#there are already so many variants to fucking block

[theculturedmarxist]

Eugenics is still the rule of the fucking day.

"People 65-plus and people who are immunocompromised should strongly consider masking during flu, RSV, COVID season while in indoor public spaces," said Dr. Céline Gounder, a CBS News medical contributor and editor-at-large for public health at KFF Health News. "And for everyone else — it all depends on what their risk tolerance is."

"Depends on what their risk tolerance is." Are you fucking kidding me?

CBS News chief medical correspondent Dr. Jon LaPook says he likes to use the "weather report analogy" for the general public. "What's the weather out today? If it's raining, you will probably want to bring an umbrella. If you are in an area where there is an uptick in airborne respiratory infections like COVID, flu or RSV, you may want to take extra precautions, such as wearing a high-quality mask in indoor public spaces," he said.

People should be masking up before there's a fucking "uptick." That's how you prevent a fucking "uptick". Especially considering testing isn't the metric the people in power are going by any more, but hospitalizations, which are always going to be lagging indicators. By the time the "uptick" is registered these diseases are going to have been present and active for days or even weeks.

After COVID hospitalizations climbed nearly 22% this week, the CDC is predicting further increases over the coming month as new variants spread. This replaces previous projections from the agency that admissions would "remain stable or have an uncertain trend."

Oh, cool, so things are already bad and the are predicting that things are going to get worse, but the decision is being made to not do a fucking thing about it.

In a 2021 "60 Minutes" interview, virologist Paul Duprex explained the current (and future) emergence of new variants — a concept applicable to the current situation. "Is there anything we can do to stop the virus from mutating so much?" LaPook asked Duprex at the time. "We can certainly stop it making as many mutations by stopping it infecting as many people - if we block its transmission, if we wear a mask, if we get vaccinated, if we do social distancing," Duprex said.

None of which will be happening because "Covid Is Over" and doing any of the necessary things to prevent it are voluntary at best.

After news broke about the BA.2.86 variant earlier this month, the CDC said the agency's advice on protecting yourself from COVID-19 — which includes wearing a high-quality mask among other recommendations listed on its website — "remains the same."

Oh alright let's see what the CDC recommends

In addition to basic health and hygiene practices, like handwashing, CDC recommends some prevention actions at all COVID-19 hospital admission levels, which include:

Ugh. At least its recommendations implicitly admit that covid is airborne.

Still, some experts fear it could be hard to convince Americans to don masks again even if COVID cases continue to rise. Dr. Danielle Ompad, an epidemiologist at the NYU School of Global Public Health, said "It's a bit like putting the genie back in the bottle." Still, she has personally started wearing a mask again recently in crowded places, where the risk of exposure is greater.

Huh, I wonder why it would be hard to convince people to mask up again. Who's responsible for letting the genie out of the fucking bottle? Maybe they should be taken to task for this fucking decision?

"If I were with people who aren't public health-trained, I would wear a mask, particularly in crowded situations, because I really don't have time for COVID. Mask mandates are challenging because they make people really bent out of shape out of proportion to the ask."

What people are getting "really bent out of shape" by mask mandates? Just "people" huh? No specific people at all? Okay then.

"Who wants to get sick while on vacation?" she says. "If you're going to be in a crowded public place — the subway, an airplane, a crowded theater — those are the kind of places I would at least consider wearing a mask."

Hey maybe these fucking super-spreader places shouldn't be open especially with multiple variants spreading across the country with no mask mandates in place.

Though increased cases and hospitalizations are prompting precautions, Gounder says she doesn't see another lockdown in our future. "That ship has sailed. Has sailed for years now," she said. 

"That ship" just sailed itself, huh? Another development with no cause and no active participant? Just up and sailed on its own, did it? And there's no one to sail it back? Man, that's crazy.

[crownedinmarigolds]

If the Stakebait Coterie all played D&D together what classes would they play? And who would be the DM?

O-oh my gosh thank you for the question! It's my favorite kind - dungeons and dragons + Stakebait!! Straight from the horse's mouth (@thesixthplaneteer ) it goes as such:

Dungeon Master - Sydney aka the Dusk Angel, leader of the Thinblood revolution in ATL and exasperated den mother. No telling where he got the time to run this game but maybe he needs to feel some real control in his life. He is probably always late by maximum half an hour but he's at least always prepared. His stories are always thoughtful and well-put together and he eventually gives everyone what they want.

Ranger - Ralph! Despite his IRL size he's a much better fighter at a distance so that would probably carry into his gameplay. According to thesixthplaneteer he'd be a half-orc. The least optimized person at the table but he's ALWAYS going to play the character he wants. 🥰 I imagine him cracking jokes the entire session but gets scary tactical during combat. And he brought the white claw. (Probably jokes about ERP with Khloe after the session is over... JK! Unless.)

Wizard - Khloe! The chronic overthinker and planner, she'd definitely be a clever spellcaster who would try and use her environment to her advantage because wizards have paper skin and glass bones. While she likes martial classes that's just so many numbers she's not prepared to handle. I think race-wise she might be a human variant like a Genasi! Or perhaps a gnome. Either or. Something where she can be colorful! She probably has dinner for everyone at the table and plenty of snackies. She'd take gameplay INCREDIBLY seriously but would definitely slip into silly shenanigans when prompted.

Fighter - Christian. Human fighter - completely by the numbers made in a generator character sheet. Has probably never played DND in his life but he loves hanging out without his coterie despite his grumpy demeanor so he's "toughing it out" and playing the most generic race+class combo imaginable at the DM's suggestion. He's made fun of it relentlessly by Ralph but he does a good job fighting. He's probably a stoic RP'er who only speaks minimally unless something really interests him, but he at least takes the game seriously enough so everyone still has a good time. He probably brought a giant coffee thermos because he always just got off work before a session. And actual beer because "fuck white claw, goddamnit."

Cleric - Kyle! The forever Healer both in unlife and at the table! He'd be a gorgeous elf of whom he'd already have stunning commissioned artwork of. He also has the highest Charisma at the table and probably has a stable of lovers in every port they visit. All implied of course and nothing explicit at the table. Probably spoke with the DM beforehand about a custom made God that is dubiously aligned morally... bordering on Warlock but he knows the system enough to game it properly. 🤭He and Khloe would be the ones taking the story the MOST serious, Kyle breaking character the least out of the party. Bonus Player: Nyth, Sydney's boyfriend(?) who will randomly join him some sessions to play a various pre-made NPC. He'd probably steal everyone's hearts before bailing halfway to go meet up with his bestie Noa or he'll make the session go on forever for one reason or another. He's a mess and we love him. AH so fun.... THANK YOU!

((Art by @the-art-block!!! Sydney, Nyth, Khloe, Ralph, Kyle, and Christian!))

[kookieswan]

Outlast Them All - Little Bunny

Variant!Namjoon x Journalist!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Genre: Outlast!AU, Horror, Psychological Horror, Angst, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Fluff?????, NSFW content (Sexual and Non-Sexual).

Warnings: Minor character death, blood/gore, foul language once again, general horror, angst, religious themes. This story will consistently tackle themes of obsessive behavior as well as psychological/general horror and many of the characters are morally gray. Please be warned.

Notes: You picked the worst choice last time and my my, how you will pay for it ☺️ Once again, your choices will heavily impact the outcome of the story. Please pick carefully lovelies ♥️

This is Part II of the Outlast Them All series. Find the series Masterlist here 💀

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting around definitely isn’t going to get you anywhere in this shithole. There’s clearly a lot of messed up stuff going on in these walls, and you’re here to find out what that is, not hide from it. Glancing up at the dead man one more time, you decide to delete him from your memory and make your way toward the door.

The sound isn’t getting any quieter, so in fear of it being some sort of psycho, you creep as quietly as you can around other dead bodies and pools of blood. Thank god you decided to wear boots instead of something flimsier. Pressing your ear against the door, you listen quietly to the metallic sound.

It clanks against the wall a few more times, and then strangely enough, everything goes quiet. You wait a beat, then two, slowly pulling your camcorder back up. Cracking open the door, you slowly pan the camera out to get a peek, the lights flashing sinisterly overhead.

At first glance, you can’t see anything, the only immediate sound being the fluorescent flickers of light going in and out. Deciding to brave the storm, you push the door open with your foot and step out slowly, eyes darting back and forth.

Nothing.

You take a few quiet steps into the hallway, a sort of squelching sound following like a shadow you. Glancing down, you grimace as your eyes follow the boot tracks of blood you’ve left behind. Lovely.

Your eyes snap to the corner of the hallway as something seems to ghost by, a shadow…? No, it can’t be. A trick of the eye likely, your paranoia is growing more and more every second.

Sliding your feet against the floor quickly, you try your best to get rid of the thick liquid, knowing it could potentially trail something toward you. With what you’ve seen, you don’t want any fucking body following you around this place… Although, it might be better than the fucked up tranquility.

It’s still eerily quiet as it is, and it’s already making you severely uncomfortable. You ponder on how the lack of life is odd as you quietly make your way around the corner. Glancing down through the glass into the lobby, everything’s still seems the same as when you first checked; bodies everywhere.

You notice bookshelves blocking your path ahead, hastily pushed out of the way and falling against each other, both smeared in blood. Curling your lips, you prepare to slide through the small crack before you hear it-

“Little bunny.”

You’re ripped out from your spot, a scream tearing through your throat as a behemoth of a man drags you away from the safety of bloody pages. He holds you high in the air as you attempt to wiggle away from him, unable to see his face as it’s covered by a mop of long black hair.

Without another thought, he throws you against the thin glass barrier that protects you from the carnage of a lobby below, your body hurling toward the floor. You don’t even get to feel the impact as everything goes dark…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh, you’re still alive…!”

“Who…?” It comes out so terribly slurred that you can barely understand what you’re saying. The man blinks down at you, the robes he wears a dead giveaway to what he might be. A priest…? Here?

He squats down to get a closer look at you, eyes scanning up and down your body. He doesn’t touch, but his lips curl ever so slightly downward as he takes in your condition. You take note of his bleached hair, the roots starting to show very obviously as if he hasn’t got a touch up in a while.

“Not too terribly injured, hm? No need to worry about who I am for now, but listen to my words.” You don’t have much of a choice, your body not really functioning from what’s probably shock of being tossed through a damn window. You do flex all your appendages though, glad that you somehow managed to avoid breaking your fucking back in half.

The man glances to your side, noticing something laying next to you. He picks it up, the object being your camcorder which looks like it’s in good shape, thank fuck. He grabs your hand gently, opening your fingers and placing your evidence there, brown eyes weirdly gentle.

“You were sent to me, no? An apostle to lead me toward the light… Yes. Keep this close and be safe, for I cannot protect you here.” An apostle? This guy wants you to be his apostle? Right. Okay. Gripping at the camcorder, you just stare back quietly and try not to laugh.

The priest stands up, nodding to himself and turning away without another utterance. You turn your head to watch him walk off, a groan leaving your mouth as you slowly sit up. You pause as you brace your hand underneath you, realizing then that you’ve landed on something particularly… Soft. No. Nope. You try to ignore it as you stand and rip out your notebook from your jacket.

‘Made little progress, some big fucker decided to throw me through a window. Called me a bunny. Then another fucker that’s apparently a priest of all things decided to make me his apostle. More bodies. More blood. No answers.’

“I don’t get fucking paid enough for this shit.” You mutter to yourself as you move away quickly, not daring to glance back on the body or twelve you may have landed on. Okay, okay you need a game plan now. Staying might not be the best decision after all, not if big muscly scary men are going to be throwing you through windows.

Tapping your pocket, you pull your phone out and fucking pray for some sort of signal, anything at all. A bright ‘NO SIGNAL’ screams back at you, mocking your vary existence for being so damn stupid. You try to call 911 anyway, but nothing goes through. Just your fucking luck, huh?

Glancing up at the window you were tossed from, you squint at whatever the hall someone had written in blood. ‘PROCLAIM THR GOSPEL’. You stare quietly for a hot minute, wondering how in the fuck the crazy priest man managed to climb up there… He clearly takes his teachings very seriously.

Coughing quietly, you decide to head toward the front desk to check for some sort of key or button to unlock the entrance, anything to get out. You don’t find a key, no, instead you find a hastily scrawled out note, splatters of blood covering the paper.

‘If anyone finds this, hide. The variants have all escaped, the facility is in emergency lockdown. All the doors are locked and there’s no way out. If all else fails, check the security room on the first floor for a way out, it’s where I’m heading.’

Variants…? So every patient of the facility is roaming the halls right now. The thought makes you shudder, a million different scenarios running through your mind as you try to decide what to do. Sure, you can leave right away, but there’s still so much you could uncover… Fuck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Choose wisely ☺️

[boy-gender]

Ive been gaining a worrying amount of followers very quickly, and that already makes me a little wary, but thats okay! I want this blog to help more and more trans men and transmasc people feel they have a place to celebrate themselves and one another!

But unfortunately, lately, ive seen an increase in followers from a very specific, very insular, very niche group. Transnazis.

Now at first I didnt know what this was and assumed, as im sure many of you reading this will, that this means "im a nazi, and also transgender. I am a trans nazi." No. That's not what it means. Transnazism, one word, or any of its weird censored typing quirk variants, means "im not a nazi but i feel like i should be. I relate, somehow, to the aesthetics of the third reich." This is part of a slightly bigger but still very small group called transbigots or transharm.

I've spent the last two weeks or so since I noticed an influx of them trying to decide what to do. I'm not a huge blog by any means, but this blog is growing rapidly and has considerable reach in transmasc circles. I believe I have a duty to my followers to shield you all from the worst of the garbage that I encounter (one of the myriad reasons I dont respond to hate messages). So Ive been debating just blocking these people and not commenting on them publicly, because frankly I wish I could unknow what I know about them and I'm sorry to have to pass it on to y'all.

But seeing a small drove of them come my way and decide, somehow, that this is a place for them, that they're welcome here, or that I am somehow in solidarity with them frankly makes me sick. I have losing sleep, disrupting my schedule, missing appointments, and disordering my eating all because I am caught in a cycle of anxiety about these people being anywhere near me. I feel so viscerally uncomfortable I want to take off my own skin, and every time another one comes along or I read what they say, i can feel the physical pressure of all the vitriol i want to scream at them clogging up my throat.

To any transnazi or transbigot or what have you that may be following me who I missed, or who may want to follow me in the future, I have a direct message:

Do you huff paint out of a plastic bag? Are you breaking into zoos to get high licking rare exotic frogs? What in the FUCK is wrong with you? What fucking aesthetic of nazism could you possibly want to center your identity around- the skeletal bodies of camp survivors? The rooms of stolen teeth? The mass graves? Or do you just like a red white and black color palette? Explain it to me. I want to know exactly what I did that appeals to you so I can never do it ever again. I do not accept you. I do not welcome you. There is nothing here for you. I wish you a drastic and painful change of heart- I hope you get better, and I hope it hurts the entire time.

But while we wait for that, FUCK. OFF.

[cashandprizes]

you... are trying to get my ass in trouble. I'm into it. Thanks for sending the ask <3

Link to the choose violence post here!

1. the character everyone gets wrong

It's probably going to be Alexis. I support women's rights and wrongs, but I think she was in a damned if you damned if you don't situation. Is she just gonna let Sam bleed out? He lived and found his soulmate, or whatever, and seems pretty damn happy all things considered. I want to die as much as the next person but... idk. Doesn't seem like there were any good choices.

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

This discourse doesn't really apply to me because I'm a 100% switch on the bdsm test (yes, this is documented) and so I always love switching. And since my fave is either Guy on a good day or Regulus on a bad day, there is only the switch variant. I was never that kind of shipper, even back in my hardcore anime days.

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

This will sooooo get me in trouble. But between the "I want to break Alexis's ribcage" and the "people who don't hate [redacted] ship are [long list of words calling people evil and abusive]" and the "if you write dark content or support Erik writing darker content you don't care about people who have experienced xyz" they're all pretty bad. I will not be screenshotting even though I think there's mutual blocking going on, but just know that I'm pretty sure the only reason I didn't also get death threats a month ago was because I had already blocked that person over something else.

Oh also? I hate the idea that the fandom needs to be welcoming to minors as a whole. I love when youths are into a fandom and make friends online, because that's what I did when I got on Tumblr pretty much a decade ago! I'd just like them to do it in their space for minors while I do things in my space for adults. I'm gonna be a whore and I don't need somebody's mama scrolling through their Tumblr and trying to be mad at me when I clearly say minors DNI. I don't understand why I have to make myself kid friendly when I tag my shit and make my stance clear. Literally what it says on the tin.

4. what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

I did at one point go through the Alexis tag and just block... so many fucking people for bad Alexis takes. I block A LOT of people without ages in their bio. I tend to block liberally, actually. Um, something that really annoyed me was realizing people couldn't understand don't like don't read. Instant block.

9. worst part of canon

This is a joke but I want more worldbuilding lore of how society functions. I love the lore for like the sky gods and all the old magic but I JUST WANT TO KNOW PRACTICAL SHIT. What happens when vampires go in the sun and does it change with age? How alive are vampires? Why don't my wolf shifters have knots, this is a real problem for me. How big are magical cities? How big is Shaw security? How big are most packs? Do all shifters form some sort of pack/collective group? How do empowered people get access to empowered resources or the internet or radio or tv? Do vampires piss?

I need answers.

Also. When will Erik finally write me the Avior BA using Calico's fic?

More realistically, I wasn't super satisfied with the Quinn ending which isn't a big deal, but I definitely felt like Darlin got wubified by Sam and David at the end. I'm sure some people liked them taking control, but that's the last thing I'd want. Just personality differences and also not the worst thing.

10. worst part of fanon

Why is everyone white?

I've never not been black so I'm used to this in fandom spaces at this point, but goddamn. Racism really is everywhere. Minority solidarity is more mythical than fucking unicorns.

[purewhitewolf]

📖+ stithulf successfully takes over Kaitlyn

((This has so many possibilities that I couldn't help but use two idea variants. One when all is already lost and another where it happens before. Although the latter idea is more of Stithulf with full influence over Kaitlyn rather than a complete takeover like the former.))

Kaitlyn couldn't hold it back anymore as she stared at the spilled blood of innocents. The hatred, grief, and hopelessness were just too much. She had lost everything. She was too weak to protect her families, this enemy had outmatched her mind and strength, this enemy who was even laughing over her currently limp body.

"Katherine~..." An old voice she would normally block out spoke louder than usual "You're better than this. Stop holding back, look what happens when you hold back. You lose those dearest to you... Just give into my power... We can remake this world! You can bring them all back! You can create reality the way it should be, but you need to destroy these painful realities first! Multiverse's plan be damned, you should be happy! Use our full power to rewrite these wrongs against you."

"I just... want the pain to end..." Kaitlyn's body was slowly engulfed in a thick dark goo with red eyes. "You won't feel pain anymore... Let me take the wheel. Grandpa will destroy everything that upsets you. Just...sleep." Her consciousness fades as her body rises. Immediately Stithulf cackles through Kaitlyn's body while unleashing a great power that started to shatter the entire ground beneath them all the way down to the core. The severely damaged enemy looks around wide eyed, terrified of seeing reality itself flickering in and out of existence as Kaitlyn, or rather Stithulf, stood perfectly still in a whirlwind of pure power. "Let me show you what a real Maxwell does!"

There will be nothing left but ash. The multiverse didn't stand a chance.

-----

Kaitlyn coldly shoved her lovers and friends down onto the floor before summoning dark chains and cages to keep them out of the way. "Darlings, don't interfere~ I don't want to break you before our perfect reality is created~ I am being perfectly rational! These worlds suck balls! I can make us all a new one! I just need to destroy it first."

@tweetiepea-rps

She noticed one of her darlings crying. A little petite wolf girl...Past... Kaitlyn furiously kicks her cage and screams "STOP FUCKING CRYING! IT'S SO DAMN ANNOYING! YOU SHOULD BE HAPPY WE'LL ALL BE TOGETHER! I EVEN SPARED YOUR TRUE SOULMATE FOR YOU!" After a moment of violent screaming, she shifts to a softer sweeter tone while reaching into Past's cage to tenderly yet possessively caress her cheek. "Bunpup~ There's no need to cry~ I am doing this for everyone's benefit~ No one will hurt us anymore. Azriel can be with her child, Aaron can paint all he wants, Xander won't have to overwork himself to death AND will have Michelle again, Brooke can have her dream man Shadow as a separate person this time, Colton and the wolf pack won't be outcasts anymore, Lunette will be gone FOREVER as a powerless soul in Hell with Aelous, Samuel, Nathaniel, Nicholas, and Achille. All the spirit guides will be free! Aries will no longer be tortured and have a shot at redemption! My guides can live in peace with the others and have families together! Most importantly, there will be no more pain." She snaps her fingers and summons a blue collar and outs it around Past's neck. It looked so adorable on her in Kaitlyn's eyes! "So please, no more tears~"

@thesplitinvestigator

Her gaze then falls on two more familiar disapproving glares, Sky and Kassandra. "And don't you two give me that look... I am going to make everything PERFECT. We can finally be a proper family! No more crime interruptions on family time. Sky, I can make it so that you and your two alters have separate bodies. Kassy, you will be able to play with your friends without any danger. Everything will be like Heaven for all of us. No tears! No hate! No pain! NO MORE PAIN!"

She kept repeating the word over and over whiles clawing at her own face in a fit of utter madness. "Pain, pain, PAin, PAAAAAAAAAAIN! NO MORE PAIN! I am tired of HURTING and seeing others HURT! PAIN is what stole away my chance of HAPPINESS before I met any of you. I WAS JUST A CHILD! Just...a child... with no say. A child that lost the ability to really feel any joy whatsoever even around loved ones. My love and joy were permanently damaged from all trauma and years of being used. A-Anytime I ever feel really REALLY happy, just when I think I don't have to worry about anything... I LOSE something PRECIOUS. I-I've seen all of you die over and over in other realities! I see you all get ripped away from me! Whyyyyyy...? WHY AM I NOT ALLOWED TO BE HAPPY?!! WHY DOES ANYTHING I LOVE GET TAKEN FROM ME??! What did I do to the universe to be treated this way...? Loss maybe a normal thing for every living being to go through... but why does it feel like I'm being targeted by all of reality in a 'fuck that girl in particular' way? If you all truly love and understand me...."

"W-wouldn't you want me to be happy?" She tearfully asks before all of reality distorts and is altered.

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The Colors of my Soul(mates) [1]

[Second oneshot]

[AO3 link]

Kanene’s Notes:

Nope, I do not regret the pun. Okay, okay! I’ve plaining this AU for almost an year so I’m pretty excited to post it!! dfghjsdfrtyucfvgbhjv yaaaay!! Thank you very very much @olliedollie1204 for such a positive feedback and awesome ideas. it helped me a lot!! 

