#they did reruns of those for many years

[ipcearn]

Just gimme Kazuha, game

Please

[tomorrowusa]

Don't risk a rerun of the 2000 election.

In the first presidential election of the 21st century many deluded progressives voted for Green Party candidate Ralph Nader.

Their foolishness gave us eight years of George W. Bush who plagued the country with two recessions (including the Great Recession) and two wars (one totally unnecessary and one which could have been avoided if he heeded an intelligence brief 5 weeks before 9/11).

Oh yeah, Dubya also appointed one conservative and one batshit crazy reactionary to the US Supreme Court. Roberts and Alito are still there.

Paul Waldman of the Washington Post offers some thoughts.

Why leftists should work their hearts out for Biden in 2024

Ask a Democrat with a long memory what the numbers 97,488 and 537 represent, and their face will twist into a grimace. The first is the number of votes Ralph Nader received in Florida in 2000 as the nominee of the Green Party; the second is the margin by which George W. Bush was eventually certified the winner of the state, handing him the White House. Now, with President Biden gearing up for reelection, talk of a spoiler candidate from the left is again in the air. That’s unfortunate, because here’s the truth: The past 2½ years under Biden have been a triumph for progressivism, even if it’s not in most people’s interest to admit it. This was not what most people expected from Biden, who ran as a relative moderate in the 2020 Democratic primary. His nomination was a victory for pragmatism with its eyes directed toward the center. But today, no one can honestly deny that Biden is the most progressive president since at least Lyndon B. Johnson. His judicial appointments are more diverse than those of any of his predecessors. He has directed more resources to combating climate change than any other president. Notwithstanding the opposition from the Supreme Court, his administration has moved aggressively to forgive and restructure student loans.

Three years ago the economy was in horrible shape because of Trump's mishandling of the pandemic. Now unemployment is steadily below 4%, job creation continues to exceed expectations, and wages are rising as unions gain strength. The post-pandemic, post-Afghan War inflation rate has receded to near normal levels; people in the 1970s would have sold their souls for a 3.2% (and dropping) inflation rate. And many of the effects of "Bidenomics" have yet to kick in.

And in a story that is criminally underappreciated, his administration’s policy reaction to the covid-induced recession of 2020 was revolutionary in precisely the ways any good leftist should favor. It embraced massive government intervention to stave off the worst economic impacts, including handing millions of families monthly checks (by expanding the child tax credit), giving all kids in public schools free meals, boosting unemployment insurance and extending health coverage to millions.

It worked. While inflation rose (as it did worldwide), the economy’s recovery has been blisteringly fast. It took more than six years for employment rates to return to what they were before the Great Recession hit in 2008, but we surpassed January 2020 jobs levels by the spring of 2022 — and have kept adding jobs ever since. To the idealistic leftist, that might feel like both old news and a partial victory at best. What about everything supporters of Bernie Sanders have found so thrilling about the Vermont senator’s vision of the future, from universal health care to free college? It’s true Biden was never going to deliver that, but to be honest, neither would Sanders had he been elected president. And that brings me to the heart of how people on the left ought to think about Biden and his reelection.

Biden has gotten things done. The US economy is doing better than those of almost every other advanced industrialized country.

Our rivals China and Russia are both worse off than they were three years ago. And NATO is not just united, it's growing.

Sadly, we still need to deal with a far right MAGA cult at home who would wreck the country just to get its own way.

Biden may be elderly and unexciting, but that is one of the reasons he won in 2020. Many people just wanted an end to the daily drama of Trump's capricious and incompetent rule by tweet. And a good portion of those people live in places that count greatly in elections – suburbs and exurbs.

Superhero films seem to be slipping in popularity. Hopefully that's a sign that voters are less likely to embrace self-appointed political messiahs to save them from themselves.

Good governance is a steady process – not a collection of magic tricks. Experienced and competent individuals who are not too far removed from the lives of the people they represent are the best people to have in government.

Paul Waldman concludes his column speaking from the heart as a liberal...

