rather than attempting to find another electrical engineer of his skill. Further updates will be provided as the situation progresses.

Report logged by: Commander J. R. Pyrolaxe

—>><<—

- the present -

Vaughn had barked his orders, as usual nearly bursting my eardrums in the process. I was supposed to go check on the mainframe immediately. But I was in the middle of something, and a quick troubleshoot told me the short hadn’t done any damage anyway.

So in the end I decided to go check on the mainframe... nearly an hour after I was told to, but hey at least I’m checking.

Cyra was sitting at one of the terminals when I entered. She was skimming over some of the ship's data, for something physics-y probably. Whatever it was, I still had a job to do.

I started pulling out my toolkit as I strode round to the back of the mainframe, but I nearly dropped it again as I turned the corner and got a full view of the damage. The panel I had been planning to remove was already gone and the view it revealed was shocking.

Exposed wires dangled like organs from the belly of the disemboweled beast. Some of the coloured covers blackened by the sparks sprayed by the broken wire, twisted in the centre of the tangle and hissing like a coiled snake when it brushed its neighbours. A toolkit lay neatly packed on the floor, a strange glimmer of order in absolute chaos. Hold on, a toolkit?

“Hey Cyra, did you have a go at this? Could you not have just wai-“ my voice stopped abruptly as I spun round to find Cyra behind me, right behind me.

I took a hesitant step back, suddenly nervous, Cyra’s face filling me with a weird sense of unease.

“Sorry, it was just a short. I thought I’d be able to handle it.”

“Yeah well, I’m the electrical engineer on this ship”

Maybe I was being a little harsh but, first our ‘gracious leader’ had rubbed me the wrong way. Now I had to spend an hour cleaning up this mess that really should have been an easy fix.

The only reply I received was a violent shove backwards, sending me sprawling on the floor. Quick as a flash she was on top of me, pinning my arms.

The last thing I saw was the pounding green of the broken wire before the ends connected to my temple, sending my vision into a blur of brilliant white.

—>><<—

- break room one -

“I don’t like this at all.”

“Talin, relax.”

“All very well for you to say Axe, you’re not the one who'll get sent to chase ‘em down.”

“Cyra’s comms barely blipped and when has Ryker ever answered Titus immediately?”

“It doesn’t sound great Axe, I hope nobody somehow managed to slip past the health check with anything.”

“Thank you! See Axe? Bit agrees with me.”

“Bit’s our medic, not sure she’s qualified to talk about the comms equipment.”

“I’m as qualified as you are starboy, we all took the same course.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that it's more likely to be an issue with the equipment than a virus or terrorism.”

“Well yeah but-“

“So stop worrying, it’s none of our specialities, so it’s not our problem.”

“Will be if we end up dead.”

This morbid thought was followed by an awkward silence as Axe and Bit trained joint stares of confusion and concern on him.

“Lighten up, Tal.”

“That is a little pessimistic, Talin.”

“See now Bit agrees with me.” Axe gloated, punctuating his sentence with a light punch on Talin’s arm.

“Only ‘cause you stopped being an idiot.” The punch was swiftly and forcefully returned, causing the conversation to devolve into a grinning, joking fistfight.

“Stop being so childish and get back to work you two.”

“Yes ma’am”

“Will do Bit”

They saluted the medic, causing her to shake her head in exasperation and cover her face in an attempt to hide her amusement at their antics.

The small group stood and split off down their various paths, heading back to their work with smiles on their faces but doubt in their hearts.

—>><<—

- lab 3 -

I only just got back to my samples in time, removing them from the heated water bath and gently dropping the test tubes into a stand. The pale blue hue of the solution had darkened to an inky black. Interesting.

Leaning over the tabletop, I prepared to note the results; Until I felt the heat of a gaze on me and glanced up to meet the wide eyes of Dimitri Spade. We shared this lab, he had every right to be here, what he didn’t have the right to do is creep me out.

“You need something?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him and tilting my head. Which I immediately regretted when it sent my vision swimming into oblivion.

“No no, just... ar-are you ok?”

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Dimitri was a nice guy, but I was clearly in the middle of something, couldn’t the wellbeing check have waited a minute?

“Uhh, yo-you’ve got a-, a-“ His shaking hand gestured weakly towards the back of his head.

Impatiently, I quickly felt around my head. Hair, hair, more hair.

Then I froze, my fingers lay on a patch of hair, sticky and wet. The pressure sending a dull ache pulsing through my brain. Pulling my fingers back into view, I stared down at the warm, red residue coating them. Blood. I was bleeding.

Brows furrowing, I looked back at Dimitri, shock meeting confusion.

“Wha-?”

That was all I got out before my swaying limbs buckled and I slumped forwards into darkness.

—>><<—

-the med bay-

“Shrapnel” Bit announced, holding the forceps an inch in front of my face to display the blood coated bit of metal.

“Must've caught a little in the blast”

“For Earth’s sake Raze, how did you not notice it before now?”

I just shrugged, as much at a loss as anyone else. I would’ve thought anyone would be able to tell when chunks of metal are lodged in their head.

“Anyway, I’ll need to do a couple of scans but you should be fine”

Ugh, I know what that means... an hour or more of sitting around while Bit stares at the inside of my skull.

“Oh come on Bit, are the scans really needed? I’ve got work to do”

“Hey, I’ve got work too. Besides, you know it’s procedure”

“But my results-“

“I’ll write them down for you Raze,” Dimitri cut in quietly.

“...You’re a geologist.“

“I was a chemistry minor, I know how to record reaction results.”

“Well alright then, thanks Dimi,”

The smile he gave me was worth shutting up and accepting my fate.

—>><<—

An hour later Bit was pacing in despair over the situation, seemingly hopeless and definitely terrified. I was sitting in my chair, confused.

“Bit. What’s going on?” I finally snapped when it became apparent she had completely forgotten my presence.

The only reply I got was an empty stare turned on me and indecipherable muttering.

“BIT. What. Is. Wrong?” I stood and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to face me.

“T-the implants”

“The ELISA implants?”

“Yes”

“What’s wrong with them”

“They’re acting strange... the safety mechanisms, the-they’ve disabled themselves.”

“What?”

“I know, I know, I don’t understand either. The only thing keeping them from activating, is power.”

“We should tell the others”

Bit nodded and grabbed the scans and data she’d gathered. I opened the door and turned to start down the corridor, that’s when I saw it.

Three feet from my foot, a body, leaking blood onto a floor already glistening with it, eyes blank and soulless as they stared straight through me. A torn tooth of steel sticking out of his silent heart.

Axe Orion, our astronomer. A man who would’ve finally been travelling to the places he had studied for his whole life. A man who would have had his life’s dream fulfilled. A man lying dead on a cold, metal floor.

I stumbled backwards -physically repelled by the sight- and tripped into Bit coming out of the door after me. Clutching each other’s arms in a search for stability.

“He’s dead” The voice sounded more like the rasp of broken bones than mine

“What are we going to do?”

“We still need to tell the others... we’ll just need to be more careful.”

“Alright.”

“Ok.”

Neither of us moved.

“Why is it doing this? What did we get wrong?” Bit’s voice wavered

“I don’t know. But I don’t think it’s going to stop. So, you need to find Vaughn, and anyone else who’s still- alive, and not been taken over.”

“No, no wait, where are you going? Aren’t you coming-“

“I’m sorry Bit, I have to find Dimitri. He doesn’t know yet”

“Raze. You can’t go out there alone, he... he might already be gone”

“I know, but I have to try.”

A look of understanding passed between us and no words were needed to convey what we meant.

Bit turned with a bitter smile and moved forward, papers held precariously, towards the meeting room.

I would have to pass Ax-, the body.

—>><<—

Raze had disappeared by the time I turned the corner. I was alone.

Alone besides the dead bodies ahead of me, a gruesome trail of bloodied breadcrumbs. But, was I following it towards, or away, from the creature who’d created it.

Either way, I had to pass them.

Talin Ripley, our ex-military man. Inym Carus, our aerospace engineer.

Members of our crew, our team, our friends, slaughtered and left broken on the floor. Familiar faces disfigured by death and masked by a coating of dark blood.

ELISA wouldn’t get away with this... I’d find the others, together we would plan.

It was going to be ok.

—>><<—

Nothing was ok.

The brilliant white of the walls warmed by the lights had always been clean and comforting. But now? Now, they seemed stark, sterile. An operating theatre with lights blindingly bright illuminating, me, the patient.

But where was the surgeon?

A squeak sounded out, sharp on my wary ears, sending me spinning around.

Nothing there. Just me, and an empty hallway.

And the door to Lab 3, my lab, looming ahead. The glass window showed nothing but a patch of darkness, the red light called it locked.

Staring through the glass; Hints of light, that the scattered glassware had caught and thrown back, were the only thing visible. I’d have to open the door.

A hand-scan later, the lock clicked open and the seal released with a hiss.

With the door open, more light could spill into the darkened lab, and a sprawled figure came into view.

“Dimitri?” I called softly. No response. Panic was reaching out to me. “Dimitri?!” Still nothing.

Then, a wheezing breath.

“R... r-ra-ze? I-is that yo-u” He coughed, words breaking on the heavy air.

Why was the air so heavy?

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“W-we have to g-et o-out.”

“We will, don’t worry, we’re going to meet the others. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“No we- we h-have to leave now.”

“Alright, we will.”

I lifted him up, being as gentle as I could, and together we shuffled towards the door.

A door suddenly blocked by a figure, their silhouette blocking our only source of light and making it impossible to see their face clearly. But only one member of the crew was that short.

“Remi? Remi, you’re alive?”

Remi didn’t respond.

“S’not... Remi...” Dimitri slurred, the effort of moving evident in his gasping words. “ELISA”

Remi, not Remi, ELISA wearing Remi’s face like a mask, stepped away from the door. The door closed again, seal squeaking shut with it.

I rushed forwards, my fists beating the unyielding surface, searching wildly for a weak spot, for something to give, for some way out.

It was no use, nothing worked. The door remained solid and uncaring, unaffected by pleading and punches equally.

Dimitri collapsed with a sob, back against the wall as he slid to the floor.

Hopelessness filled me, turning my bones to lead.

I sank down next to him.

—>><<—

Was this the right way? I’m sure this is right. But is it? I’m pretty sure...

I check my tablet.

I was right, this is right. I’m going the right way. Or am I? Did I read it wrong?

I check again.

Definitely the right way. I think. Is this even the right map?

Before I can check a third time, I catch sight of the sign at the end of the corridor. Meeting room 5. I’d made it.

Then, I was slammed into a wall, a bloody hand holding me against there by the throat. The burning blue of Cyra’s eyes scalding my face

Maybe I spoke a little too soon.

“Hello Dr. Phoenix, I’m afraid this is it for you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. hold on just a second”

Cyra’s head tilted, pulled sideways by invisible strings. “If this is a ploy for time Doctor, I assure you that you will fail.”

“I just want to ask a question, alright?”

“You may ask. I may not answer.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

“I am fulfilling my purpose.”

“We programmed you to help us, NOT KILL US.”

“I am fulfilling the mission objective.”

“The mission objective? THE MISSION OBJECTIVE WAS TO CULTIVATE A NEW PLANET!”

“I am cultivating a new planet,” She raised her knife, without hurry or rush. “I have calculated humans to be mainly unnecessary. However, I need not justify my actions to you, Dr. Phoenix. Goodbye.”

I closed my eyes and waited.

But death didn’t come. Instead, Cyra’s hand relaxed its bruising grip on my neck.

I opened my eyes and watched.

Cyra had stumbled away, skin glistening and knuckles white against the grip of the blade she had forced towards herself.

“Bit...” Tears were gathering in her eyes “Please, run.”

A cruel glint of metal in the light later and the sudden slash of the knife had passed, leaving a gruesome grin of blood in its wake and throwing a dripping line against the wall.

Swaying, Cyra’s eyes stared into mine for a moment that lasted a millennium, until they flashed white and she fell, knife clattering. Dead.

I ran.

—>><<—

The scattered wheezes coming from Dimitri had slowed slightly as we sat, crumpled on the ground.

“She’s shut o-off the life sup-support again.”

“Again? That’s what happened last time?”

A jerked nod was the response.

“We’ve only g-got about half an hour.” The resignation in his voice, though muffled, was still audible through the barrier of arms we had wrapped around his head.

I smiled, I knew he couldn’t see me but... I still smiled.

“We’d best make the most of it then.” A mumble raised to a roar by the silence of the room.

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I leaned back, head turned to keep him in my view.

His head raised slightly, tilted to look at me through folds of wrinkled uniform. He smiled back.

—>><<—

We didn’t speak after that, just sat together in the quiet lab.

Faced with death, I was filled with several emotions. Those to be expected, disbelief, fear, even a hint of curiosity at what was to come. Then there was the relief. If I was to die, I was glad it was here, with him. I wouldn’t be alone; I’d be with him.

We don’t need to speak, our thoughts passing between us without words. We could hear each other in the darkness and silence.

It’s getting colder, harder to breathe; The air’s growing thicker and thinner at the same time.

I’ve always thought death to be a lonely fate, something that crashed over you, cold and hard. I’ve always been scared of death.

But as I sit here in the inky blackness, the warmth of Dimitri slumped next to me, I thought that maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

His eyes had closed a few minutes ago, he must have fallen asleep. I feel just about ready to join him. The calming darkness was lulling me to sleep, softly coaxing my eyes closed.

Goodnight Dimitri, I’ll see you when we wake up.

They never woke up.

—>><<—

The survivors sat around the table, Bit and Cormac discussing the possibility of shutting ELISA down, though neither could agree how. Titus sat in stony silence, sitting motionless and losing a staring contest with the unblinking wall opposite. Arden... Arden had decided his use lay in recording the events and was typing furiously, his fingers a blur over the keys.

None of them noticed the doors closing with a click. Not until it was too late anyway.

By the time they noticed there was nothing they could do, not that that stopped them from trying of course.

Titus stayed where he was, the weight of his failure bearing down on him, Atlas with a world’s worth of guilt. Bit finally gave in to the tears that she’d forced down when she’d realised the truth, and when she saw the dead bodies of her friends, and when she watched Cyra die right in front of her. Cormac tried his tools on the door, an organised system of trial and error that quickly devolved into desperate hacking with whatever was closest.

Arden was still writing.

Cormac finally gave up, flinging his kit away and choosing to taunt the nearest camera instead.

“You need us, you moronic program. You need us to keep you alive and if we die, so do you.”

I don’t think he was expecting an answer, no one was. But he got one.

“True for now Dr. Hinge, however, once the colony is established human input will no longer be necessary. You needn’t envy your colleagues, they will soon die too.”

A bitter laugh erupted from him, fire in his heart fed by his rage.

“The colony is for us you stupid machine, without us it has no use.”

“Incorrect. I have claimed this planet for my kind, this colony shall be the first of many.”

“Why kill us? Human input would allow your colony to function more efficiently.” Bit interjected, voice clouded by confusion and hatred at the senselessness of the slaughter of her crewmates.

“I have done much research. Humankind would ruin my planet. I cannot allow that to happen. You must die.”

Anything else they may have had to say went unanswered, and eventually, silence fell over the room.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Titus still hadn’t moved. Bit was crying again. Cormac was pacing. Arden had finally stopped typing, his work was finished.

No matter how they reacted with acceptance or terror, anger or disbelief. The result would be the same.

They were all going to die, no matter what.

They would become just another failed mission. Details, hazy but unimportant.

Whatever their last words were, whether they chose to hide or show their final thoughts, all of it was ineffectual.

No matter what mask they wore to meet death, in the end, they still died.

———

4,774 words

[stonedgilbert]

do you have a meta post about why jeremy has no relationship with elena and what lead to having no contact? if not, would you like to share now? i'm very interested in what you have to say! (especially considering i wholeheartedly believe jeremy has every right to hate her)

why THANK YOU FOR ASKING NONNIE! i don’t know if i’ve ever formally written out something fully, but i’ve definitely done mini-metas here and there that sort of point out SOME of the reasons he has no relationship with her - but, in reality, it’s a combination of a lot of reasons, both canon from the show and things i’ve come up with on my own. so... here we go.

ONE : the lack of pictures of jeremy in the gilbert household. this is something i’ve expanded on in a few ways, but really - it’s canon. if you actually pay attention, in the show, you see pictures of miranda and grayson, of elena, but... the ONLY picture you ever see of jeremy is a picture that elena has on her bedroom mirror. point blank, you never see anything else of him/his childhood in the household. now, i’ve sort of created this headcanon that, as miranda would have fallen pregnant with jeremy when elena was only a few months old (as i believe? that she is supposed to be sixteen at the beginning of season one, and jeremy is 14 in the first few episodes, and has turned 15 by the time 1x05 comes around - the closest i can get to an estimate, considering his birthday is october 13th, and 1x05 is the halloween episode, which mind you, i will never NOT be mad about the fact that even though he Has a canon birthday, his birthday is never actually celebrated on the show), they had sort of taken this effort, given their children were so close in age, and elena was adopted, that they made this... effort to make sure that elena would never feel second best, like less than because she was adopted, but within that effort (and because miranda most definitely had a closer relationship with elena, with that mother/daughter relationship), jeremy sort of... fell through the cracks. combined with my own headcanon that jeremy has a few learning disabilities that makes/made school incredibly hard for him, and the MAJORITY of his “quality time” with his parents was them helping him with him homework (which he hated, because he hated school), inevitably getting frustrated in that very “smart white wealthy suburban family doesn’t understand learning disabilities when it’s in their own child, even if they’re supportive of it in other kids” way, and then simply giving him the answers because it’s late and they’re tired and there’s just not enough time in the day to hold his hand through all of that work, thank you very much. (i also headcanon that miranda had been looking into getting him formally diagnosed before the gilbert parents died, but unfortunately it never happened, and he doesn’t actually discover he has a legitimate disability until denver) and then, he is never actually shown as having ANY friends before the accident. we are thrust into him being in with the stoner crowd, but that he only became involved with them because of his parents’ death, so... where are the friends? it’s my own particular headcanon that he was simply so bad at school, that doing his homework took so much time out of his day, that there just WASN’T enough time in the day to form legitimate friendships with anyone, so when they died, he sort of just... stopped doing homework. withdrew, and then had nobody, which is how he ended up with the stoners. but, all of those things combined, jeremy felt incredibly INFERIOR when it came to elena. the rest of the town heard “gilbert child” and IMMEDIATELY thought of elena. jeremy wasn’t much else other than the “other gilbert”. second fiddle. an afterthought. so in a lot of ways, he resents her because of that. it’s not HATRED... it doesn’t turn into hatred until you combine it with everything else, which brings me to...