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Virgil, Logan, Patton and Roman (only a brief mention of Remy) in a platonic relationship (yet), but it can be viewed as romantic, if you wish. 

* Warnings: A bit of swearing and depreciative thoughts. It’s mostly fluff and hurt/comfort, tho.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing Thomas Sanders in his series of Sanders Sides.

* Something around 4.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Say to someone important how much you love them, be safe, talk with the one that you love, drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                           [~*~]

What can do a creature if not, between creatures, love?  - Carlos Drummond de Andrade

  - What the fu-

 Virgil only discovered he had more than one Soulmate when he was twenty years old, more specifically the exact moment he took a wrong turn and kept going even knowing he was in the wrong way because one hour it would lead him to somewhere Virgil would recognize before his mortal being inevitably starved to death in the middle of nowhere and his eyes got dragged from the visions from thousands of futures created by his mind to a Teddy Bear Store - they seemed to replicate worse than bacteria during Valentine’s Day - and two bears from the crimson shelter suddenly dyed themselves in two milliseconds as he slightly glanced at them.

 Two of them. Virgil felt his entire face burn in hot shades of embarrassment with drops of disbelief, almost as if all the people running, stumbling, locked in their own worlds and swearing while walked in the sideway because ‘some stupid teenager decided to just stop and block their way’ could, by only looking at him, stare deep into his soul and realize the one staring astonished the store already carried in his fate another one more Soulmate at home.

One completely different in shape and form, even if also blue, however in a light, sky blue completely opposite shade from the new navy one staring him down - Virgil knew plentily their link wasn’t bonded yet, albeit he was equally sure that the person behind those black glooming teddy bear’s eyes were already judging him, - wondering why, between all the people, he was their soulmate. The other red one was very much likely crackling in his face when an employee came and pointedly turn the adult’s attention to the sign in big, graphed words clued in front of their store:

 “You dye, you buy.”

 Virgil signed, pushing his hoodie down further, wondering how much time it would take of him hitting his head on the wall to finally pass out. This option sounded much more attractive when he realized that this new ‘discovery’ about himself would cost all his month’s saves.

 He asked, to the Universe, the stars, the Earth and whoever was seeing him in that exact moment: why?

 Was it a kind of prank? A punishment from fate when, years and tears ago, Virgil lifted his chin up and dared the Universe to give him more soulmates as he locked all his uncolored – although never really free of some weak drops of paint from what one day they came to be – simply stuffed animals, - and nothing more, anymore, - away and promised he would never, ever allow himself to go all through this shit again?

 But… That had been… years ago. Almost a decade since that soft voice he got to know so well, the impulsive acts, long conversations and warm feelings.

 But…

 Time has passed, that is true. Nevertheless, deep down has he really changed?

 Virgil stared at the bag carried so close to his chest since his bare hands were sweating and shaking way too much for this task. Yes, he knew his Soulmates won’t feel anything until both of them decided to ‘give the First Step’, accepting to link their souls and fates, for the longest as it lasts. However, he didn’t want to risk it, because what if they felt? What if he in some way broke the Soulmate System when got two at the same time and now everything was messed up and they could already feel his touches even through the bag and the first impression Virgil would gave to them was ‘That anxious, weird boy and his creepy, sweaty hands’ and-

 A girl almost hit him as she passed running at his side, making his arms protectively hug further the teddy bears closer to him, arms protectively involving them, the soft touch somehow calming his tumulted thoughts. The lost man took a deep breath.

 Clear your mind. Rational thoughts. Focus on the two sides of the coin. Three people wouldn’t be able to break a millennial, unknown system, don’t matter how good he was in screwin… No, a voice that sounded suspiciously a lot like his psychologist calmly pointed, not like that. Virgil huffed, trying again. He was a magnet of problems and bad…Okay, also wrong. Neutral thoughts, focus on neutral thoughts. Come on. Come on.

 It was okay.

 They wouldn’t feel him until they gave the first step. Right, that… sounded like a start. He didn’t do anything. Now, what Virgil needed to do was go to his house, clean his bed in order to find a good place where he could put and ignore them and then he would get his headphones, listen his playlists and wonder where the fuck his life was going.

 It was okay. Everything would stay okay as long as he didn’t give the First Step.

 Virgil unconsciously hugged tighter the teddy bears, his fingers finding way and drowning themselves in the soft, cozy fur, combing them in light, soothing touches as he continued his way.

 Okay. Everything was okay.

 [~*~]

 Plurinfanto, or Multiple Souls, it’s the nomination used for the cases when a person has diverse soulmates at the same time and in a same period.

 The first known case was with Pharaoh Cleopatra when multiples of her woolen fabric started to dye themselves in various colors and shades. In Ancient Roman, it was believed that the occurrences were blessings from Venus in a sign of prosperity and abundance. Grand, longstanding parties were executed through days nonstop in order to get together those intertwined souls. When the connection broke and the colors disappeared, it meant that days of pain and foreboding were waiting forward.

 It is not known for certain the exact moment when the meaning changed, albeit researchers believe it was around the fall of the Roman Empire, when all the invasions resulted in a cultural reconstruction which led to the loss from much of their costumes.

  CLICK HERE TO DISCOVER HOW TO HAVE THE SOULMATE OF YOUR DREAMS!!!!  

 [~*~]

 The computer made a soft ‘click’ as Virgil closed it and sat on his bed, adjusting slightly his position to stare the three vivid, brilliant stuffed beings contrasting to the general dark theme of his room.

 Virgil growled, resting his back on the cold wall, the shivers calming his flowing thoughts about all the variants this whole thing had. No to mention that people change with time, leading to the souls who they “relate” to change as well, meaning that you can have someone in your life for years and then, one month, or weeks or the next day, you can wake up only to discover you and the said person don’t “match” anymore.

 And NO ONE talked about this just because it was a freak tabu to doesn’t have ‘an only one soulmate who will be with you until the end of your existence’. Oh, for fuck sake. Virgil ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he accidently pulled some tangled strands. That sounds like a line of commercial, does anyone believe that bullshit for real?

 “Hello dear, newer fellow!!” The popping thought broke his line of reasoning, jumping excitedly in his mind and automatically pulling him out of his wanders. It has a strong and full of… about everything, tune demanding attention. Virgil felt a warm kiss on his forehead, meaning one soulmate – a deep part of him turned his attention to the red colored teddy bear, - had given the First Step. The one who in some moment changed his position so now he was sitting on the floor felt his face get hot again, heart thumping strongly in his chest as his arm moved, fingers stopping inches away from the fur, questioning if he was ready to retribute the gesture.

  [~*~]

 Many history icons have reports of being Pluriers, as shown in the book ‘The Romance in the History of Those Who Wrote It’, by historian Henry Senyura. The subject is also beginning to gain more visibility after the protest from the teacher Joan A. in 2010, who got touched towards the situation of some of her pupils being forced to choose only one among their Soulmates for the six-month annual exchange, by the end of that period most of them lost or weakened their bonding due lack of communication, small changes of personality and continuous absence. She held a protest at the front of the school, stating that no one had the right to interfere in ‘matters of the heart’.

 A lot of fiction works are beginning to address the topic more frequently, as in I’m Not One, a movie directed by Devon Stan; The Seven Colors of Rainbow, a book written by Lílian Lee and the psychological analysis Life’s Watch, recently found between drafts by the famous writer Robin Green, published after their husband’s authorization, Josué Green.

 [~*~]

 Logan hummed. As it seems, this was a relatively common thing, since the concept of Soul Mates surpassed the barriers of unity and time, being ‘souls who in a way or other intertwined themselves in some part of their life. Sometimes it didn’t necessarily mean a romantic relationship, as the majority of society and media pointed, but it also didn’t hold any assurance that all of them were platonic.

 He massaged the bridge of his nose. Remy wasn’t in the dorm so everything was silent enough for him to hear his own thoughts.

  It has been a remarkable amount of years since he got his last soulmates, - except for Remy, however they both considered this occurrence as a separate incident - well, until, of course, this day. At least it was a good thing he always carried in his bag extra easy manageable stuffed animals or else maybe the System would dye one of clothes, what would be less than ideal for him in the middle of his philosophy debate. But things got even more interesting when, after his classes, as he arrived at the small, pleasantly well-organized store next to his university, one more stuffed animal colored itself right before him.

 He didn’t exactly understand why. Logan considered himself an owner of a… quite strong, strict personality, this added with his difficulty in managing his and one another emotions usually tended to bring some complex tribulations in his rela-

 Anyway, that is beside the important matter. The one laying his chin on his crossed fingers undid his pose for a bite of time in order to adjust his glasses, barely fixating his gaze on the two plushies in the desk before him, his third – Pat - resting a few centimeters away, closer to Logan’s fingers, who were barely touching. Mind running. Asking, reflecting, wondering what was the exact amount of time to be acceptable to give his First Step?

 ‘The First Step’.

 Logan never really understood from where and how that expression emerged. It didn’t come from the words’ etymology nor some semantic detour. His most concrete hypothesis consisted of the phrase being derived from old romances.

 “Did you know it used to be called the ‘First Kiss’?! But that confused a lot of people who really believed that, to be able to talk and interact with their soulmates they would have to kiss each other, like the Sleeping Beauty! I always got confused in this movie when I was a child, by the way! That ended up messing with a bunch of relationships before they even started, since a lot of peeps don’t feel comfortable enough with strangers kissing them. However, they also speeded up a bunch of them as well…” Logan blinked, his attention escaping from his previous thoughts to the light sky blue plushie of Baby Yoda, for a moment surprised with the sudden input. He felt fingers carefully holding his arms and a bit of ghost movements as Pat probably moved his representation to somewhere else, a hug and warmth engulfing the one yet absolving the new information moments later.

 “That was… enlightening.” His voice danced across the room. Even though he was completely aware they could chat telepathically, the childish act of saying the words out loud still comforted him, in a way. “Thank you for your contribution.”

 He took a deep breath and closed the tab of research on his cellphone, internally thanking from the escaping of his turmoil of thoughts, his free hand carefully combing the Baby Yoda’s head fur, almost methodic.

 “Looo, no!” The other protested with no heat in his tune, leading a toothless smile to resurface in Logan’s features. “Stop doing this. You know I end up sleeping every time!”

 “Oh no, what a tragedy.” He deadpanned, already plugging his phones and changing to a most relaxed position on his chair, his eyes traveling across the countless movies on the device before him. “In which episode did we stop?”

 “I’m going to fight you.” Pat sounded like he was pouting.

 “How so?” Logan asked, trying to hide his amusement.

 Silence followed his words.

 “Pat?”

 “What is the skeleton’s favorite instrument?”

 “Pat, don’t you fucking da-”

 “Language! It’s a xiloBONE!”

 Logan audible growled, fast in his final decision. “I’m going to drop you out the window.”

  “I’m going to hug you!” And immediately the one rolling his eyes felt himself being squished in a strong bear hug, huffing only half annoyed.

 “You are an incorrigible heathen, let me go in this exact instant.” His answer was a ‘butterfly kiss’ – as Pat was fond in calling them – on his forehead. “Urg, affection.” Yet he smiled and mirrored the act, lightly poking the other’s side.

 “We’re on episode 19.”

  [~*~]  

Roman stared the paper, his pencil’s tip stopped in the middle of the biggest petal’s flower, his eyes narrowing in the hope of a clearest way of how to convert the vague idea he had in transforming the night full of stars in a flower. No to tell he also would need to choose a good pallet of colors indication for it, later, and probably re-do all the process over and over and over until got the best result as possible. A yawn found its way from his lips and the designer stretched, getting up to drink a bit of water and rubbing his eyes, wondering if it was really worth it to make a black tea to help him through the night.

 A glimpse of color caught his attention. The navy blue teddy bear on his couch, the main inspiration of his newest tattoo. Roman wondered why it wasn’t resting in front of him while he drew. A corner of his brain, obscured by the tiredness, telling he had a previous good reason for this choice although his actual self carried absolutely no idea of why.

 Well, if he couldn’t remember it, it means the reason wasn’t THAT good, right?

 Roman held the stuffed animal, spinning with it across the room for a couple of minutes, imagining who would be the person behind it. A king, a queen, a non-binary royalty? Did they like Disney? Musicals? Sing? Would they chat for hours at first with a few words exchanged or would they take a bit to warm at each other? Was navy blue their favorite color or…

 Or…

 Navy blue.

 Oh.

 He fixed his glare on the plushie, his hands feeling and slowly drawing in the soft fur of it.

 Navy blue, huh? A humorless chuckled flew in the air. It could have no significance, it could be a world of it. It probably didn’t mean what he, for a moment, a so silly, stupid moment, wished it meant. Of course, one day this would happen, right? It was something normal, something expected. Not the magical, right out of the story books or his old daydreams, occurrence.

 This wasn’t a second chance. The Universe doesn’t give you second chances. He wasn’t the same boy from eleven years ago, holding his own costumed teddy bear crying his eyes out, hugging he – No, it – the closest as possible, wishing with all his heart and soul for the color, the voice, the thoughts, the rambling, their bickering, the forgiveness to come back again.

 No, he grew up. He moved on. He got better.

 Then why did a part of him still felt this way? Like he was about to hear the excited giggles, the soft reprimand, that lovely, deep and so truly -and sometimes boring, Roman had to admit – questions? Why would a part of him still say that he could have it all again if he just… waited long enough, hoped high enough, dreamed long enough…

 …If he was enough.

There aren’t more than seven billion colors in the world. Roman would be stupid if he really believed there was a path where he wouldn’t stumble in that so (un)fortunate well-known shade of blue again.

 Roman growled, his forehead making a loud, dry thumping sound as hit his desk. The one who should be asleep hours ago had absolutely no energy to battle against those thoughts, again. At least for now. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the teddy bear laid on the cold tabletop before him. Well, what a better way to get rid of your own means thoughts than put some stranger’s unpredictable thoughts in the middle of it? Roman slightly pushed the bunch of flowers and some warmup sketches he had out of the way, carefully carrying the representation next to him, nodding. Honestly, that was the best idea he had for a while, why did he even put the lovely thing away?

 Awake Roman was so silly, thinking that… something he couldn’t quite recall right now would be a bad idea, he pointed as snorted softly, pressing his lips on the teddy’s forehead, the quote he knew by heart flying from them in a natural flow.

 “It is not immortal, since it’s flame. But let it be infinite while it lasts.”

 A warm sensation rested on his own forehead moments later, leading the sleepy form to hum happily.

 “Is it… poetry?” Oh shit, Roman widened his eyes. His soulmate heard that?? Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Roman mentally facepalmed himself. So that was why he usually said it before the First Step!

 “Uhh, yeah. Of course. Fidelity Sonnet by Vinícius Moraes.”

 “I see. Classicism, I presume. A literature of very soundly pleasant rhymes, indeed. The first sonnet was probably created by the humanist Italian poet Francesco Petrarca, although it got even more known in the western literature after the works of Camões, who- ”

 “He is from Modernism, actually.” Roman didn’t know why he suddenly sounded so defensive. Logan felt a cold feeling run his body when the other’s hands let go of him, for a piece of second wondering if it was supposed for him to do the same with the red narwhal plushie on his hold.

 “A very common mistake to make due the lack of context.” He retorted, unable to formulate another answer. He had, of course, thought, balanced options and chosen the best topics to discuss with his new soulmates when they bonded. However, his fingers firmly gripped the pen, its tip tapping on the first topic written in the notebook partially forgotten in front of him, the poetry figuratively threw him out of his tracks, leading the decision to be the most impartial as possible due his… not so impartial past memories with that specific shade of red an even more difficult task than it already was.

 “Yes. Sure. Sorry, I- I’m just… very tired right now.”

 “You should go sleep, then.”

 The other snorted with the direct, immediate response. “I should, shouldn’t I? Gotta work, though.”

 Some part of Logan’s brain registered the new fact, separating and keeping it in a special place so he would remember to write it down in the new folder he bought, later.

 “I see.” … poetry? That wasn’t a hard topic to talk about. The one now nervously cleaning the very clear lenses twisted his mouth. He could talk about this for hours. No, correction: he already had previously talked about this for hours non stop.

 Logan strangely felt the urge to rub his face and scream. It has been years, - eleven years and 10 months to be precise – and exactly eight years since the one wearing glasses learned poetry because of him. Because of his constant habit of reciting Shakespeare before they would go to bed, until Logan brought himself to research and decorate all the poems he could muster, taking the task to now wake Prince – the name still carried a strong taste in his tongue – in the same way every single day. Before they realize, that becomes something between them. There were times when both didn’t talk, content in only reciting some verses and hear the other complete them. A part of Logan, that illogical and unfortunately full of feelings one wondered how their rap battles would be if they found each other right now.

 Did Prince even maintain his liking the same things he one day did? Does he still recite poetry? Does he maintain the same dreams? The same habits?  Does he even remember about him?

 Highly improbable.

 “You can call me Lo.”

 Roman slowly blinked, getting out the fog surrounding his brain to realize he was mindless staring at the pan’s boiling water, surprised the other still there. Well, it seems like he hasn't screwed terribly everything yet.

 “Lo? Like Lowrance?”

 “Even though my name does contain ‘Lo’ in it, no. It’s ‘Lo’ like Logic. I came to believe it’s a good idea the nomination after a predominant characteristic, since we can’t actively exchange our real names through the Soulmate System.”

 Roman’s breath hitched, a memory with yellow-ish edges and nostalgic smell unrolling in front of him.

 …

 ‘I think we should choose you a name with more personality in it, ya know?’ He threw himself on his bed, kicking his legs on the air before immediately scoping the plushie and laying it on his stomach. ‘Like a characteristic!’

 ‘I don’t see what is wrong with the nickname I choose.’

 ‘No, no! There is nothing wrong with it! But that could be something just between us!’ Then he gasped, picturing that, if he was inside a movie there would be a lamp shining right above his hair in this moment. ‘We could call you Ro!! You wanted to be a robot, right?’

 His soulmate growled and Roman felt a few pokes on his arm, the verbal protest doesn’t taking long before accompanying it. ‘I was three years old!’

 ‘And I’m never letting you live this down.’ He beamed, both knowing the annoyed scoff he got as response held no real heat. ‘Besides, we could even match our names!!’

 ‘That would be very counterproductive.’ Roman felt his hair being softly smoothed, a usual indication the other was losing himself in his thoughts. ‘Nicknames are supposed to help us. Having two equal names is not the most efficient thing.’

 Roman dramatically scoffed, picking the stuffed animal and half hugging it, his free hand occupying itself in making a couple of gestures to no one, since his soulmate couldn’t exactly see them. ‘It’s not about being productive, Bear! It’s about feelings!!’

 ‘And since when,’ a light poke was delivered on his belly, making him squeak and mess with the teddy bear’s hair in revenge ‘Everything isn’t feelings for you, your highness?’

 …

 “Okay,” Roman and his self past disappearing with the fading memory said, in synchrony “You shall call me by Prince, then.”

 Suddenly he felt himself falling, his hands quickly holding on the tabletop as the cold, nauseous feeling took over his stomach, more like a punch on it, his veins being filled with amounts of adrenaline for a glimpse of a second.

 “Excuse me? Warn a guy next time you decide to just drop his representation, dude! Damn.” Roman shook himself, trying to bring his body to calm down.

 “Sorry, I got… startled.” Logan gulped. The word ‘Prince’ echoing on his mind as a broken vinyl disc. What were the chances? That couldn’t be such a common nickname, right? Nor color. Nor interests. What were the chances? What could be the chances? Maybe he was just projecting, being played, tricked by a dangerous partnership between his own brain and emotions. Maybe he was just jumping to conclusions due the nostalgic feeling fogging his actions, his thoughts. Perhaps-

 “Hey, Lo? Are you there?”

 “Yes.” Logan answered, his fingertips colliding quickly with the fabric of his pants as he visualized his options. “Yes, I am.”

 “Hm. Okay, then. I’m… glad to know.”

 Silence. Logan took a wobbly breath.

 “Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back; Wherein he puts alms for oblivion; A great-size monster of ingratitudes:”

  “Those scraps are good deeds past; which are devour'd; As fast as they are made, forgot as soon.” Roman continued without even noticing until the words danced in the air, just like the years haven’t passed.

 Then he understood.

  His heart stopped for a second, his eyes widening and his voice disappearing, as if his whole being was afraid to break the moment, the spell; as if this was a dream and a miscalculate step would make everything fade.

 “Bear?” Roman felt a light poke on his cheek.

 “Hello, Prince.”

 Roman choked a laugh, quickly crawling the teddy bear next to his chest, hugging it both firmly and yet so caring, curling around its - no, him - feeling an equal warmth involve his form as he hided his face on the soft fur, giggling and hugging, feeling so happy, so alive and right and good and he would never, ever, ever again let him go.

 “I missed you, bitch. Never scare me like this again.”

 “I… missed you, as well.” Logan tried to not let the emotion take over his tune, his hand petting the narwhal plushie softly, the words had abandoning him, as it seems. “This reunion is a… good surprise.”

 “Oh, shut up, I know you’re having a blast somewhere in that logic soul of yours, too.”

 Logan huffed, grinning. “Stop crying on my hair, your troglodyte.”

 “Make me, I dare you.”

 “Always so dramatic.” They both rolled their eyes, letting the moment be bathed in the deep waters of a comfortable silence.

 “Eleven years.”

 “We have so, so much to talk about!! Oh, my goodness gracious, I’m going to get my tea. Do you remember about that play I wrote about zombie princes and a dragon witch? You will NOT fucking believe what happened with it!”

 “Good thing I have you to explain to me then.” Roman stopped, a gigantic smile taking over his features as he closed his eyes to feel everything even more.

 “Yeah, I agree.”

 Somewhere in the world Patton and Virgil smiled during their sleep, unable to control themselves when a gigantic wave of pure joy and delight filled every corner of their hearts, coloring it on the most brilliant gleam, just like their stuffed animals resting peacefully on their grip.

[padfootagain]

Girl Crush (XX)

Chapter 20: Fear Of Petunias

 Here we go for a new chapter!! I'm a bit late for this one, sorry, I was very busy these past few days.

I hope you like this new chapter! No warnings, it’s not angsty or anything.

Word Count: 3015

Harry couldn't wait. As he stood in the middle of the hall in the Boston Logan airport, he reckoned that he was more excited than he had ever been.

He had a good reason for it though. You were about to enter the hall.

Your plane from L.A had safely landed a few minutes ago, and he was just waiting for you to come out now. He hadn't seen you in the flesh for 4 months. And God, did he miss you…

He kept looking everywhere around him, unable to settle his gaze on just one spot. He was surrounded by families and friends of others who were on this plane with you, but he didn't pay any attention to anyone around.

He didn't notice the three young women approaching him with their phones in their hands. He was too busy leaning on his right to look over a couple that had decided to simply stay right in front of him, blocking the view of your terminal. He annoyingly tittered, trying to move to the side.