I’ve been in and around politics for many years, and even among liberals, I’ve almost always been one of the most liberal people in the room. Yet only since Biden’s election have I realized that I will probably never see a president as liberal as I’d like. It’s not an easy idea to make peace with. But it suggests a different way of thinking about elections — as one necessary step in a long, difficult process. The further you are to the left, the more important Biden’s reelection ought to be to you. It might require emotional (and policy) compromise, but for now, it’s also the most important tool you have to achieve progressive ends.

Exactly. Rightwingers take the long view. It took them 49 years but they eventually got Roe v. Wade overturned. To succeed, we need to look upon politics as an extended marathon rather as one short sprint.

Republicans may currently be bickering, but they will most likely unite behind whichever anti-abortion extremist they nominate.

It's necessary to get the word out now that the only way to defeat climate-denying, abortion-restricting, assault weapon-loving, race-baiting, homophobic Republicans is to vote Democratic.

[astroboots]

Hmmm ok maybe the three of them going on holiday and making good use of a hotel room and balcony 😉

STRIP POKER

Summary: The trio goes on a beach holiday only to get trapped in their hotel room and you end up playing strip poker.

Rating: Explicit, DP with Frankie's giant cock which needs a warning of itself.

Warning: Writer has no fucking clue about poker (or any card games) and it fucking shows. She did research and friends and family tried to explain it to her but that only confused her more.

Pairing: Frankie x female reader (you) x Santiago

Word Count: 5k

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

It's raining outside.

A violent smattering of rain so aggressive it sounds like the window panes are getting the beating of its life.

Frankie sighs. $250 a night for a hotel room with a seaside view and it's just fucking pouring down.

He is standing outside on the balcony, still within safe shelter from the rain. Leaning his elbow against the balcony rail, he peers down at the perfect aquamarine water that glitters like a precious gem underneath, out of reach.

It's his first proper holiday from work in years, and he'd thought it'd be nice to splurge a bit. Big king-sized bed. Hotel Spa. Beach access.

It would have been perfect. And at first it seemed to be. Gorgeous sun as far as the eye could see when the plane touched ground on the tarmac. Then it started raining, and it just didn't stop. Torrential -- there's a typhoon warning on the weather forecast that everyone is recommended to stay inside -- kind of rain.

He throws a glance behind his shoulder, back at the hotel room where Santiago is draped across the large king sized bed with a thick novel he picked up from the airport. Santiago is about three quarters in, which means there's an hour, maybe less, before he's finished.

After that there will be nothing to distract the man and it's only a matter of time before Santiago will get restless. God knows what he'll get up to then.

For once, Frankie won't blame him.

Stuck in a small room with nothing but reruns of telemundo and shitty overpriced hotel service club sandwiches to keep everyone distracted. Frankie's pretty sure that he's going to follow suit with a case of cabin fever not long after Santiago.

From the corner of his eyes, he spots you stomp over to the bed where Santiago is lying. He can't hear what you're saying, but you're waving your hands around animatedly. Santiago immediately puts his novel face-down against the mattress, then he shakes his head adamantly at whatever it is you are saying.

Out of the three of you it looks like your patience was the first to snap.

Your arms cross across your chest, feet stomping down in dismay. Then you turn in the direction of the balcony and Santiago is immediately shooting to his feet to preempt you. He outruns you across the room and flings open the balcony door.

"Frank! Tell your wife it's a bad idea!"

Frankie rolls his eyes at the dramatic outburst. Oh it's his wife now that you have a bad idea, is it?

Cocking his head to the side, Frankie looks to you over Santiago's shoulder. "What's a bad idea baby?"

"Let's go out!" You announce. "So what if it's raining? We can go for a quick swim anyhow. It'll still be warm."

Frankie blinks. He casts his eyes over the cascade of rain that has turned the once white sand into grey sludge. Catches sight of the parasols on the beach that has been uprooted by the winds and are flying wildly, a scene straight out of that 'Twister' movie with Helen Hunt he saw as a kid.

There aren't many occasions in your life together that Frankie has ever said no to you. This though might be one of those rare ones.