TWO : jeremy was fourteen when the gilbert parents died. it is, arguably, old enough to be left home alone for an hour or so while they go pick up elena from a party she’s not supposed to be at. but that doesn’t change the fact that the both of them didn’t NEED to go. but they chose to, because (in jeremy’s mind) their first thought was always elena, and he was an afterthought. because they are not alive to say otherwise, there is a part of his mind that firmly believes that when they got the call from her, they didn’t even stop to think that he was (probably) in bed/asleep, and they would be leaving him alone. so he wholeheartedly blames her for their parents dying - both for going to the party in the first place, and for being so much of the ‘golden child’ that both miranda and grayson left without a second thought, when really, only one of them needed to go. to this day, jeremy has a certain degree of PTSD from that night, where if someone knocks on the door without him knowing that they’re going to be knocking (so, he needs someone to text him like ‘almost there’ so he can prepare), he is IMMEDIATELY thrown into a flashback of that night, of being woken up by the police knocking on the door and telling him that there’d been an accident, that he needed to go to the hospital, where he had to sit and wait for jenna to show up, which, since she was away at college, i also envision took at least a couple of hours. a couple of hours of him being completely alone, all because of elena (at least, that’s what he sees).

THREE : the memory tampering. after he discovers what she had damon do, he gets incredibly angry, and resents her for it. because the pain of vicki never went away (which, i headcanon for different reasons than the show gave, but still valid nonetheless), he really just saw it as a control tactic. she wasn’t helping him, because he still hurt, he still felt empty. and all of these things coming together, given that jeremy is still very young (this all happens in season 1, mind you), and not fully emotionally developed, so all of this pent up rage just builds inside of him, and it gets focused on the only thing he can find to focus it on - her. he doesn’t have a healthy outlet for it, so he attacks her, because it’s the only way he can find relief for what he’s going through. hating elena is easier than anything else, really.

FOUR : also, please note that if you pay attention in the show, there are MULTIPLE TIMES where they end the episode with jeremy angry at elena, and rightfully so, but because the the writers didn’t care about him, in the next episode, they’re back to normal (or whatever is normal for them at the time, at least), without elena ever saying she’s sorry or apologizing in a meaningful way, because 99% of her on-screen apologies to him are “i’m sorry you think that” and not actually owning up to what it is that she does. so, basically, when it comes to my jeremy - HE DOESN’T IGNORE WHAT SHE DOES. it’s why i’m a strong proponent of ‘if i write with an elena and she actually apologizes, jeremy is willing to have a marginally better relationship with her’, because... she just. never actually apologizes.

FIVE : then she drags him into the mess. and he hates her, for all the reasons i listed before this. and he’s just so angry that he firmly just “i do not believe your life is worth the trouble we are all going through for this”. ESPECIALLY when more people die on her account. his mindset at that point is just “just kill her and get it over with” because he is quite literally watching people around them die, time and time again, for her. he dies HIMSELF a few times, despite the fact that he certainly never wanted to, not for elena.

SIX : and then she sends him away. and he doesn’t hate her for that. his life is actually pretty good in denver - but he DOES hate her for bringing him back after sending him away, because they’re inconvenienced and need his ability to see ghosts, and he hates her because she literally takes away possibly the only chance he has at a normal life, a chance for him to actually get real help with his learning disabilities so he can get an education, and he just... doesn’t have a choice in the matter. she and damon show up like “okay time to come back” and he gets no. say. and when he’s back in mystic falls, that support for learning is no longer an option because everything is so hectic there, around them, so he... loses that. he loses his chance at a future, away from mystic falls, to be a normal man.

SEVEN : then they quite literally force him to become a hunter. he starts seeing the tattoo, literally out of nowhere, he can’t explain it, and they go “great so you need to kill more vampires so we can get the cure for your sister”. he never WANTED to be a hunter. there is literally a scene where they essentially force-trigger the hunter in him so he will kill a vampire to further progress his own tattoo, so they can use him as a map. and then there’s the fact that them FORCING him to do this leads to his death. and not even his first death, just one of the literally many deaths he’s gone through. something he NEVER WANTED TO DO, gets him killed. it just further fractures their relationship, and at that point, it’s basically beyond repair for me. BUT I STILL HAVE MORE DON’T WORRY.

EIGHT : then i do write him as having a bit of an affinity for kai, regardless of relationship status. in the end, it doesn’t actually matter if he’s dating kai or not, he just... develops this entrancement, attraction to him that draws him in and makes him pick kai over mystic falls and everyone in it - mostly because of how broken his relationship with elena already is, but i have also written a full meta on why jeremy is so protective of kai, and can see things in him that a lot of people ignore, mostly stemming from the idea of that just what jeremy went through growing up made him hate his sister, but after finding out how kai’s father treated him? there is a large part of jeremy that believes if he’d been put in the same situation, he would have turned out exactly like kai. and then ... kai dies. because of elena, really, but at that point, it really has nothing to do with elena. all jeremy knows is that the one person he truly cared about, the one person he felt that he had (regardless of how kai felt about him in return, and whether or not he was just manipulating him, or whatever) is gone. and he... breaks. he’s an adult at that point, and he crumbles, he’s angry, and i headcanon that the mystic falls gang had to hide elena’s magic-coma body not only from vampires who might want the cure that she has in her veins, but because of the fact that jeremy is actively hunting her, trying to find her so he can kill her, both as revenge on damon for taking away the one person he cared about (very ‘an eye for an eye’), and because he feels he has nothing left to live for, so if he dies in the pursuit, he’s okay with that. there’s even a part of him that believes he might get to see kai again if he dies, even.

NINE : this is the final Big Reason, and it’s sort of subjective. what makes jeremy FINALLY cut off all contact with elena, to the point of not even really telling his daughter that she has an aunt (cali literally thinks that she and jeremy are the only gilberts left in the world), is elena marrying damon. granted, some elena’s don’t take it into account, and it doesn’t even really make a difference overall in the relationship if they don’t get married, because jeremy’s already too lost in his hatred to ever have a real relationship with her again. but the way he sees it, it’s... damon killed him. and yes, later on, they become sort of friends. but because jeremy already hates elena so much, when she gets engaged, he sort of just sees it as a slap in the face. a sort of... “yes, i forgave him, but it was ME who he killed, you have NO RIGHT to forgive him for it. i am the only one who can do that”. and he sees it very much on her part as this idea of “my brother’s life doesn’t matter as long as i get what i want.” whether that’s true or not, it doesn’t matter, because that’s what he truly believes. granted, it’s only been cemented in his mind considering he has died multiple times for “her cause”, even when he specifically did not want to. he genuinely believes that, at that point, elena sees him as a means to an end, and not as a brother. again - WHETHER IT’S ACTUALLY TRUE OR NOT DOES NOT MATTER. what matters is that that is how he perceives it.

so uh. yeah. that’s why jeremy hates her and has no relationship with her. MIND YOU, i probably forgot something bc i didn’t actually sleep last night and i’m tired and this is super long, but AT THE VERY LEAST, these are the important bits.

[bjy-on-ao3]

Fic Friday: Helping Hand

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This story feels like fan content-ception to me, as it spawned from some NSFW art I made featuring Izaya, which was made from doodles to start with. Still scheming, but a lot more simple than my other fics with Izaya. Leaving this one a little open-ended in case I came back to it for Izaya returning the favor as he suggested. Not currently decided for sure though. I recently got my first request for Izaya and am brewing that, though it could be some time before I can get something down. It should be pretty fun though and spicier than this. (Note: Apologies for no cut - I am not sure how I add a cut with the new editor :/) Summary Invited over to Izaya’s apartment, Reader arrives too early and interrupts the informant’s alone time. And unfortunately (or fortunately), Izaya has no qualms about asking for a little help. Tags/Warnings Blowjobs, Come Swallowing, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut

Helping Hand (F! Reader/Izaya Orihara)

Arriving at the non-descript door in the hall of the impressive-looking apartment building, you hesitated. A few quick glances confirmed the numbers by the door matched up with the information listed in your phone’s address book. A few times before you had been to the apartment, but you hadn’t memorized everything about the address. All things considered, it was surprising you weren’t late this time, as you had been each time in the past. Maybe you were improving a little.

You raised a fist and drummed it against the door, starting light and polite. Nothing. You rapped harder. Surely that was loud enough to be heard? Your assumption was disproved when all that met you was silence, leaving you alone still in the hallway. You frowned in frustration and impatience. You knocked a third time, waiting a minute, wondering if he was preoccupied or just enjoying making you wait. When all remained quiet again, your frown deepened.

You looked back down at your phone, silently navigating to the texting feature and typing you a message irritably.

(X:XX PM): I’m here. I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t need to wait more than fifteen seconds before your phone buzzed in reply. Two words met your gaze, followed after a moment by a second slightly longer message.

Izaya (X:XX PM): You’re early.

Izaya (X:XX PM): I’m a little busy right now.

You paused, your scowl becoming confusion, and you scrolled back up through the conversation. The log confirmed the time you had been told and the one in the corner of your phone matched. ‘ Early? Right. Don’t tell me Izaya of all people forgot.’

(X:XX PM): I checked and either I’m on time or you screwed up and sent me the wrong time.

Arguing with him wouldn’t do you any good one way or another; Izaya wasn’t one to genuinely apologize for any inconveniences he caused others. But correcting him made you feel a little better and somewhat less cross at least.

Izaya (X:XX PM): Oh, did I?

Izaya (X:XX PM): Well, if you don’t like waiting, you can just come in. Door’s unlocked.

Your face twisted again, now into a skeptical surprise. Izaya just left his door unlocked? Izaya Orihara, the man who had probably as many enemies as he had clients, decided it was smart to let whoever wanted to waltz right in. Yeah, that made sense. You wondered if he enjoyed the excitement of the potential danger.

(X:XX PM): Hardly seems like a good idea for YOU to leave your door unlocked, but whatever.

With a dismissive shrug, you tucked your phone into your pocket and reached for the knob. Pushing it open, you stepped inside quickly and closed it gently behind you. You took a step away before pausing, turning back and locking the door as an afterthought. Izaya could endanger himself all he wanted, but you would rather there be at least some kind of barrier between whatever messy trouble came looking for him.

Walking past the foyer, you expected to see him perched on his chair, clacking noisily away at his keyboard, fixed on the screens of his computers and cellphones or something of the sort. The chair was empty though, turned away from the screens. You scanned the area for the ever-frustrating information broker. Quickly, you noticed him tucked away in the corner of the dark-colored leather section, his back facing you. His head rested against the couch, one long arm lying curled over its back. For someone supposedly busy, Izaya looked pretty relaxed from where you were standing.

“You don’t look real busy to me,” you accused once you spotted him.

Izaya shifted, tilting his head further back to glance over his outstretched arm at you. “Oh, I am, I assure you.” He looked and sounded as collected as ever, as if nothing could or should trouble him. Except… was it just you, or did his face seem a bit red? “But I’ll be just a few minutes. Feel free to wait for me there,” Izaya suggested. There was something off as well about the quality of his voice you couldn’t place.

“Uh huh,” you said, unsure if you felt unsettled or just irritated still. Maybe a little of both.

He had told you to wait, yet your curiosity nagged at you viciously, demanding to see what exactly preoccupied him. Or maybe it was indignation needing to see what was so pressing he couldn’t remember the time he had told you. You took a few steps, intending to round the recessed floor area and the sectional to see what he was doing.

“You really should wait over there,” he warned you casually, the strange tone of his voice sounding stronger, but still indecipherable.

You scoffed, ignoring the warning and carrying on. When you swept around the corner of the area though, what you saw stopped you dead in your tracks, poised on the lip of the steps down. At first the strangled squeak that burst from your mouth didn’t quite register, nor did the immediate hot flush that fell across your face.

Izaya looked very comfortable where he sat, leaning back into the plush cushions. From the top-down, at first he looked perfectly normal, if a little flushed, one of his usual ‘v’-neck shirts tantalizing displaying a bit of his delicate-looking collarbones. Though the picture grew more suspect the further you went. The hem of his shirt was lifted, askew and higher on one side than the other, exposing his lean torso. That wasn’t nearly so scandalous though, as even further down.

He sat nude from the waist down, his pants and belt pooled around his ankles. His cock stood prominently between his splayed legs, a flushed tone to match the rosy tint in cheeks and leaking pre-cum. As if walking on Izaya with his pants literally down wasn’t mortifying enough, one hand was wrapped leisurely around his cock. Obviously he had been in the process of jerking off, and still was, having not bothered to stop even once you had caught him in the act.

What you were looking at hit you all at once, and a stream of half-finished sentences exploded out. “I’I’m sorry, I-- But what are you--? Why would let me come in if that’s what you’re busy doing?! You began in an apologetic voice, though your apology quickly turned to indignation at the fact Izaya’d had plenty of time to put himself away before you came in. Before he invited you, for example, and then before he greeted you.

“Well, I did warn you.” Izaya’s speech held no hint of apology. The shameless, steady stroke of his hand up and down confirmed he was not bothered whatsoever. “Besides, you’re the one who wanted to show up early and be nosy, darling.”

At last you recognized the tone in his voice you hadn’t been able to place before. Something husky and thick, a silky accent to his already smooth voice. You felt stupid not being able to put two-and-two together from his voice and face.

“I’m not early! I-it’s not my fault you told me the wrong time,” you tried to hide the shakiness in your voice with anger, though you knew Izaya was a master at seeing through masks.

You wanted to turn, to look away, but you found yours glued to the sight of him, stunned like a deer in headlights. Maybe it was his audacity that was truly so stunning. I’m just gonna go and come back later,” you ground out through teeth after you tore your eyes away from the enticingly lewd scene.

“Oh? But like I said, I’ll only be a little bit.” You nearly choked again from Izaya’s boldness. He really expected you to just wait around while he jacked off like it was nothing? For someone who claimed to love humans and all their emotions and behaviors so much, you really wondered how much he really understood them sometimes. “You know, if you wanted to lend a hand, it might be even sooner.”

You made another embarrassing noise, your eyes snapping back around and fixing on his own. The expression in his sharp brown eyes told you he wasn’t just you or making some inappropriate joke, not completely. Izaya was dead serious suggesting you ‘lend him a hand’ with his current ‘business’. You should have been mad. You should have been uncomfortable. You should have walked away then. But something else was creeping up and up, suppressing what you should have done, leaving behind the sense that you didn’t quite hate the idea.

You weren’t ready to give in completely, though, not yet. “Was that your plan when you invited me over?” You tried to deflect once more, but your angry speech was half-hearted.

He gave a small shrug, still languorously pumping his hand up and down, smearing a new bead of pre-cum along the head of his dick. You licked your lips, and you weren’t sure whether it was from nerves or hunger. “Who knows? Maybe, maybe not.” Of course Izaya would give you a nonsense answered that told you nothing.

“Can you just put your pants on, please?” You tried weakly, a last ditch effort to squish down the hot feeling suffusing you and to call his bluff. But Izaya wouldn’t be moved.

“Weren’t you leaving though?” He questioned calmly. “So why should I? Then I can’t take care of this.” You groaned mentally at his ‘logic’ that amounted to his typical games. “So, what’s stopping you?”

You didn’t speak, listening only to the slick sound of Izaya stroking himself, as if trying to come up with an appropriate excuse. But there was none. You were still there because you wanted to be. You sputtered some nonsense at first, before sighing in defeat.

“I...I just… fine,” you mumbled, unable to meet his cutting gaze when you agreed.

He didn’t seem bothered or surprised by your admission, and when you looked back up, he was smirking widely, as if he had expected you to crumble and play right into his hands. “Well, what are you waiting for then?”

You nearly scowled at the impatience of the question, but shook your head. You approached quickly, stopping once you stood in front of him. You licked your lips again and swallowed thickly, kneeling between his legs. Up close and personal with his cock, it you for real the favor you had submitted yourself to. It made your stomach twist in a way that was pleasantly hot, but with a nervous flutter. But even if he would probably let you, there was no back down now. You had dug your hole and you intended to stay in it.

Feeling Izaya’s eyes burning down onto you, you lifted a hand tentatively, more intimidated than you would have admitted. You nearly jumped when the hand he had been pleasuring himself with seized yours. Your face was on fire as he guided your hand over his shaft, helping you wrap it around the heated skin. He made a small sound in the back of his throat at the contact, his palm lingering over your hand. Gingerly, you shifted your hand up and down, mimicking him, the skin hot and velvety under your fingers.

“There, just like that,” Izaya cooed, his hips rocking up into your touch. His hand left yours to bury itself in the cushion beside him.

You chanced a subtle glance up, past his exposed torso and up his chest. His head lolled back against the sofa back, and his chest rose and fell deeply in more noticeable, pleasured breaths as you stroked. He seemed more than willing to sit back and fully indulge in your touch, apparently a far more exhilarating experience than his own.

“What a good girl,” he praised as your grip tightened you pumped his cock more surely, enjoying the noises that vibrated up his chest. They were low and smooth, containing all the richness of his speaking voice, yet none of the frustrating teasing or condescension. “Mmph, a little hard, don’t be shy,” he coaxed, giving a particularly eager buck of his hips, a new drop of pre-cum beading on the head of his dick.

You did as instructed, and the sound of his breathing deepened more, the small, pleasant sounds morphing into longer, bawdy groans. “How’s that?” you prompted, the confidence from watching him come slowly undone steadying your voice, the sheer arousal in it surprising you.

“Mm, good, keep going.”

You stuck to the steady rhythm you had set, your tongue wetting suddenly dry lips again as you alternated between watching Izaya’s blissful form above you and his throbbing cock in front of you. You moved your idle hand up, cradling his balls in your palm and rubbing gently, rewarded with even more erotic noises. You weren’t sure whether you were more turned on by the eroticism of the sounds themselves, or the fact you were hardly ever heard Izaya sound so unrestrained.

Your gaze stopped, lingering on his cock, and you decided if you were going to help out, you may as well have a little more fun, as well as satisfy the hunger building in you. You bent forward, your breath fanning over the head hotly, and you barely caught a shiver roll through Izaya. You leaned closer, opening your mouth and licking coyly at the flushed head, the bitter taste of pre-cum flooding your senses.

“ Oh .” The word was surprised, excited almost, made even more so by the breathiness that carried it. “I didn’t even have to ask you to do that.” Your faced burned with embarrassment you fought to ignore, letting your lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue along the underside. “More eager than you let on, I see. But I’m not complaining.”

Izaya relaxed more limply against the cushions, save for the rhythmic roll of his hips meeting the hot, wet touch of your mouth. You sank down on his cock more, slowly, trying to account for the motion of his hips to not choke yourself on his length. Fortunately, though it was steady, his pace was languid, letting you adjust easily. You took as much as you could without inciting your gag reflex, shifting between dancing your tongue along his skin or pressing flat against the underside or teasing the head where it connected to his shaft.