But then there was someone tugging at his sleeve, and when he turned, he knew exactly what was going on before the stranger opened her mouth to make her request.

"Sorry… could we get a picture with you?"

His heart sank in his chest. Not because he had been recognized in itself, but because it meant that he needed to be careful now. He thought he was in the clear, but perhaps someone else had recognized him. And perhaps their intentions weren't all about getting a selfie with him. It meant he couldn't give you the hug he had been dreaming about, couldn't hold you close after so many weeks spent missing you. It would have to wait.

But he didn't let any of this show, and instead, offered a kind smile to his fan.

"Of course, you can."

He chatted with the three fans for a few minutes, all grins and charm despite the many glances he stole towards the terminal. How long before you came out now?

A few travellers were already walking out of the hall, greeted by their friends and families, or sometimes walking fast towards the exit on their own. But you were nowhere to be seen still.

But then he caught a glimpse of your hair and…

His lips curled into a bright grin that he couldn't have stopped if he had tried. He didn't even attempt to refrain the gesture though, his heart was beating too fast for that, and through his clouded mind it seemed that he couldn't form a single thought.

Your grin matched his as you spotted him in the expecting crowd as well, but you also noticed the three women turned towards him, and you knew exactly what was going on. Your smile faltered, and you looked down at your feet, your steps slowing down.

You heaved a sigh, aiming your footsteps for the exit instead of Harry.

"It's not nice to ignore your best friend, especially when he's come all the way to the airport to pick you up."

Harry was beside you, and you looked up at him with surprise. You would have thought that he would have avoided you until you were both out of the airport because he was clearly being watched now. You could feel the three women's eyes fixed on you. But instead, he had hurried to join you, and was now offering you a bright smile while taking your luggage from your hand.

"You seemed busy over there," you replied, a little out of breath as you stared into his green eyes.

Four months, that was way too long a time to not see these eyes...

"Yeah… better keep the hug for later, or we might start crazy rumours. Still, I'm so happy to see you."

"Me too, Harry. I've missed you."

He heaved a sigh, looking over his shoulder to check if people were staring at him still.

"I'm sorry about that. I'm sorry I can't greet you properly."

"You're here, that's a proper welcome to me."

You exchanged a pair of stupid smiles as you walked to his car. But he had barely driven out of the airport that he was pulling over, checking that the little road he had taken was empty.

"Get out," he ordered, making you frown.

"What?"

"Just… humour me."

You rolled your eyes, wondering what the hell could be happening now. With Harry, you had to be prepared for anything.

As soon as you were both out of the car, he gestured to you to come closer, and with one last quick glance around, he wrapped his arms around you in the tightest hug you had ever received.

It took you less than a second to reciprocate the gesture, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

"Now…. Much better," he smiled. "God… I've missed you so much, Y/N."

Your hold on his white T-shirt tightened as your emotions became overwhelming. Everything was too intense after months spent missing every of these details. His scent, his low voice, his warmth against you, his strong arms around you, the gentle hold of his hands on the back of your head and your back, the feeling of his chest expanding and collapsing with every breath he took and exhaled…

You didn't even notice as tears formed in your eyes until it was too late to stop them.

"I've missed you too, Harry. It's crazy how I've missed you."

You remained standing there, by the side of the road, holding on each other tightly for a while, none of you willing to break your embrace. And at first, it was simply because you didn't want to show the other that you were both on the verge of tears. But after a while, it was simply because, after all this time, you simply didn't want to let go.

It felt… unreal.

Travelling with Harry felt surreal. Like you were living through something so different to anything you had ever experienced.

It was an everlasting rush that never seemed to slow down. It felt like you were hurrying from a point to the other all day long, and you wondered how the band could handle such haste for so long, but then you reckoned that they had become used to the craziness of it all.

The shows you went to on the eastern coast of the US were amazing. The responsive crowd, and the lights, and the talented musicians, and Harry radiating energy and light from the stage... You had the same thought every single time you saw him perform: he truly was ment to perform. He owned the stage. And every show was amazing and made your chest almost burst with how proud you were of him and his band.

After the last show at Madison Square Garden, you went out for a drink with the whole crew. A little celebration after Harry's performances on the legendary stage. And you might have been drinking just a tiny bit too much, which Harry and his friends found hilarious.

You were busy discussing bra sizes and whining about how uncomfortable pieces of clothing they were with Sarah. Mitch was pretty drunk as well, his head resting on the table as he looked at the two of you, while Harry chatted with Adam and Clare.

"And I bought one with lace the other day and it ended up being so scratchy!" you complained. "It's underwear! Why is it scratchy!"

"It can be," Sarah sternly nodded, before taking a sip of her cocktail, her eyes a little glassy by now.

"We should free our boobs," you declared, putting down your drink with too much strength, causing Harry to turn to you with a startled glance.

"Open a petition!" Sarah agreed, her words slurred with alcohol.

"I'm gonna!" you swore. "I'll open a pet... petitious... petition... Free tits for all!"

Harry burst into laughter by your side, while Mitch turned into a giggling ball on his seat.

It was a merry and silly evening spent with your friends you had missed while they travelled across the world, and felt happier and freer than you had in a long time.

You were interrupted though when your phone rang. You brought the screen too close to read the name of the person calling you, and you sighed when you read Gareth's name.

"It's my boyyyyyyfriend!" you mumbled in a high-pitched voice. "He must be worried. He's always worried about everything. It's tiring."

You answered anyway, and Harry hated himself for the way he listened closely to your conversation. But you were drunk, and seemed to want to ramble about how great Sarah was rather than answer your boyfriend's questions. And after a couple of minutes, you handed your phone to Harry.

"He wants to talk to you. Should I get jealous?" you asked with narrowed eyes.

"Absolutely. I secretly want to seduce your boyfriend, I'm surprised you haven't noticed yet," he joked, unable to refrain the smile that formed on his lips while he took your phone from you.

"Hello, Gareth, darling," Harry went on, making you pinch his arm. "What can I do for you tonight?"

"Hi, Harry. Is Y/N okay over there?"

"Yeah, she's just a bit drunk. We all went out for a drink together. Don't worry, we'll call a cab to go back to the hotel together. I'll make sure she gets home safely."

"Are you drunk too?"

"I'm not as far gone as she is. I'll take care of her, don't worry."

"Alright, thanks," Gareth mumbled although he didn't sound very grateful, more like irritated.

"So... good night..."

"Actually, Harry, I wasn't calling just to check on her. Have you taken a look at any social media today?"

"Huh? Not really, was pretty busy. Why?"

"Check. Now."

Harry heaved an annoyed sigh, wondering what on Earth had gotten into your boyfriend, so he reached for his phone.

He only then noticed the eight calls from Jeffrey. With a frown, he opened one of the links in his manager's text, not bothering reading the actual messages.

His hold on both phones tightened the second the picture appeared on screen.

It was you and Harry hugging. He recognized the moment in the blink of an eye. It was simply the hug from the airport. You were standing by the car, holding onto each other. The headline was obviously a variant of 'Harry Styles and his new girlfriend'.

"Have you seen the picture now," Gareth asked in the phone.

"Yeah..."

"Should I get in the next plane and break your fucking jaw?"

Harry raised a surprised eyebrow, but chose to ignore the remark.

"We were just hugging after I picked her up from the airport. Nothing more."

"Really?"

Harry checked if you were listening to his conversation, but you were back to talking to Sarah and Mitch and weren't paying any attention to your phone anymore. So Harry felt like he was free to speak his mind and take care of the situation on his own.

"Of course. Don't you trust her?" he asked your boyfriend in a low tone.

"I do..."

"Then you should know that nothing else happened. We were happy to see each other, but I got recognized in the airport, so we drove for a few minutes to find a quiet place to properly great each other. We just hugged, man. Nothing wrong with that."

"It doesn't look so innocent..."

"It's a paparazzi peak published on the internet. The point is to create rumours. Nothing happened, and nothing will happen. We're just friends. And if you really knew Y/N as well as you claim to, you wouldn't worry the way you do now. I get that it's annoying, and upsetting even, but don't put the blame on her when all Y/N did was giving me a hug."

"Look, to be honest, it's not just this incident. I don't like how close the two of you are sometimes..."

"Please, tell her that. Tell her these exact words, just so you can get dumped," Harry replied in an acidic tone.

Gareth heaved a sigh.

"All I'm saying is that I want it to be clear in your head that she is my girlfriend. And she won't be anything but a friend to you. Are we clear on that point?"

Harry clenched his jaw, his hold on your phone tightening even more until he wondered if he could actually break the device.

As if he needed a reminder of that...

"We're clear."

"Good. Get her home now. I'll call her tomorrow morning."

Before Harry could reply, Gareth had hung up.

He handed you your phone back without a word. You were drunk, there was no need to bother you with these paparazzi pictures now. You were laughing with Sarah and Mitch, and his anger was soothed the second he looked at your smile.

It could wait till morning.

"Ouch... my head..."

You whined, letting yourself drop onto the chair by Harry's side in his large hotel room. The smell of food was making you nauseous, but you were hungry nonetheless.

Your friend silently handed you a glass of water and some painkillers, for which you thanked him before drinking the whole glass in one go.

"Why did you let me drink so much last night?" you asked him with a pout.

"I did try to stop you, but you can be awfully stubborn when you truly want to, you know?"

"How are the others? How are you?"

"I didn't drink as much as you lot!" Harry laughed. "Someone had to be the responsible one of the group. But everybody's alright. Mitch and Sarah are still asleep, I'll wake them up in a bit. We can have breakfast first."

When he ordered breakfast that morning, Harry didn't even think when he asked the portions to be made for two. He knew you would walk into his room as soon as you were awake, even if you were still in your blue pyjamas. Yawning and tired and rubbing your eyes in a lazy attempt to chase sleep away, your hair a mess and your voice hoarse and a little weak. He knew exactly what this morning would be like, and he was absolutely right. You always did that whenever the two of you went somewhere together. And he loved it, now more than ever. It gave him the illusion, for a moment, that you had woken up in his room too.

But that morning, he had another worry in his mind that eclipsed the domestic moment he longed to steal.

He had spent the last thirty minutes checking these pictures of you and him. It was just a hug, but even he had to admit that depending on the angle of the camera, someone might believe that you had been kissing. There was no way you would avoid the pictures forever, and he reckoned that it was best if he was the one bringing you the news. And the more he let time fly by, the higher the risk of you finding about it on your own. He reckoned that was worse.

So he took a deep breath, and leaned against the table towards you while you poured himself some coffee.

"Y/N... We need to talk about something."

"What's wrong?" you asked, blowing on the hot beverage.

"I... first, I'm... I want to apologize. I'm so sorry about what happened, and I... I completely understand if you get mad because of it."

Your expression turned into a concerned frown.

"What's going on?" you asked again, your tone more urgent this time.

Harry heaved a sigh, took a deep breath before diving.

"I... A few pictures have leaked on the internet of... us. Like... When we were hugging the other day, after I picked you up at the airport."

Your eyes fell to your knees.

"Oh," was the only sound you let out.

"I'm sorry. It's all over the place already. And... I'm sure you can guess the headlines that go with them, even if it was just a hug."

You nodded, but remained silent.

"I... I'm sorry. That's why Gareth called last night and asked to talk to me, you remember? I... I hope you won't get in trouble..."

"It was just a hug, Harry, we did nothing wrong."

"I know. But I've seen the pics, and... I'll admit that the angles have been perfectly chosen to question if we were hugging or kissing."

You heaved a tired sigh.

"I'm not surprised."

"I'm sorry."

But you shook your head, placing your cup back onto the table, and for a moment, Harry expected you to get angry. He looked down at his hands in a sheepish manner, but the scolding he was ready for never came.

"It's not your fault, Harry. We were careful, and those assholes... it's their fault, not yours."

"I should have waited for us to really be alone."

"It's not your fault. Stop apologizing."

"You're not mad?" he asked in a hopeful voice, looking up at you again.

"At you? Of course not. I would very much like to shout at whoever took these pics, but... it's not your fault. Don't worry about it. It'll be forgotten soon enough anyway, right?"

"I... I'm not so sure about that..."

"Anyway... it's not your fault. Don't feel guilty about it, okay?"

He heaved a sigh.

"I think Gareth is pretty mad."

"Let me take care of my boyfriend. We'll be alright, don't worry about that."

You could read Harry's worry written all over his face, so you reached for his hand, a reassuring smile on your lips.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'm not angry at you. It's not your fault. I'll talk with Gareth, and we'll all be just fine."

"You shouldn't have to go through this because of me," he stated, his voice deeper than usual.

"I signed up for this when I became your best friend. It's alright."

"So... we're good, right?"

You gave him yet another smile.

"Yeah, Harry. We're good."

*********************************

Tag list :   @ponycake27​ @horsesreign​ @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet​@notkeppeki @daynigt-dreamer-stuff @fudgeflyss​ @stuckupstucky​@snek-shit​ @suchatinyinfinity​@i-padfootblack-things​  @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi@jigsawlover10​ @emyyjemyy​ @addictedtofictionalcharacters @staringmoony​@madamrogers @cronias13 @stylesfics-xx @mellamolayla @mariaenchanted

[sazorak]

Every Game I Played in 2020, Ranked

2020. Boy, what a garbo year huh? Didn't actually play that many games this year all-in-all. Happens! My backlog is getting pretty big, but I just find it hard to focus on games when I could be working on something. Or put off working on something, as it may happen to be at times.

My arbitrary decision from years ago to only attach a numbered ranking to same-year releases is getting increasingly silly, especially given my propensity to wait on playing games until I’m in the right mood, but whatever. That order matters than the dumb numerical numbering anyway.

2015 | 2016 | 2017 | 2018 | 2019

Later Alligator – 2019 – Steam – ★★

The style of this game is very cute, and the jokes are funny enough. But… ok, look, I’m not one to be precious about what is or isn’t a game. But this really isn’t a game. It’s a series of disconnected, unrelated challenges clipped from Atari Free Mini Game Collection 100, wrapped in a very non-interactive adventure-game. It’s cute, it’s kind of sweet, but it’s dull. Dull dull dull. There’s a pointless, mandatory sliding block puzzle early on that infuriated me by its mere existence. Them giving the ability to skip it because “wow you’re bad at this huh”, which, while accurate, also just sold the whole point meaningless of the “““interactive experience”””.

Also: when a huge part of your game is WOW WE ANIMATED EVERYONE REALLY GOOD, text boxes that reveal word-by-word, far away from the animations that occur when said characters talk? Kind of stinks!

8. Carrion – 2020 – Steam – ★★

What Carrion does well— the whole “You’re controlling The Thing and just rippin’ people apart!” shtick— is really neat. They made that bootleg The Thing animate real-ass good.

The actual game as a whole though? Kind of garbage. Imagine a Metroidvania with zero actual exploration, where every opportunity you have to venture off the path instead results in immediate railroading with constant, utterly inexplicable one-way pipes. It’s not that it’s linear, it’s that it actively slaps you when you attempt to explore. It’s very frustrating! Add the fact that the tentacle-monster-shtick makes challenging to actually, y’know, move around and control all your bits…  the only reason I finished the game was due to foreknowledge of its extreme brevity.

I think if the game were more open and less obsessed with constantly handing out upgrades, as well as having less of a focus on pure combat, I think I’d have enjoyed it more.

SD Gundam G Generation Cross Rays – 2019 – Steam – ★★

It is well documented at this point that I am both an active Gundam fan, and as well as an on-again-off-again tactical RPG aficionado. A SD Gundam game appearing on Steam with a good English translation and localization is… exciting, to say the least. That said, I have never had much context for this game series beyond the basic facts that the combat tended to be pretty well animated CG, and that it’s vaguely similar to Super Robot Wars. Turns out… it’s really different from SRW? I dunno how the rest of the series fairs, but Cross Rays is weird as hell.

For one, there’s zero tutorialization at all. None. Almost all of what I’m going to explain here is me figuring stuff out by trial and error, or by reading junk online. Gundam is insanely popular, you’d think they’d be interested in explaining how it all works, but… nope. Even Super Robot Wars has multi-level introductory bits for new folks to show them the rope these days.

So: Cross Rays is a tactical RPG where you can playthrough the storyline of various Gundam AUs. You can play through them in any order. These playthroughs are fairly literal translations of the stories. You take control of the lead mecha from those series, fight enemy mobile suits that show up in SRW-like tactical RPG combat, until all reinforcements cease. Pretty straight forward. There are occasionally mission variants like “prevent enemies from reaching X” or “prevent enemies from destroying Y”, but even those can be just reduced to “kill everything very quickly please.”

But here’s the thing: while there is a story progression, the characters in the story itself actually have no character progression. These characters and mecha are actually considered guests, despite it being ostensibly their story. Instead, you are able to field “permanent” mecha and pilots of your own choosing, which do have progressions. There is no plot justification for this or anything like it. The game does not recognize that it’s weird that during Iron-Blooded Orphans intro where nobody knows what a Gundam even is, you can have 25 Gundams show up at once and just fire lasers at everything. That’s because this game is actually about repeatedly grinding the same set of missions over and over.

Pilots are recruited by completing certain in-mission requirements. Mecha are acquired by either by getting enough kills with the progression-less “guest” mecha, combining mecha you already have gashopon-style, completing certain quests, or by leveling up mecha and then “evolving them”. This is the actual core of the game.

SD Gundam G Generation Cross Rays is basically Disgaea, it turns out? You’re grinding story missions at various difficulty levels in order to complete missions, try to recruit specific pilots, equip them with stats and levels to make them stronger, and then hitting mecha together in a sort of quasi-SMT fusion system until you get all the powerful mobile suits you desire.

The combat itself is kind of… bland? There’s a lot of systems, but they mostly seem in service of making an already easy game easier, or burning through tedium. There are four different difficulty modes, because there’s not actually that many different missions you can play through. The expectation is you’ll just work your way through every story beat while ramping the difficulty up over time to where the “guest” mecha would not be able to handle on their own. In fact, letting the story mecha act out the story beats is actually bad after a point, unless you’re still trying to get those lead mobile suits, or if you’re trying to complete some mission requirement in order to recruit Named Wing Grunt Pilot #246.

There is something to the notion of “I want to get N and N and N and N on a team, piloting weird but powerful mobile suits, and just solo every Gundam AU in a row,” but the whole premise seems kind of against purpose. Why bother recreating story beats at all, then? It’s not like the game even acknowledges any of that going on.

If the point is that I’m supposed to be, like in other grind-heavy tactical RPGs, breaking the systems to my own end in order to proceed… why not make the missions you play challenges focused towards that? The story progression literally only exists to facilitate the mission-based unlock conditions, which makes all the energy put into making them JUST LIKE THE ANIME really damn pointless.  

I like tactical RPGs, I like breaking RPG systems so as to beat hard challenges (I beat all the insanely hard extra bosses in FFXII for crying out loud), I looooove Gundam. I should like this. But I don’t really have the “god, I NEED TO FILL THIS LIST” gene that some folks have… except as an excuse to continue to engage in gameplay I enjoy. The gameplay here seems in service of the collection, rather than the way around.

7. Pokemon Sword: The Isle of Armor – 2020 – ★★★

Pokemon’s first foray into actually doing DLC is… a mixed bag. As a positive, they’ve improved the Wild Area concept I liked from the main game, and even brought back buddy Pokemon walking behind you. That’s neat. On the other hand: the actual progression in it is completable in like an hour, it doesn’t scale with you, so you’re bound to be over leveled for it, and all the raid stuff, while still conceptually neat, is just as flawed as in the base game. And so, you’re just left with even more new Pokemon to RNG grind on to continue to catch-them-all. Nah, I’m good.

Astral Chain – 2019 – Switch – ★★★

Platinum knows how to make good character action games. They’ve made a bunch of them. Bayonetta, Nier: Automata, Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance. They also know how to make some kind of mediocre character action games. Transformers: Devastation, Wonderful 101, their various shovelware character action games like Korra. Astral Chain falls somewhere in the middle, I guess?

Astral Chain has all the production of their good games. It has some stylish, cool action. It has a neat core mechanical idea, in that it’s essentially a two-character action game where you control both characters at once. It has a lot of the old mechanics from some of their best games brought in; witch-time last second dodging from Bayonetta, Nier’s shooting-and-slashing combination, the Zandatsu mechanic from Metal Gear Rising, even Wonderful 101’s multi-unit shenanigans. The setting is different, and there’s some neat world flavor all in all.

But, of all games I’ve played over the past few years, Astral Chain made me more vividly angry than any other. It’s not that it’s too hard— far from it, really, I found its combat incredibly mashy. No, the problem is that it has so many shitty mechanics slathered on that it become a chore to get to the “good bits”.

Why would you put forced stealth sequences in your character action game, especially when your movement controls are not suited for it?

Why the HELL would you put platforming sections in your character action game, constantly, especially when your stupid ghost buddy can accidentally yank you off the edge, your auto-combos can just throw you off the edge, or literally anything can knock you off the edge and make you lose life?

Why would you put so many constant excuses into the world to force me use the digital sensor in the game, that also makes it miserable to walk around while using it?

WHO THE LIVING FUCK THINKS THESE SHITTY BOX BALANCING MINI-GAMES ARE FUN???

These games are supposed to encourage me to perfect everything, right? Why keep putting fucking fights you need to complete in order to get an S rank behind backtracking, or Legions I don’t have yet? That isn’t adding replayability, that’s just wasting my time. There are even in-level missions that have fail conditions that you never even know about. Surprise!!! A lot of them involve chasing after guys and catching them with your chain, which is really obnoxious to do!!!! SURPRISE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The story is just Bad Evangelion, straight up. Every story beat from Evangelion is here, executed worse. They also make your character have a twin just so they can have a character who can talk and feel emotions, because your boring-ass protagonist is stuck being an emotionless audience cipher. Cool!!!

Tetris Effect – 2018 – Origin – ★★★

It’s drugs Tetris. I personally don’t use, or have synesthesia for that matter. I imagine this game is better if you do. It’s an enjoyable enough experience but it feels incredibly slight for what I was expecting from it, or even compared to something like Lumines, which has tons of replayability by way of its difficulty. Tetris just isn’t that hard, unless you’re forcing yourself to do weird shit to get points. I WILL NEVER LEARN HOW TO T-SPIN. Never.

Castlevania Anniversary Collection – 2019 – Steam – ★★★

Kind of an unremarkable Castlevania collection. Neat that it has an official translation of Kid Dracula in there, but also… look, I prefer Metroidvania Castlevanias, OK?

6. Spelunky 2 – 2020 – Steam – ★★★

I’m not entirely sure why this doesn’t click for me where Spelunky 1 did. More annoying intro levels? Too many fiddly requirements for different ending-progression? Gameplay additions that just make things more annoying? Spelunky 1 was hard, but there was a kind straight-forwardness to it, even with its weird secrets, that made it much easier to grok and continue banging your head against. I’m just not having as much fun with this. Difficulty should be challenging, not a hassle.