"Baby," he starts, voice soft as to cajole you. "That's a bad idea."

You throw your hands out in a dramatic gesture as you stalk your way back inside the room. Frankie barely catches the tail end of your sentence but he hears the string of swears to understand the sentiment of it.

Frankie's left with only Santiago for company on the balcony. The man calmly walks up to the end next to him, leaning out against the railing to assess the weather outside.

To Frankie's surprise, Santiago doesn't say anything. Seemingly content with the companionable silence and the sound of rain smattering all around them. There are no bratty complaints about paying hundreds of dollars only to watch rain. No witty snark.

"You're being uncharacteristically well behaved," Frankie says.

Santiago grins. "I've had a lifetime of experience sitting out shitty weather with nothing to do during missions, Frank. At least this time, I don't have to listen to Firefly's snores."

Frankie snorts at the memory.

"There's much worse things in life than having you and Boa cooped up with me in a fancy hotel room."

There's something soft in Santiago's eyes as he says it. A sentimentality in his voice that Frankie has a hard time placing, because he can't quite recall when Santiago has ever used it with him before.

Before Frankie has a chance to recuperate from blanking out and think of something to say back, Santiago is already leaning away from the balcony to step back inside the room towards you.

"Come on sweetheart. Stop being a brat," he says and playfully swats your backside with a gentle tap that makes you jump.

Santiago leans over the desk and opens a drawer to pull out a pack of cards that he cracks open and your eyes light up at the sight of it.

"If you're bored, let's play a game, yeah?"

In his own humble opinion, Frankie's never been particularly good at poker. He's got the poker face part down, but he never had an interest for gambling and the rules of the game never quite made sense to him.

Santiago on the other hand is a master of it. He's the undefeated champion during their military days and he regularly cleaned out everyone's savings on any given night.

As for you. Competitive as you are, as with every game that you've played more than twice -- you got good at it with practice, but the poker face bit of it is something you are still struggling severely with, because it's always written as plain as day on your face if you have a good or bad hand.

So in a game of strip poker, it's a bit surprising that two hours in, Santiago is the one sat in his underwear, while you and Frankie are still fully clothed.

Frankie's down to his t-shirt and briefs, whereas you have only lost your right sock.

In all honesty, Frankie doesn't quite understand it. Because right now you're sitting across Santiago, a grin so wide you are going to end up with muscle soreness in your cheeks. It's a sign the size of a massive billboard on Time Square lit up in neon and flashing lights that the hand you've been dealt with is good as gold. Yet, despite all the clear signs pointing to only one very clear and undeniable conclusion, for some unfathomable reason, Santiago still refuses to fold.

He tips his chin up in challenge towards you. "What you got sweetheart?"

That grin of yours grow impossibly wider as you set down your cards, revealing them one by one on the wooden floor where you're sat.

First a diamond 8. Then a ace of heart. Then an ace of diamond. Santiago's defiant features fall, pearly white teeth sinking into that pouty lip as he watches you put down a club ace. And as you put down the final card: An ace of spade. Santiago groans in defeat.

"You're cheating," he mumbles indignantly. But his fingers are already dragging his sole remaining garment down over his hips to the sound of your cackling laugh.

If Frankie's eyes linger for a little longer than they should at the round ample curve of Santiago's ass, you don't notice over your absolute glee in defeating the man.

You're already hooting with joy as Santiago demands another round, metaphorically kicking the man when he's already down.

"And what exactly are you going to gamble with for the re-match? You're butt fucking naked Santiago!"

"We'll do different stakes," Santiago shoots back.

"Like what?"

"I'll do whatever you say."

It's like a pin drops in the space between you. Your laughter stops.

"Whatever?" you repeat.

There's a glint in your eye that even Frankie can tell is dangerous, and only an idiot (a competitive idiot) would still go ahead when met with that look on your face.

Santiago is seemingly that idiot.

"Whatever," he confirms. "Carte blanch. Nothing's off the table."