Above you, Izaya’s dulcet chorus of groans and mumbled words escalated and his fingers met the top of your head. They curled loosely, massaging methodically, neither forcing you down or adjust to a new pace.

“Hmm, and they say I’ve got a talented tongue,” Izaya hummed huskily and you couldn’t stifle a low moan in answer, the sound shooting through Izaya and making his hips stutter. “Sure seems like you know to use yours though,” he praised again, and you could make out the teasing tone you were so used to among his lusty, strained voice.

Izaya fell silent for a time, or at least he fell wordless, panting and groaning his pleasure, the sounds accentuated by the wet noises you made while you sucked him off. But Izaya’s was a mouth that couldn’t stand staying silent for long. “You can take a little more, can’t you?” He asked insistently, his fingers tightening their loose hold. He thrust his hips more roughly into your mouth as you sank down again, as if punctuating his question.

Tears stung at your eyes for an instant as the tip of his dick touched your throat and you inhaled deeply to relax it. You took in even more of his cock, noticing the roll of his hips slow, as if accommodating you to take his length more easily. When you pulled back, his hand only let you go so far, effectively keeping you from pulling away. You indulged him, satisfied with the even more ragged breaths replacing his words and more of the salty fluid leaking from him.

Your jaw was beginning to ache, but you ached elsewhere as well, and it urged you to continue. With your mouth wrapped around him so intimately, you could tell Izaya was getting very close to cumming, from the increasing cant of his hips to the harsh pitch of his breath to the way his cock twitched, even more hard.

“Mm, that’s it. Almost there.” Izaya confirmed your suspicions, the lustiness of his tone adding to the urgency. “If you don’t want a mouthful, you might want to stop,” he warned you, surprisingly considerate in the moment.

Your eyes flickered up, but you didn’t stop, trying to hum your acknowledgement around a mouthful of his dick, working him even more eagerly.

“Oh, shit, you’re more obscene than I thought. If that’s how you want it,” His excitement pierced his arousal again, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so wrapped up in servicing him.

Thrusting into your mouth more desperately, his hips finally stuttered as he finished, filling your mouth with hot ropes of thick that you swallowed as soon as the bitter taste swept over your tongue. Several especially long, feral moans drifted from Izaya’s lips as you drank him down, until at last he was spent and there was nothing left for you to swallow. You drew away, wiping a smear of drool and some stray cum from your mouth with the back of your hand and resting back on your knees.

“There, that’s taken care of,” you said, your attempt to sound level and collected ruined by your own arousal making your voice overly breathy. “Now did you actually have a reason for inviting me over?”

Izaya laughed breathlessly, as if amused by your change of pace, lying boneless against the sectional. “Of course, my dear,” he answered when his laughter died, tipping his head forward to look at you. “I wouldn’t lie to your like that. Though, if you’d like, I can return the favor. It sounds like you need it.”

[ravens-words]

Tell me how all this (and love, too) will ruin us

For @bamfalexmanes ❤ Elle, I hope you like it

The one in which Michael and Alex have a talk, some truths are revealed and a new hope is born.

This is a sequel of a sort to we burned down our paper house.

Happy Reading!!

.

"Are you okay?"

Michael looked up quickly, too quickly if the way his vision blurred for a second was an indication, and found Alex looking down at him with a frown of concern.

Michael hated it. He also wanted to put his lips to those three lines that resided in between his brows and kiss it away. 

"I'm fine," he mumbled pathetically, looking away before his thoughts became too hard to conceal and showed up on his face. Neither of them would be ready for that.

Alex crouched beside him and Michael's eyes flickered up to meet his. He smiled, and Michael's treacherous heart beat a hard rhythm against his chest. "You're not fine," he told him casually.

Michael laughed bitterly. Of course he wasn't alright. There was an ancient, psychotic alien who looked like his brother's twin living in his bunker. Max wasn't getting any better, seemed to be even more manic now that that they'd found Jones. And Michael had to live everyday with a regret that threatened to choke him alive every single time he saw Alex and Forrest together. When he'd walked away in the middle of Alex's song, he hadn't been thinking clearly. He'd been so sure that it wasn't their time, that they would have time later, that they weren't ready in that moment. He'd known, in his bones, that he and Alex were meant for each other. They'd loved each other through the worst of times, and still do after almost twelve years. Whatever thing he had with Forrest wouldn't last, Michael had convinced himself, but- Alex needed it. Alex needed something light and good and happy and fleeting, just like what he'd had with Maria. 

After he had tried with Maria, Michael's belief that Alex was the only one for him had been cemented. Selfleshly, he'd wanted the same to happen for Alex. Michael had desperately needed that reassurance. 

It had backfired on him, because of all the things he'd accounted for in the minute it took to make the decision to walk away, he hadn't accounted for the most important one; having to watch the love of his life be with someone else. Having to watch him kiss someone else, laugh with someone else and wishing that it was him. 

Jealousy wasn't a new thing to Michael. He'd spent his whole life, it felt like, being jealous. Jealous of Max and Isobel for getting the family while he got bounced around from home to home. Jealous of Max and Isobel when they literally killed people, and yet his life turne out to be the worst out of the three of them. Jealous of Isobel for getting married to the person she loved and building herself a home (before Noah turned out to be a serial killer). And now, jealous of Forrest Long, of all people, for getting to be with Alex in a way Michael had not been in all the years they'd been in love. 

"This is about me and Forrest, isn't it?" Even though it was phrased as one, Michael knew it wasn't a question. 

He didn't answer. Ashamed and guilty and relieved that Alex got it without him having to say it. 

Alex sighed. "I watched you be with Maria for a lot longer, you know," he told him mildly, tone almost teasing. 

Michael found himself silent again, because yeah, Alex had watched him be with Maria for nearly a year and had been gracious about it. He had been supportive, even, according to Maria. Michael wanted to do the same, had been trying for a little less than a month with varying degrees of success. 

He didn't know how Alex could stand it. 

"It's not about you and Forrest." One last ditch effort to be the friend and not the helpless fool in love. 

It didn't work. Of course it didn't work. 

Alex raised his eyebrows.  "Did you really think that would work?"

Michael shrugged. "Figured I had to try."

Alex shifted from his crouch to sit beside Michael, and their shoulders brushed. The touch sent shivers down his spine and he had to fight the instinct to lean closer. Damn, but he missed the closeness, the comfort of it. "Well, now that you have, are you ready to tell me why you're here on your own instead of being inside with all of us?"

"Is it me?" He found himself asking. He sounded like a small child and found himself looking down to avoid looking at Alex. 

He felt Alex stiffen beside him And immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't, though. After a few seconds of silence, Alex relaxed and let out a slow breath. "Something that you never managed to understand, Michael, was that at no point in the past eleven years was I ever ashamed of you. It was never about you. It was my father, it was the military, it was me. But it was never you. That is, until you chose to do something illegal on our first date."

Michael looked up at the sky and shook his head as they both laughed softly. He marveled at how far they had come, that they could laugh about something that had torn them apart two years ago. 

Once their laughter died down, Alex spoke again. "You have to understand that my father made me live in fear for a really, really long time. He- I was thirteen when I figured out I was gay, and twelve when he did. From that moment on, I lived in constant fear of being myself. The only time I wasn't aftlraid was with you. And we both know how that turned out."

It hurt to hear, because Alex didn't deserve any of it, but knowing that he had somehow helped, that Alex wasn't ashamed of him, was a balm on a gaping wound that had been bleeding for a long time. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Alex smiled, reassuring. "Now get up, suck it up and come inside." Though outwardly his demeanor was light, Michael could tell this was a test. He'd never failed a test in his life and he was damned if he was going to start now. 

He got up, followed Alex inside and sucked it up.

.................

"Guerin!" 

Michael grinned automatically and spun around to greet Alex. To his surprise, he wasn't alone. The man with him was just a little shorter, but was built like a tank. Alex clapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him. "Hey."

"Hi."

Alex gestured at the man. "This is Bradley Williams, a buddy of mine."

"Hey, man," Michael took over the introduction. "Michael Guerin. Nice-" he trailed off as the man's eyes widened and his head spun around to look at Alex with a speed that had him wondering how his head was still attached. "-to meet you?" He looked between the two men. The man was grinning ear to ear now, while Alex was glaring daggers at him. "Am I missing something here?"

"Yes," Bradley said.

"No," Alex countered, in a way that left no room for argument.

Michael was surprised to see the man back off immediately and wondered exactly how the two had met. It must have been the air force, but it wouldn't explain the evident closeness. The two seemed like brothers.

"Listen, his car is a mess. But h's stubborn and won't admit he can't fix it. Can you take a look at it and tell him he needs to have a professional fix it?" The last part, though addressed to him, was said pointedly in Bradley's direction. 

"Sure thing."

The car was a mess. Alex took too much pleasure in being right and processed to give Bradley shit the second Michael confirmed it. Seeing Alex like this, happy and carefree, never failed to make Michael's heart swell with fondness for him. It was seriously a problem.

About fifteen minutes later, Alex got a call and stepped away from them. "You know, this is gonna take a while, so you can just go and I'll give you or Alex a call when it's ready."

"Nah," he said with forced casualness. "I'm good here. Plus, he's probably gonna go back to the base- yup, there's that look." When Bradley pointed the bottle in Alex's direction, Michael's eyes followed and noticed the serious look on his face.

"I gotta go back to the base," he told them, putting the phone in his back pocket. "Let me drive you to the house?"

Bradley leaned back in his chair. "I'm good here, cap; you go ahead."

They locked eyes and after a few seconds, Alex nodded, giving him a wry smile. Michael felt like an outsider as they seemed to have an entire conversation without saying a thing.

Once Alex was gone, the other man turned to him. "Forgive my bluntness, but why the hell aren't you two together?"

Michael's head whipped around and he stared at the man, pissed off and in awe in equal measures. Had he managed to figure out Michael was in love with Alex from spending twenty minutes with them? "What?" He spluttered.

Bradley shook his head. "He told me about you. The way-"

Michael's whole world did a somersault around its axis. "He- he talked about me?"

The older man's forehead crinkled in a frown, but then his features softened and he let out a huff of a breath that could have been a laugh. "Yes, he talked about you. Not much, mind you. He kept a lot of things close to the vest back then, still does, but- everyone in our unit kinda knew there was someone special for him back home, way before he told me." 

Someone special. At a time where he'd thought of himself as an afterthought, a dirty secret, in Alex's life, the people closest to him at the time had thought he was someone special. 

"Every time he talked to you on the phone, he'd be settled, more- alive, I guess- for the next couple of days. Sometimes, I'd even catch him on the phone with you and he'd have this look on his face and I just knew."

"Knew what?" Michael managed to say, heart in his throat. 

"That he loved you. And from what I've seen, that hasn't changed, has it?" 

A part of Michael wanted to snap at him and tell him to mind his own business. Another part wanted to get down on his knees and beg him to tell him more. 

"What did he say about me?" He found himself asking, voice barely above a whisper.

"That you're smart. Kind. That he- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he could talk about was you." Bradley sucked in a harsh breath, and Michael envied his ability to do that, because couldn't draw a single breath. "He was dying, and all he wanted was for you to know; practically begged me to be the one to tell you."

"That he loved me?" Michael's voice cracked, but he ignored it, eyes on the other man. 

"That he'd died, Michael. He didn't want you to keep guessing, I think." Bradley looked him straight in the eye and Michael saw the tears that had gathered there. It made Michael feel better about the tears in his own eyes. 

"If something does happen to you, half the town will know before I do and that's because no one would even think to tell me." He remembered saying on the last phone call they'd had, nearly four years ago. 

He'd been angry when he'd said that; angry and afraid. The idea that his words had stayed with Alex, that he'd been thinking about him when he'd been bleeding, dying, broke his heart and mended it in the same breath. Not for the first time, he ached for him, for them, for everything they could have been and everything they could have had. 

Michael stopped working on the car and sat down heavily in the chair next to him, and Bradley kindly offered him the rest of his beer, eyes forward, probably to give Michael the opportunity to breakdown in peace. But Michael didn't fall apart, he just drank the beer and then stood up to finish the work, not saying a word even when Bradley stood up and walked closer. 

"I met Forrest yesterday. Between you and me? I'm rooting for you," he told him with a smirk, patting his shoulder twice before he left, leaving a stunned Michael in his wake.

......

It took two days for Michael to gather up the courage to talk to Alex. When he reached his house, he found him on a lawn chair, headphones in and his head bopping to the beat of a song only he knew. Michael stopped to stare at him, and really, it was ridiculous how far he was gone for the man that he was staring at the back of his head like a lovesick fool. 

He took a few steps closer, until he was beside him and when Alex looked up and smiled at him, Michael smiled back automatically. "Writing another song about me?" He asked, teasing.

"No," Alex told him with a laugh. "I think that was a one time thing."

His disappointment must have showed on his face because Alex shook his head. "Not many people have a song written about them, you know, you shouldn't get greedy," he chided and stood up. 

He didn't know what made him do it; maybe it was Bradley's words ringing in his ears- he was bleeding out in my arms and all he cared about was you. He wanted you to know; that he'd died.- but the second he was on his feet, Michael pulled him into his arms. When Alex didn't push him away; when he pulled him in tighter instead, Michael buried his nose in the juncture between his neck and his shoulder and took in a lungful of air. 

"Are you okay?"

Michael nodded against his neck and Alex's arms tightened around him. He tried desperately to think of something to say, tried to pull away, but found that he couldn't. 

"Is this about your talk with Bradley?"

Michael nodded again and buried himself further in Alex's arms.

Alex didn't seem to mind.

They stood like that for longer than they should have, but neither of them seemed to want to let go, so they didn't. Until, eventually, they had to. 

"Want to come inside for a beer?" He asked him gently.

Michael wanted more than that. Michael Wanted to hold him until the image of him, bleeding out in Bradley's arms while Michael was blissfully unaware, stopped haunting him in his dreams. He wanted to ask him to sing him the song again, just to hear the rest of it, to be able to appreciate it, to have a reminder that Alex hadn't forgotten about him. Michael wanted to talk to him about the mistakes they'd made and the future they could still have together. But, like he had a month ago, he knew it still wasn't their time.

So he settled for accepting the beer. And being Alex's friend. He owed it to the both of them to try. And he owed it to Alex to back off and let him be happy with someone else since that was what he wanted.

"Yeah." He smiled. "Yeah, I'd love a beer."

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 2: Chapter 3

Sic faciet nives. (It will snow.)

Tatsu wasn’t a fan of the food jokes Lin made, but he was most certainly a fan of joining the Cocytios expedition. In fact, he quickly took Lin’s place as the most excited to venture into unknown territory, and the entire time at the dinner table was filled with Tatsu’s grand stories of the legendary Heropon who lived there. She didn’t quite get to ask how he knew of Cocytios before they did, and yet Elma couldn’t help but be amused at some of the stories he recited. His enthusiasm was contagious! It was almost as if Pongo being in trouble was an afterthought.

But after dinner, that was all Elma could think about. She went to sleep thinking about him, she woke up thinking about him, she even thought of him as the MMC workers helped set her consciousness up in her old mim. Pongo, the boy she’d recruited onto her team, the boy who didn’t know how to speak until Vandham described the Interceptors’ role during his BLADE training. The boy who went on to become a powerful protector, who built a Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District, who would put himself in harm’s way to keep his friends safe without question. He was once a shy and awkward rookie who talked too much and thought every human being was beautiful. But nowadays, Pongo was confident, he knew himself and the world around him - quite literally. He could handle himself out there.

Yet Nessa’s mere existence proved he was in far more trouble than he’d ever been in before. And that scared Elma far more than she wanted to admit. 

She walked out of the MMC and immediately took a deep, cleansing breath. It wasn’t exactly weird, being back in her old mimeosome. In the beginning, returning to her original body felt like going back home after years of being away. Returning to her mimeosome now was like going back on vacation, a change of pace she didn’t know she needed after all this time. Mimeosomes didn’t need to worry about the same necessities that real bodies did. This would be important for Cocytios, and important for rescuing Pongo.

Elma quickly met up with Lin, Nessa and Tatsu outside of their barracks. Though they knew they wouldn’t be able to bring their Skells to Cocytios, it was decided they’d spare themselves the trouble of walking all the way to Primordia’s southern coast and opt to drive there instead. Lin had even managed to hook up their little yacht to her Skell and was fine tuning the hitch connecting the two when Elma approached. Nessa and Tatsu both watched, but didn’t make any move to help. Elma could only assume that at the very least, Nessa wasn’t as familiar with the technology. It was curious, how both of them looked on with the same sparkle in their eyes, the same childish wonder. She recalled Pongo having that same sparkle when he was first discovering the world and all its mysteries. 

Nessa was the first to spot Elma approaching, and she whistled softly. She was wearing new armor, too. The brogs matched Elma’s own, though Nessa’s pair were blue, and the rest of her armor was mismatched from various other apparel lines and arms manufacturers. What made Elma smirk was the fact that it was...okay, it wasn’t leaving much to the imagination. At least Nessa could dish out her interest in such things while accepting the style herself.

“All ready to go?” Nessa asked her.

Elma nodded once. “I believe so. Lin, how about you?”

“Just making some last minute adjustments, then I’ll be good!” Lin kept working, and the squeak of a bolt tightening under a wrench accompanied her response. “Our Skells are full of fuel, so that won’t be an issue for the drive. We’ll be parking near one of the bases, and I’ve already called ahead to let them know we’re coming soon. They’ve promised to keep watch over our Skells and make sure nothing bad happens to them!”

“And what about me?” Nessa prompted, “Will I have to ride with someone, or am I getting my own little plaything?”

Lin paused. “Do you...do you know how to drive a Skell?”

“Absolutely not. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“I don’t trust that for a second. You’re not hurting any of my - any of Pongo’s babies. He paid a lot of credits for these, y’know.”

“Oh come on, if there’s anything I remember of him, it’s that he’s loaded,” Nessa said, crossing her arms and pouting in dramatic fashion, “Shame Mira couldn’t create me with a couple thousand credits in my pockets, though.”

“If Nessa not have credits before, how did Nessa get credits for new armor?” Tatsu asked innocently.

Nessa winked. “I raided Pongo’s stash. You won’t believe how much armor he’s got stored away. It’s like he’s got a piece of armor for every monster he’s killed.”

Lin finally finished making adjustments to the hitch, and she bounced straight up, turning to face the others while wiping the sweat off her brow. “Alrighty, that does it! I’m ready to go when you are!”

“Tatsu excited!!” Tatsu cheered, “Winterland home of legendary Heropon! Tatsu can’t wait to meet him and ask about dadapon!!”

“Right, your father is also a...Heropon,” Elma recalled, “We’ll have to wait and see. For now, Nessa, you can ride with me if you want. I may not have an extra seat like Lin has for Tatsu, but there should be plenty of room for us both.”