5. Stellaris: Federations – 2020 – Steam – ★★★

This is the year that Stellaris just broke for me.

Federations itself is a good DLC; it adds some really interesting mechanics tied to various types of multi-national unions (the titular federations, as well as the Space UN), as well as the addition of unique “origins” that allow you to further specialize your gameplay. The origins in particular are a great addition that allows more specialization and roleplay.

I’m just tired of the sheer amount of busywork Stellaris forces you to do. Every DLC adds more junk you need to keep an eye on, and the fact that the AI doesn’t even bother with it (compensating with copious economy boosts in order to keep up) makes the whole thing frustrating. It’s like playing fetch with yourself; you just get tired of chasing after your own ball after a point.

I have to wonder if they’re pivoting towards a notional Stellaris 2 at this point? Might not be a bad idea for them, though it is weird with all they talked up adding more origins when Federations came out.  

4. GranBlue Fantasy Versus – 2020 – Steam – ★★★★

This is probably the fighting game I got most into over the past few years. There’s just this nice, almost Street Fighter-esque ease of execution to the controls, and that Arc Systems Works 3D-as-2D style continues to just do work. I don’t give a single shit about GranBlue Fantasy (frankly, I think I’d enjoy this game more if it wasn’t attached to a property) but the characters are fun enough to play and look at.

The big problem here is two things: no crossplay, and no rollback netcode. In the span of a month, this game became a total ghost town on PC, and it doesn’t sound like PS4 faired that much better. 

Ring Fit Adventure – 2019 – Switch – ★★★★

I’ve fallen on-and-off this game all year. At its heart: it works, it’s a fun exercise game. I don’t think it really feels like a “game” (in the sense that I’m not really coming to it for riveting gameplay or anything) as much as just a guided exercise experience, but… that’s fine? The in-game story is kind of flat, but funny in the fact of it existing at all. Buff Nicol Bolas and all.

XCOM 2: War of the Chosen – 2017 – Steam – ★★★★

XCOM2: War of the Chosen is a great answer to what XCOM2 struggled with. As I discussed back in 2016 (Jesus Christ), XCOM2 tried to push against player’s worst instincts by incentivizing them to keep being aggressive through a whole bunch of timers— which, kind of just weren’t fun given how much accidentally walking into an ambush could “ruin” dozens of hours of play. War of the Chosen dials that back in some intelligent ways, by instead making the encounter designs themselves, as well as much more grab-and-bail mission types, encourage players to push ahead instead. Smart!

The addition of the Chosen makes the game feel more alive, and they really do make missions harder— particularly early on. But they’ve somehow accidentally fell into the hole, where XCOM just… isn’t that hard? Early on it’s challenging, particularly with the resource restrictions and all. But they keep giving you more and more options (that aren’t especially meaningful choices) that make your team more and more powerful, without increasing the strength of the enemy as time goes on. By the five-hour mark, you basically know if you’re going to steam roll the game or not.

The amount of additional character and variety in the gameplay is great, I just wish it had a more challenging difficulty curve. Maybe make the meta-layer of when enemies show up more targeted to where players are at. If a player is doing well, ramp up the difficulty, if they’re struggling, pull it back a bit. I should always feel like I’m just barely keeping ahead with XCOM, not like I’m bored. And by the end of War of the Chosen, I was kind of getting bored, really. Oh well.

3. Animal Crossing: New Horizons – 2020 – Switch – ★★★★

This is probably the video game that I spent the most time with hours-wise this year. I’m not entirely sure why? It’s a nice evolution of New Leaf, in that the crafting, environment shaping, and general quality-of-life improvements made are quite nice. There’s clearly been some thought on how people play these games, and ways to make the experience less frustrating.

… and yet, they kept so much tedium in the game. Like yes, the schedule stretching is the point, I get it. As someone who for some reason decided not to play with the clock, I only just recently finished the fish, fossils, and insects for the museum. But there’s just so many weird, little things that just make it hard to keep coming back to it. It’s like… to what end? When I’ve unlocked everything, and basically seen the entirety of the item list at this point, and the holiday events all being the game meaningless collectathons…. Why? I’m not going to try completing the collection; the museum stuff is about my limit, really (and even the paintings I can probably pass on).

I guess even an idealized, digital representation of a quasi-domestic life has the spiritual emptiness of consumerism-for-consumerism sake. Thanks???

Hypnospace Outlaw – 2019 – Steam – ★★★★

I grew up on the internet of the early 00s. I had an AngelFire website, mostly consisting of shitty sprite webcomics and hosted Gundam pics. I remember when Google wasn’t really a thing and you would heavily rely on website compilation sites like the Anime Web Turnpike in order to find anything of value online. It was weird, it was wild. It was exciting!

The internet seemed so different back then. There was a ton of garbage online, but also, like… there was a sense of optimism to it. Folks were shitty, there was plenty of bad stuff online, but it felt so disconnected from the fabric of the physicality of real-life that it was at the same time a perfect escape.

I was young when I first got “online”, something like 12. I remember having this notion that the internet was going to be this great equalizer, that it had infinite potential to change how people behave and interact. Boy, huh.

Hypnospace Outlaw is essentially a splendid alternate universe GeoCities recreation, where you’re a volunteer moderator of a grouping of websites on HypnOS, an internet-analog you access while you are sleep. At the surface level, it’s mostly about poking around the weird alternate-historical version of the internet they created, full of kids feuding, bizarre historical divergences, and plenty of amazing bespoke weirdness. All of this is great; there’s an incredible amount of content that’s just great to poke at, listen to, and explore.

Below the surface, there’s also a rolling plotline about the ethics of this industry-owned platform, those who run it, and the way corporations handle new technology, new platforms, and emerging digital societies. There’s a late game turn that’s pretty damn affecting. And as someone who has moderator his share of internet forums in his time, trying to balance ‘do it for the community’ and what your ostensible ‘bosses’ require of you, it was kind of a weird throwback in more ways than one.

Minecraft – 2011 – PC – ★★★★★

Turns out, Minecraft is really as good still who knew??? Started playing a bunch more of it this year due to Giant Bomb deciding to do so, and yeah: still good!

2. Hades – 2020 – Steam – ★★★★★

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again— Supergiant makes damn good games. I’d been holding off on checking out Hades until its full release due to my tendency to burn out on games easily, and I’m glad I waited. Hades is a fantastic rogue-lite experience. The way it makes narrative progression part of the reiterative, randomized rogue-lite structure is just perfect.

It’s got all the usual Supergiant bullet points. Great characters, voice acting, narration, and music. In terms of gameplay, it’s probably their least ambitious game— playing something like a cousin to their original game, Bastion— but it’s also been polished to a mirror sheen. It just feels really damn good to play, over and over and over.

That being said, the second (final?) ending feels kind of…. Tacked on? It’s fine as a goal to go for while continuing to do the game’s relationship mechanics for additional story bits, but it ends up feeling kind of unfulfilling compared to the payoff of the first one.

1. Crusader Kings III – 2020 – Steam – ★★★★★

I never could get into Crusader Kings II. Despite my interest, the sheer mechanical heft and unintuitive interface made the game a wall that I just couldn’t get over. I’m sure if I’d dedicated myself I probably could have learned it, but… ehhhhhh.

Crusader Kings III, on the other hand, has a good tutorial, a cleaned-up UI, and a very helpful highlight and tooltip system that make it much easier to understand how to actually play the game through resources inside the game itself. And, as it turns out: I rather love this game.

I mean, conceptually it’s an easy sell, isn’t it? Historical politics is something I enjoy broadly. I liked Stellaris but wish it had more narrative, roleplaying elements. They outright say that “winning” isn’t really the point of the game. Instead, it’s more about emergent storytelling and playing with the different systems and seeing what you can do with it.

My current game has had me taking the Haesteinn dynasty from its Viking origins into England, forming a London-seated Northern Sea Empire that encompasses all of Britannia, Iceland, Holland, Norway, and Denmark. I am currently working on hegemonizing Norse religious control over enough Asatru holy sites to finally reform the religion, such that more unified feudalization can occur. To that end, my current ruler’s predecessor invaded West Francia and conquered the whole of its territory, substantially reducing the foothold of Catholicism in mainland Europe… which seems to have kicked the hornet’s nest, given the Crusade I’m going to need to contend with next time I boot up the game.

Of course, a complicating matter is that my current ruler— the Emperor of the North Sea, King of Ireland and the Danelaw, liege of the King of Denmark, was elected from the extended Haesteinn family via Thing, the Scandinavian council of his erstwhile vassals. Where the previous emperor, the one who manufactured the invasion of Francia, was quite religious and beloved for his adherence to the old ways, I discovered as I took over as his successor that he really, really is into just boning down across Europe. We’re talking constantly attempting to seduce neighboring Queens and Princesses. His vassals are not thrilled with this. They also don’t care for his propensity for torturing people to death, constantly.

I had no real say in this; attempting to stay on top of a dynasty is kind of like riding a bucking-bronco, so many things are only tenuously under your control that some weird shit can happen. This is especially true when you use the systems that make it easier to maintain the coherency of your domain. The Norse religion encouraging concubinage results in you having a lot of kids, which means there’s a lot of domain partition going on (someday, primogeniture, someday). Naturally, using Thing election reduces that, but also makes you sometimes end up having to play Emperor Stabbo-Fucko because they thought he was the best candidate at the time. Hell, I thought he was the best candidate at the time until I discovered just how many people he’d be laying with on the low. But you just have to roll with it.

The way the game forces you to play ball with character traits is great. Doing things that match with the character’s traits makes them lose stress. Doing things against their character increases stress. Too much stress can force you to make the character take up vices (which can make them suffer health or opinion maluses, as well as altering their aptitudes), or even die outright. And sometimes those vices and attitudes can be boons, given they open up opportunities for different character interactions.

Emperor Stab-and-Fuck-Kingdom is perhaps the most relaxed person alive, it turns out, because his sadism makes him really enjoy sacrificing infidels, which makes the gods happy. It also freaks the fuck out of all of his vassals, so they’re a good supplicant mix of both appreciative of my religious sentiments and also utterly terrified of my skull piles. Some especially brave vassals occasionally try to assassinate me, but my lovers keep jumping in front of the knife and saving my life mid-coitus. Iiiiiit happens! :D  

The game can be incredibly fun to just watch, as it becomes emergently weird. Georgia right now is incredibly Jewish in game. I’m not sure how that happened; I guess someone made a random Jewish guy into a vassal, who somehow moved up enough in the world to make it a movement? The Byzantine princes elected a Coptic as Emperor, which over the course of the decade resulted in very accelerated balkanization as Byzantium just lost its shit. The Middle East and notional HRE haven’t really unified in a meaningful way, so I’m curious how things are going to go if/when the Mongols unify and roll-on in.

It’s one of those “Just one more thing” games that can completely devour time. I have more than a few times checked the clock mid-game to see that it’s 4AM and that I’ve totally ruined my sleep schedule in the process of play. Oooooops.

I highly recommend checking it out if you’re curious; the introductory, pre-release video series Paradox put out showing off the game does a pretty good job of showing the core gameplay loop and also how weird it can get.

[viostormcaller]

Thinking about it, it kinda sucks just how little new horizons has.

Like... I love the game to pieces and maybe this is just bc im in a shitty mood (which i am) but like... god this is gonna be long and ranty and I'm sorry in advance that mobile tumblr doesnt have the read more feature

For starters, holidays are all scheduled on the company's terms, meaning in 7+ years or so there will be no more in-game holidays because by then they'll probably be thinking about/getting ready to release the next installment of the series on whatever console is out at the time and they won't want to update new horizons anymore. And adding onto this, you need the internet to download the updates. What happens to the players who don't have internet?? Can they just never experience the holidays like bunny day and toy day and turkey day? That takes a HUGE part of the fun of the series out right off the bat. Sometimes making everything rely on the internet is a bad idea. Idk if anyone can like tell me if having no internet means you can't take part in the holidays, but like... god if that's true thats really sad.

They recently took out the hybrid flower and big fish islands, which makes no sense whatsoever why they would do that to a game that has so little, but ok?? It's not like that feature was hindering the gameplay any

There's a lot of furniture but Not a Lot of Furniture, you get me? They took out EVERY set except the classic set (renamed "antique") that you can buy for an insanely high price, and the log and wooden block sets that you can craft, but other that that it's all unrelated items that aren't part of any set, aside from the cute set and diner and throwback sets which as far as I can remember are the only other sets you can buy in the game. No alpine, no ranch, no minimalist, no princess or gracie, no modern or sleek, none of that. And 90% of all the buy-only furniture in the game is just the color variants. You can't even customize them! And it's hard as fuck to find the color variants you want, much less for completing a furniture set

And speaking of which, your starting villagers don't get their default house interiors. Your first three + your two starters from the tutorial days have the same generic layouts. You NEVER see what their houses are supposed to look like, and even if you give them the wallpaper and flooring they're supposed to have (if you figure that out online somewhere), their house doesn't change (I tested this with Sherb and was kinda disappointed).

And stuff is so EXPENSIVE. I know it adds a challenge but my final loan was NEVER 1 mil+ bells in New Leaf. And you can't even expand the extra first floor rooms you get. I'm literally getting less for WAY more. The biggest rooms you get are the basement and upstairs rooms. The first floor rooms aside from the main room really don't have a lot of space and with the different furniture they DO offer, I don't have a lot of room to put things in. But it's not like I can even afford it anyway -- just a freaking air conditioner was 63,000 bells. In New Leaf it was 2500. That's a MASSIVE jump. And the kitchen items are so freaking expensive, as well.

And speaking of houses, for someone who was literally in the real estate industry in the last game, tom nook adds very few house exterior options. And the even more shitty thing is that a lot of the colors straight up don't match. They couldn't even add a plain white roof.

God and the fucking DIY recipes. I know I've said this before on my other tumblr but the RNG for this game is the worst I've ever fucking seen. There is no reason why, two months into the game, I can be given a recipe for a simple DIY bench, which EVERYONE LEARNS IN THE TUTORIAL. Who the fuck am I giving it to?! No one, because literally every player knows it already, and you can't gift diy recipes to villagers! And I keep getting repeats of recipes. My villagers give me fruit DIYs all the time, it's so rare for me to get any new ones. And two days in a row I've gotten the recipe for the deer head mount thing from the same villager. New recipes should 100% take the priority before repeats. This game is slow paced, sure, but that's just frustrating. It doesn't make me excited to learn more recipes, it makes me feel like I'm never gonna learn any new ones because I'll get the same fruit DIYs for a week straight.

And speaking of which, you can't put trees, bushes, or flowers in your storage, which to me makes literally no sense. I can fit a giant ass fountain in my storage but I can't put a flower plant? Really? And speaking of storage, for a game that added 300 whole slots for mail instead of the usual 10, I will never understand why they decided to halve the amount of items a player can order a day from the nook shopping, AND make it so that it takes a whole day to get there instead of making deliveries at 9 am and 5 pm like in New Leaf.

And the fact that they made it so hard to get non native fruit and flowers and shit??? Like they at LEAST added Lief so flowers aren't as much of an issue anymore, but you actually have to travel to other people's islands just to get all the fruits?? I know you have to do the same thing in New Leaf but the reason why this is an issue for me is because you have to pay for online access, meaning most of those nook miles for planting all the fruits are locked behind a paywall unless your villagers can gift them to you. And your mom, when you first start the game, has a chance of giving you the one fruit that's on the non-native fruit mystery island, meaning you'll only get ONE new fruit and not two separate ones (for example, my sis got pears from mom but her non native fruit islands have cherries i believe. I got pears from mom and my fruit islands also have pears. Doesnt help that that's the one fruit i hate lmao). They also took OUT a bunch of fruits, like mangoes, durians, lemons, bananas, lychees, persimmons...

And the fact that your nook miles rewards are ISLAND LOCKED. That is the WORST SHIT. Not everyone has the ability to play with others, bc no internet or no money for the subscription every month. Not everyone WANTS to play with others bc maybe they get social anxiety (like me, which is why i havent asked for things that are impossible for me to get even though i want them for my island or house), or maybe they simply just don't want to. But the fact that each island has their own color variants of the same goddamn rewards that CANNOT BE CHANGED makes me so upset. I do not want nor should I have to rely on others to get the items I want because my game doesn't have my preferred color variations. And it's not like I'm far enough in the game to have anything worth trading for said items, nor do I have the bells.

And Isabelle does next to fucking nothing and I'm really irked about how they made her character in this game. Yeah she's cute, but that's ALL she is. She became more ditzy than anything else. She doesn't let you know about visitors in the town or the plaza or if a bridge or incline was built bc of a completed donation goal. Like really useful info to know would be if Flick or CJ is in town or who is selling stuff in the plaza. Flavor text is nice but if that's all you say 24/7 it loses its charm. In New Leaf she was helpful and hardworking and super focused and on top of things. Idk why they changed that aspect of her. I know her role in New Horizons isn't as big as it was in New Leaf, but still.

And then there's glitches that STILL haven't been patched (as far as I know anyway), like the game-breaking villager corruption glitch (which you'd think nintendo would have made a priority but they're too busy removing other features it seems) or the house exterior glitch.

And it's bad enough that your game saves to your fucking system a la Fantasy Life. But even WORSE, no one can have separate islands on one console. It's not enough to own two copies of New Horizons. Each player has to own one copy of the game and a whole new Switch just so they can play on their own islands. Parents can't usually afford that (aka $360 for each kid give or take) so for a game marketed towards kids, I don't know why they thought that was a smart move (well, I DO know, and that's because money, but still). And to top it all off, cloud saves are not supported normally. If you lose your game or your switch and aren't subscribed to nintendo online, well, it looks like all your progress is gone! And there's nothing you can do about it. And they directly claimed that they did this just so people can't manipulate the game because it's supposed to be played in real time. But people can still fucking time travel by setting the system's clock! They achieved nothing except to make the players frustrated!!! If you make a game you need to accept that the player is going to play how THEY want to. You shouldn't try to make everyone conform to the way YOU want them to play. That just makes you a controlling asshole and the game loses a lot of its fun.

This game was 60 bucks and they took so long to make it and we ended up with less than we got in New Leaf. The main thing they gave us was a shit ton more clothing items (which I really like). Like I said, I love this game to pieces and it's actually one of my favorite games right now. There's so much I love about it -- I certainly don't hate it or anything. But this game has SO MANY flaws, a lot of which are needless. And I think the kid in me just misses the days where you can pay for a game and get the whole game right away. No updates in tiny batches, no content locked behind paywalls, no day one patches, no reliance on internet connection and multiplayer... mainstream companies have all gone really downhill with that shit and it just disappoints me to no end. But because Nintendo is kid-oriented, I think that's where it hurts the most. It was supposed to be accessible, family friendly fun like back during the days of the Wii and the DS. But companies get so wrapped up in competing with each other and trying to make the most money that they forget about all that. I dunno. It just sucks.

If you read all this, god damn I'm surprised XD I got super ranty and I apologize. But I'm in a sad mood and I after learning about features they've taken out I just had to get all this off my chest. It's been weighing on me since the game released, especially since for months prior this game was all I could think about and I was really looking forward to it. It just let me down in a lot of ways, I guess.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter Five: Miles]

Read on ao3

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Trigger warnings: Sexual assault plus everything already in the game; eye gore

Miles woke to a bright white light and a throbbing head. His limbs were heavy, his eyes burning. He groaned as he forced a hand up to rub at his eyes. 

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the bed and dropped his hands. His upper arms ached horribly. He was in a holding cell with padded floors and walls, bare besides the bed. The walls were covered in red writing that smelled of iron. 

Panic jolted through him. My notebook. He patted around his pockets frantically until he found it with a relieved sigh. 

 The priest brought me here to show me something. Thinks I’m going to be a witness for whatever batshit crazy he’s trying to sell me. This DR. WERNICKE they mention on the walls is at the center of whatever went wrong here. But he died more than ten years ago. “Rest in Peace,” says the blood. 

 He pressed on the knobless door. It didn’t budge. Fuck. He hated to draw attention to himself, but how the hell was he supposed to get out? He pounded on the padding. It barely made a sound. Fuck. 

Was it sound proof, too? Only one way to find out. 

“HEY! HELLO! CAN SOMEONE LET ME OUT OF HERE?” 

Rustling, then a Variant appeared at the door. He disappeared. The door clicked and drifted open. 

Miles hesitated. He peeked a head out, glancing around. He was on the upper floor of a cell block, most of it dilapidated. It missed large spots of flooring, some cells were deteriorated, the walls were caked in dust and dirt and vomit. Below, a patient knocked their forehead against a cement pillar, the blood squicking and spurting. 

CLANG! Miles jumped, his heart startling like a livewire. 

“Back! Get back!” A Variant rattled the grated wall separating the two halves of the upper floor, eyes on Miles, lit on fire with rage. “Get the fuck away from me! Don’t you look at me, don’t you dare look at me!” 

Miles inched backwards. He swallowed. I’m here to help, he thought about saying. My name is Miles Upshur. I’m an investigative reporter. Can I ask you some questions? 

But the man wouldn’t be able to answer his questions. He wasn’t there anymore. 

“Sleep no more,” he growled. “Space. Alone. Leave me alone.” 

Miles left him alone. 

He had to find his way out of the cell blocks. He poked around, looking for any doors that would lead anywhere, but the upper floor was a mess of delirious patients and carnage. No way out. 

About to descend the staircase, a voice behind the grated wall sent chills through Miles’ bones. 

“Who’s this?” They purred. 

Two naked men stood behind the grate, holding machetes. They looked remarkably similar—twins? 

“Maybe Father Martin’s man,” the one on the right cooed. 

“Maybe.” 

“He looks… nervous. I would like to kill him.” 

The one on the left nodded. “As would I.” 

“The preacher asked us not to,” the one on the right said uncertainly. 

“It would be… impolite. Not here.” 

“We give him a running start?” 

Miles was about to run, alright. If it weren’t for the grate between them, he would’ve already been far away from there. 

The one on the left grinned. “There’s an idea.” 

“And when we kill him, we kill him slow.” 

“Such patience. I want his tongue, and his liver.” 

Miles’ tongue turned to jelly in his mouth. 

Do they want to fucking eat me? 

“They are yours.” 

Miles hurried down the staircase to the first floor. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The man who knocked his head against the pillar, he sounded dead. 

Miles raised his camera. “Can I ask you some questions about how you’ve been treated here?” 

The man moved on. 

Miles lowered his camera. 

He found a man in a wheelchair that made Miles’ entire body want to disappear. How to explain what had been done to this man? His right arm and leg were engorged, red and purple, disfigured. Acid burns? No, not quite. His skin was like leather, every bit of it, not something from tanning too much but like it had been replaced. There were lines all over, stitched seams. And his voice… Miles couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. 

He raised his camera. “Can I ask you some questions about how you’ve been treated here?” 

“Don’t trust them,” the man rasped. He stumbled over his words, like he had to physically force them through his mouth. “They’ll tell you it’s science but it’s not. They were… waiting for us. Billy understood. They’ve always been here.” 

Miles swallowed. “Who’s Billy? Who was waiting for you?” 

The man shook his head and looked away. Miles lowered his camera. 

As he was trying doors, a man appeared behind a locked one. Miles’ eyes watered. The man looked to be wearing a mask, the same sewn leather, but his mouth was completely covered shut, his teeth poking out like decorations. Miles hated himself for not being able to look. 

He found a crack in the wall that allowed him to the second floor. He stepped onto a crate and leapt up to grip the edge of the floor, then hauled himself upwards. 

“...still. Just hold… still!” 

Crack! Miles tensed, his blood running cold. He brought up his camera and flicked on the nightvision. Behind a barricade of turned over beds, a man laid on the ground, a still body beneath his thrusting hips. The body’s head was cracked open, its eyes lifeless. Miles coughed and gagged, doubling over and nearly throwing up as the man’s moans filled his head. 

The Variant scrambled to his feet and covered himself. “Agh! Goddamnit! What the fuck is the matter with you?!” The Variant yelled. “You weren’t invited to this, you goddamned sicko! What, you like to watch? It’s sick. You’re sick!” 

Miles stumbled away and rounded a corner. He was in the administrative part of the prison block now. He slid down against a grated wall and pulled out his notebook, barely holding in his vomit. 

 Fuck this place. Seriously, just fuck this place. Dying keeps moving lower on the list of the worst things that could happen to me here. 

 He lowered his notebook. 

His stomach lurched. Leaning over, he emptied his stomach onto the ground. It burned on the way up, choked through his throat and nose. He coughed and gagged and whimpered, then stumbled to his feet, then threw up again. 

He staggered through the hall but the only way forward was through the upper floor of the prison block—on the other side of where he was before. As he stood where the twins had stood, his stomach lurched again. His throat was dry as fuck, and his head was pounding. He suddenly wished he had held it down, thought to bring water, anything. 

Trying to coat his tongue in saliva, he headed down the hall. By the green light of a decontamination chamber card reader, blood was written on the walls: God always provides a way; follow the blood. A streak of blood dragged on the floor, into the chamber. 

Was it too much to hope this would lead him to the exit? He didn’t know what else to do. He had to try. 

The blood trails led him through the asylum to an upper floor, where a Variant walked back and forth against the wall, fingers running over the bloody words there. 

“‘Down the drain,’” he whispered. “‘With the blood,’ he said, Only way out is down. ‘Down the drain, down the drain.’” 

Miles inched out of the stairwell and into the hall. To the left, he found a printed out email. 

 From: n.wolfram@murkoffcorp.us.com 

To: h.granat@murkoffcorp.us.com

Subject: Patient Art Program / PATIENT “FATHER” MARTIN ARCHIMBAUD 

 Helen— 

Dr. Zeichner gave me your info to contact regarding the cancelation of the arts program. My patient, Martin Archimbaud, has made enormous strides in his therapy on account of his finger painting. Just in the week since cancelling the arts program, his schizoaffective assertions of some “higher calling” have accelerated enormously. Please, just let the man finger paint. The few dollars you’re saving on temper paint is more than swallowed by the cost of Clozapine. I can’t imagine the logic at play here, unless Murkoff WANTS our patients to become more disengaged from reality. 

 Please advise. 

Dr. Neil Wolfram 

 Miles sighed. At this point, it was just blatant that Murkoff wanted to cause nothing but harm to these patients. He found a highlighter in his pocket and lit up the last sentence, then shoved the file with the others. 

As the blood instructed, he hopped down the large hole in the floor, landing on the lower level. There was a door behind him and an open grate ahead, the hall leading to the left. The blood led into another decontamination chamber, which was locked. He’d have to find the security room. He turned around and headed to the door, peeking inside. 

It had three cells, one of them holding a Variant and the other two open, with a desk in the corner. 

The files in his pockets rustled as he moved. A heaviness washed over him as one thought stood out against the panicked haze: just how many of the authors of these documents were dead now? Which of their guts splattered the walls? 

His eyes widened. 

Was the whistleblower still in the building? 

He hated the thought that someone who clearly cared about these patients could be trapped here, maybe dead. But if they were here, they were exploring just like he was, searching for an exit. 

Miles pulled out his notebook and pen and hesitated. He tapped along the page for a moment as he thought. 

 WHISTLEBLOWER, 

I hope this reaches you. My name is Miles Upshur. I’ve gotten enough evidence. As per Father Martin’s request, I’m following the blood in hopes of finding the exit. My car is right out front and I’ll wait for you until sunrise. 

Be careful of Chris Walker. 

 He folded the paper so the only thing that showed was WHISTLEBLOWER and prayed he’d find it. It was a long shot. 

But maybe. 

“They weren’t experiments.” 

Miles straightened up. He pulled out his camera and turned to face the Variant in the cell. 

“They were… rituals,” he whispered. “A conjuring.”

Miles waited, but he didn’t continue. He hesitated, then went back to exploring the room. There wasn’t much else, the open cell to the right housing a bed and the bigger one on the left housing a row of lockers. He preemptively checked one to make sure it opened and there was room for him inside. He left the room and headed down the hall. 

“Just shut up and let me think for a MINUTE!” Smack, smack, smack. Skin on concrete, something splattering, cracking. “Quiet! Quiet!” 

Miles swallowed. He held his camcorder to his chest and crept forward. He passed by a window into an observation room, where a Variant stood holding a pipe, covered in blood. Red splattered the window. 

“I’d like you to stay quiet,” he said calmly. 

Miles nodded. 

He slipped past without a problem, his heart racing. He headed down to the security room, but once he opened the door, a Variant charged him. Miles whipped around and sprinted down the hall, all the way back to the room with the cells. He slammed the door behind him. As the Variant crashed into the door over and over again, barely holding onto its hinges, he crammed himself into the locker and waited. 

The man barged inside. He slunk around the room while Miles covered his mouth and nose. The Variant crept closer to the lockers. 

Please don’t open it. Please don’t find it. 

The handle creaked. 

“He’s not in here,” a voice rasped. He recognized it. They were rituals. A conjuring. “He was earlier, but not now.” 

The Variant grumbled. The handle slowly creaked back into place. “I’ll find him.” 

He left. A few moments later, a door opened and shut. Miles’ hands were almost shaking too bad to open the door and stumble out. 

“Thank you,” he gasped. 

The Variant, the man, stared at him with dead eyes. He was hunched over, fingers wrapped tight around the bars. “Find the whistleblower. Help us.” 

Miles nodded. Light on his feet, he ran back to the security room and slammed on the button. He sprinted all the way back to the decontamination chamber. ‘Follow the blood,’ the glass said. He crept down the decrepit halls until another familiar voice carried through. 

“We gave him a chance.” 

“That we did.” 

Miles peeked around the corner. The twins stood behind a grated door. Where the lock should be was empty—they could walk right over to him with those machetes. 

He looked around for any other way forward. There were windows into the Male Ward, but past that, it was just the hall. 

He grit his teeth and inched towards the door. Don’t open it. Don’t open it. 

“I’d say we were more than fair,” Leftie purred. 

“Paragons of patience.” 

“Job-like in the suppression of our desires.” 

“But now.” 

“Now.” 

“Now we indulge.” 

“Yes.” 

Rightie reached for the grate. 

“His tongue and his liver.” 

Miles reached an open window. They were basically nose to nose, the only thing separating them the metal. They could slide the machete through the slats and skewer Miles. 

“Yours.” 

Miles leapt out the window, and the Male Ward came rushing up to meet him.

[reluctantly-plus-ultra]

Rei

Totally random thought here, but can we consider how absolutely crazy the LOV plot could’ve been if they’d taken in Rei? Like, total crack theory, but there are so many fun ways that could’ve been spun.

-It all just starts off with them trying to take out the new number one hero, and nobody’s really sure who mentioned that Endeavor’s wife had been hospitalized (not exactly common knowledge), but it seems like a pretty easy way to take a hostage and lure him in

-Dabi’s kinda pushing against it, but that’s not super shocking as he’s always been a pretty grey-area villain, and if any one of them are likely to have doubts about kidnapping mentally unstable women and putting them in potentially life-threatening situations, of course it’s this crispy dude

-So they take some time planning this whole thing out, and when the time comes around to actually pull it off, it works without a hitch. In and out, nobody notices a thing- particularly not Rei’s caretakers who can’t tell the difference between the real Rei Todoroki and one of Twice’s clones (which is saddening in and of itself)

-They all get back to the base and are putting on this whole evil production, trying to really play up their front and frighten their captive a little bit, but part-way through Shigaraki’s speech about how she’s going to be the bait that helps bring down Endeavor, Rei just...Cuts him off?

-Everyone’s kind of a little taken aback, because nobody does that unless they have a death wish, but here’s this frail wraith of a woman looking completely undaunted while literally tied to a chair, helpless and surrounded by villains

- And she looks their leader dead in the eye and tells him that if they’re looking to take down Enji, there are better ways of doing it 

-LITTLE DID THEY KNOW they kidnapped a literal powerbank of info on their number one target, yes, but they also kidnapped a broken woman who has a story to tell, an army of skeletons in her closet, and more than a few grudges to settle.

-And so, this is how the League of Villains become the first group to hear the truth of what went on behind closed doors in the prestigious Todoroki household, and the facts churn more than one stomach. After all, they might be villains, but for the most part they’re not total monsters, and not a single one of them present can deny that the whole situation is ten variants of fucked up.

-If Dabi had to leave for a cigarette or two when Rei started talking about her children, well, that was his own business.

-When the whole tale is said and done, it doesn’t take long for the league to come to the consensus that hell, if Rei wants to join their cause and crush her husband’s career, they’re not in any position to stop her. They were on the hunt for new recruits anyway, this is really just a win-win situation.

-Things are different with her around; Rei might be part of the cause, but she’s not a true villain like the rest of them. She sets the ground-rules pretty early on; what she doesn’t and doesn’t agree with, what she will and won’t help accomplish. None of them really argue it, because it’s not like they can truly force her to become an evil-doer, and in some ways, it’s nice having a motherly figure around and knowing she wasn’t cleaning blood off the knives in the kitchen earlier.

-And with time, she does gradually become the den mother of sorts, in an odd, peculiar way. It was to be expected, as many of the LOV lacked parental figures, and Rei had a hole in her heart where her children had been stripped. That doesn’t make it any less strange to walk in on Rei patiently braiding Toga’s hair while the teen chatters on about boys and blood like the two subjects were interchangeable, but Rei missed the opportunity to have bonding time like this with Fuyumi, and she’ll be damned if she passes it up again.

-Eventually, this compassion spreads throughout the other members of the league, though, and it’s evident in all kinds of little ways. Compress is meticulous about finding her pretty objects and flowers every time they go out, something to brighten the woman’s day, especially after years of staring at the same four walls. Twice is particularly good at finding new rom-coms for him and Rei to binge when time allows for it. She and Kurogiri know how to make everyone’s individual favourite kinds of tea (and stronger drinks as well, with the exception of Toga)

-She sews Shigaraki a pair of gauntlets that cover one finger and leave the rest of his hand exposed so he can touch things and not have to worry about destroying them, and ooh boy, emotions are high that day.

-They often give her “progress reports” about how Shouto’s doing too, tell her about how strong he’s getting and what new tricks he’s learned from whenever they encounter her son in combat situations. Nothing will ever top the time that Twice came back with three missing teeth and a broken nose, and proudly told Rei Todoroki about how well Shouto could roundhouse kick

-Is it weird to be keeping a special eye on up-and-coming heroes, and be proud when they kick your ass? Probably. Most of them don’t care though, because that’s Rei’s son, look at the little squirt go-

-Poor Todoroki becomes doubly confused when a few of the LOV visibly perk up whenever he uses his ice, which makes no fucking sense, and you can guarantee that he and Midoriya theorize the hell out of it like the true conspiracy theorists they are.

-Dabi’s relationship with Rei is oddly strained, and nobody seems to understand how the typically mild woman manages to put their sarcastic edgelord into extreme defense mode. It’s remarkable to him that none of them have made the connections between Rei’s son Touya and the fire-wielder who they see every damned day, but he can’t tell if it’s worse or better that Rei herself hasn’t seemed to pick up on it either.

-and hAWKS, DEAR LORD HAVE MERCY HAWKS

-Of course, upon doing his undercover work in the league, he’d expected to come across a few surprises, but finally convincing Dabi to let him meet the league and immediately running straight into Endeavor’s wife was not anywhere on the list. It’s something he knows he should be reporting to the Commission as soon as he’s clear, but there’s just... Something not right about how this is sitting, and it causes him to wait things out a little bit.

-And then, upon getting to know her, and finding Rei to be surprisingly sweet and kind for the people she was affiliated with, some red flags were bound to go up. Like, he was confused as hell to begin with even seeing her in the League, but seeing her there and knowing that she’s helping take down Endeavor without being a complete nutcase? Not a good sign.

-So when he too finally gets the whole story, it completely rattles the entire world he stands on. Everything he’s thought of this man he’s looked up to his whole life, everything he thought he was surefooted in putting his faith in, has been completely shattered. It’s devastating and horrible, and a really hard pill to swallow.

-But beyond that, and despite whatever airs he puts on, Hawks is one smart chickadee and it takes him all of 2.36 seconds to figure out that the brooding 20-something-year-old with a vendetta against this same man and a fire quirk too powerful for his own good is none other than Rei’s son Touya without a doubt. He doesn’t blame himself for missing it before, but knowing Dabi and knowing the whole story of what went down suddenly brings things into a whole new perspective, and it unfortunately makes a lot of sense.

-Eventually, after about a month or so and neither Dabi nor Rei seeming to make any move to reconnect, Hawks intervenes a little, pulling Rei aside to nudge her towards the struggling young man. It’s a surprise to find out that she’s known all along, has known since the day they took her from the hospital, and she first laid eyes on him. “He’s different, older,” She says with a small smile, patting the winged hero’s arm, “But I’d recognize my son anywhere.”

-Hawks chooses not to mention how Endeavor had faced Touya in person and not even come close to the same conclusion, but the knowledge of the thing still simmers in his gut.

-She says she’s waiting for him to come to her and tell her himself, but Dabi’s a stubborn little shit, so when things get a bit too overwhelming for the fire-user one night and Hawks has to bring an absolutely drunk-off-his-rocker Touya Todoroki back to the league or risk him passing out in a gutter somewhere, he takes him straight to Rei. He’s a mess, has been for the last three hours since he first broke into Hawks’ apartment just after midnight and began info-dumping his story to him then and there, scuffed knuckles and bleeding scars indicating that he’s already had some trouble earlier in the night.

-Of course, Dabi isn’t in the mood to chat and takes one look at Rei before trying to walk right back out the door. But the strain is becoming too much for Hawks too, and it’s time to lay some old demons to rest.

-It’s a little uncomfortable, being a bystander to their reunion, but Hawks can’t honestly trust that Dabi won’t flee if he’s not blocking the way and tracking him down again would be an absolute pain in the ass. So instead, he tries his best to be a mute fly on the wall as Rei approaches her rigid prodigal son, and gently raises one hand up to his cheek, using the sleeve of her sweater to carefully wipe away the blood trails.

-”I knew a boy just like you once.”

-Hawks can’t deny that his heart breaks a little as Rei tells this unmoving statue of a man about her Touya, how kind and gentle and loving he was, how he played so well with his younger siblings, and always put them first. How much she loved him, how much they all did, how she’d treasured his crayon drawings and cried in secret when he burned, and the slowly crumbling look on Dabi’s face is something he never wants to see again.

-”What happened to him?” Dabi asks, voice wavering, and it’s devastating that he’s still trying so hard to keep that mask on, to hide behind a scarred face and dyed hair like he doesn’t already know who he is, like he wasn’t admitting it all in Hawk’s living room an hour beforehand, pacing a hole through the carpet.

-“Nothing that was his fault,” Rei answers quietly, finally letting the unshed tears roll down her cheeks, even as she smiles, “I’m just glad to see he’s still alive.”

-It takes half a second for both of them to be embracing in a crumpled heap on the floor of the warehouse, and damn it, even Hawks is crying when he hears Dabi call Rei “Mom” for the first time in twelve fucking years, both of them sobbing, though the tears aren’t all sad. There’s a relieved look on Rei’s face as she combs through Dabi’s hair soothingly, saying his name over and over again until it finally doesn’t feel strange to associate it with the broken man Hawks has come to know.

-Things are better from then on. Explaining this revelation to the rest of the league the next morning was… Something, but Dabi’s smiles come easier after that night, and Hawks is learning to appreciate how simple it can be to make him laugh. There’s a light in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and while Hawks knows he shouldn’t be making these kinds of promises, not with the orders he’s under, he swears he won’t let it flicker out again. Damned hero instincts and all that.

Honestly, I have a lot more ideas to run with this prompt, but I don’t want to make this unbearably long- let me know if y’all are interested in a part two!

[riverbanksquid]

--MODS (ver. 1.16.4 ~ 5 only)--

EASY; OBVIOUS

better third person (TEST THIS 🚨)

wool to string wool tweaks is better ✅

tameable rabbits ✅

more flower bushes ✅ + custom mod for more small flowers 🔲

string lights ✅ (In-game book with recipes/tutorial?⚠️)

botany pots ✅ (learn recipes ⚠️)

invisible armor (actually 1 utility armor slot and 1 visible armor slot but same thing) ✅

NEW

added camels ✅

added chimneys ✅

bell noise when fish on fishing line ✅

can sleep slightly earlier (before stars show up) ✅

better caves, better mineshafts, and stronghold saver ✅

DID NOT add better portals because no they aren't ❌

supplementaries ✅ (hanging signs, notice boards, item shelves, fireflies, etc.; life is good)

added endermail (endermen will deliver packages for you) (do test this one 🚨 it's hard to do in creative)

added flower doubler ✅

added "kelp acts like bonemeal" ✅ (note: only one of either kelp or bonemeal will grow a vine and I forget which 🚨)

added "eggs hatch when they despawn (but only on hay bales and also only when there are fewer than X chickens around already)" ✅

added sleeping bags (skip night without setting spawn point) and hammocks (skip day) ✅

added ability to use banner pattern on bed ✅ (test this 🚨)

added tea ✅ (are the teapots and stuff placeable though..?? 🚨)

BIG DEAL; CONSIDERING

create ✅ (disabled ugly ores and custom stone types in worldgen; they aren't needed to make water wheels which are ALLLLL I care about 📝)

quark (some. mob variants, maybe vertical slabs, oddities for item pipes, etc) ✅

mcmmo 🔲 (pros: taming. cons: I don't actually even like mmos)

inventory tweaks quark has everything we need actually ✅

tree felling ✅ (serilum ver.) (it's so good) (NO AUTO-REPLANTING)

lava lamps ❌❓

ON THE LOOKOUT

one person sleeping makes night be over (check which version this became a thing in) QUARK HAS ✅ BUT TEST IT THOUGH 🚨

always show coordinates and ONLY coordinates (no F3 PLEASE) (Resource pack I got for this seems not to be working. Alt: serilum's gui compass. 🚨) 🔲

immortal neutral mobs (incl. bees) Does not appear possible with any currently existing mod. However, friendly fire prevents damage to pets and I have added passive endermen to prevent aggroing our very tall friends, which should mitigate this as much as possible. ✅ WATCH OUT for cats and rabbits though, that is very much still a massacre waiting to happen. CROSS-TEST WITH RABBIT TAMING 🚨

mooblooms & moolips ✅ CHARM HAS REALLY GOOD ONES

dog variants ✅ betterdogs. Con: to get specific dog type, name of type of dog must be in nametag name, which is mildly weird. Pro: fuck it !

legible signs. (editable signs also?) ✅ vanilla tweaks and quark, respectively.

feathers + leather without killing mobs ✅ charm "chickens drop feathers passively" rule, plus combination of "rotten flesh to leather" & all-paper books.

renewable saddles + name tags ✅ saddle recipe + nametagtweaks. (note: I think I actually have more than one thing installed that adds a nametag recipe but whatever. do test both of these though 🚨 also horse armor?)

more stars/more interesting night sky 🔲 (I hate texture packs. maybe I have to fucking make one)

candy colored texture packs and shaders 🔲 (I DUNNO, YOU GUYS)

BETTER STAINED GLASS? ?? also glass slabs, stairs, etc. might have to do this myself 🔲 (absent by design may add the shapes, as would glasscutter if it were ever updated to 1.16. try absent again now that optimization mods are working? the stained glass though, I do actually have to fucking do myself; nobody understands my aesthetic tastes apparently. CROSS-TEST ABSENT W/ QUARK'S FRAMED GLASS BLOCKS? 🚨)

GOING CONCERNS

proximity chat (found a voice chat mod that might work. to test. 🚨)

teach everyone how to screenshot

NEW PROBLEMS

"In Control!" does make mobs noticeably less lively if you're not within a couple dozen blocks of them. BUT the performance increase is VITAL... play with settings.

Charm (I think?) villager adjustments COMPLETELY fuck up the village near spawn. (Solution: maybe just turn them off... they're not that good. Also, may be able to get away with JUST turning off lumberjack and leaving beekeeper on. Test savanna and extreme hills villages with these rules.)

Better Caves fucks up the cool tunnel I wanted to make next to the ice spikes but I might just worldedit it into submission lol

Quark mob variants are OKAY. I do actually need to test 🚨 whether quark and charm can both have them enabled at the same time and have that like. work. Because charm's are slightly cuter in general but I like quark's purple cow hsjdjfjf

Chimney mod is cool but oh my god I have to 🔲 turn the amount of smoke particles it generates down

QUARK CANDLES ARE MADE FROM TALLOW AND NOT BEESWAX FOR SOME REASON... but charm's only come in one color. also neither of them cluster like the ones from 1.17!!! I HAVE COMPLAINTS 🔲 (solution: different mod OR custom mod OR crafttweaker)

also quark's blossom trees are a cute idea but they're ugly. fix? 🔲 AND fix the decorated paper wall and lantern.

related: macaw's doors has sliding paper doors. pros: MANY MORE DOORS, TRAPDOORS, WINDOWS. cons: choice paralysis? cluttered recipe book?

🔲 STILL DO HAVE TO PUT MORE FLOWERS.. IN IT..THE GAME.

wooden axe is the wand tool for worldedit and so does not work as an axe. I'm pretty sure there's a way around this but I think it's funnier to just ban the use of wooden axes specifically. unhinged server laws. also yes I want everyone to have access to worldedit. yes I will murder and kill them if they use it to be rude. we live in a society

the nether is still ugly. there's not really anything I can do about that though

🔲 Limiting factor on arrows is now flint, which is annoying to get, so maybe do something about that too.