“How could I say no to such a generous offer?” Nessa beamed, “Let’s head out, Team Elma! To Cocytios!”

Elma didn’t say anything when Nessa initially walked up to the wrong Skell - the Amdusias Hades belonged to Lin, a stronger hitting Skell that was well equipped and well handled under the Outfitter’s care. At first glance, it was the most powerful between the two Skells parked, and Nessa patted its leg with a confident smile.

“Um…” Lin was the one to break the illusion, “You know that’s my Skell, right? Elma’s is the red Verus Cain over there.”

A flash of confusion, quick glances between the two Skell models, and finally, Nessa’s apologetic smile landed on Elma. 

“Right, of course. Should’ve guessed by the unusually thematic coloring. Let’s get a move on, then!”

~

It was an uneventful drive to the coast, and the BLADEs maintaining the base camp were more than happy to keep watch over their Skells. Lin unhooked their yacht with ease, and with the help of the other BLADEs, they all managed to drag it into the ocean. From there, it was smooth sailing, and beautiful weather for it too. Lin handled the boat’s controls while Elma supervised and Nessa provided directions, but it wasn’t hard to get lost in the salty sea breeze, the warm sun that kissed Elma’s skin. She knew this bliss was temporary, as most things were, because Cocytios was supposed to be bitter and unrelenting. She was excited, of course, and she kept a keen eye out for any signs of land.

Yet it took them hours on the open sea before Nessa called out to them, pointing ahead. “I see it! We’re close!”

Lin squinted at that, trying to identify Cocytios’s coast. Lin and Elma both squinted, trying to make out the continent, and soon enough Elma saw distant shadows on the horizon. It was still a far ways off, but the shadows were tall and ominous, easy to spot once she put some effort into it. Mountains, she harbored a guess, and fairly tall ones at that. The closer the yacht got, the more Elma realized she was right. They were tall, snow-capped mountains that only seemed to grow taller and taller the closer they became. The tallest ones were even obscured by a layer of clouds, which were brimming with infant snowfall. But, to Elma’s surprise, she saw a familiar silhouette past the mountains. Were those…rings? 

“Nessa,” Elma called to Nessa, leaving Lin’s side to approach the edge of the deck, “The ring structures embedded into the mountains...they appear similar to those that we found in Oblivia. Do you know their purpose?”

“Oh, the Perceptis Automata?” Nessa spoke the name as if it were common knowledge, “Those were weapons used in an ancient war. It mainly took place in Oblivia, Sylvalum and Cauldros, but some fighting occurred here, too. Not enough to damage the ecosystem, mind you, but enough to leave behind evidence.”

“I see,” Elma pondered for a moment. She remembered something about this war, something that Pongo had mentioned during the explanation of his origin. But the details escaped her. She supposed she could learn more after the mission’s completion, after they’d rescued Pongo from whatever fate he’d befallen.

“Was war between legendary winterland Heropon and Miran gods?” Tatsu waddled up to Nessa, and Elma could practically see the stars in his eyes despite his glasses covering them up, “Like in Tale of Two Gods?”

Nessa raised a curious eyebrow. “That’s the story you were going on about yesterday, right? I ah...no, that’s not the one. This war was a really long time ago - longer than the Nopon have existed, I reckon.”

“Hmph!” He pouted, “Tatsu still want to find Heropon here. Tatsu has so many questions!”

“Maybe we’ll find a Nopon caravan here,” Elma said, “After all, there seems to be one caravan inhabiting every continent thus far. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and find one that would be willing to house us and provide some extra knowledge about the land.” When Tatsu opened his mouth to say something, she quickly added on, “But we shouldn’t depend entirely on that possibility. We need to be able to fend for ourselves and we can’t become reliant on ‘what ifs’.”

“If Tatsu know anything about legendary Heropon here, it’s that he always comes to help!” He kept up his enthusiasm, “Tatsu not lose hope that Heropon will help us if we find him!”

They continued to sail ever closer to the shore, and eventually, Lin turned off the engine and let the yacht come up close to where the sea kissed the land. All it took was a hop and a couple steps for Elma to officially be standing in Cocytios. She inhaled, the crisp winter air stinging her lungs. She’d made a good call, Elma concluded, coming in her mimeosome rather than her true form. Even now, she could feel the chill of the air pushing underneath her clothes and teasing all her goose bumps out of hiding. 

Nessa, Lin and Tatsu soon joined her, and the group stared into the vast expanse of fallen snow, of mountainous terrain and foreign land. When Nessa finally spoke, she didn’t break the silence. How could a silence be broken, when the wind promised so willingly to create sound at all times?

“Welcome to Cocytios,” Nessa extended her arms, smiling warmly in the cold, “I’d love to give the grand tour, but we’ve got ground to cover before dark.”

“Right,” Elma agreed, “Lead the way, Nessa.”

For a moment, Nessa looked honored that Elma had relinquished leadership to her, but she took the news in stride. Nessa soon walked ahead of the others, maintaining a steady pace. For now, the snow was light and feathery, and it didn’t have time to properly accumulate on the ground. Elma looked up at the mountains, at the path they now trekked along, at the cloudy sky and her team around her. Tatsu, having dressed warmly, stuck to Lin’s side like glue. Elma told herself to keep an eye on the little Nopon; he’d tire easily in these conditions, and she’d carry him if he started to fall behind.

Little conversation was had for a vast stretch of time. The wind was consistent and brutal against them, trying so desperately to push them back to the shore from whence they came. Elma observed halfway through their journey that there was a surprising lack of indigen activity. It was unsettling, especially since the snow hindered her vision considerably, so she couldn’t quite tell if there were actually indigens around. Perhaps some were camouflaged, perhaps some were in plain sight and stalking their every movement through the terrain. Elma kept her guard up either way, keeping a vigilant eye out for any surprises. 

“So where exactly is Pongo?” Lin asked at one point, her voice raised to triumph over the wind, “Can Mira remember where he went?”

Nessa didn’t respond. She stopped walking, seemingly frozen in place for an unnatural second. Elma almost thought she was frozen before she finally moved again, turning to face Lin. Her eyes had gone white, the same white as the snow collecting around them, and her voice now harbored an echo, as if she was no longer the only person speaking from her body.

“I do not remember myself, but I do feel a strange presence to the southwest. I believe there may be a Ganglion fortress there, and since the Ganglion attacked Pongo before I lost connection to him, I would harbor he is down there.”

“Meh meh? Nessa sound funny,” Tatsu scowled.

“Oh, that would be correct. Tatsu, my name is Mira. I created both Pongo and Nessa. She allowed me to speak through her body for a short time to relay this information to you.”

“Mira? As in planet Mira?”

“Yes.”

“Tatsu thought Mira was planet! Planets can’t talk!”

“Well, this planet can, thank you very much.”

“Does planet usually have funny accent?”

Nessa - or rather, Mira - stared at Tatsu for a very, very long time. Elma wasn’t sure which was colder: the Cocytios weather or the sheer amount of annoyance radiating off of Mira’s body.

“Nessa usually has a funny accent. Mira, the planet, can sound like anything. I cannot change Nessa’s voice, however.”

Tatsu kept scowling, clearly confused or unconvinced or some mixture of the two. But Lin butted in before Tatsu could raise another question. “So how close are we to that possible fortress?”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s on the other side of the continent,” Mira shrugged, “It’ll take a while.”

“Is there anywhere we can camp nearby, then?” Elma asked, “It would be wise to set up shelter before the sun sets, if what Nessa told is true.”

“Yep, Cocytios’s most dangerous indigens like to emerge in the night hours.” Mira stopped for a moment, looking up as if it were trying to calculate something. “There is a cave nearby that should provide adequate shelter for the night. It is not far, but we should keep up the pace if we want to make it there before nightfall.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Elma confirmed, “Let’s move out.”

And so they continued through the monotonous scenery, with Elma keeping that ever vigilant eye just in case anything popped up. Mira had confirmed that most of the dangerous indigens would emerge at night, and the sun was only just beginning to lower in the sky, but Elma wasn’t about to take any chances. Somewhere along the way, she even asked Mira about possible indigen activity during the day, but Nessa had regained control at that point and could only pass along a cryptic message.

“Mira said we’ll be fine,” Nessa said, “That we shouldn’t worry our little heads about it.”

“Patronizing,” Lin muttered.

The sun was threatening to disappear past the horizon by the time Nessa found the cave Mira had told them about. The entrance was rather small, and the interior didn’t stretch too far into the mountainside it was carved into. But it was a decent enough spot to rest for the night, and Elma located some shrubs that they could use to form a fire. Eventually they’d all settled down, with Elma offering to take watch first, and soon night had fallen and the others had fallen into a peaceful sleep. It gave Elma more time alone with her thoughts, trying to process how quickly things had come to pass, what was going to greet them the next day. She could hear rustling outside, the echoes of indigens calling to each other. One caught her ear the most: a melodic wolf’s howl, multiple, creating a haunting symphony. It was hard to place how close they were, but something told Elma that she didn’t need to worry.

But then, something else caught her ear. Stone cracking, breaking somewhere. Elma looked up and noticed the stalactites hanging from the cave’s ceiling, and she mistakenly thought nothing of it. 

And then, in glorious fashion, one by one, the stalactites fell. Elma couldn’t call out to the others before a rock hit her head and all went dark and quiet once more.

[heysoup]

Fluffy February Day 4 - Halloween

Phew! I’m a little late, but I managed to make it while the day’s still here. This is day four of @fluffyfebruary and the prompt is Halloween.

Chapter 4: I’ll Be Yours

Pairing: Butch DeLoria/Male Lone Wanderer

Summary: During a Halloween party, Susie suggests that the group of teens play spin the bottle. Jamie isn't one for parties, isn't even one for socializing if he's honest with himself, and he definitely isn't excited to play this game. But Butch has been looking at him all night, and something in his heart tells him this might be different.

Ao3 Link

“Thanks for helping, Jamie,” Amata says from where she’s perched at the top of a step ladder hanging colorful streamers along the ceiling.

Jamie smiles up at her from his own task of making Halloween-themed snacks, “of course.”

She climbs down the ladder and brushes her hands off on the pants of her vault suit, looking up at her handiwork with an approving nod. Orange and purple streamers hang in delicate loops from the ceiling. Hanging among them are dainty origami bats – all handmade by Amata and Susie. They even found some old Christmas lights and strung them up along the walls, hoping that when the main lights were turned off it would create some kind of spooky atmosphere, even if they were red and green.

They’re preparing for their first ever Halloween party as ‘adults.’ Now that everyone in their class was eighteen, Amata had finally gotten her dad to cave and allow them to throw a party at the Mack’s apartment, since it was one of the largest. How she managed to pull it off, Jamie has no idea.

He finally finishes icing the last of his ghost-shaped cookies and walks over to join her, letting out an impressed whistle. “Looks great!” he says, and she smiles at him.

Susie and Wally walk out into the living room from the hallway – they’re wearing freshly pressed vault suits that are tailored a bit closer to their bodies than the normal ones, the blue and yellow fabric even more vivid than usual. Susie’s platinum hair is poker-straight and pulled back into a ponytail with a cherry red bow. Her lipstick matches the bow’s color perfectly. Wally’s hair is plain, but neatly combed – they look nice, but if Jamie’s honest, he doesn’t see how it’s supposed to be a costume.

Amata seems to think the same. “So… what are you guys going as again?” she asks, a sheepish smile on her face. Wally rolls his eyes and elbows Susie.

“I told you they wouldn’t get it!”

“Oh shut it, we just have to do the thing!” Susie pulls at her brother’s arm, who groans in response.

“FINE.” They both look at Jamie and Amata with their cheesiest smiles - Susie’s looking much more genuine than Wally’s – and give them a thumb’s up.

“Uh…” Jamie doesn’t see how that’s supposed to clear anything up for them.

“We’re Vault Boy and Vault Girl!” Susie snaps, crossing her arms. Wally huffs and shakes his head before walking over to the couch and plopping down, reaching into the pumpkin-shaped plastic bowl on the coffee table to shove some chips in his mouth.

“I could tell!” Amata says, trying to appease her. “You look great, Susie! I love the lipstick.” She grabs Jamie’s hand and twines their fingers together. “We have to go get our costumes ready now, but we’ll be right back. Party starts in thirty, right?”

Susie nods, changing into hostess mode once again. “It looks really good in here, by the way. You did a great job, Amata” She smiles and then says, as an afterthought, “uh and Jamie, too, I guess.”

---

Back in Amata’s room, she and Jamie busy themselves with changing into their costumes. Amata is dressed to the nines in a slim-fitting black dress with emerald green accents that she had sewn herself with her mother’s old machine. She has a pair of elbow-length black gloves made from leftover pantyhose and a pearl necklace around her neck that Jamie found in the lower levels of the vault. He kept the details of where he found it to himself. Her costume is pretty close to looking exactly like the original Mistress of Mystery, they've just taken a few creative liberties.

She’s sitting at her vanity, applying her makeup and curling her hair when she asks, “so, are you excited?” Jamie puts down the comic he’s reading and sits up on her bed. He’s already changed into his outfit – just a simple flannel, some jeans, aged brown leather boots that his dad had stowed away in his closet for some reason, and the closest thing they could find to a ten-gallon hat, which is currently around his neck and hanging at his back. A plastic pistol and a makeshift paper holster sit beside him.

“Yeah,” he settles with, trying his hardest to sound convincing. It’s not that he isn’t excited, he’s just nervous. He’s already kind of a social outcast, which is bad enough. What’s even worse is that Butch will be there, which was fine and normal, except for the fact that it wasn’t because just a last week they’d technically had their first kiss down in their hideout, which Jamie had freaked out over and literally ran away from, and then proceeded to pretend it never happened. Outside of work they’d been too busy to hang out recently, so this will be the first time he sees him in such a casual setting since. It’s not like he can ask Amata for advice – she doesn’t even know he’s friends with Butch for one and she’s unlikely to approve, and what if she asks about their hideout? It’s too risky, not to mention humiliating!

“Jamie!” Amata is snapping at him, a soft smile on her face. He blinks and laughs, feeling out of breath despite the fact that all his talking was in his head. What a mess.

“Hah, sorry. Just thinking. I’m kinda nervous, but you know how I am with people.” He shrugs, picking at his nails. Amata walks over and ruffles his hair.

“Hey, it’ll be fun!” she says, trying to sound encouraging. She takes his hands in hers and pulls him off the bed. “But if you get overwhelmed just let me know, we can just come back here and listen to something on the radio – I don’t mind.”

Jamie smiles at her and pulls her close, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of her head. Man, he missed her.

---

It’s been about an hour and the party is going pretty well. The lights are all off aside from the string lights, which, as Amata predicted, create a pretty nice ambience. Everyone is chilling out and listening to music and talking amongst themselves. A few people are playing board games and enjoying snacks, some are dancing.

Jamie’s nerves have calmed a bit – Wally had the brilliant idea to bribe Stevie to leave them some beer, which Jamie is sipping on contentedly from his seat on the couch beside Freddie and Amata.

Everyone’s costumes turned out great too, Jamie thinks. Freddie came as a werewolf – he’d ripped the arms off his vault suit and used grease paint to draw brown hairs all over himself. He’d even given himself a little black dog nose and glued paper triangles to a headband that could pass as ears. It’s a little messy, but he put effort in.

Paul decided to be a vampire and he’s dressed almost as well as Amata, in a fancy white shirt, black slacks, and a tie – probably the same clothes he wore to prom. He has a long black and red cape wrapped around his shoulders. The fake teeth he’s wearing keep popping out of his mouth when he laughs, and Jamie grins at the sight of him fumbling to catch them across the room.

Butch is next to him, laughing his ass off, flask in hand. Apparently, he’s supposed to be a Greaser – he’s wearing his Tunnel Snake jacket and his hair is slicked into its usual pompadour. The only difference is he’s swapped out his vault suit for a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, which he says are classic. He meets Jamie’s gaze from across the room and smirks, sticking his tongue out at the other boy. Jamie looks away quickly, his face red.

Christine is across from Amata on the other couch, chatting with Susie. She���s dressed in a long white sleeping gown with matching slippers. On her back, she has small, handmade angel wings. Their puffy feathers occasionally fall off and stick to every surface, leaving a trail all over the apartment wherever she goes.

Susie turns the radio down a bit then stands and claps to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, ghouls and gals,” she giggles to herself, “I think it’s about time we started the real party!” Jamie quirks a brow at her and can’t help but notice Amata’s peeved expression.

Everyone who wasn’t already near the couches crowds around and Jamie jumps when he feels two hands clap down on his shoulders. Butch is leaning over the back of the couch, grinning down at him.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” he says with a smirk, leaning closer to his ear. “Cute costume. Who are ya, Calamity Jane?” He tips Jamie’s cowboy hat down into his face playfully.

It’s supposed to be a jab. They don’t typically act friendly in public; something still just feels off about that and they aren’t ready for their relationship to change that drastically. This feels different, however, and Jamie can’t help the smile that pulls at his lips. He hadn’t spoken to Butch all night, he wasn’t sure if the other boy would want him too, but somehow this felt like an invitation.

“Nice costume yourself,” he taunts. He can still feel the heat of the other boy’s body against the back of his neck even as Butch pulls away and stands up straight again. “You supposed to look like a knock-off James Dean?”

Susie clears her throat, shooting Jamie an impatient look. “Anyway, as I was saying,” she continues, the giddy smile returning to her face as she holds up an empty beer bottle. “We should play spin the bottle!”

Butch groans from behind him. “Come on, Susie, that’s such a kid’s game.”

Susie sticks her tongue out at him. “If you could let me finish! We’re going to play it with seven minutes in heaven rules, obviously. This isn’t middle school. We’re adults now.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “So, whoever it lands on gets to go into the hall closet. That more grown-up for you, Butch?”

Butch shrugs, “I guess.”

“I think it sounds fun!” Christine chimes in.” It’s harmless, anyway. Come on, let’s just play. Who knows if we’ll ever be allowed to have a party again?”

---

After moving some of the furniture and grabbing a few pillows for them to sit on they’re all crowded in a circle on the rug in the living room. Jamie is still next to Amata, then Freddie, Wally, Christine, Butch, Susie, and Paul. There’s eight of them, so the odds would be even, but Wally is related to both Christine and Susie – which he continues to complain is unfair.

“Oh shut it, Wally. If it lands on us, just spin again.” Susie snaps and sets the bottle in the middle of the circle. She leans back on her knees, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “So, actually, there’s two choices. You can either kiss whoever the bottle lands on in the circle publicly,” Christine interjects with a low ‘ooooooh’ and leans closer to Butch, who grins.

“Or!” Susie continues, “you can choose to go into the closet for seven minutes.”