🔲 also I totally have not found a good lead recipe so that too

🚨🔲🚨 and finally: this post is now way too long so I have to work on making a coherent file that lists included features, and another that lists stuff I'm still looking to add remove or change. NOT EVEN I WANT TO READ ALL THIS !!!

[niksfiks]

Gotta Get It Right: Chapter 11

PAIRING: Loki/OFC

RATING: Mature

NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger warning: mentions of dubcon, violence, PTSD, sexual assault, and physical abuse in later chapters. 

Also on Ao3 

Feedback is always appreciated (just being an attention whore screaming for comments/reblogs). Taglist is open

Tagging @fandom-and-feminism @fadingcoast @igotloki  @mrshiddleston-uk @mischievousbellerina  @amwolowicz 

Chapter 11: The Dungeons Below

The mind...is a fragile thing. Takes only the slightest tap to tip it in the wrong direction. Charles Xavier, Dark Phoenix (2019)

Loki suppressed a shudder upon entering the prison block. He was all too familiar with the cells, having spent far more time in them than he ever wanted to admit. Those who now occupied this prison were criminals, tried, and convicted for their crimes. He never should have been held, much less beneath the palace. He had tried to save Asgard from the Jotunheim, and from his brother’s idiotic lust for war. That business on Midgard with the Chitari had not been his responsibility. Even if it had, Odin had no right...

He stopped himself mid-thought, refusing to allow the memory to progress. Things had been set right with Odin gone, Thor off-world, perhaps never to return, and Loki firmly ensconced on the throne of Asgard. Regardless of anything else the woman had done, she had cemented his right to rule. And that alone was reason enough for keeping her alive. The other reasons he kept to himself, forgetting them when he finally reached her cell.

The woman sat on the floor with legs folded, her back against the wall. Her hands lay relaxed on her knees, palms turned upward as if to receive something. Loki watched her for some time, focusing on the slightest changes in her expression. He wasn’t sure if she was lost in a vision or simply dreaming, but her brow remained furrowed while her lips moved in silent speech. Just as he decided to leave, her eyes blinked open and bore straight through him.

“What?”

“Hardly a complimentary greeting, Midgardian.”

“If it’s a compliment you’re after, maybe you should visit your harem.”

Loki smirked. “We do not practice such archaic beliefs here.”

“Sounds like a personal problem.”

“I would think,” he said, approaching her cell, “that you would be more appreciative of the one who saved your life.”

“You’d think,” she responded absently, standing in a swift motion. “But technically, you’re not the one who saved me, are you?”

Loki stood silent.

“Figured as much. So the question remains: what?”

“Are you attempting to ask what it is that I desire by visiting you here? Or, perhaps, do you mean to inquire of the time?”

Aleksa rolled her eyes.

“There are so many possible variants of questions beginning with ‘what’, I couldn’t possibly list them all.” He leaned toward her. “You wouldn’t live that long.”

“Except for the part where you told your people to inject me with whatever happy juice it is that makes you immortal-ish. So I appear to have plenty of time. By all means, ramble away.”

Loki’s brow quirked as he wondered just how long she’d been feigning unconsciousness.

“What is your name?”

“Haven’t figured that out already? You’re losing your touch.” she scoffed.

“You proceed from the assumption that I haven’t.”

Aleksa shrugged, her arms folded.

“Regardless, I thought Midgardian soldiers were trained to recite their name and identifying number over and over when questioned. No matter. The data found on your identification tags has proven quite useful.”

Her hand instinctively went to her neck, searching for a chain that wasn’t there.

“Petterson is quite the surname. Perhaps I should just call you ‘pet’.”  

“Only if you have a death wish,” she snarled as she stepped closer to the force field.

“Pet, it is, then.” Her jaw clenched as he grinned. “There will come a time that your little excursions will wear my patience thin.”

“Stop chasing me and it won’t be a problem anymore. Besides, seems to me that your guards need more exercise now and again.”

“Now and again?” he scoffed. “Are you aware that you’ve attempted seventeen escapes in  three months?”

“And made it outside the walls of... whatever-this-is... fourteen of those seventeen times.” Her voice grew distant. “I still need to step up my game.”

“Your game? Quite the shame to waste such extraordinary talents on a... game.”

“But you’d have me play yours.”

“This is no game, pet.”

“Then what is it, Jotunn?” Aleksa growled.

Loki ignored the insult and grinned, satisfied that he was wearing her down. “Opportunity.”

“For what?”

“Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it? You are obviously a warrior of considerable expertise, and I admit to being quite intrigued by your,” he paused, “handling of the Tesseract. Certainly, there are other talents that remain hidden.”

“All in service of Asgard, no doubt.” Her voice soft, she added, “Or did you have something more personal in mind?”

Loki was suddenly aware of the difference in height between them as he looked down at her, trying to ignore the sightline straight to her cleavage. “I’m sure we could come to some sort of an arrangement.”

“Fuck off.” An admonition that sounded both sultry and threatening.

“An insult, the typical human response.” he balked. “Why unleash your hatred on me? Was it not your beloved SHIELD that sent you here to fetch those poor, lost academics? And was it not your decision alone to challenge me to duel in exchange for their lives?”

“Just like it’s your decision to keep coming after me every time I escape.” She returned to the back wall, sliding down to the floor. “Maybe you should find a hobby.”

“Oh, I’ve already found one. And it’s proving most entertaining.”

“I repeat,” she said with a sigh, “fuck off. Especially if you’re offended by typical human insults.” Aleksa glared at the sarcastic smile creeping across his face, then decided to disengage. He wanted her attention and she was going to withhold it.

“You can’t ignore me forever, pet.” Loki stared at her, noting the timing of the rise and fall of her chest. His mind wandered to the flesh beneath the tunic, what it might feel like against his own skin.

“It pains me,” he said with a shake of his head to return himself to the moment, “to see a creature of your considerable abilities left down here to rot, but, if that is what you wish...”

With no response, Loki sighed, turned, and made his way to the corridor.

“Oh,” he paused, speaking over his shoulder, “thank you for not instigating another riot during your last escape. It made finding you so much easier.”

He heard the slightest change in the hum of the force fields surrounding the cell before something hard hit him in the back of the head. He spun to find her still seated. The cup that had been in the cell with her now lay on the floor next to his feet. He picked it up, then looked back at her.  She was watching him, her facial features relaxed, almost inviting him to react. He only grinned and resumed his journey out of the prison.

Aleksa sat motionless for some time after Loki’s departure. Her mind raced with new plans for escape mixed with memories that felt more like dreams. She tried to think of simple things like the places or people she knew to settle her mind, but even that failed. Her childhood home in Charleston morphed into an even smaller hut near a cliff. Stifling hot summers spent in band camp became much cooler days walking shorelines with her mother.

Except it wasn’t her mother. Her mother died in an accident. Or was it a raid?

Blue skin.

Red eyes.

So much ice. And fire.

Fire.

“C’mon, Colonel. All you have to do is light the fire. Then you and your friends can go home.”

Aleksa’s eye squeezed shut, trying to block out the vision. They were nightmares, illusions. None of it was real.

Was it?

The desert heat was real. The smell of spice and gunpowder and whatever chemicals she’d been exposed to were real.

“Just light it. You can do that, can’t you?”

She began a breathing exercise, a deep inhale followed by a slow, steady exhale while summoning a white candle in her mind. All she had to do was light it and keep the flame steady.

“The flame will cease to flicker when your mind is calm.” A soft voice, neither male nor female.

“Light the pyre. ” Another voice, definitely male and definitely malicious.

Breathe in.

“You can control matter, control the energy that binds it together.”

Breathe out.

“Just a spark. That’s all. I’d hate for you to have the deaths of anyone else on your hands.”

Breathe.

“What d’ya say?”

“No,” she growled. “Better a few soldiers than thousands of innocents.”

“Never let your gifts be abused.”

How many are dead because of me?

“Poor Rose. Her death will excruciatingly slow without anyone to ensure she receives the proper treatments.”

Rose?

Her mind wandered to a baby, small with bright blue eyes. A child become woman become old, the blue never fading in her eyes, regardless of how distant they became.

Sweet little Rose.

She saw Erik’s face, smiling as he cradled the babe. The smile turned evil as his face morphed into Malick’s.

“Leave her out of this.”

Just kill me instead.

“Then bring me what I want.”

Aleksa’s eyes flew open and she stood, pulling energy from the floor into her body. The lights in her cell flickered, followed by the lights in surrounding cells. The block fell dark for a split second then returned to normal lighting.

None of the other prisoners noticed that the cell at the end of the row was suddenly unoccupied.

D’Varst, on the other hand, thought on all he’d witnessed for a moment before making his way out of the dungeons.

[grim-faux]

18 - The Witness

There were three or four of them, I’m not sure, I didn’t stop to count.  I froze up for about two seconds as they slowly approached, detecting my movement, the sudden charge of nerves as everything in my head suddenly shut down and reboot instantaneously.  It smelt like burning cotton.  I gave a small gasp as my brain shot into gear and I teetered around the side of the desk, the wood squeaked against the floor as my thighs knocked the sides. “Hey!  Hey!” Fuck!  I sprint to the front of the room, stumbling as the image in my visor flashed and flickered.  No!  No-no-no-no!  My camera survived a two hundred foot fall, and when against all odds I managed to retrieve it, it fizzles out and dies!  No!  Don’t do this!

The image cleared in time for me to spot the counter with the shattered glass.  I vault over it as the patients call after me, shrieking profanities along with the promise of excruciating demise.  Something whizzed by, inches from my head and clattered into the distance.  I never saw what it was. I swung around the sharp corner, stumbling as I regained traction and my camera flashed static.  Damn!  I lowered it enough to see the dark punch of the doorway, contrasted against the soft glow in the windows.  I shot through the doorframe into the next room, jerking around the gleaming shelves that swept into my path.  The camera’s image failed as I bumped and fumbled my way through the room, white flashed through my eyes as my hand struck the sharp metal edge of a shelf.  I heard a deafening crash as one of the patients in hot pursuit, smashed dead into a shelf and the whole line of them erupted at my back.  I glimpsed over my shoulder to evaluate the damage, and saw two of my pursuers at my heels.

I passed by a door but didn’t bother to slam it shut on them, I was already charging through the open cafeteria where the patients gazed into oblivion. A flash of light filled the room, I felt a hand sweep against my collar as I picked up speed, rounding the counters on the rooms left. Where was it I came from? Doors! Big doors, right by the counters. The hall took another left, just around the corner was a rolling table on my left. Without a thought I snared the handle and wrenched it behind me, the wheels squeaked up until a painful crash sounded when the half blind lunatics ran into it.

A snarled, “FUCK YOU!” echoed behind me.

Maybe that was a mistake, too late to regret it.  At either side of the hall locked doors lined my path, for once an asset.  My progress had been linear enough, I couldn’t recall hallways that I might’ve overlooked.  Find the light, the lockers, then closet.  Don’t stop, never stop till I’m dead!

The next corner took a hard right, I stumbled and hit the opposite wall and pushed off, keeping course on what was my only direction.  The hard footfalls of the patients echoed around the corner, they would catch up.  They were still upset with me, I’m sure. 

Another left, I’m blinded as I tear through, still staring in the nightvision as the lamp overhead blazes down.  I barely blink as I stuff the camera strap between my teeth.  Almost there.  I lunge over the bed frame panting hard against the Velcro strap, concerns of where my hands have been and where the cameras been far away in a place that no longer existed.  It feels like the patients are right behind me shrieking.  Any moment I’d be yanked back, my throat slit, skull beat to a pulp.  No.  No-no-no-no-

A sharp right and I’m in the locker/closet.  Yes!  Here!  This was it!  Home free!  I leapt, catching the roof of the lockers and dragged my body up.

The obnoxious drone of drumming water greets me, blocking out the curses of the men below struggling to scale the locker.  I exhaled a sharp breath, not bothering to care how much my ribs ached, or the blood now coating my hand.  I’d deal with it all later, what mattered was I’d gotten out with my life, and my camera.  I wanted to appreciate the small accomplishment, reuniting with my invaluable piece of hardware, and the small pride I felt in the escape. Let me get out of this washroom first, I just couldn’t enjoy this with the fuckin white noise aggravating my head.  I took the camera strap from my teeth and moved toward the other side of the room, reminding myself to remain cautious despite how well these events turned out.  I needed to put this room behind me, in case the variants managed to stay focused long enough to get up into here.  There was also the point that I was in a relatively good mood, and something terrible must happen to spoil that.  It always seemed too happen.  It was a curse of the Asylum. Try not to think about getting grabbed from behind and drugged with a giant needle.  That was a prime example, as it was a massive insult to my pride. I reached the other side of the showers, from which I first entered the room, and crawled under the interior frame work of the wall.  I remained huddled in the shadows for a moment to reassure there was no one waiting, that I was alone.  The hall was empty, on the far right I could now see was a doorway at one point, but those of Mount Massive had fixed that. Unless, all this time the patients have been the ones to block doorways and cram furniture into the halls.  Interesting thought.  Made a little sense too, but I doubt it mattered anymore. The opposite side of the hall held another door, presumably that led to the showers and other venues.  I didn’t bother to try it, though it was clearly blocked.  I took it slow into the next room, the vivid memory of shapes and faces watching my progress fresh in my mind.  I winced as the image rolled in the visor, it knocked me from my brooding, though I was partially blind for the spell. I continued, constantly glancing over my shoulders, twisting as I thought some sound came from a desk or table.  Despite the cameras return I was still paranoid about this room, the static didn’t help either.  Occasionally, the lightening burned through the atmosphere with a thick rumble, I stopped to listen and make sure I was hearing over the sound of silence.  I felt alone here and it was beginning to frighten me more than the patients.  Sometimes I preferred being alone, many of the people I worked with were generally assholes, so I preferred it.  But I needed people now, I was too deep and craved normalcy, a tether to something reliable.  The sound that followed me was deafening, I needed to get out of this crushing silence. Reaching the upper floor was no longer the challenge.  The room was as it was left, no longer crumbling into ash.  I stepped over the charred wood by the wall and jumped to the edge of the remaining upper floor, and pulled myself up.  The floor was settled and had no longer any intention to crash, and scatter the camera or me across the checkerboard tile.  The doorway was still here, welcoming me with its swirling dark and its secrets and the promise that through it, I would reach my destination.  Whatever that was anymore. Thus far it had been misleading truth, along with one disappointment after the next.  I was done with it, but there was still much in store for me.  Nothing could ever be easy.  I would never be done with this.  There would always be something unsettling and dark locked in the back of my mind, nesting in my doubt and feeding on my fear. The hall to my right led to blocked doors, dead end.  I turned to my left, first seeing the rupture in the floor before taking the leap.  I will forever have this unreasonable fear that I will fall and lose my camera.  And I will always clutch it tight in my right hand, until the bone is worn down into my skin.  It hurt like a bitch when I did that. Due to my paranoia I saw it fit to shut a door with a large gaping hole behind it.  I don’t know, maybe a patient will wandered through here, break down the door and fall to his death.  Seemed like a reasonable assumption. Beyond the doorway was a segregation gate on my right, possibly leading to one of the floors I visited earlier.  Or maybe the stairway where I found the Walrider folklore file, it was locked and therefore a dead end.  Another door tempted me on the left but the latch was jammed. The floor creaked under foot as I moved towards the lit doorway ahead.  I tried not to rest my full weight on one board for too long, and listened as the wood spoke of its pain, long wretched moans as it shifted.  It was getting tricky to anticipate which portions were trustworthy but I was cautious.  I stepped through the open gate at the halls end, even from a distance I could see the fires consumption.  Nothing remained of the room I was in, a few pieces of wood that had not fallen away.  Below, I took note of the doorway ‘Father’ Martin had hailed me from.  He said I could find a way across on the upper floors, but he was on the lower floor the whole time.  Damn that guy. As I moved out further onto the charred ledge, the floor crocked and gave out.  I threw myself backwards into the doorway, as the wood snapped away, timber crashed down until the supports locked and held it in place.  Holy crap.  My breath came in short gasps, I nearly thought the floor was just going to fall out.  Weakly, I laughed. I needed a way down that didn’t involve a too dangerous stunt.  Most of the floor had fallen away, I wasn’t about to take the leap, even if I didn’t doubt the wood could hold my weight.  From this height the least of my worries would be a snapped leg. Through the NV I spied a small portion of the wood on my left, still intact, and it wasn’t too short I had to shuffle along.  I hopped over and judged my footing, trying not find the one loose board that would— I staggered back when the wood under me fell out, and I sat on my butt staring at the small space that at one time felt solid.  Step lightly, take your time.  I carried on, jumping across a short gap to the far wall and moved to the edge of the walkway that remained after the fire.  The smell of charcoal was getting to me, not to mention whatever else was reduced to ash in the blaze.  Bodies, plastic, chemicals, cotton. Across from my position, pieces of the floors support held tight to the wall.  I jumped over snagging the burnt wood and used it to lower myself to the small pace below, and then dropped.  I glanced around my new surroundings, and took in the patient standing at the end of a fully lit hall.  My head buzzed with the realization but I tried to keep calm, think clearly.  I lowered my camera and straightened up from my crouch. He was clothed, only half of my brain screamed warning.  I took slow, calm steps toward him, aware of the high drop at my backside.  He watched me, occasionally throwing his eye to the gate he stood beside.  It looked horrible the way his face had been stitched, and the ear on his left was completely gone.  I paused when he gave a short gesture with his hand, towards his eyes, then looked to the door again. “Only one way out.  Only one way.” I looked from him to the door, then back to him.  He looked like he could just throw me in.  Rather tempt him I stepped by, through the doorway and looked back as he swung it shut.  “How do you know you’re not a patient?” For some reason, and I can’t explain why, this question jarred me to the core.  Why?  Rather rebuke such an insulting inquiry, I began to doubt my own presence here.  Who was my mysterious contact, exactly?  David Annapurna?  He never made it out of here, did he?  Murkoff… couldn’t have been in the dark about his mutemail account, could they?  The company was always on top of those sort of things.  “The experiment is still happening” yelled someone.  That had been forever ago.   Through all the evidence I had seen, Murkoff was finished.  Weren’t they?  Or was someone still alive running this place, while I scrambled about prodding at the surface, in the meantime the real evidence was hidden away in vaults I would never access. I suddenly felt like the biggest idiot in the world.  I had already established that this was the worst mistake of my career.  But one question from some lunatic has caused me to doubt everything I had been through.  I pressed my forehead into my palm, ignoring the thick smell of charcoal or the fact I was probably rubbing it into my bloody scalp. What was I here to achieve?  What was I to gain from this job?  Expose Murkoff?  Or did ulterior plans await in the woodwork, that I had not been made privy to yet? I crouched under a jungle of shelves and cabinets that had been crammed into the hall, the short plush carpet now under foot filled me with a warmth that I had missed. Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t happen to me.  I’m not a part of this process the patients had been put through, I’ve never endured this ‘therapy’ the doctors implemented on their MKULTRA subjects.  I was going to get out of here, with all the evidence on this camera, the one I risked my life for! And Murkoff will be buried so deep Satan– no, the Walrider, would be insulted by the company.  There goes the neighborhood! Light filled the hall, momentarily blinding me through the NV feed.  I took note the cheerful curtains hung along the windows on the left, and I could see the rain falling against the heavy grade chicken wire stretched outside.  No thick, rusted bars, no moldered, outdated wood.  The droplets clung in thick globs along the crisscrossing squares, the image flashed causing me to lower the camera and rub at my eyelids. It was at this point I finally noticed my camera, or the visor, was cracked.  That explained the short glitches, but it still worked.   To be certain I leaned on a bookcase and played back some of the recent footage to make sure it was recording.  I didn’t realize it, but when the patient had related to me there was only “one way out,” someone had muttered a soft “thank you,” and listening to it, I realized that had been my voice.  Huh.  I don’t remember that. I might, should’ve been a little more concerned, but there was a lot lately I was missing.  I took it as shell shock, it would be weird if I was unaffected.  For months, maybe years, I would be reliving this nightmare.  But at least I’ll be far away from it, and living.  That was more than what Murkoff’s staff had accomplished. A few new marks were etched up the cameras plastic casing, a large crack now along the side where it must’ve hit the board before falling through the floor, or where it came down on the floor below.  It was holding up and recording, if not, it still provided my light source.  Char was smeared all over its sides where my fingers pressed into it.  The soot had clotted much of the bleeding since my recent mishap, at least until I hit them on something else sharp and painful. More shelves and desks had been lodged into the hall, I pushed out one of the chairs that was between the stack and continued on through easily.  The dull throb in my ribs was overshot by the buzzing in my bones, like I’d been shot with a Taser but without the seizing and screaming.  Just the hammering in my skull. I cleared the gap a little more and listened.  Nothing.  Cautiously, I moved forward keeping eyes focused on my direction.  The modern side of the Asylum was almost more unsettling than the outdated section.  Almost.  With the clean walls, the lack of furnaces, and the fresh carpet.  The initial appearance was such a major deception.  I moved through another broken segregation gate into the bright gleam of a lamp, on the wall to my right a plaque hung labeling directions.  Chapel, Cafeteria, Recreational Hall, Library, and Lobby.  Was I on the third floor?  I was losing focus, couldn’t figure where I was.  Father Martin had mentioned where I would wind up, I doubt I was keen on listening to his preaching at the time.  This hall would lead somewhere. As I turned holding my head, a shape moved at the halls end, beyond a glass door.  I zoomed on my camera and heard the crack of wood, before the shadow ducked out of view. Big fucker!  I dashed to the nearest door at my left, exhaling with relief to find it unlocked.  He was already bashing another door somewhere, I ducked inside and shut myself in.   The room was well furnished with couches set up in one half of the room, above them a cheerful lamp blazed forth.  The carpet sounded strange to my ears after I had become accustomed to the rickety wood floors, and charcoal.  In the furthest right corner desks and monitors, beside them a fireplace.  On the wall to my right sat a bookshelf filled with encyclopedias, among other texts whose labels and a few files.  I didn’t care for how homey the room was made out to be, or how pleasant it felt to stare at something other than bloodied floors and puss coated walls.  Out there Chris Walker had not given up on his personal vendetta.  I slipped down beside a desk and watched the door, listening for the trademark sounds of big fucker demolition. Where did I need to go?  First floor should be my new objective, those doors would lead to the front grounds of the Asylum.  I never unlocked them though. Don’t think that far ahead!  Have to get by the big fucker first, then worry about finding the way out.  If he corners me, I will be dead.  Think.  There has to be a way out of this area.  A door, something!  Where did he come from? Meanwhile, I felt the tremors as Chris pummeled another door into oblivion.  Three earsplitting crunches, followed by the earth splinting tremor as the wood gave, allowing the big fucker to hunt new ground.  I had to think carefully, if he couldn’t enter a room he would tear his way in, by whatever means.  But I wouldn’t be completely trapped if he found me here, a second door was set a few feet down from where I entered. After some careful consideration I came to a decision, not one I was particularly fond of, but it was better than waiting for him to burst into the room.  I had maybe one chance, unless I could find another room to hide in before he saw me. I made sure I had a firm grip on the camera, then loosened myself from the desk I was crouched beside and crossed to the door at the other side of the room.  Both needed to be open, this room was my plan B if the other plan went to shit. I leaned on the door frame to check out, the light failed to reach this end of the hall forcing me behind the NV feed once more.  It set me to ease, I was less likely to be seen poking out with my camera scanning for the big fucker.  I felt the trademark crunching of oak, before I caught the movement of his work.  I felt the wall quake with a final crash and the large shape slipped out of sight. I dashed across the hall into a joint corridor filled with dark shadows, but to my disappointment discovered the end was a blocked by a grate and some office chairs.  Nonetheless, I climbed over the chairs to test the handle and myself, that there was no way through here.  I returned to the main corridor and knelt by the corner to check.  Chris was coming this way!   My visor flashed, and I slunk back as the feed cleared.  The sound of chain twitter drew closer and closer, oddly reminiscent to the noise I thought I heard.  It was unbearable in this place and time, I pressed myself into the wall struggling to block it out.  The whole time I’m half ready to bolt or half working to rub down the nerve to keep still until the absolute last second.  The sounds give way to splinting and a crack as the big fucker threw himself against another door.  It was enough to drown out the tremors in my muscles. Until the door gave a final snap and shattered.  I poked my head out to confirm he had entered a room, somewhere.  My next target was a door across from me, the hairline crack of light shone through the dismal hall.  I couldn’t make out where Chris had gone, I only wanted to get into that room and out before I was cornered there.  My worst fear was that it would be another tiny broom closet. I swatted the door open and entered, it wasn’t a tiny closet, it was a tiny lounge.  A long table ran parallel to the back wall, some chairs pinned behind it, high on the wall to my right was a large screen splattered with dry blood.  What caught my attention was a vent that cut through the room overhead, dust or condensation spilled across the ceiling.  The flue above the table had snapped partially and hung sideways by two screws. I slammed the door shut and dragged out one of the chairs and braced it under the handle.  That might buy me some time.  I doubt I had much time to work, in the past ten seconds I had not been discrete with my activities.  The screws didn’t look sturdy, they were tiny and the vent looked ready to fall off.  But when I climbed onto the table prepared to wrestle it off, the screws held tight.   No thank you, I was not going to roll over and take this.  Once securing the camera in its pack, I reached over and pulled up another chair.  They were light enough I could get one above my head with minimal pain, I braced myself as I swung the legs out across the grate.  It echoed and bent, but held.  A second attack caught the chairs leg in the grating, and I wrenched ripping one screw loose.  The cover fell and I dumped the chair in order to clamber into the opening/exit.