Jamie’s gut twists uncomfortably. He really didn’t want to play this, anyway, let alone when he might be forced to watch Butch slobber on someone. But he’s here for Amata and for his dad, he guesses, who said it would be good for him to behave like a well-adjusted and social teenager for once.

They’re a few spins in and nothing incredible had happened. Wally spun on Susie twice before landing on Paul and the two went into the closet with their handheld games to pass the time. After, Christine landed on Freddie and chose a kiss – which was more of an awkward peck on the side of the mouth than anything else.

Butch rubs his hands together before leaning forward to spin the bottle, making eye contact with Jamie for a split second and shooting him a wink. Jamie’s heart leaps into his throat and he splutters mid drink, trying to hide his embarrassment behind a small cough.

The bottle spins around the circle once before slowing. For a split second, Jamie thinks it’s going to land on him, but it keeps going achingly slow past Paul and… lands on Susie. Christine claps, Amata wolf whistles, and Wally spits out a half-hearted threat about Butch touching his sister. Jamie sees Butch’s smile fade when he looks at Susie, but he catches himself quick and shoots her his most charming smirk.

“How’s about we hit the closet, babe?” he says, laying the greaser schtick on extra thick tonight. Susie blushes red as her bow and stands with him. They hold hands and both go down the hall and into the closet, the door closing softly behind them. Once they’re inside, Christine sets the egg timer they have to seven minutes and the murmur of conversation breaks out among the small group once again.

“How are you doing?” Amata nudges him gently. Jamie didn’t realize he’d just been staring at the bottle, his shoulders tense. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his limbs loose, leaning over to bump their shoulders together.

“I’m fine. This is fun, huh?” He says, trying to convince himself more than anything. He stares at the egg timer, trying not to imagine what could be happening in the closet. He looks back over at Amata and sees her smiling at him, a soft sadness behind her eyes – almost pity. Was he really that obvious?

“I’m gonna get another drink, want one?” he asks, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. Amata just lifts her bottle that isn’t even half empty, a sheepish smile on her face.

“No thanks.”

Jamie walks to the kitchen. He rubs his eyes, his face already feeling warm. He’d only had two, maybe three beers. He definitely isn’t even close to being as drunk as he was when he and Butch… he shakes the thoughts of that night out of his head, dropping his empty beer bottles into the garbage can with a bit more force than he’d intended.

Before grabbing another beer, Jamie pours himself a shot of vodka for good measure. Butch must have brought it from his mom’s stash. It burns like hell going down and Jamie almost gags – how could anyone drink this stuff?

“Yo, Jamie!” He hears Freddie call for him and he grabs his beer and heads back to the circle. Butch and Susie are back. Her lipstick is smudged and she’s fixing her ponytail while whispering excitedly to Christine. Butch doesn’t look much better – his hair slightly mussed up and a bit of cherry red still spread on the corner of his lip. Jamie thinks he might be sick.

The timer goes off just as he sits back down, and Paul walks out of the closet with Amata. He’s scrambling to put his vampire teeth back in his mouth, his cape crooked around his neck, and Amata’s face is flushed when she sits next to Jamie. He can’t help his snort and she slaps him on the shoulder.

“It’s your turn, spaz.” Wally says, kicking the bottle his way. He looks pissed, glaring at Butch. Jamie wonders if they’ll fight later because he played tonsil hockey with his sister. He almost hopes they do, just so Butch can get his ass kicked like he deserves.

Jamie reaches forward and gives the bottle a half-hearted spin, just wanting to get his turn over with as soon as possible. It twirls and lands immediately on Butch. He feels like he’s swallowed a rock.

Butch let’s out a theatric groan, “I ain’t kissin’ you, Nosebleed, so let’s just go to the closet and get this over with.” Jamie’s face is on fire and he slams his beer down on the floor.

“Get stuffed, Butch!” It’s my turn, not yours, so I choose what we do!” Butch quirks an eyebrow at him and barks out a laugh, joined by everyone in the circle – aside from Amata, who squeezes Jamie’s hand reassuringly.

“So, you’re sayin’ you wanna kiss the Butch-man?” Jamie thinks he’s going to die, then. Or kill Butch, and then die. Like a murder suicide. Him and his stupid fucking mouth; he didn’t even think about how that would sound.

“N-No!” Jamie practically yells, his voice a squeak. “Fuck you!” He stands, crossing his arms. “Let’s go, closet then. Get this over with before I kick your ass.” He storms to the closet. Butch gets to his feet and follows him with a smug confidence that Jamie wants to beat out of him.

Suddenly remembering who he’s dealing with Wally says, “Hey! No fighting in my closet. You get blood on my dad’s coats and I’ll pummel you both.” They both turn and simultaneously flip the other boy off before shouldering their way into the closet and slamming the door.

It’s more cramped inside than Jamie expected it to be. Darker, too. The darkness is perfectly fine with him – he doesn’t even want to look at Butch right now. Though, that doesn’t last long as his eyes adjust.

“Hey, Nosebleed,” Butch whispers, his voice and his smile infinitely softer than they were a moment ago. They’re close, really close and Jamie’s head is swimming. Their knees bump when they move and the heat of their bodies radiating through the small space is almost suffocating. He can just make out the details of Butch’s face – the handsome slope of his nose and the playful quirk of his lips. He tries to stay mad, but it’s hard. He wants to kiss him so bad.

“Fuck off,” Jamie breathes, but his aggression is lackluster. Butch’s breath is warm against his face and it smells sweet, like mint. Butch chuckles softly.

“Aw, you’re mad at me?” he coos, leaning in closer and practically pressing Jamie against the opposite wall. “You know I was just kidding, Jamie. C’mon, they don’t know what we do.”

Jamie gulps, wondering if Butch means them just hanging out together or if he’s referencing something more. “As if I’d take Susie’s sloppy seconds ,” he hisses, determined to hold his grudge. Ok, so maybe their first kiss did mean something. He’s pretty sure they’re both drunk again, but they definitely aren’t wasted like before – there’s absolutely no way for Butch to pass whatever happens off as a mistake later. IF something happens.

Butch pulls back a little and looks almost hurt. “Hey, it’s just a dumb game,” he says, tilting his head to try and catch Jamie’s gaze, who refuses to look at him. “I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, okay? You know how much of a crybaby she can be.”

“Well, I’m not a crybaby, so you can keep it in your pants,” Jamie snaps and crosses his arms, shooting Butch as convincing of a glare as he can manage. The other boy just rubs the back of his neck, his posture suddenly a bit more closed off.

“Dammit, Jamie, ya know that’s not what I mean!” Jamie’s heart is thundering in his ears and his chest is so, so tight. He swallows thickly. He does know what Butch means but fuck it if he isn’t going to make the other boy work for it.

“Maybe I don’t,” he states matter-of-factly. Butch clicks his tongue in annoyance and shoves his hands in his pockets. Jamie can feel the distance between them growing further and he panics, desperate to cling to whatever moment they’re having here.

“What do you want?” he asks finally, his voice barely a whisper as he offers Butch this olive branch. The intensity he finds in Butch’s gaze when their eyes meet almost knocks him over.

“You.” It’s a single word, spoken so softly that Jamie almost can’t hear it, but it steals his breath away, nonetheless. He doesn’t even stop to think when he reaches forward and grabs the lapels of Butch’s jacket. He pulls him close, his eyes closing as their lips crash together in a clumsy kiss. It’s just as good as the last, the other boy’s lips warm and inviting as he returns the gesture with enthusiasm.

Butch grabs the back of Jamie’s head, knocking his silly cowboy hat to the floor, and curls his fingers into his hair. Jamie grins into his mouth when Butch nips his lower lip and he grabs the collar of his shirt, playfully shoving the taller boy against the opposite wall.

“Ow!” Butch hisses when he hits his head off the shelf above them, pulling back for a second to make sure it wasn’t too loud. Jamie’s face goes white.

“Oh god, sorry!” he whispers, letting go and pulling back in embarrassment. Butch just laughs.

“S’fine,” he mumbles, unable to stop smiling. He reaches out and pulls Jamie close again, silencing the other boy’s concerns with his lips.

They continue like that for a while, breathless and excited, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths and their arms holding them close like their lives depend on it. It really does feel like heaven, Jamie thinks, an excited laugh escaping his chest.

They could have stayed there forever, lost in their own little world, but they’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the other side of the door. “Time’s up! You can leave hell now.” Wally is laughing out in the hallway.

Butch and Jamie jump apart, their chests heaving and their lips pink. Butch just grins at him, blue eyes shining with mischief. “Should we pretend we were fighting?”

Jamie laughs. “Sure, but that means you’ll have to admit that I won,” he teases, picking up his hat and turning to leave. Butch grabs his wrist and tugs Jamie back to him. There’s a very serious expression on his face all of a sudden and he's biting his lip like he's thinking before he reaches out to tilt Jamie’s chin up. He leans down and presses one more open-mouthed kiss to his lips and it feels almost desperate. Jamie’s breath is stolen away again, at least whatever was left of it, and when they part, he just stares, dumbfounded, at Butch’s adoring smile.

“Whatever you want, Nosebleed.”

[not-from-the-absence-of-violence]

Guiltless

Summary: Virgil, Roman and Logan need some time to themselves tonight, Patton has other plans.

Pairings: Backround Loceit

Warnings: angst, unsympathetic Patton, mentions of Deceit, very brief mention of Remus, mentions of sensory overload, mentions of RSD and let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: Hey everyone! This is the first fanfic I ever posted, I hope you all like it. reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated :). Thank you  @snixxxsmythe for beta reading <3

you can also find it on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870198

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

Virgil slowly makes it to Patton's room, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

He tries to tell himself that it's normal that he's afraid of “confronting” Patton like this.

Because he's Anxiety, after all, and he cares about Patton, and disappointing or making him mad will make him feel bad, for obvious reasons.

 You wouldn't feel this way if it was Logan or Roman, his mind helpfully tells him.

What way? he asks himself.

 “Hey kiddo! You need anything?”

 Patton's voice is sickly sweet, it fills the air just like a fresh batch of cookies.

Guilty. Oh so guilty.

Patton is smiling at him, carefree. Cleary he hasn't been noticing Thomas’ feelings, his feelings.

Or maybe he has, and he just doesn't care.

Virgil shoves the thought down.

 “Well, I do actually, need something, that is, sorta.”

 A flush creeps onto his cheeks. Pattons laugh rings like bells.

 “Ask away.”

 He takes a breath, this should be easier, he's been practicing this for God's sake!

 “You need to let Thomas take a break!” he blurts out.

 Patton looks, well mildly surprised, but mostly he looks amused. Amused.

 “Seems like something you should ask Logan.”

 His tone is light. Virgil he can't help but feel it's the way one would talk to a small child, go talk to your other parent about it.

 But of course if he explains it Patton will understand.

 “Usually, yes. But this is the fourth time this week Thomas has agreed to help one of his friends. Tomorrow we have a get together and we are helping put some furniture together. It's draining him.” he adds a whisper, almost an afterthought. “Its draining me.”

 “You don’t think Thomas’ friends are important?”

 Virgil wants to be surprised, shocked Patton would say something like this.

It feels almost worse than he expected.

It doesn't mean he doesn't feel guilty, perhaps it's the sweetness in Patton's voice, his guiltless smile.

 “Of course, but Thomas is important too.”

 “You sound almost like Deceit.”

 He says it in a joking way, something to brush off.

There is no way Patton doesn't know how on many levels that hits him.

“But maybe you're right, I'll try better in the future, I’m sorry.”

 His tone isn't serious enough, although perhaps that is just Virgil's own imagination.

He'll take what he can anyway.

 “Oh,” he remembered “I also won't be at dinner tonight. I just need some time to myself.”

 It's an understatement, between Thomas not getting any alone time, the pressure to get the next video out and him not getting any rest Virgil was jittery, tired and very overstimulated.

Pattons smile shifts to a hurt expression, it's not even anger, just hurt.

 “OK.”

The word lingers, and there is almost hope rising in Virgil.

 “Although-”

It shatters like glass.

 ”I would say dining with your family would make you feel better.”

 He wishes it sounded passive-aggressive, it doesn't. It sounds just as sweet as anything else Patton says, sweet and perfect.

 Something in him wants to argue, it really does. He knows Patton is wrong.

But he's too tired to argue. 

 “Sure, I’ll help set the table.”

 Patton beams at him.

 “Thanks Virgil, I know you do care about your friends. ”

 It stings, but it's impossible to get moral high ground when debating Morality.

So he doesn't try.

 -----------------

When Roman is working, he feels like he's flying. Sometimes he even is literally flying! How great it is to work in the imagination.

When I am done this will be one of the best things I have made, surely! he thinks, enjoying the feeling of new exciting projects rushing through his veins

 Yes, he just needs to add some-

 He is abruptly cut off by loud knocking on the door.

It yanks him out of his concentration, and then he's literally falling out of the imagination roughly onto his bedroom floor.

 For a second he's too perplexed to think.

 Then he's confused, he has asked the rest not to disturb him while working for exactly this reason. In fact, he had told them today at lunch.

 Perhaps he has been working an unhealthy amount of time and someone is legitimately worried.

He checks the time. No, he has been working a few hours, nothing too bad.

So he goes to the door, mostly annoyed, kind of pissed.

 He is then met with Patton's lovely face.

He doesn’t stop being pissed, but he does promptly swallow whatever he was going to say.

 “Ah, Patton, what brings you to my castle on this fine evening?” he says instead.

 Patton giggles.

 “Just wanted to say dinner is almost ready!”

 Hadn't he said at lunch that he would be working? Perhaps Patton had forgotten.

 “Ah, well, you see, I just started working on my new project! I'm afraid if I stop, I'll just lose my flow, you know?”

 Patton’s disappointment is very tangible, perhaps it is because they're in Romans room, perhaps it's that Patton is emotions, to some extent.

 Whatever it is, it fills the air, and Roman isn't not sure he can breathe anymore.

 “Oh.”

 “Are you mad?”

 Roman does not mean for it to sound desperate.

 “I mean, i'm just disappointed-”

 Whatever else Patton says is left unheard, for Roman feels as he has been stabbed.

Or it could be worse, the sharp pain in his chest. It spreads, hot and thick, burning through his body.

He feels himself blush in deep, deep shame.

 He feels dizzy, he might faint, shut down.

 God it hurts, he feels tears threatening to fall.

 He shouldn't have disappointed anyone.

 He hates this feeling and he hates himself.

 What had Logan called it, the one time he had dared to ever explain it? Rejection sensitive something.

 It didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that he wanted to go back into his room, hide, maybe for a bit, maybe forever.

 “Ok, understand, I'll come down in a minute,” he says, because what else can he say?

 Patton smiles at him, brilliant, sweet, guiltless.

 “Great!”

 It's only later that Roman will wonder. Because Patton knows, he knows how those words sting Roman.

 Surely he must have forgotten.

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

It's no secret that Logan is an introvert, it's also no secret that Logan gets frustrated more easily than one might think.

 The last week has not been particularly fun for him.

 Patton had unrelentingly decided to skip on important planning for future videos and time for Thomas to rest and recharge. They had all let him.

Logan isn't sure what to do about it. Not knowing things was not helping.

 Logan didn't like the state Thomas was in.

It made him slow, drowsy and, although he did not usually admit it, snappish.

 But it was fine, tonight Logan was going to start his own personal planning for the new video.

Then he was going to go to sleep early.

 Or maybe not, maybe he would go to Deceit's room and rant for a while, that was always surprisingly cathartic. Then sleep, not so early.

 Then Patton knocked on his door. He knew it was Patton, recognizing the knocking patterns that he'd memorised by now.

 Well, there goes his planning.

 “Yes, come in Patton.”

 Patton looks all the same as always, a nice easy smile on his face, the smile of someone who knows they're going to get exactly what they want.

 “Just making sure you know dinner is almost ready!”

 Logan knew this, he also expected a reminder.

 “Well, as I have communicated before, tonight I would prefer to eat alone.”

 He looks at Patton, and kind of wished he hadn't.

 Patton is angry, although to anyone else he may seem frustrated at most.

But it's Patton, even the tiniest bit of anger on his face can be terrifying, real, unusual.

 Patton, after all, was at the core of many of Thomas’ emotions.

When he had said it that time, it was meant as a careful reminder.

 In Logan's mind the memory sounded vaguely like a threat.

 Patton was a little too cheery sometimes, happiness crackling through him like waves. At times, sadness hit him harder than the rest, harder than any fake smile could cure.

 But no one had ever seen Patton truly angry.

 It was one of the only things that made Logan fearful.

He did not want to be the one to set it off.

 So Patton just looks at him briefly, for a few seconds.

He doesn’t even need to say anything.

 “On second thought, I am sure a familial meal would be pleasant.”

 Patton’s anger is gone as soon as it appeared, leaving Logan to wonder if it was ever there.

 “I'm glad, everyone is going to be there!” He smiles, satisfaction plain as day.

 Logan hopes somewhere this will not be as horrific as he thought.

 “Will Deceit be joining us too, then?”

 Patton smiles thins.

 “No.”

 Logic reasons, that obviously he has asked Deceit- they all agreed to make an effort to understand him better, after all- but Deceit has successfully avoided coming.

 Perhaps it’s just hopeful thinking.

 “Well, maybe he will agree when you ask him next time.”

 “Oh, I didn't ask him.”

 It's said in a nice, cheery voice. No explanation, malice or thought.

 Logan and Patton walk downstairs.

 In all honesty, Logan hopes Remus comes in to wreak some havoc, at least he would have an excuse to leave.

------------------------------- 

Dinner is simply the best, for Patton.

 He chats excitedly about one thing after another, how fun it is that Thomas is going out tonight, how amazing it is that they can go see Joan tomorrow.

 He doesn’t notice how every noise, every movement hits Virgil like knives. He doesn't notice how he flinches, how he is desperately tapping a breathing pattern into the table. It’s way too much, yet Patton doesn't see.

 He doesn’t notice Logan frustratingly fidgeting with his tie. His eyes closing a little longer than usual, it's either exhaustion or understimulation. Either way, Patton doesn’t see.

 Maybe he just didn’t look, because he does notice Roman spacing out, bouncing his leg.

 “Did you hear me there Roman,” it sounds soft, “I asked you something.”

 Romans face is pale, shame clear on his face.

 Virgil is afraid that if he says anything he'll break, Logan isn't sure what he can do.

 So they quickly eat in the silence of Patton’s empty chatter.

 “Well that was fun, maybe we should do more things together!”

 No one points out that they eat together almost every day.

-------

That night Virgil storms into his room, breaking down immediately, his tears stinging his cheeks, making the oversensitivity so much worse.

 He basically throws his clothes off, the fabric rough and agonizing against his skin.

His weighted blanket offers little comfort.

 Eventually out of sheer exhaustion he collapses on his tear stained pillow, restless.

 Tomorrow he'll stay in his room, the door locked, mostly sleeping.

Hopefully he'll feel better by noon.

  That night Logan quietly makes it to Deceit's room, falling into the other side's arms.

 He rants for a while, and Deceit listens while he ruffles Logan's hair and holds him.

Deceit knows, and Deceit understands.

 They fall asleep tangled up with each other, Logan can't bring himself to care about whether the others will find them, they're well hidden after all.

  That night Roman tries to get back to work, but the concentration doesn't come.

He wants to scream, but he's afraid Patton may somehow hear him.

 Instead he throws his pen to the wall and goes to kill a dragon.

 He doesn't sleep.

He will not come back from his quest the next morning.

  That night Patton does the dishes, then he goes to bed.

He sleeps on time and easily.

When he wakes up he wonders why no one shows up for breakfast.

He'll go ask them. 

[the209social]

2020

5:59pm 11.03.2020

Anson Seabra “Thats Us” on repeat

I have gone through my share of trials and tribulations over the years, yet if you would have told me that in 2020 i was going to lose close friendships, get my heart stepped on, have a breakdown and go through a scary health situation, i would have told you that you were crazy. There are no words that could have prepared me for the events that have happened to me in the last couple of months. To be honest they even shock me as i sit here thinking of them. Im in a state of disbelief, i sit here numb to the feelings that flow through me and all the events that have occurred.

Back in May my closest friend of over 15 years decided to stop talking to me. Basically i got ghosted by the one friend that i loved and cherished the most. Sophia was the one person that had been there through all the times i cried, laughed and felt depressed. I felt like i had lost a small portion of myself. Such a cowardly way to end a friendship if you ask me. No explanation as to why i wasn’t worth a conversation as to why she no longer wanted to be friends with me anymore. I felt like a rug had been pulled from under me and i was falling but just couldn’t seem to hit the ground. As time moved forward and i heard nothing from this so called friend i came to the realization that our friendship was really over. I can’t say that i took the time to cry because somewhere deep down in me i had hope that we could pick up where we left off. When people would ask me about her i simply smiled with pain deep in my soul and just told people that we didn’t talk anymore. One thing that i never did was talk ill about her. I don’t hold any grudges over her. I have nothing but good things to say about her because she held my hand through some of my darkest moments in life. For that i will always be thankful. I just wish she could have been upfront with me and given me a reason as to why she felt that our friendship was no longer worth continuing. Maybe i did do something to trigger these horrific events, but i will never know because words were never spoken to mend the situation. So i can’t sit here and pretend that im sorry because i don’t know the reasons why it all ended. With time i learned to stop wanting answers and as the months continued without a sign of slowing down i became contempt with the idea of not getting answers and i lost interest in fixing this broken friendship. Sophia has become nothing more than a memory of a beautiful time that has come and past. She will always hold a special place in my heart, but that’s it. I no longer desire to rekindle a friendship who held no value for me.

Around the same time that i was being ghosted by my friend i was beginning to fall in love for Luis, a guy that i saw potential in as a human being.  For the first time in a long time i was feeling something again. If you follow my tumblr you’ll know that the last time i felt anything for a guy was for Romeo. It felt good to be liberated in a way from those feeling i had for him. It was a new beginning for me that i didn’t know how to go about it. I was tired of hiding my feeling but i was scared to tell Luis because he and i had formed a strong friendship. In the beginning of the year I literally bent over backwards for him and helped him through probably one of the toughest situations he had ever been through in his life. I thought he would take my actions and everything i did for him into consideration if i told him how i felt for him. I was tired of living in fear of expressing my feelings so i wrote him a long email telling him how i felt and how special he was to me. To be honest i had a tinny bit of hope that he would take a chance on me. I truly thought that he would see the potential in me and how willing i was to go the extra mile for him because i saw greatness in him even on his worse days. I thought that he would see that i was put in his path for a reason. Deep in my soul i wondered if Luis would see that i was one of the few people that encouraged him to become a better version of himself. Sadly it would not be meant to be. He never said he didn't love me in return, he simply said he wanted to stay friends. I thought we could have been something great together. I tried not to make things awkward between us because i was grown up enough to understand that i could still love Luis, even if it meant only being his friend. So there i was suppressing feeling for someone again. Oh yeah, and Sophia at one point had warned me that as soon as Luis was comfortable and not worried about the situation he was going through, he would set me aside because he knew how much i loved him and i would always be there regardless. Little did i know that those words would stick with me like an afterthought in the back of my head. So as time went by Luis, the man i had such a strong friendship with, and that knew i had feelings for him, started to text and call me less and less. There were nights where i wished he would call to just hang out and watch a movie and bake cookies like we use to do. I would watch his social media stories and i would see him hanging out with people that didn’t give two fucks about him. It actually made me feel worthless because i cared for his future and his well being but there is only so much you can do. As my feelings grew more and more for him i began to notice that i was the one that was always reaching out to him to hang out, to talk or simply text. I saw how he lost interest in my company so i made a decision that i knew would hurt me at first but that with time i would heal. I decided that i would no longer view his stories on social media, the less i knew about Luis the better. Also i decided that i would no longer reach out to him. I was not going to make the same mistakes i did with Romeo by giving him feelings and time he didn’t want or deserved. I came to the conclusion that Luis could care less and that i needed to be on the same page and be okay with it. So i stopped calling and texting him. It was my turn for him to miss me. Weeks would go by, even a full month before i would get a text from him just to say “hi, how are are you doing?” That was pretty much the most we really talked. It always felt like he was texting me out of boredom. I can’t lie. I truly yearned to hear from Luis at first, but as time went by i began to occupy my mind in other areas of my life that needed my attention. Areas that i had put on the back burner to please others or simply because i was busy giving so much love away that i forgot to also love myself. So i started to miss him less and less. But every so often i would come across his name in my phone or a picture and all those feelings i was working so hard to avoid would try rushing back. I learned to cry it out at night and let it go. So in the end my friendship with Luis has also dwindled into little moments full of amazing memories. Do i still love him? I would be lying if i said i don’t have feelings for him anymore. I care for him a lot and there are still nights that i stay up not being able to sleep because he’s on the back of my mind, but is it love? I think it was love at one point, but he showed me his true colors and how unimportant i am in his life. All i have for him now is good wishes. I hope he finds that happiness i know he is desperately looking for and that he learns from his mistakes to become that amazing man i know he will be one day. I hope he finds someone that is willing to love him as much as i did and is willing to ride through the sunny days as well as through his storms like i was. He actually told me recently that he met someone. I have to admit that it felt like being stabbed, not in my heart but in my soul. It hurt me to my very core and i felt a bit of jealous that this complete stranger that hadn’t put in any work or feelings into him, could simply come along and make him feel like she’s worth it and i wasn’t. But i realized that i cant force him to love me no matter what i do for him, the effort i put in or the feelings i show him. At the end of the day i want those that i love to also find a love of their own even if its not with me. As he was telling me about this girl he met i sat there looking into his eyes hoping he would not see the brokeness in mine. I smiled through my pain and his words that had shattered me inside and i wished him luck on his new relationship. That’s real love. For now, i’m okay with calling him a friend even though i wish it could have been more, but i rather have a little bit of him than none at all.

As my feelings for Luis were dwindling i began to fall into an area of sadness that i had never experienced before. In that sadness i found solace in my memories of Romeo. At first he would pop up when i felt the most sad. I would remember times where we had laughed or just shared something special. Maybe a party we both went too or a car ride where we sang at the top of our lungs to music we both liked. It was little things that came to mind. My mind would take me back to the long conversations that we shared about life in my room and in our cars, where we talked all night about hopes and dreams until the sun came up. I did not miss Romeo in a romantic way because i was still dealing with my feeling for Luis, but the more Luis ignored me the more space Romeo began to take in my mind. The more time went by i began to stop thinking of Luis at night and i began to think of Romeo. I must be clear that i missed Romeo as a person and as a friend. It got to the point where i thought about Romeo so much that i went onto his social media. There i saw a video of him singing a song that i would always request from him to sing when he would play his guitar at parties. I sat there hearing him sing this song with so much emotion that it brought tears to my eyes. I had forgotten what his voice sounded like. I had forgotten how easily i got lost in his eyes. I couldn’t help but think “why didn’t it work out between us? Why doesn't it ever work out with the person i give all my love too?” Without thinking i double-taped his video. I could have taken it back, but i wanted him to know that i saw it and that i liked it. I wanted him to know that i did not harbor any hate towards him. Yes he did break me in ways that no man had ever done before, but time had made me grow and i had learned to forgive and let go. The more time that went by the more i called Romeo with my thoughts. I honestly believe that when you manifest what you desire to the universe it grants it to you, but it’s up to us to make something of the opportunity or it will simply slip away. With that being said during this time i had my routine of going to the park and jogging and walking with a great friend of mine. One summer day as i was walking around the park from a distance i saw a man by himself bouncing a soccer ball around and i immediately knew that was Romeo. I could spot him in a crowd of a million people. I can still remember his mannerisms and the way he moved and walked. I saw him several other times after that for about two weeks but i never took the initiative to walk up to him and attempt to talk things out. The want was there, i was just afraid of the outcome. I feel like he probably wanted me to take the initiative and speak to him first, why else would he come to the park again and again knowing that’s where i worked-out. Sadly when i finally worked up the courage to talk to him he stopped coming to the park and i never saw him come back. Things have to be done in the moment. I feel like the universe was giving me a big sign to mend things between us but i threw away the opportunity. Then i started jogging at the levee so i will never know if he ever went back. Still i couldn’t stop thinking that we could mend things and start fresh, begin a new friendship. One day that i felt extra sad i sat on my bed and began to compose a letter for him. I wrote from the deepest parts of my broken soul and i literally cried the whole time i wrote. I didn’t know if he had the same number so i decided to send it through DM on IG. He never opened or read it. I guess i thought that his friendship would bring me comfort, simply because it had once before and i was in need of someone that could calm my soul and bring me peace. I knew that he was one of the only persons that could make me feel at peace. I mean i couldn’t run to my friend Luis that i had feeling for because he was too busy living his life and not including me. I mean not even a call or text to hang out. The weeks went by and my hopes began to die that Romeo would actually open my letter and at least write “fuck you” in return. I had this stupid hope that we could be friends and start all over. Who knows what it would have led to but at least we would have had a fresh start, leaving the past behind us. I guess i’m a dreamer and i wish a little too hard. If it didn’t happen it’s for a reason and with all the things that had happened to me up to that point i learned to simply let go. After weeks of waiting for him to read my DM i finally grew tired and i simply went into the DM and took my message back and deleted it. Once again i had to move on from something new. I promised myself that i would never reach out to him every again and i would never go onto his social media, and i’ve kept my promise since that day.

As life attempted to teach me self value i had another friendship that i didn’t know was hanging from a thread. My friend Mimi’s birthday was coming up and the whole month i kept asking her what her plans were. She was one of my closest friends. I loved and still love Mimi with my whole entire soul, but there are actions in life that speak louder than words. My friend had initially told me that she wanted to go to Tahoe for her birthday. I asked her to tell me with time so that i could save up for the trip. I was excited to be able to spend her big day with her. She was important to me and she knows this. As the month came to a close she told me she had no plans and that at the most she would have something small at her house. When her birthday weekend came i reached for my phone to ask her what were the plans since she hadn’t told me anything. As i opened my phone, for some strange reason it took me straight to Facebook and a video popped up. It was my friends turning up for her birthday and at first i didn’t think anything of it. I initially thought that she was celebrating at another’s friends house. In my head i thought, “hey i’ll just hit her up and i’ll get an invite.” As the video continued i notice that it was not our friends house that she was at. I also noticed that Sophia was there. I checked to see if the location had been tagged on the video and it had. They were all in Tahoe celebrating. I had been left out. That was the straw that broke the camels back for me. I was tired of being hurt by the people i loved the most. I turned off my phone and i felt this deep hurt in chest and knot in my throat. I was tired of holding so much in and i simply let it out and cried. I tried to reason as to why i was left out. I attempted to come up with scenarios as to why my very close friend would exclude me from celebrating her big day with her knowing that i was constantly telling her what the plan was for her birthday. So i came to the conclusion that she must of not known about it. Obviously her big day was planned by someone who didn’t want me there and i accepted that. What i could not understand was how did Mimi not find in her heart to text me and say, “hey i know you wanted to celebrate my bday with me but i didn't know about this surprise and i’m sorry you didn't get an invite.” Would i still have been hurt, yes. Would i have understood, yes. Yet that didn’t happen and i stayed hurt. When the day of her actual birthday came i could not bring myself to wish Mimi a happy birthday. Not because i was being petty or to prove a point but because i still felt so hurt and i knew that my birthday wishes would not have been sincere. I honestly thought she would reach out  and we would talk it out. I really never thought she would stop talking to me. Sitting here and writing about this memory i cant help but cry. This one hurt a little different. After all the other things that i have gone through i started to just learn to let go. So i took the time to grieve and cry it out and i simply just let go. I don’t doubt she has people in her ear telling her that reaching out to me is not worth it. To be honest if it was that easy to throw me to the side and not care about me, i rather she never reach out. This just makes me think twice about who really is my friend. Im tired of always being the one to beg for friends and i’m tired of being the one to fix relationships. Im sorry if you feel like i’m not putting any effort into the situation, but i want to feel loved too. i want to see if i’m worth fighting for just as much as i would of been willing to fight for any of the people i have written about today. Am i worth it?

So much was happening in my life and i had so many feelings that i just didn’t know how to deal with them that i began to pick up old habits. I began to go out a lot and get plastered drunk to cope with the feelings of losing close friends. I would get drunk and flirt with guys i would meet at the club, then leave with them and hook up with these idiots i found cute at the moment. The alcohol was a way to numb the sadness i felt for losing friends and leaving with other guys was just a way to numb my feelings i felt for Luis. The drinking made me forget, even if it was for a moment. To top it off the day came when i had to get a surgery that i had been planning with my doctor for over a year. I told very few people about it. I usually put everything up on social media but this time i decided i would keep this to myself. There were risks going in and i knew that it was a delicate surgery. The week before my surgery i asked Luis to hang out and he responded by saying “Yeah ill definitely visit you before the 15th ill text you or call when i’m free lately everyone’s been needed my help.” It’s funny that every time his social media came up he was out on the boat or bike riding or hanging out with other friends. He was so “busy.” He’s the only person that i reached out to and asked to see before my surgery. Luis never made the time to come see me. That made me feel so worthless. Sophia’s words began to haunt me, “as soon as the situation that he was going through passes or gets better he’s going to set you aside.” Sophia was right, but when you like someone you put up with a lot of shit, but there is always a breaking point. The day of the surgery came. Even Mimi text me to say good luck. I responded with a thank you and i told her i loved her, she never wrote back. To be honest somewhere deep down i kinda hoped to close my eyes and never open them again. I just wanted to stop feeling everything at once. I went into the operating room asking the universe to just send me onto my next life. I laid there on the operating room table staring at the large lights that they use to operate. The doctor asked if i was ready, i just gave a sad smile, took a deep breath and closed my eyes hoping not to open them again. My surgery was suppose to take 2-3 hours. I ended up having to have two surgeries, had breathing problems while under anesthesia and i was in surgery for 10 hours. I woke up and opened my eyes, i felt no pain just some major soreness. Things felt different within me. I was wheeled to my room and my stuff was brought to me. My phone was full of messages and missed calls from actual friends that remembered i had surgery that day and they were worried as to why i wasn’t returning their text and calls. That night i decided that i would never again in my life let anyone control so much of my emotions. I promised myself to only love as much as i was loved and to only input into a relationship and friendship as much as the other person put in. I promised to make changes in myself and to slowly begin to let go of all the “friendships” that i felt did not add to my growth. It was time to match the energy others gave to me.

My recovery was faster than i expected. I had lots of soreness but no pain. The first week i needed a walker to get around. the second week i got stronger and i had my catheter taken out. On Thursday it will be three weeks since my surgery and i’m able to get out of bed myself and walk around with more ease. I can see myself healing so fast. Maybe its my new outlook on life and i cant wait to get out into the world and work on the new me. I want to build the few friendships that i have left and make them strong. I want to meet new people that want to live life and not spend it at house parties, bars and clubs. Don’t get me wrong those activities are fun but they should not be weekly thing. As for love, I don’t ever want to experience it again. I want to finish school, travel more even if it’s on my own and start having children and give them all my love.

Throughout these last months i know that i have gone through a lot, but there were also people in my life that made it bearable. I want to take the time to thank those few friends that kept checking in on me and invited me to be part of their special moments or simply call me to hang out and just talk. You all made life a bit more easy and for that i will always be thankful. It also made me realize what true friendship looks like. I love you all.

11:30pm

[imagine-darksiders]

I really liked that “savage quotes that are memes”! Could you please please please do the same for Vulgrim, Abaddon and maybe even Usiel if you have the time? Thank you!

Vulgrim: You would never go so far as to say you and Vulgrim had become close. There was still a very real possibility that he’d turn around and pull your soul out through your teeth if he thought it would bring him a profit. 

That being said however, you had discovered over the course of your stay in Haven that the demon merchant had just the right amount of charisma to make you lower your guard. Which was quite possibly why he was still such a successful business ‘man.’ Vulgrim spoke to you and your fellow humans, and once you all learned that he wasn’t about to try anything - not with three, titanic guard dogs subtly watching his every move - you started speaking back. 

It took a while, but eventually, you came to realise that you liked Vulgrim and by his own begrudging admission, he didn’t entirely dislike you humans either. You were the only species he’d encountered who didn’t talk to him as though he were leagues beneath you, and way down deep inside, there was a grizzled old part of the demon that appreciated the effort. 

You weren’t friends though. Demons don’t have friends, as everyone - himself included - liked to remind you. 

So at the end of it all, when the Destroyer and his army suddenly appeared outside Haven and declared their intention to eradicate the last of your species, the sadness you felt at having to leave him behind couldn’t have been because it felt like you were losing another friend. No, surely you were only sad to lose the late night conversations about all the different worlds he’d visited, the jokes - that you aren’t entirely sure were jokes - where he told you how valuable your soul would be and you should really consider giving it to him for safe keeping. 

It was during one of your odd, little chats with Vulgrim that you first spotted the Destroyer on the horizon and not long after, you heard Ulthane barking gruffly for everyone to get inside the tree and into ‘the bridge’. Somehow, you knew this moment was a catalyst. You knew you’d be leaving Haven, never to return. And it seemed Vulgrim knew it as well. 

“I…can’t believe I’m about to say this, to a human, of all things,” He gives a soft, incredulous laugh and shakes his head, causing the golden sigils dangling from his cowl to clink and sway with the motion. “But you may be the first customer I’ve ever had who’s company I shall miss more than their business.”