Before I could heave myself up into the flue, I paused to glance one last time at the static filled screen.  The mist swirled around the pulsing light of the screen, but there was something more.  Some… sort of image?  The crackle filled my skull as I gazed, senses lost.  The distant recollection that Chris still hunted for me was there, but…

I reached for the camera, but decided against it.  For one, the image was overlapped.  I raised my hand against the bright screen and the image was still clear, unobstructed by my hand.  I leaned back as it fluctuated and squirmed, just like the thing I saw in the dark.  It’s face—

Without a thought I clambered up into the vent, my head throbbing.  Just keep going.  The way out, it can’t be much further.  This vent must lead back to the main room, if not, wherever I wound up I could navigate somewhere more tolerable from there.

One side was bared shut, I didn’t need to bother with it either.  I struggled to get my camera out of its case, then turned and shuffled in the opposite direction, to where dead eyes gazed at me.  At some distance I had to stop and stare back.  A sharp pain bore its way into the back of my skull, and I pressed my forehead into the cool metal and held out as the pain pulsed.  I’ll get through this.  Need to keep moving. A draft moved from my right, I crawled into the connecting vent trying to bear with the throbs beating my brain.  A short ways in and the vent twisted further to the right and opened into another office.  I shut off the NV to rest my eyes and pulled forward, to drop gently onto the sticky flood. Blood trickled beneath the only doorway, I didn’t want to imagine what might lay on the other side.  A book shelf had toppled spilling files and psychology volumes across the floor, a desk was beside the wall with another shelf that remained upright and stacked with more boxes and files.  Bottom line, it was another dead end. Some of the files I sifted through mentioned some of the shady work of the Asylum, with some of the patients BEFORE Mount Massive was shut down.  There remained current files, and many of the lower level staff expressed the usual concerns and confusion with the lack of progress their patients made with standardized treatment. From: k.vigalondo@murkoffcorp.us.com To: c.eisner@murkoffcorp.us.com subject: Patient WILLIAM HOPE  Heya Cindy~  Another “interesting” conversation with Billy this morning. He says he’s been talking to Dr. Wernicke again for his therapy “in the white place.” I’m disturbed by the fact his delusions have only gotten worse with medication, (which isn’t in the literature for benzodiazepine.)  In any case, his dead doctor friend is filling his head with German folklore. Apparently the only thing that can kill the Walrider are vampiric butterflies vomited from a demon called “Horerczy.” the butterflies suck the breath from people’s lips and drink blood from their nipples. They can also take the form of emaciated upright pigs, or sick dogs. So Billy’s got that going for him.  You’d mentioned Billy talking about his mother’s tattoos before, are any of them by chance tattoos of butterflies? Next time I get outside of the Murkoff firewall, I’m going to look online and see if there’s any actual basis in German folklore, or if Billy’s making this garbage up from whole cloth.  Would love to compare notes sometime. Wouldn’t mind doing it over a glass of wine. . Gets lonely up here on Two. – Kurt Billy Hope.  I’m sure I’ve heard the name mentioned a few times before. I sat on the desk and pressed my fingers over my brow, hoping to steady the pain. What was his connection to the Walrider?  He was one of the failed experiments, but like all the other patients he was apparently having dreams about the dead doctor.  “Wernicke’s waiting for me there.”  I shuddered at the recollection.  None of them had ever… seen Wernicke.  I had to remind myself, he had not lived long enough to reach the Asylum.  They knew about him through their dreams.  A sort of mass hallucination, more of Murkoff’s tampering and conditioning, the H therapy.  “Blood dreams,” Billy reportedly called it.  He was dead to them because they only encountered him in dream.  That was how the dead doctor performed his experiments on the living patients.  What a chilling epiphany. Vampiric Butterflies. I snorted out a laugh as I flopped back onto the desk.  I wonder if there was a Horerczy in the area I could rent out. The vent seemed colder this time, the floor too painful to touch with my bare hands.  I curled my fingers into my coat sleeves to ward off some of the chill as I crawled back into the section with the stiff corpse.  I pushed my face against my collar and made an effort not to breath in the thick fumes of flesh, fetid in the tight walls about my shoulders.  It only made matters worse that his dried out eyes were fixed on me while I moved closer.  God, he looked awful.  He needed to be out of my way.  I stuffed my camera into the pack and pressed my hands against the fabric of his greasy shirt.  Ugh. There was so much wrong with this, I couldn’t begin.  His neck and spine gave a gruesome crack as his body tumbled out of the vent, and a dull Thwack! came from below when he hit.  Sounded like a rotten watermelon I dropped out of a tree once.  A few of the insects nesting in his corpse took flight and hummed about, dazed and agitated.  I gazed down and braced myself to drop, didn’t need to go trampling his corpse too. This place.  I knew this place.  It felt like a long time ago, but I’ll never forget the window I went flying out of.  Or… the place that it had begun.  I was standing in the glassed in upper floor where I had first entered Mount Massive.  I walked along the wall towards the stacked and crammed bookcases and desks, where the big fucker first welcomed me into the Asylum.  The small gap I had entered was stuffed with broken chairs and another cabinet, it looked as though the big guy had tried to climb over the slaughter of furniture himself, with poor results.  I tried to crawl over myself.  This was the beginning of the nightmare, it would only be fitting as the end.   The first shelf I attempted to scale cracked, I flopped forward catching myself on my hand as the entire collection of furniture shifted, nearly pinning my arm.  It did, the corner of a chair pinned my right hand with the exposed bone.  A strangled yowl lurched from my throat before I slapped a filthy hand over my mouth to stifle the sound, I sobbed briefly as the nerves blazed in my knuckle.  Why did I think that was a good idea?  I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my free hand against the chair’s legs in order to twist my hand free, then crumpled to the floor holding my wrist.  That had been stupid.  My shoulders trembled but I continued to hold my hand, allowing blood to collect along my fingers. The door to the library was open, that sickly familiar sweet decay climbed out on some invisible draft.  What irony it’d be if I stumbled in to find a concealed way to the exit, the discovery would be the last nail in the coffin.  I shuddered at the allegory. The room was dark, I needed my camera out anyway and did my best to scrap some blood onto a cleaner section of my shirt.  Insects invaded my space, attracted to scent of death that clung to me, and the fresh blood that spilled.  I didn’t have the time or energy to dissuade their persistence, to acknowledge them reminded me of the state I was currently in.  For a short while I held the camera awkwardly in my left hand, while the right continued to bleed out.  Blood stains led into the room, but I expected worse awaited inside.  I stood at the edge of the black veil and listened keenly for sounds, the labored snorts of a man with his face fuck started off.  I don’t think I could survive another toss out a window.  I entered slowly, it was quiet but for a subtle trickling— Something flittered in my vision, I sprang back against the door frame.  Nothing was there, I was imagining things.  The camera kept buzzing.  My heart was racing.   Rows of bookshelves filled the room, it looked like they had meetings here with the two tables set together near the back, along with a dry erase board shoved into the corner.  The wall was lined with windows and what little light that found its way in, washed across the papers scattered over the floor and desks.  The few pages I looked over had heavy black bars censoring every other sentence or line.  What shocked me most about this room was the lack of corpses despite the musty odor in the air.  I recalled what lay in the rooms not far from my current position, and decided not to dwell on the matter further.   I stepped around a filing cabinet and rows of bookshelves, pausing as the feed sputtered but returned to normal.  I resumed, locating the desk set before the furthest window, with two – one monitor stationed on it.  The fractured lens made it appear as though there were two monitors.  A few files sat on the desk, which I took up as I ventured to check the other side of the room.  It was so quite it was eerie, I could hear my heart thumping in my chest as I rounded the bookshelf half expecting some madman to lunge out at me screaming.  When I focused on the NV it felt as though I had seen someone, heard them too.  I had to pause and hold my head while the echo subsided.  Nothing there.  My nerves.  My stomach twisted and I waited for the nausea to pass. At the front of the room was a cracked door jammed in its frame, on the left a few chairs and a small table with a shriveled up plant on it.  I reached out and stroked the brittle leaves and watched as they snapped under the gentle touch.   The potted plant was a metaphor for me.  It was trapped in an Asylum, shriveled up and pretty much dead, yet, it still stood here in its dry potting soil.  It still looked like a plant.  And here I was, torn to shit, my mind scrambled, jumping at every sound, and I was using a plant as a metaphor for my life.  This was a nice little reprieve, felt like things were almost normal again.  But that grainy sound I couldn’t shake.  It had to be in the walls. I returned to the light outside, first peering around the door frame before I emerged fully and sat beside the door.  The folder was a little worn and its spine flimsy, but it carried more files than it should.  Black specks had dried across the front, which I already knew to be blood.  I tried to ignore the way my beat up hands quivered as I focused the camera and took images of some of the pages, I think some I didn’t bother to let the lens focus enough. (Translated from German)  BERLIN  6.Sept.1938  Reichsleiter Lohner and  Dr. Med. Rogge  I have pressing news concerning the ongoing work of Dr. Rudolph Wernicke in his development of the Morphogenic Engine, expanding on theories developed during his brief but unfortunate relationship with A. Turing.  If I had not witnessed it myself, I would not believe it had happened. But beyond even the promise in cellular regeneration and guided cancerogeneration, I believe Wernicke’s method has breached the spiritual realm. Something has crossed from the other side. I personally witnessed the appearance of an apparition. Briefly, but undeniably so.  Please forward my note, and invitation to witness further experiments to Dietrich Eckart. I do not doubt that the Fuhrer himself may need be made aware of our discoveries.  It is my opinion that Dr. Wernicke’s successes represent an enormous opportunity for our cause and the German people, and are obviously sufficient reasons to keep him out of any sort of culling program. Regards to your family.  (signature illegible) That shed some light on nothing in particular, other than confirming that Wernicke had begun the work that Murkoff was involved with.  The morphogenic engine.  It felt like everything I had seen, reading and gathering, was all being repeated back to me.  But it was starting to make sense what the pages were saying.  The sounds I was hearing, they couldn’t really be there.  I shut my eyes and for a moment lay back against the wall and focused on the hum in my muscles. Something was in the air of this place, transmitting through the walls and reverberating through the molecules.  A sub level drone of something constant, a persistent noise that never had a beginning that I could identify, something in the mountain air.  As I concentrated the sound almost dispersed entirely, until it was null.  If I untangled myself from the chorus, the slightest edges of it crept back into my mind until it hurt like my bones were on fire.   I gripped my camera tighter, solidifying my consciousness in this place, in my private set of molecules.  The blood was drying on my hand, sticking between my fingers and the device, yet I didn’t care.  I sat up more and felt the tremors rolling through my muscles.  Had to get up, walk this… whatever it was off.  I turned myself, keeping a hand on the wall for support as I moved.  There was a door I had avoided up until now, beside where I entered above from the vent.  A bright red and yellowed stain had spread down the wallpaper from the outlet, where the body had bled out.  Even lying folded in his ragdoll mess of spoiled muscle and skin, the dead man’s eyes seemed focused on me as I hobbled by.  I hid my face beside my arm as I reached for the door.   I leaned into the Plexiglas dismayed that it would be locked, until I realized it needed to be PULLED open.  I dragged it shut behind me and took in this side of the room.  Stairs on my right led down to the ground floor, before them at the wall was a segregation gate that I judged to be locked.  Red and smeared footprints crossed from the left side portion of the room, from an elevator, to directly where I stood.  They were large prints, twice the size of an elephant’s foot.  The big fucker could work the elevator?  What next?  Was he capable of learning how to open doors?  Shit. “You’re him?”  I hesitated from tracking the steps on the carpet.  The voice called from the other side of the elevator, behind a segregation gate that jutted out onto the floor.  “Yes.  I’m supposed to tell you— the key to the House of God is in the theater.  Behind the light.” There was some good distance between him and myself.  I just stared at him, probably blankly, I probably looked stupid.  “Huh?” “In the theater,” he indicated to my left with his hand, “behind the light.” I wasn’t really on the same page as him.  I shut my eyes and lowered the camera as the image pulsed.  “B- what?” “You have to see the movie.  So that’s where he left the card.  Okay?” This was not making any sense.  “Did you say card?” We glanced off in unison, distracted by Father Martin’s voice hailing from somewhere distant.  And far.  “Friends!  Children!”  Not far enough from me.  “I need your help, where are you?”  I sighed. “Yes!  Coming.  I’m coming.”  The ‘disciple’ sounded about as thrilled as I was.  He gave one last wave toward the open door on my left, before turning and jogging up the stairs behind him.  It looked like he was following the path indicated with a red arrow painted on the wall behind the railing. I tried the handle.  Locked.  Of course, he already told me I needed the key from the ‘House of God’ as he put it.  How was I supposed to get in if I didn’t get it?  Why WAS I going to find it?  I don’t know.  I was insatiable curious to figure out this disaster and understand at long last, why I have been hunted and nearly killed by these lunatics.   I needed to know.  Even if it killed me.  I needed evidence of what I’ve been hearing, the reassurance that I was still sane despite the trauma, despite everything I had seen. There was a concrete difference between what the patients thought they had witnessed, and what I felt.  I had to find the end of this, and nothing would stop me, not until it was in my grasp.

[ddaenggtan]

amae | jhs

amae - japanese. the way you act when you want to depend on another person. relying on someone’s goodwill and love to help you. frequently thought of as wanting to be loved and taken care of.

when someone new moves in next door, you don’t expect to become friends. everyone on your block was friendly, yes, but none of you gave more than a courteous wave when you spotted each other in passing. that changes with jung hoseok; a literature professor with sunlight gleaming out of every pore, who enjoys complex lectures, random coffee trips, and…sleeping in your hammock? curiosity gets the better of you as you befriend him, but just what could have this man sleeping in your garden hammock every night?

pairing | jung hoseok  x reader

genre/warnings | neighbor!hobi, writer!reader, pure cotton candy fluff, this may actually rot your teeth

word count | 6.7k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | ahaha this did end up shorter than give and take, bc it felt very right to end it where i did!!! there’s a lot of flower language used in this, bc i’m the ultimate slut for flower language, i think it’s the cutest shit i’ve ever seen. i also tried to make this MC different than g.a.t’s, pls tell me if i failed!!!! i want them all to be v distinguishable and independent and unique, and i love feedback!!!!

The moving van in front of the neighbor's house shocks you when you get up that morning. There had been a For Sale sign hanging in the yard for upwards of a year, and you've watched with mild amusement as the price continued to drop.

A favorite hobby of yours is coming up with creative reasons the realtor was more and more desperate to sell the house. Your favorite so far was that the adorable plump woman had to sell it soon, or her wife would run off with their girlfriend in the night, never to be seen again.  Until Minri did get it sold, that is, upon which her wife and girlfriend would return and they would live in bliss.

Minri was, in actuality, very nice, and you doubt you should be entertaining such thoughts about her. She'd sold you your own house, after all; a lovely little three-bedroom, with a wonderful yard for your garden and your friends' dogs. Minri had even managed it at a great price, though she had emphasized the cleanliness of the place and the nearby churches, which was a little odd. You owed her for it, no matter how peculiar she had been during the viewing. 

Well not really, she got a very nice commission from the sale, but it's the principle of the thing. 

You scavenge one of the dry erase markers from the drawer and make a note on your fridge to bake her cookies sometime soon. Your mother would have a fit if she saw you writing straight on your fridge, but it was erasable and easy and you are if nothing if not a simple girl. 

You pull yourself from your musings and make another note to call your mother before she could get huffy that you haven't in a while, and toss the marker back into the drawer when you're done. You direct your attention back at the moving van, unsurprised when a gaggle of young-looking boys emerges from the neighboring house to start unloading. Well, it wouldn't be extremely fair to call them a gaggle, as there are only three of them, but the point stands. They seem to be very close, judging by the way they tease and play, and it makes you smile a little. It was long past time the neighborhood got some life in it. The closest people to your age are the couple three doors down, in their 50s and always willing to talk about their seven children. It got tiring. 

With a soft sigh, you turn from the window at your sink and dismiss the flash of bright pink you see in the mirroring window from next door. None of the three you saw had pink hair, but you could have missed one. You slide your hand along the spine of your cat, Tuna, and smile as she wraps her tail around your wrist for a moment before chirping and jumping down from the counter. She follows as you make your way to your office, tucked into the smallest of the bedrooms because it gets the best light, and settle at your desk to return to your work. Novels don't write themselves, after all. 

You aren’t sure which of the boys lives next door, but it becomes quickly clear that it’s only one of them. Several are over at all hours of the day, but by the time the sun goes down, there’s usually only one or two there. A variety of vehicles come and go, but only one is there often enough to be the owner's. You might think it was a gay couple, had you not heard the complaints about an uncomfortable sofa on your way to get your morning paper.

They’re a very respectful bunch, whoever they are. They keep things quiet after sunset, and wait for a reasonable hour to start their backyard morning exercises. The music they play is pleasant, if a bit loud as it drifts over to where you kneel in the dirt. The fence that separates your yard from his reaches your shoulder. A white-picket thing that surrounds each of the yards in the neighborhood, you've never cared much for it, and it keeps you from seeing anything notable as you tend your garden. Still, you catch snippets of conversation, bits of stories that you never get a conclusion to, jokes with a punchline that’s carried off by the wind. 

For the most part, though, you catch names; Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, different variants of each, but the one you hear most often is Hobi. His name rings out constantly, gliding through the air on notes of both mirth and vitriol. It’s usually accompanied by a laugh that makes your heart warm in your chest, or some form of inhuman screech, though you’re not sure why. You’ve never seen enough to understand what happens at the house next door, nor have you actually met any of the people that come and go like leaves in the fall. 

Still, you can’t deny your curiosity, and you tell yourself that if the opportunity presents itself, you’ll introduce yourself. Despite that decision, the opportunity never does seem to present itself. Weeks pass, and you find that you feel nervous at the thought of going and introducing yourself now. The window has passed, it would be too strange now, he would think you odd. So you keep to your own house, tending your flowers and your trees, writing your novel, and doing your level best to keep Tuna off of the manuscripts and letters sitting around that you have yet to organize. You’ve resigned yourself to the sad truth that you simply won’t get to know your neighbor, won’t be able to have that adorable friendship you’ve dreamed of, won’t even know which one it is that lives there. 

The universe has always worked rather strangely for you, though, and it’s not long after your acceptance of this fact that you come out of your back door, gardening gloves in hand and already reaching for the misting hose, to find someone swaying in your hammock. 

You’re not really mad, you don’t use it very often anyway and someone should. Mostly you’re curious - you always have been, and always will be, most likely. Curious as to why someone is in your hammock when most everyone on the block has their own lawn furniture, who that someone is, how they got into your yard. The bolt on the gate is nearly impossible to unlatch from the outside; you know, from the many times that you’ve locked yourself out and had to James Bond your way into your own house through the back window.

You set your gloves on your patio table - a white bistro set your mother gave you when you moved out - and make your way over to the stranger. He’s good-looking; feather-soft brown hair and oddly clear skin, drowning in a sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big, snoring lightly as the wind rocked him. 

“Hey,” You say. He doesn’t respond, and you frown. “Hey, dude, what are you doing?” Still no response. You huff and turn, eyeing the yard for something to help. You don’t want to shake him awake, that could prove dangerous if he swings out at you. Your eyes light up as they land on the hose, forgotten among the grass. You tromp over and pick it up, dragging it back over to where the hammock sways among the tree branches. 

“I’m gonna spray you awake,” You say. You receive no reaction, not that you expected any, and shrug. With one pulse, a fine mist of water settles on him. The guy does, indeed, flail, swinging wildly in a futile attempt to fight the water raining down him. He sputters and wipes at his face, and you watch as he does. 

“What the hell, who the fuck sprays someone with water when they're sleeping?” He asks, shaking out his now damp hair. 