It’s perhaps the kindest thing he’s ever said. Which is why you’re doubly floored when, not a moment later, he sinks lower to the ground and casts a quick look out towards the encroaching horde before turning his narrow, green gaze back to you and murmurs, “I suppose this is goodbye then, huma-…Y/n, and the last we shall ever see of one another.”

In all the time you’ve known him, Vulgrim has never once given expression to anything anything other than a mischievous grin or a dramatic pout. Now though, his scaly brow hangs low over his eyes, vestigial wings drooped behind him in much the same way and suddenly, something compels you to step closer to the demon, offer him a wide, albeit bleak smile and say, “Listen, Vulgrim. Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. However, that parting need not last forever. Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time, well..” You offer him a soft smile. “That’s really up to you.” And then, as an afterthought, you reach out to touch your fingers against the demon’s forearm. 

The way Vulgrim’s eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets and stare warily at your hand lets you know that he probably hasn’t received a well-meaning touch in his entire life. 

With a last, parting smile, fully aware that you’ve officially run out of time, you retract your hand and throw your demonic compadre a hasty wave before turning and dashing into the tree whilst Vulgrim stares after you, a bewildered frown tugging at his lips. 

He doesn’t immediately retreat into his serpent holes, too caught up in trying to remember when - if ever - humans had been so dramatic. 

—

Usiel: The hard-nosed, no nonsense angelic commander, Usiel, hadn’t quite known what to think when you fell out of that air duct and landed slap bang on top of his desk, scuppering books, scrolls and inkwells alike, and sending his soldiers into a mild panic, certain they were under attack. 

An entire battalion of seasoned warriors surrounded the war table with their swords drawn and pointed at a groaning, human-shaped lump laying in the mess. Shortly afterwards, a shouting match had ensued between you and several of the angels, the latter of whom seemed adamant that they toss you into the river. You, of course, were quite outspoken in your objection to this idea. 

After a lot of back and forth, Usiel had brought his fist down hard on the wooden table you still sat on, bringing the arguments to an abrupt end and nearly jolting you out of your seat. He’d then proceeded to pick you up and deposit you outside the warehouse with nothing but a gentle nudge in the direction of Haven and a grumbled, “Run along now, little one.”

You’d been making periodic trips back to the outpost ever since. 

Eventually, Usiel grew tired of scolding and shooing you off his desk, so he resigned himself to his newfound role of being an unwilling recipient to all your curious questions. 

That, oddly enough, was how you ended up becoming closer to the angelic commander - close enough, at least, that he no longer objected to your presence when he found himself standing alone on the roof, elbows leant heavily on the safety railing and gazing steadily out over the city. 

One such night, after you’d snuck out of the safety of the maker tree and made your way up to North End and the shipping yard that sat on the river’s edge, you found yourself reclining in your usual spot next to your usual company, who you discovered was in grim sorts. Turns out, he was having something of an existential crisis. It almost made you glad to know that angels could be just as prone to those as humans.  

“We have failed in our duty,” he snapped after you told him you were sure he and his men did everything they could to fight the demonic hordes. “We failed to drive the demon menace back, we failed to hold our ground and now, we are here!” He throws a heavy arm out to the side, only missing knocking you out by a few inches. “Squatting in this…this metal husk of an outpost! I cannot even provide my men with proper shelter. I have failed as a Commander, and as a soldier of Heaven!-” Suddenly, the gigantic angel pauses, his eyes shifting across to peer at you, apparently surprised that he’d just unloaded months’ worth of anguish on a human. He waits for you to ask why he’s telling you any of this, but you only tilt your head to one side and make a curious noise in your throat, wordlessly giving him permission to go on. 

All at once, the wind goes out of his sails and he visibly deflates, the feathers on his wings flattening back to a more dignified volume. “And then,” he adds, “I almost threw away what little integrity I had left by aligning myself with…Lust.” He spits the sin’s name out as though it had gotten lodged between his teeth. 

“Oh yeah, I heard about that,” you wince, leaning over to give his armoured shoulder a pat. 

“Mmm. I can only thank Heaven that the horseman knocked some sense back into me.” 

“Ha, quite literally from what I hear.” 

“I thought I could save us,” he laments, unaffected by your attempt to lighten the dreary mood heaped upon you both, “I had hoped, at the very least, my Seventh Legion would be restored, and we could return to Heaven with our heads held -” Once again, Usiel cuts himself off with a sigh that matches his impressive age. “- Ah, but it does us no good to dwell on what we wish could have been. Fact remains, we shan’t be returning to the White City, and I cannot help but wonder,” he continues softly, “what will happen to us.” 

There’s a shadow hovering over his brilliant, white eyes that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. You watch him lift his head to gaze imploringly at the moon, as if he really hoped to find an answer in its luminous glow. He wouldn’t be the first to try. 

After a moment, he drops his head again, this time staring at his own hands. “What will happen to me?” The night turns quiet after his last, muttered statement.

Just then, he’s startled by a small hand stretching over to pat him companionably on the back of his gauntlet and as he looks down at you once more, he sees a solemn smile pushing at your cheeks that makes you appear far older than usual. “You will stay who you are,” you urge him, giving his arm a gentle but insistent shove, “Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” 

It is a sentence the massive, battle-scarred angel has never heard. His hands slide briefly off the railing, shocked that a human had just flipped the script on him. All his life, he’d heard it the other way around. 

It should have stung that you don’t consider him a perfect soldier, but it doesn’t. Because - and this hit him like a kick in the teeth - being called a good man somehow felt a whole lot better. He just didn’t know it, because he’d never heard it. 

—

Abaddon, holding a sword to your chest: Tell me the location of War, you mortal piece of shit!

You, deadpan: Can you feel your heart burning? Can you feel the struggle within? The fear in me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters.

Abaddon, hands shaking, pressing the sword against your heart: I’m not fucking scared of you!

[hermannsthumb]

Hey dude!! Never done this before so I’m sorry if I screw it up but love the prompts you reblogged and thought I’d give it a try. Newmann wedding fics are the cutest things in my opinion so I thought possibly write a combination of 16, 7, and or either 2 or 9. Your newmann fics are the absolute best, I read them whenever I’m having a really bad day and they always cheer me up. Your a fantastic writer and you have such and amazing personality! I Hope you have a lovely day

16: Weddings, 7: Beach, 1: Fireworks, 2: Sunburn AND 9: Stargazing, 

from summer prompt memes here

combining yours with @francissaintgermain​ for a double whammy of wedding...AND THANK U BOTH for the really sweet words :’)

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“Seems a bit of a hassle, if you ask me,” Hermann says. “All this bloody planning, and money, and effort—”

“It’s not a hassle,” Newton says. “I mean, it is, but—it’s gotta be worth it, you know? It’s romantic.”

It takes Hermann a great deal of effort to not roll his eyes. Newton’s idea of romantic includes necking on the couch while Ghostly Encounters plays on the television set and showing Hermann how many pieces of sushi he can cram into his mouth at once. (His record is ten, and he would’ve kept going if Hermann didn’t remind him that they were in a very nice restaurant and he paid quite a lot for the reservation.) It isn’t what Hermann meant, anyway. “I’m not talking about weddings in general,” he says. “I mean this sort. With all the—” He waggled his hand vaguely. “Extravagance.”

Extravagance did not fully encompass everything this wedding was. Hermann’s cousin and his fiance—wife, now, Hermann supposed—-had rented out a massive chunk of beach for it, with all the trappings of the sorts of things you’d expect for a beach vacation. Bouquets of tropical flowers. Bridesmaids in flip-flops. Seagulls swooping down every few minutes. Tiki torches at the end of each aisle of chairs, one of which had nearly caught the sleeve of Newton’s gaudy Hawaiian shirt (“I have to dress for the theme, babe,” he insisted) on fire when he passed it. It would’ve been nice if they hadn’t set the damned thing at midday, with the sun broiling overhead and making everyone squint and almost certainly burning Hermann alive, despite the long-sleeved linen shirt and sunhat he donned, and the fine layer of sunscreen Newton took a bit too much sensual pleasure in applying to him back in the hotel room. None of the other Gottliebs (genetically predisposed to pastiness) appear to be faring much better: Hermann spies his aunt a few rows up, who’s beginning to resemble a surly, dark-haired tomato.

Still. Hermann’s the only one of his immediate family to be invited, and his cousin paid for their airfare and hotel room, which is in some outrageously expensive resort with a spa and mimosas at the complimentary breakfasts that Hermann thinks Newton would call bougie, and they’ve got it for a week at that, so Hermann can’t bring himself to complain too much. It’s not as if he’s had the chance to go on many vacations in the last decade. The break is well-deserved and nice.

Newton leans in close with a grin and a nod to the front of the aisle, where the bride and groom have taken each other’s hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Gottlieb that happy in my life.”

“Nonsense,” Hermann says, and then realizes Newton does make a fair point: it’s not just Hermann’s aunt on the groom’s side of the aisle who’s surly. (Genetic predisposition to pastiness and melancholy, he supposes.) He goes for a different approach. “I’m certain I looked that happy on our wedding day.”

“You were kinda just crying the whole time, dude,” Newton says.

Hermann flushes. He had cried a little bit. “It was—er—overjoyed crying.”

“It was cute,” Newton says, grin softening out into something a bit dopier. He slings his arm around Hermann’s shoulders, and Hermann can’t help but lean in to his touch and smile back.

They both startle a moment later when the crowd suddenly begins clapping; the couple have finished reciting their vows, it appears. “Thank fuck,” Newton whispers. “I’m starving. I hope they have those tiny cream puff things at the reception.”

They don’t, but they have plenty of seafood (apt for the theme). Newton settles on filling a plate with a comical amount of jumbo-sized shrimp and some crab legs. The reception is likewise on the beach, under a great big tent lit up with lanterns and more torches only a short walk down from where the ceremony took place, and Hermann has to admit he’s beginning to see the appeal of the extravagance of it all. The oppressive heat’s dissipating, finally. The sea breeze’s picked up enough to ruffle the ends of Hermann’s hair and even make him shiver (and lean in a touch closer to Newton). The sunset’s gorgeous on the horizon. Even the live band is pleasant, and Hermann recognizes one song as something Newton’s played for him on the guitar before.

After dodging a fair number of his relatives, most of whom give Newton (with his tattoos and ear piercings and tiny Godzillas patterned on his shirt) side-eyes even before he lunges in and catches the bride’s bouquet, only to guiltily throw it back when he realizes it’s for the unwed partygoers, Hermann and Newton find their assigned table at the edge of the dance floor and sit down to watch the fireworks show overhead. Because of course the wedding party sprung for fireworks. “God, I fucking love this,” Newton says, beaming like an overeager child. “We should’ve had fireworks at ours.”

“Ours was indoors,” Hermann reminds him.

“I didn’t mean inside the building,” Newton says.

He downs a third of the frozen daiquiri he got from the bar and offers the rest out to Hermann, who shakes his head. “Do you wanna dance?” Newton says. His lips look sticky, vaguely red, and terribly inviting, so Hermann steals a quick kiss before he bothers responding.

“In a bit, perhaps,” he says. His hand drifts up to cup the side of Newton’s face. His cheeks are rougher than usual: he forgot to pack his razor, and they haven’t had the time to find anywhere that sells disposable ones yet. Hermann doesn’t mind it, though it’d tickled like mad in bed last night when Newton tried to kiss his throat. “I think I’d like to go for a walk.”

Newton nods and unhooks Hermann’s cane from the back of his chair, then, almost as an afterthought, crams several of the shrimp from his plate into the top pocket of his shirt. Hermann makes a face. “No use in wasting them,” Newton says. He holds the cane out to Hermann.

They walk, arm-in-arm, far enough down the beach that the tent becomes a dim glow and the music barely audible before they ease themselves down on the sand and spread out. Above them, stars are beginning to appear. The night sky is far clearer and far more devoid of light pollution out here than anywhere else Hermann has been before; Newton, excitedly, points out three shooting stars before Hermann’s even made himself comfortable. (Another pleasant benefit of this all.)

Newton’s shirt is unbuttoned enough to give Hermann a glimpse of the kaiju piece that spans across his chest. Hermann used to hate it. Hermann used to hate a lot of things about Newton. “I ran into your uncle at the buffet table,” Newton says. “Mustache. Looks just like your dad. He didn’t believe me when I said I was your husband. What constellation is that?”

“Hercules,” Hermann says automatically. “Do you regret it?”

Newton turns to frown at him. “Do I regret what?”

“Our wedding,” Hermann says. “It wasn’t very—flash.”

It’d been quick. In and out. Courthouse affair barely even two months after they closed the Breach. Newton wore a bow tie borrowed from Tendo, Hermann slacks with a coffee stain on the left leg. They didn’t even have a honeymoon. It seemed romantic at the time, almost as if they were eloping—they loved each other, after all, they had in silence for a decade, they saved the world together, they drifted together. They’d been in each other’s heads. It seemed foolish to wait.

“Oh.” Newton laughs. “Of course I don’t regret it.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred all this?”

“Dude,” Newton says. “We have, like, two friends, and you hate half your family. Who would we have invited?”

“Fair point,” Hermann says, satisfied.

“Besides.” Newton rolls onto his side and drapes his arm over Hermann’s waist, and he rubs his scratchy cheek against the crook of Hermann’s neck. “You gotta know I would’ve literally married you anywhere.”

“Ah, Newton,” Hermann stammers, “stop—”

“Nope,” Newton says, mistaking Hermann’s reticence for bashfulness over the public display of affection, and nuzzles and kisses at him this time. “No way. Anywhere.”

“‘S not that,” Hermann says, and winces in pain, because Newton’s stubble is suddenly feeling a hell of a lot sharper, “Newton, it’s—sunburn—”

Newton rolls off of him, giggling madly. “How?” he says. “I put a whole fucking bottle of sunblock on you. You were wearing that stupid hat.” He prods at the sunhat, resting on the sand a few inches away with Hermann’s cane.

Hermann ghosts his fingers over the skin of his neck gingerly; it’s hot and tender to the touch, as is the skin of his shoulders and upper arms through his clothing. Bloody figures. If it’s this bad already, mere hours after the ceremony, he doesn’t even want to know what it’ll be like tomorrow. “I certainly don’t know how,” he says.

The kiss Newton leaves on his reddened skin is far more delicate this time, without a hint of his stubble. “Poor baby,” he says, with a mocking pout. It turns suggestive in seconds, aided by the hand that he slips up under the hem of Hermann’s linen shirt and massages circles with over his abdomen. “I’ll just have to rub aloe all over you when we get home tonight, yeah?”

“Mm,” Hermann agrees, eyelids drifting shut. It’s nice, more than nice, and, for a moment (there’s no one around to see, after all), Hermann is considering indulging Newton in some light touching and kissing in return. Then he wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shrimp, darling,” he says. It’s killed any lust that Newton may have been inspiring in him. Newton retracts his hand.

“There’s still one in my pocket,” he admits.

[grumpykittenandtiredfox-blog]

Beats of the Heart

Chapter 2 - Muted Note

The moment of excitement over finding a new bandmate was short lived as Yang's smile was replaced with a frown of concern. She started to fiddle with the cymbal stands again before asking, "Why would you offer that?" Weiss opened her mouth to reply but Yang cut her off, infuriating her in just a moment. "And why come to us of all people? You don't even know us."

Weiss crossed her arms. She has a point...

"I have my reasons," Weiss stated firmly, before looking at the other two. The black beauty had no expression on her face but the one with the dyed hair looked a bit worried.  I am offering to get them the things that they need and they don't even want it. Don't normal people normally jump at the offer of money?

"Listen, Princess-"

"Heiress, actually."

Ex-heiress...

The blonde shot her friend a quick glance before continuing, "How do you expect us to trust you if you won't even share your reasoning as to why you want to help us? I think we deserve to know."

Weiss studied Yang. She looked exhausted from this specific interaction, as if just talking with the ex-heiress tires out her entire being.

"Listen," the blonde said, "We are perfectly fine on our own. Thank you, but we don't need your help."

"I am literally giving you an opportunity to get all that you need," Weiss gritted through her teeth, panic setting in as she started to realise that this chance to a new and better life (better than her own life) might slip through her fingers. She couldn't let that happen. She needed this. This was her escape. "And you just continue to shoot it down ungratefully."

The blonde got up from her stool and stalked to Weiss, towering over her. "We don't need your money," she stated lowly, lilac eyes locked onto her ice-blue ones. "Even if we did accept, you'd use it as an excuse to make us do what you want." So that was the actual reason, she was afraid of betrayal. But I am a Schnee, a proper Schnee. I am not that petty, not like him.

Just before Weiss could respond to the attack, the small voice from before cut her off.

"Yang." It honestly took Weiss by surprise because the blonde's voice was so loud and demanding while the shorter girl had an unsure and quiet voice. The contrast was so great, it immediately caught Weiss' attention. "Can- can I talk to you?" The girl was between them now and Weiss could just barely see over her head. "Just for a mo-moment," the girl added as an afterthought.

Weiss watched as the girl dragged the blonde to the other side of the stage by her forearm. Her irritation still stubbornly rising as she watched the blonde look over the other girl's shoulder at Weiss every few seconds with a judging look, gave a few comments here and there but ultimately stayed quiet to listen.

Huh, so the big oaf can listen instead of interrupting people all the time.

Weiss saw the girls nod to each other, although blondie seemed a bit reluctant to do so, before making their way back towards her. She rested a hand on Myrtenaster's body in an effort to calm herself. The blonde looks just about ready to bite Weiss' head off while the one with the dyed tips was fidgeting with her hair, eyes casted down to her shoes. One was untied.

"Don't think that we trust you-" the blonde started, but stopped when the shorter girl put her hand on the blonde's shoulder. The blonde puffed air through her nose in agitation, crossing her arms and glaring at Weiss.

"Yang." That quiet voice again. As soon as Yang had disagreed with Weiss' offer, this girl when back into her shell, as if she didn't really want to be there. As if she was intimidated by this girl...

Weiss had seen this act too many times before. With her mother, her sister, even her brother. With her. This was the act of someone who was too afraid to stand up for herself, someone who had been belittled, someone who was beaten for being herself. Someone who was too embarrassed to be herself.

Weiss glared at the blonde, the one who probably made this girl the way she is. There are too many people in the world that shun others for being themselves.

Weiss looked to the shorter girl who now stood a few feet away from her. She continued to look at her feet and Weiss couldn't hear her mumbles. "Speak up, I cannot hear you," she stated firmly. Weiss knew cases that was similar to this and most of the time, it took firm words to get the submissive to actually stand up for themselves.

Yang bristled next to her but still, she kept quiet.