“In my defense, I told you I was going to do it. You were the one that was asleep and didn’t hear.” The man freezes at the sound of your voice, looking around your yard as if seeing it for the first time. He gives you a hesitant and apologetic grin, and the sun seems to grow brighter on his face. 

“I’m so sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep in your yard, I swear. There was...it’s a long story, but it really was an accident.” He flips himself gracefully off the hammock, with practiced ease that makes you only a little jealous. You should learn to do that. 

“It’s fine, you can sleep in the hammock. I only want to know how you got in my yard.”

“I vaulted the fence,” He says as if it was obvious. You look from him to the fence, and back again. “What? It’s not difficult.” You turn back to the fence, measuring it with your eyes. If he was able to vault it without much difficulty, how fast would he have to be going? He would surely need a good deal of momentum, of course, to be able to launch himself five feet up in the air. The only thing in your brain is that ‘ten-foot vertical leap’ meme, and you curse your best friend for sending you every meme he ever thinks is remotely amusing. 

The sound of your name brings you back to the present, and you focus on the man once more. “That’s you, I’m assuming?” The man says. You nod and point to him, belatedly realizing that you still have the hose in your hand when he flinches. 

“Which one are you?” You ask him. He gives you a confused look. “There are several people next door most of the time, which one are you? Jungkook, Jimin, Seokjin, or Hobi?”

“Hobi,” He says after a second, beaming at you as he does. Something in your chest starts to unfurl itself, and the sensation is strangely comforting. “But my name is actually Hoseok, they just call me Hobi. You’re welcome to as well, most do.”

“Right.” You watch him for a few more seconds as he shakes out his sweatshirt, water dusting the grass below him. “I have gardening to do. Please let me know the next time you want to sleep in the hammock.” You turn back to the flowers closest the fence, satisfied now that you’ve answered so many of your questions about your neighbor. 

“You aren’t going to ask why I’m here?” His voice calls from behind you. You shrug, kneeling beside your white camellias and checking their soil and sprouts. They were starting to bloom and you needed to be careful to make sure they weren’t soaking up too much water. “So I can seriously sleep here whenever. I just have to tell you first?”

“That’s what I said,” You reply. You pause, thinking for a second, and turn to look at him. “Does this make us friends?” The beaming smile he wears is nearly blinding, and you find it very endearing that he is so wildly happy at such a small thing. 

“It absolutely makes us friends,” He tells you. You return the smile, albeit yours is much less sunshine-y than his. He starts to walk toward the fence and you laugh under your breath. 

“Hoseok, you can use the gate,” You tell him. He stops and looks between the gate and the fence for a second before laughing embarrassedly at himself. “Please refrain from vaulting the fence in the future, as well. I'll leave the gate unlatched for you from now on.”

Hoseok grins and waves as he jogs out the gate and to his own home. You don’t relax until you hear the click of his door shut. A soft mrow from your left has you moving to pet Tuna once more, and you beam at her. 

“It’s been a long time since I had a friend, hasn’t it?”

You don't expect to see or hear much from Hoseok after your brief interaction. You've had friends before, of course, but they all tend to fade away as they have their own lives and you have deadlines. Even your closest friends, three boys you met in college and somehow kept around, don't message you as often when you're close to finishing your work; they know better than to expect a response when you have an editor breathing down your neck. You're used to it, used to people becoming immersed in their own problems and not wanting to share them, so you never get upset about it anymore. There's no use in it, not when you do the same thing.

You're so used to this that it surprises you when Hoseok waves at you one morning as you're both getting mail. Another day he's playing football with a couple of friends and shouts a quick greeting over the fence as you dip down to do your gardening. One memorable evening, you turn from shooing a raccoon away from your trash with a feather duster to see Hoseok watching from his driveway. You give him a polite smile and he shoots you a proud, yet puzzled, grin, and the next day when he sees you putting out small feeders near the back part of your yard for the raccoon, he just chuckles. 

Not to mention that you still come outside most mornings to find him snoozing in your hammock, rocking in the gentle breeze and comfortable as can be. He's never given you any explanation, though to be fair, you also don't pry. 

It's a struggle; you want so much to know why he doesn't sleep in his house that sits not ten feet away from yours. You don't want to push him, though, too scared of breaking this tentative friendship you've built over something so small. 

Things only start to change the afternoon he knocks on your back door while you're getting lunch ready for Tuna. She yells as you set the food down in front of her - a special blend designed to help her hearing and her eyesight since she's predisposed to troubles with both - but she quiets soon enough. You step around her to open the door, and you're shocked at the expression on Hoseok's face. 

He wears a smile now, but for a second...for a second, he had looked afraid. 

Your name drops from his lips in a tone that tells you he didn't expect you to answer. "I was only wondering, do you, um…" He trails off and you wait patiently for him to finish the thought. "Do you want to get lunch? Coffee? Anything? I need to get out of the house for a while."

"Sure," You reply. "Let me get my wallet." You move to the entryway to grab the thing - old and falling apart but still useful - and when you return, Hoseok is standing exactly where you left him. You pat Tuna's head and exit, closing the door behind you before you turn to Hoseok with an expectant smile. "I'll drive?" You suggest, since he still seems somewhat jumpy, and he nods. 

He's not quiet on the drive, by any means, but it amazes you how he says so much but so little all at once. By the time you get to the cafe he directed you to, you've heard all about the antics of his friends - Jimin, Jungkook, and Seokjin, who helped him move that day - and you've heard plenty about their time at school and his days spent as a literature professor at the local university, and yet that's the most you know about him. Fun anecdotes and the off-hand comment about a student. Definitely not a word about why he sleeps in your hammock, or why he showed up at your door out of nowhere and asked you to lunch with a look in eyes that you thought you'd only see from a rabbit caught in a hunter's snare. 

Still, as curious as you are, you can't bring yourself to ask about it, because it's so obvious that he wants to talk about anything else. 

"So, what do you do? I never see you leave for work when everyone else does, so I assume you work from home?" You nod in response to Hoseok's question.

"I do. I'm an author, so I spend quite a bit of time in my office. That's why I started gardening, actually, so that I was forced to be outside in the sun at least a little bit every day. Otherwise, I tend to nest in my office for days without leaving."

"That makes a lot of sense," He says as he sips at his coffee. "What do you write?" 

"Horror." The shock on his face, like perhaps he heard you wrong, is one of your favorite things about telling people you write. He gazes at you, taking in the messy hair, overalls, daisy-covered shirt, and pink sandals. "Psychological horror, to be exact.”

"Seriously?"

"Seriously." You grin, much too amused with the entire conversation. You slide your phone out of your pocket and tap at it until you're at your official website. You slide it across for him to see, and he clicks through the pages. There are several - one for each series, one for your upcoming releases, an appearance schedule, and then a quick bio that features a picture of you and Tuna. When he slides the phone back across the table, he looks impressed, and it warms you. 

"I had no idea that was you," he says. You can't help the knowing grin. "You seem a little...bright for the genre."

"The mind is a fascinating place, Hoseok. The darker parts are so often either overlooked entirely or exaggerated for dramatic purposes. I want to tell real stories about real things that can happen. There's no need for embellishment when very real, very terrible things happen every single day. Besides, you don't need to dress in all black and carry around a leather-bound copy of Stephen King to prove you're interested in horror." He hums across the table, and his look has turned almost calculating. 

"I may have to read some of your work then."

"You might." You give him a serene smile and finish your coffee. 

He's somehow friendlier after that. He initiates small conversations almost every day, outside your mailbox or hanging over the fence while you garden. He appears all but every other day on your doorstep, looking terrified but grinning as he asks you to go to coffee. You start to wonder if there's something chasing him that only he can see, but brush the thought off the same second you have it. You've become too deep into your latest book. 

He does read your work, which surprised you; you'd never expected him to do so. You offer to lend him your copies, as you have one of each on a shelf in your office, but he steadfastly refuses. You talk about it over coffee, and though you shouldn't be surprised at the quick thinking and keen observations he makes, you are. As often as you interact with your readers at signings and readings and conventions, you've never been quite so invested in someone's thoughts before.

You're eager to know what he thinks of the most recent book he's read. You're curious as to what metaphors and symbolism he's picked up on, what foreshadowing has punched him in the gut with realization.  If he would criticize the heavy-handed allegory you've created, or if praise would fall from his lips to slide across and settle in your chest.

It's been a very long time since you cared for someone's opinion like this, you realize one morning as you stare out your kitchen window. Butterflies form in your stomach and you sigh, content in the knowledge that there would be no running from this. You watch as Hoseok runs around his own backyard, laughing at something Jimin says. He's sweaty from the game they're playing, but the sunlight seems to absorb into his skin in a way you've not seen before, and it looks like he's glowing. His smile lights up the sunset, and you can hear his laugh from here, and you want nothing more than to wrap yourself up in the sound. 

No, you decide, there would be no running from these feelings, only acceptance of the blossoming fondness inside your heart. You turn from the window as Hoseok laughs again, spotting an empty section of your garden as you do, right beside the eye-catching red tulips. It makes you frown, as you can't remember there being an empty section there before.

You make a note on your fridge to pick up some pink camellias next time you're at the garden center to fill it. Your reminder to call your mother stares back at you and frown at it for a solid minute before you pick up the phone. As it rings, you resign yourself to yet another conversation with your mother about why you're not married with a real career yet.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

You look up from the weeds in your grasp to see Hoseok leaning across your fence and beaming at you. 

"Have you had dinner yet?" Hoseok repeats at your obvious confusion. "I ordered delivery and saw you out here and I thought I should offer to share. Since you've been so kind in sharing your lovely hammock and free time, I want to repay the favor."

"Oh. No, I haven't eaten yet." You stand and dust the dirt off your gloves before sliding them off. Hoseok grins and hands two large bags over the fence to you. You take them, curious, and watch as he pulls himself up and over the fence. He’s careful not to step on your flowers, but he still gives an apologetic smile as you sigh. "The gate is right there, Hobi."

He winks as he rights himself and takes one of the bags. "It's faster like this." You laugh and slide your gloves off with care, not wanting to drop the food, and hang them on the fence beside you. Hoseok is already halfway to your back door and waves at Tuna where she waits on your dining table. 

"Oh, Hoseok, don't-" He's opened the door before you can finish your sentence, and a small black and tan fluff darts out. The dog circles him, yipping at his toes and running back and forth between the two of you. Hoseok looks startled, but a smile spreads across his face after a moment. "I'm sorry, I'm dogsitting for my friend while he's out of town."

Hoseok coos at the dog and leads him back inside, luring him along with a small bit of meat. You laugh as you follow, sliding a hand down Tuna's back as you shut the door behind you. 

"He's adorable, I love him!" Hoseok exclaims, laughing again as he sets the food on the counter. He looks at you and gestures to the piece of meat in his hand, and you nod to let him know it's fine. Yeontan takes it and follows Hobi around as he starts getting plates and utensils, the fact that he knows where they are is a testament to how often he's at your house.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Tuna bathes languidly atop her cat tower and Yeontan sits between you and Hoseok, his entire body shaking back and forth as his tail wags. Every so often, Hoseok will comment about his day, as he usually does when the two of you eat together, and he asks about yours. You tell him about the new flowers you've planted - some gorgeous white lilies that should bloom well. He tells you about his theories and opinions on the last book of yours he'd read. 

By the time you're finished eating, he has several new thoughts and notes jotted down in a hasty scrawl on a napkin. He's insightful with his questions, bringing up points you hadn't considered and opinions on continuity that you need to clarify in the future. Your heart flutters in your chest when he smiles, bouncing Yeontan in his lap. 

"I do think they're good, though," He says as he makes kissy faces at the dog. "Like, good good. If I ever teach a psychological horror class, I may use them. Students could learn a lot from the dedication to detail."

"Thanks, Hobi," You tell him, and you don't bother to hide the fond smile. The fluttering in your chest is familiar at this point, and it makes you sigh a little.

You're so smitten, you think as you watch him bounce Yeontan on his knee; you should, perhaps, feel more conflicted about your growing emotions. And yet, you've been accepting of it since you first met him. It was as if the second you met Hoseok, you knew you would fall for him. How could you not, with his charm and warmth and humor and the unbearable mystique he left in his wake each time you spoke to him? 

"Oh, that reminds me, I have something for you!" You stand and head outside for a mere moment, grabbing what you need in a flash. When you return, Yeontan is on his belly beside Hoseok, Tuna glaring at both of them with envy. You set the pot in front of him, and he blinks at it, bewildered. 

"Is this...?"

"Tulips!" You say with a grin. The yellow blossoms stand proud as he gapes, and you like to imagine that they're proud they look so good for him. "To brighten up your house. You always seem so interested them, and I had several extra seedlings this year, so I grew one for you."

The look on Hoseok's face is unreadable and he's silent for a long while as he looks at the flowers. You wait; you've seen the way he looks at your garden while the two of you talk over the fence, you've seen the way that he eyes the tulips as you weed them. You know it's a good gift, and you scream the reminder inside your chest to drown out the voice in the back of your head saying otherwise. It's worth the wait when his face splits into the biggest smile you've ever seen, radiant and bright. It almost seems to surround him, a halo of joy that feels like a summer sun. 

"I absolutely love it," He tells you. "It's gorgeous, I'm going to make sure everyone can see it." He stands, potted flowers cradled in both hands like a babe, and gives Yeontan one last kiss. "I should be going anyway, I have a class in the morning, but I need to make sure I find the perfect place for these." He beams at you again, and you return his grin. 

"It's nothing, Hobi," You say, walking him to the front door and opening it for him. "Consider it a housewarming gift." He beams as he makes his way across to his own house, and the way he's already cooing at the buds and talking to it have your emotions a mess.

It's been months since you first went to coffee with Hoseok. The two of you are, you would say, friends. You've definitely graduated from neighbors, and you spend more time together than acquaintances, but it feels strange to call him your friend when what you feel is so much more than that. 

Every time you see him, it only gets worse. More than once, you wished time would stand still if only to keep him with you a little longer. Being around him feels like standing in a meadow of daffodils in the noon sun, heat seeping into your skin and painting the world with its oranges and yellows while the breeze whispers a promise in your ear as it rolls through you. 

You wish you could bottle the feeling. 

You make a note on your fridge - 'bottling emotions for capitalistic gain - too obvious? trite? overused? must consider further' - and set out a treat for Tuna. She's grumpy, likely because you've yet again woken at four in the morning and disrupted her usual bed - your face - with your need for a bathroom and a snack.

You haven't slept much that week, too busy polishing the last few press releases and comments that had to be perfect before release. You'd finally done the last of the work and had checked the mail and done your gardening before you received Joy's email saying you were good to go back into hibernation until the next book was due. 

You took the hint and proceeded to pass out at around five that evening. You needed the sleep, clearly; you can't remember the last time you slept so long without even getting up to pee. Still, you muse as you munch on a week-old granola bar your mother left on her last visit, you're glad that you've gotten the book done. You're always relieved when you finish writing one, these days. In the beginning, you would wait anxiously until publication finished and the book was on the shelves. Joy had to pull you out of your rabbit hole several times, too consumed with what people were saying to even bother with anything else. 

That was before Tuna, of course, and the garden. 

Now, you were content seeing whatever happened your way. You didn't much care for professional reviews anymore; they were nice but they weren't as honest. The random people who stumbled onto Twitter in the early hours of the morning because they'd just turned the last page were much more genuine. There were always those that criticized you, of course, but you contented yourself with the knowledge that they never had to read your books if they didn't want to. Others enjoyed them, and that was what mattered. The ones who read them and then couldn't sleep, either for need to express their thoughts to someone before they could rest or because they were too on edge, too anxious, the ones who saw danger in every mundane shadow of their bedroom after putting your book down, those were the ones who mattered to you.

A bang startles you out of your thoughts, and you share a look with Tuna. Her fur is raised, tail straight up as she looks to your front door. You follow her gaze and see nothing, which isn't unusual. Tuna regularly communes with whatever shadow monsters exist in that parallel plane of existence only cats can see. It's not typical, however, for you to be able to hear said shadow monsters. 

You pad your way to the front door, sliding one of the hardcovers that had arrived the day before into your hand as you do, in case one of the shadow monsters tried something. Another bang echoes throughout your house, followed by a series of quick, desperate knocks. Deciding that no respectable shadow monster would knock before murdering you, you open the door to see Hoseok, panicked and sweating and panting. He looks as surprised as you feel. 

"Um…" is all he says for a minute, and you wait. "I didn't expect you to answer, honestly, I just. You weren't around earlier so I didn't want to use the hammock, and it's getting kind of chilly, and so I tried to sleep in the house, but it's gotten worse and I was doing alright but then it started making these noises? So I tried to get it to stop with some things I found online but that only made it all worse, and then it seemed like things were gonna shoot around the room, so I-"

"Hoseok," You interrupt. He stops, fixing wide eyes on you. "Context." "My house is being haunted by some kind of demon monster and I think it's going to try to kill me and I would really appreciate your help in exorcising it." You blink, but the grave expression on his face doesn't change. It takes a second for your brain to fit that particular frame around the puzzle that Hoseok has been - sleeping in the hammock, random coffee trips where he's jittery and on edge, the minute you go to leave the cafe, the terrified look in his eyes whenever he comes over or sparks a conversation out of nowhere. 

"Okay," You say, sliding the book under your arm and closing the door behind you. Hoseok looks taken aback at the idea that you're actually going to help him, but he hesitantly follows as you head across the front yard to his own front door. 

The house is quiet when you enter, the shadows of still-yet-to-be-unpacked boxes dancing on the walls as you turn the overhead light on. He's lived in the house for months and yet it seems only the bare necessities have been unpacked; it should surprise you more, but considering the fact that he's spent all that time believing there's a ghost haunting him, you aren't surprised.

Your first walk through the house doesn't seem to trigger anything. It's completely silent, eerily still, and yet Hoseok seems to jump at every creak of a floorboard, ready to run at every twisting shadow that shies away from the light. 

"Is there a ghost here?" You eventually call into the living room, and Hoseok curses at the soft thud that echoes. Your eyes narrow, darting around the space. "I asked a question. Don't be rude, it's very inconsiderate of you." There's a couple of other thuds eyes track them around the room. "If you don't stop, I'm going to start performing an exorcism, and then who's going to regret being impolite?" 

Hoseok hisses your name, but you ignore him, instead of focusing on the way the lamp in the corner wobbles ever so slightly. Hoseok clearly also notices this, inching towards the door once more. 

"Hoseok said you were talking to him. Am I not good enough?" There's a pause, and then a warbled voice reverberates through the room, eerie and lingering, which only cements your theory. You turn to Hoseok and lower your voice, barely even whispering. You're so close that your lips brush his ear as you ask him where the entrance to his attic is. He leads you to it, stepping softly and avoiding the creaky floorboards as you do.

It's harder to be quiet as he pulls the trapdoor down, stairs sliding along with it, but at this point, you don't need to be. You ascend first, Hoseok following close behind. He no longer looks afraid, merely curious, and you're glad for it. It's a pity that he's felt so alienated from his own house. 

There are several squeaking sounds as you turn on your phone flashlight and showing Hoseok exactly what has been haunting him: a pink-haired young man and his blonde friend, both scrambling for cover amidst the sleeping bag and snack wrappers that litter the floor of the attic. 

You stand aside as Hoseok chases them out, cursing about mice and sleep and ungrateful friends as he does. When Jungkook and Jimin are both gone, laughing so hard they can't run, you show Hoseok the boots they used to stomp around, the nearly-invisible fishing line threaded down and around various lamps and paintings, the radio hookup they used to change their voices.

"It's all stuff I've used in books before," You tell him as he pours a cups of coffee for you both. "Also, I could hear them laughing."

"I feel like an idiot for waking you up for this. And for sleeping in a hammock and getting chased out of my house for something so stupid." He runs a hand through his hair and the fondness in your chest grows. He doesn’t look at you, instead staring at the potted tulips sitting in his kitchen window. It mirrors your own, and you’ve caught yourself staring more than once from your own kitchen.

"There are worse things,” you say.

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I could've not had a hammock." The small grin he gives has you melting, and you want nothing more than to wrap him in a hug and kiss away the line between his brows. 

“You have a point," He says with a small laugh. "It is a really comfortable hammock. I almost don't want to go back to my bed."

"So don't," You say, voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. The tone in his voice feels new, feels good, like perhaps he's standing in that meadow of daffodils with you, and it gives you hope. "You're always welcome to use the hammock. As I said, someone should, otherwise it's going to hang there, all sad and lonely."

He looks shocked to hear that, though you aren't sure why. It isn't like you've been very secretive of the way he makes you feel; but then, you haven't been outright vocal, either. And he did think he was being haunted for the better part of four months, without realizing it was two of his friends living in his attic.

"You're welcome to come over whenever, Hobi," You tell him. "You don't need to be chased out by a ghost to talk to me."

"I don't want to interrupt your work," He says. His voice is hesitant and sweet and it reminds you of the orange blossoms you used to plant with your grandmother. 

"I'm actually finished with my book," You tell him. He makes a questioning noise, and you remember the hardcover tucked under your arm and set it on the counter. "This is actually for you." He steps closer to look it over and flips it around to look at the back as well. 

"I can't take your only copy," He starts but you cut him off with a shake of your head. 

"I have one for me," You say. Your voice is firm, unaffected by the rolling of your stomach, but it's quieter than usual. "That's yours. I wanted your opinion on it if it lives up to the hype. We talked about the one right before this last week, and I'm curious if this one will answer any of your questions or if it leaves you with more. I've been trying some new things, and I'm not sure how well I executed them."

You choke the need to keep talking. Instead, you bite your tongue and return the look Hoseok is giving you; it's intense and full of something you can't place. But he's opened the book to the back, fingers resting lightly against the dedication bearing his name, thumb brushing the red carnation you'd pressed between the pages out of sheer impulse. 

"You don't have to read it, of course," You eventually say. 

"I'll need something to do while you garden, though," He says, stepping closer and letting the book fall closed. "I can't exactly lay in that hammock and watch you garden, can I?"

"If you wanted, you could." He's closer than he's ever been now, eyes focused on your lips even as he studies your face for any sign that you don't want him there. "I wouldn't mind."

When he finally presses his lips to yours, they're softer than you expected. Even his hands are soft as he slides them up to cup your jaw and press deeper, like gardenia blossoms against your skin, and everywhere he touches is warmed, as if the sun itself was dancing across you. It makes it hard to breathe, but god, at this point, you'd be fine with never breathing again so long as he kept kissing you. 

It feels like hours when he finally pulls away, a shy smile painted pink with the sunrise, and it's breathtaking. 

Later that day, you plant lilies, white and yellow intermixed in a pattern that your grandmother taught you, while Hoseok swings lazily in your hammock, one leg on the ground to rock himself. He spouts questions at you as he does, making little notes in the margins of each page as you respond, Tuna curled beside him and happily snoring. 

You should plant more daffodils, you decide as you watch them.