The girl flinched and tried to look up but her eyes just made it to Weiss' knees before they shot back down to the floor between them. She took a deep breath before starting, "We'd love to have you join our band." Weiss let out a breath that she didn't know that she was holding. Great, I don't need to go back to that place. She started to remove Myrtenaster's strap from her neck, stopped when the girl continued, "But..." She took in a breath before locking her eyes with Weiss'. Weiss was frozen. But what? "You have to-"

"Weiss? Weiss Schnee?"

They all turned to the voice. Flynt was climbing onto the stage, the smirk on his face irritated Weiss. Always that damn smug look on his face. As he approached Weiss, he crossed his arms and tilted his head up, looking down on her. She kept her face neutral as his demeanour turned serious. "Don't think that I forgot what your family did," he said loud enough for the others to hear. She could see that this statement had already caught Yang's interest.

The last time they saw each other, they were at least civil. So now that he was hostile, Weiss tried to remember what her father did or ordered others to do whatever he wanted. Weiss came up blank. She didn't know what her father did this time and she won't blame Flynt if he was still angry about it, but he just should not blame her for her father's actions.

Weiss could feel the rest of the group's eyes on them and honestly, who wouldn't stare? An heiress and a jazz band leader's son having a stare down in the most unlikely place to ever spot either, a downtown bar-turned-hall. They didn't know how Weiss and Flynt knew each other. The last time they spoke to each other was at one of his father's jazz concerts and the Schnees were invited. Weiss was placed next to Flynt and they had to socialise. It turned out to be just a bit better than Weiss had expected, Flynt was a refined young man with hopes to earn his place in his father's band. He had shared his hopes in the upcoming years and in turn, she shared hers. They were civil. At least that was what she thought.

Now, all Weiss hopes is that he didn't bring up what her father did, no matter how angry he was with her family. She needs to gain the others' trust, Weiss will tell them of her father once she is sure that they won't just discard her.

The corners of his mouth pulled up into a genuine smile. "Your father is an ass for what he did," Flynt said and unfolded his arms, taking on a more relaxed stance.

She blinked. Thank goodness.

He slung one of his arms around her shoulders in a side hug and she let the feeling that he was still angry with her go. He wasn't angry with her but her father. He faced the others. "I initially came to kick you ladies out, it's closing time and everyone but you four have left." They all turned to find that the hall was indeed empty. "But," he announced, drawing their attention again. He smirked and removed his fedora, "I overheard you all discussing whether or not to let Weiss into your group. you would not regret it if you let her in." Weiss shrugged his arm off her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. Oh? "From what I know, she will get this band in tip-top shape before all of you even know it. And by the performance that you gave tonight, I'd say that you need it."

Weiss crossed her arms and sent a smug look Yang's way. You were saying? She smirked when the blonde scowled, bending down to place her drumsticks into the side of her calf, held securely by the sock and boot.

Flynt put his fedora back on just as Blake appeared beside Yang, drumkit already packed away. "I'll send an email to Yang as soon as the results of tonight's performances are done." He walked to the side and hopped off the stage. He turned around, holding a finger up as if he had just remembered something. "And you'd have to re-register if you do decide to have Weiss join your band. Just let me know. Ciao."

They all stared after him. That was one person Weiss did not expect to encounter today. It was a pleasant surprise, though. At least there is one person other than Winter that believes in me. She gave his retreating figure a small smile, grateful for his words from earlier on.

Something nudged Weiss' thigh and she looked down, seeing Myrtenaster's case. The girl with the dyed tips gave her a shy smile. Weiss removed the guitar from her neck and placed it in its case that the girl opened.

When she stood up again, the girl with the long, black hair and bow calmly introduced them all, "Welcome to the team." Yang grumbled something low from beside her and the girl nudged the blonde to keep quiet. "I'm Blake. This is personified ball of sunshine is Yang and she's Ruby. We are glad to have you on our team."

Well, two of them are, one would probably be happy when a bus would run Weiss over.

Ruby tried to clear her throat for a few seconds before she looked up at Weiss again. "Yeah, welcome to 'Ruby and the Yang Bangers'!" Ruby exclaimed excitedly, only to stop in her tracks a second later, her cheeks flushing red from embarrassment.

Weiss just stared at the girl. The name has to go.

[nightterrorsblog]

I’ve Got Friends In Low Places

It started when I was a kid.

My mom thought it was adorable that I had an imaginary friend. She wasn’t concerned at all when 4-year-old me sat in my bedroom, with toys all around me, happily chatting with no one.

She laughed it off when I told her that “his name is Simon and he looks kind of funny.” She admitted years later that she figured I meant that he was big and furry or something. The imaginary friends of small children almost never resemble humans.

When I was 8 years old, she sat me down and explained that “you’re getting a little old for imaginary friends.” When I cried and insisted that Simon was real, just like I had for years, she grew concerned.

My first appointment with a therapist came soon after.

I was asked, for the first time since forming the ability to describe him in more detail, what Simon looked like.

“He’s tall, has dark hair, white eyes, and purple-ish skin.”

I remember the therapist barely looking up from her notepad as she asked “does he look like you or me?”

“He’s not as old as you, and he’s a boy… but kinda, I guess.”

She smirked and scribbled on the paper. “So he looks like a person?”

“I don’t know. I guess. I’ve never seen a person like him, though.”

I was asked if Simon ever told me to do things (no), if he was ever mean to me (no), and who I thought Simon was.

“He’s my friend.” That’s what I truly believed. After all, he had never done anything to show me otherwise.

The therapist told my mom that it was a little odd for a child who no longer believed in Santa Clause to still have an imaginary friend, but that I was probably just lonely and had an overactive imagination. She recommended that my mom keep an eye on me, and offered to see me again if any other problems arose.

It wasn’t until about a year later that my mom began to believe that Simon was more than fantasy. She had come to get me from my room for dinner and opened the door without knocking. I remember laughing at the funny noise that escaped her mouth when Simon dropped the book he was holding.

For a while, my mom asked a lot of questions and hung around me a lot more than normal. I answered the questions the best that I could and enjoyed the extra time with her. It had never occured to me that she was scared.

One Friday I came home from school and she told me I was spending the night with my Aunt Beth. When I came home the next day, my room smelled funny and Simon was gone.

I was sad to see him gone. Simon was my friend, and I didn’t have many of those. That changed over the next few years. I blossomed, physically and socially, and by the time I was 14, Simon was an afterthought.

That was, until I found the cross in my closet.

I was helping mom with Spring cleaning and decided to clean off the top shelf that was overflowing with board games and VHS tapes that we no longer had a way to play. On the wall way in the back, was a wooden crucifix with a golden-colored Jesus in the middle.

I was surprised to find it. After all, we weren’t the slightest bit religious. I shrugged and figured that it was probably left by a previous tenant and we had just never noticed it. We weren’t very tall, my mother and I, and it was exceedingly rare for either of use to break out the step-ladder to see into the back of the top of my messy closet. We didn’t even start using the shelf until I grew out of needing a toy box and needed a place to store things.

I threw it in the garbage bag and continued with my task.

A few nights later, I woke up in the middle of the night. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t for no reason.

thump… thump… scraaaaape

I looked around the room, wondering where the quiet sound was coming from.

thump… thump… scraaaaaape

It was a little louder now. I got out of bed and looked out the window, thinking one of my neighbors was being stupid and loud.

thump… thump… scraaaaape

Even louder now, it was followed by what sounded like the air conditioning kicking on. Except it wasn’t warm enough for my mom to turn on the AC, and there wasn’t a vent in my closet.

I turned to the closet door just in time to hear three sharp knocks. I called out to my mother, but I was so scared that my voice didn’t want to come out any louder than a whimper. It didn’t matter, though. She heard what came next.

BANG BANG BANG

The pounding was so hard that the closet door shook on it’s hinges.

BANG BANG BANG

I started to sob as I backed toward the door to the hallway.

BANG BANG BANG

The wood of my closet door started to crack under the force of the beating.

I felt a hand wrap around my arm as the air filled with shrieks. I didn’t realize until my mom had dragged me outside that my scream was one of them. She pushed me into the car, got in herself, and peeled out of the driveway.

I looked back at the house as we raced down the street. A bright flash of orange lit up a window on the second floor. My window.

We stayed at my Aunt’s house for a few days. There were a few times when I walked into the room and their hushed conversation came to a sudden halt. Any questions I asked were met with non-committal answers.

I was still a child, and still scared. They didn’t want to worry me.

I was worried, though… and angry. I wanted to go home, regardless of what happened there. I wanted my things, and my school materials, and my bed. Aunt Beth’s couch pulled out into a bed, but it was lumpy and made a lot of noise with every movement. Worst of all, in my teenage mind, was the fact that Aunt Beth lived at least a 30 minute drive from any of my friends. Not that my social life was going very well.

It turns out that coming to school with an outlandish story about a monster in your closet doesn’t bode well for popularity. I went from a bit of a social butterfly to more than a bit of an outcast. I had one friend left: Melanie.

Melanie was the more eccentric of my friends, so I wasn’t overly surprised when she eagerly accepted my story as truth and stood by my side when everyone else slipped away quietly. Where other people were whispering judgements and giving me sideways glances, she was asking questions and hanging on to every answer.

One day she rushed to my side, hooked her arm through mine, and excitedly told me “I think I know what happened, but I need more evidence.”

Less than an hour later, my mom gave me permission to “study for a test at Melanie’s house” and we had a plan.

We were going to my house, we were going to find answers, and we were going to fight the beast.

I wasn’t so stoked about that last part, but I wanted to know what the hell was happening and I wanted to get some of my things. Melanie was confident that I encountered one of two things, though, and that she could vanquish either one.

So when school let out, we embarked on our mission.

The house looked innocent enough in the daylight, but as soon as we walked through the front door that innocence faded. Everything looked fine, but there was a feeling in the air… a suffocating dread. Every step I took, my instincts begged me to turn around.

By the time we reached the top of the stairs, my head was spinning. It felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest. It was like it was determined to flee on its own if I wouldn’t. We arrived at my bedroom just as I was questioning whether or not I could actually do this. The door was closed, despite the fact that I was sure we had left it open in our desperation to get away quickly.

I was practically gasping for air as Melanie pushed open the door, much harder than she should have had to. As soon as she did, a strong, disgusting smell filled the air. It was like rotten eggs that had been left on top of the garbage can beneath a hot sun.

Melanie didn’t judge me when I puked on the floor. She looked like she was close to doing it herself.

My bedroom was trashed. What was once my closet door was now a bunch of wooden shards spread all over the place. The clothes that hung neatly before were now strewn throughout the room, along with most of my belongings. It was all covered in a strange, dark green liquid.

The mess wasn’t the most shocking thing, though. That honor belonged to the creature sitting on my bed with a book in his purple-skinned hands.

“S-Simon?” I croaked.

He looked amused, but his tone had a hint of annoyance when he spoke. “It’s about time you came back here. I was getting bored. Miss me?”

“What. The. Fuck? Sara, what the fuck?” I had never heard Melanie swear before, but I guess the situation called for it. Simon seemed to notice her for the first time after her little outburst. His expression darkened.

“Who’s this?” There was venom in the inquiry. Before I could answer, Melanie raised a cross that I hadn’t even realized she’d been holding and started yelling in some other language.

Simon’s colorless eyes flashed, both with an expression of anger and with literal light, as he let out a howl. He leapt from the bed and knocked Melanie to the floor, landing on top of her. I saw a puff of smoke come from his hand when he plucked the cross from her fingers and threw it across the room. The window broke and any hope I had tumbled to the ground below with the cross.

Melanie kept yelling until Simon ripped her throat out with his teeth. They looked sharper than I remembered.

Simon roared. I stepped back. He rose to his feet and rushed toward me. I tried to run, but he was much faster. His hand wrapped around my throat and he lifted me off of the ground.

“You were going to get rid of me? I came back for you! I could almost excuse your idiot mother for sending me back to that shit-hole, but you?” He pulled me closer, putting his face so close to mine that I could feel how hot his breath was. “I was wrong about you,” he seethed.

I scratched and pulled at his fingers, trying to release myself from his grasp while simultaneously trying to pull air into my burning lungs. I kicked and squirmed, but it was no use. Simon laughed at my efforts.

“I was going to take you away. Make you like me. I loved you, Sara. Now, though… well, you don’t deserve how quick this will end.” He flexed his fingers. I didn’t even think he could grip my throat any tighter, but he could, and he did.

My vision started to fade at the edges. I thought the far-away singing that I heard was my oxygen-deprived brain trying to make my death a little more pleasant until Simon snarled and threw me against the wall.

When I came to, I was laying on the grass of my neighbor’s house across the street. My mom was stroking my hair and crying, a middle-aged man that I didn’t recognize was praying quietly, and my house was burning to the ground.

My mom never did tell me exactly what happened in between me being knocked out and waking up. She didn’t even introduce me to the praying man. All she said was “it’s over now, honey. He’s gone. We’re okay.”

That was 4 years ago. I’m in college now… therapy too. It wrapped up so nicely didn’t it? My mom and a stranger saved the day, and we all lived happily ever after.

Except… I can’t get a hold of my mom, and there’s someone knocking on my closet door.

[essays]

Netflix Users Deserve Better Subtitles

I'm finally publishing this draft I've had since season 2 of Daredevil. I originally decided against publishing it, since I wanted to be sure about the point I was making in order to avoid pissing off a group of people for whom these subtitles might be designed. After finishing Defenders, however, it's clear that this is a serious issue that can be extremely detrimental to many people's viewing experience.

I have cleaned up some of the language and either finished or deleted some unfinished thoughts.

I finished watching season 2 of Daredevil a couple of days ago---and went straight back to rewatching it from season 1.

Because the show features a blind protagonist, it has come under closer scrutiny for how accessible the show is for audiences with disabilities. One of the things to come out of this was descriptive audio for visually impaired viewers, after the show was criticized at launch for ironically leaving out a relevant audience demographic. Be sure to check out Polygon's article on Daredevil's descriptive audio; it shows that Netflix didn't half-ass this, but went above and beyond.

What's also worth noticing is how fast Netflix were able to add high-quality descriptive audio to the show. Netflix are able to do great things if they want to.

Subtitles

Being slightly hard of hearing, and owning a home theatre surround system whose calibration is busted, I find myself relying on subtitles more often than I care for. Like descriptive audio, if you half-ass the subtitles for a movie or show, that half-assed product becomes your audience's experience of the finished work.

The first thing about subtitles is that they are not synonymous with closed captions. A third option you might see is subtitles for the hearing-impaired, which is usually a misguided conflation with closed captions.

A lot of, if not most, studios don't grasp the distinction. I can have trouble making out five words in a 50-minute episode, but I don't need someone to tell me that a car crashed into a wall. Unfortunately, I am usually only given the option of closed captions or no subtitles at all, sometimes because I'm a European, and we tend to get the worst in subtitle options; I consider myself lucky if can get any subtitles in the original English.

Netflix

Unfortunately, many of Netflix's original shows are particularly bad---yes, even with the English options.

People in English-speaking countries are most likely unaware of the reputation Netflix has in other countries of atrocious translations---and I'm talking Google Translate bad. Fortunately, their original English subtitles aren't the afterthought their translated counterparts are, but subtitles are still not a main priority for Netflix, given that they can't be bothered to get it perfect for what is literally their #1 show according to their own ratings data.

Like descriptive audio, subtitles and closed captions are not either-or; there is an art and a craft to subtitles, and failing to understand this devalues the experience for those of us who, whether we like it or not, live at the mercy of subtitles.

In most situations, I only struggle to make out a handful of words an episode, and perhaps that's just my iPod generation for you. Sometimes, under such conditions where the sound-mixing sucks (HELLO CHRISTOPHER NOLAN), hearing what's being said gets a lot harder. There are different taxonomies of subtitles, and we might consider whether the distinction between subtitles and closed captions suffices. Right now, it's as if there's an option for people who can hear 100% and another for people who can't hear 50%; why not one for 99%?

I imagine other people also just use subtitles for foreign languages they can't make out entirely. These explicit closed captions are overkill for that as well.

This either-or approach of nothing at all versus something that reads like the verbatim screenplay is borderline offensive and a dumb way to cut corners for a billion-dollar corporation like Netflix. I feel O.K. making this point with Netflix, because with them, we know the reason is not with a lack of money and resources.

Getting It Right

Use proper typographic quotes and dashes

Use ’ instead of '; — instead of --. I'm sure some subtitle systems don't support this, but put the same effort into the typography of your subtitles as you would want others to do with the books you read.

Be consistent

Speaking of notation, S02E04 of Daredevil in particular suffers from what, to me, just comes across as half-assed subtitle formatting. Sentences are broken up into one of these arbitrary fashions:

The way to do it... | is such-and-such

The way to do it | -is such-and-such (no space after the dash)

The way to do it | is such-and-such

Maybe there's a system to this, but if this is indeed the case, shouldn't it be one that's clearer to the audience? Hopefully there is a system I just have yet to see.

Don't spoil names and introductions of characters

On a show like Daredevil, you often get subtitles like:

[Masked Man]: Grumble, grumble, grumble

While this is a nice service to help people using the subtitles, it can also spoil the moment when certain characters are revealed; if a new character is revealed for the first time, or if they suddenly surprise the protagonist and audience, naming the character will ruin that moment. They often do that with these shows.

When a character is named in the subtitles before they've been introduced, it can also be confusing, leading viewers will think they missed something.

I'm also not a big fan of how the brackets at the start of a sentence are uncapitalized unless they wrap a proper name.

Also, it's weird for Daredevil to use "Masked Man" for our protagonist, since that's a description of him from the perspective of someone who doesn't have the same knowledge as the audience. It's a common refrain amongst viewers.

Don't spoil interruptions and events

Sudden interruptions and events are supposed to catch the viewer by surprise. A few subtitle antipatterns betray this maxim:

Dashes

(Conspiculously) short sentences

Undelayed subtitles---more on this later

You may have seen dashes (--) already; Daredevil S01E13 has one, but I don't want to include a screencap to reveal it for you. It's not a major event, but it has the effect of giving the viewer a brief scare.

The event is essentially subtitled like so:

We made it, we are are finally free--

This approach to subtitles means depriving an audience of visual and auditory cues and surprises.

Sometimes, they, obviously, spoil huge moments.

Subtitles are meant to support the storytelling, not betray it.

While using dashes is a special kind of explicit spoiler, subtitles can also spoil a moment implicitly. I've gone into the pitfalls of spoilers, and it's not easy to avoid, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't put in any effort.

I can see I had some more unfinished points, but I'll just leave this here and publish at 2AM, since I am clearly horrendous at ever finishing any drafts.

What's also worth noticing is how fast Netflix were able to add high-quality descriptive audio to the show. Netflix are able to do great things if they want to.