The devious smile on your lips doesn't wane for even a second. You take the deck of cards back into your hands and shuffle them.

"You're on."

Tense is an understatement to describe the next half hour that unfolds in the hotel room.

For a game that was meant to be a fun distraction from the rain outside, it's now turned into something else entirely.

Rundown gambling dens by the border of Colombia are less intimidating than what is going on between you and Santiago right now.

"Antique markets every Sunday at 6am for a month," you threaten him. Santiago practically twitches at the scene you're painting. His fingers grip on tighter on his hand of cards.

You grin at the sign of weakness.

"Oh and you're calling Martina about that time you blamed her for stealing booze from your mom but it was really you."

"What?" Santiago pipes up in alarm, with no trace of his trademark coolness that he usually has for these games. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Whatever I say," you remind him. "Those were the terms."

Santiago seethes. Gritting his teeth as he shakes his head and sits back down firmly on the ground. "Sure," he mumbles like a petulant child. "Whatever. Show your hand already."

You scoot closer to Santiago, cards tucked close to your chest with a smile so wide it lights up the whole room with it.

The first card that comes down is a club of 9. The next is a 10 in the same suit.

Frankie can already see the small muscle in Santiago's cut jaw flex before the man drags his hand over it in a tell-tale sign of displeasure that both you and Frankie recognize all too well.

Normally Frankie would say that with that look on your face, Santiago is in a whole world of trouble.

Normally.

The face of Jack is staring up at the three of you from the floor, and before you even put down the final two cards, Santiago and Frankie both already knows that it is going to be a Queen and a King dressed in black club.

You fling down the duo triumphantly and you're already listing out loud every embarrassing act you are going to force Santiago to endure. There are threats of toilet scrubbing. Brunches with Frankie's mom. Attending a taxidermy class with you.

It lasts for several minutes before you lean down to start gathering the cards to put them away.

"Sweetheart, slow down."

Santiago reaches over. His free hand that's not holding the cards, cupping over yours to stop you. There's a slow and almost gentle smile that spreads across his lips.

Then Santiago finally drops the act.

"I haven't shown my cards yet have I?" he says.

From the way that your smile fades. The way the bright light in your eyes dim, you know it too. The bastard played you. Has been playing you this whole evening, right into his conniving and clever hands.

Frankie suspected as much.

After all, Santiago is brilliant at poker. Undefeated for as long as he's known the man.

As good as you may have gotten with practice, there was no way your long and uninterrupted winning streak of this entire evening was from sheer luck. Especially not when Santiago has not shown his hand a single time this evening.

10 of hearts. Jack of Hearts. Queen and King dotted with red hearts above their crown. Then finally an Ace in the shape of hearts.

A royal flush.

"Soooo," Santiago starts with a slow and meaningful drawl as he grins back at you.

"Whatever I say huh?"

Frankie should probably put a stop to this.

Because you look like you're about to kill someone.

You're kneeling on the floor, tucked between Frankie's legs, as Santiago is right behind you, plastered closely to your back.

The man can't resist the urge to tease you, even if it is under imminent threat to his life. Santiago's nimble fingers tuck a loose curl of your hair behind your ear before pressing a kiss to it.

"You're scaring poor Frankie," he tuts. "It's not good manners to stare daggers at a man when you're inches from his cock, sweetheart."

That comment doesn't make you look any less like a murderess to be.

"Frank," Santiago calls out. "Take out your cock."

Frankie sighs as he reaches for his belt to unbuckle. One hand reaches underneath his boxers as he pulls himself out. He doesn't know why he lets either of you constantly rope you into these situations.

God he feels fucking ridiculous.

"Look at how nice and obedient our husband is being," Santiago goads as his hand comes to your jaw, bridging the span of it. Then he gently tilts you downwards to guide your face forward until you're lips are mere inches from Frankie's cock.

As if by instinct, without further instructions, your mouth already parts for him. Just the sight of your glistening tongue makes the entirety of Frank's back tingle.

He can't help it. It's sense memory at this point.

The tip of your tongue darts out, but before you make any physical contact, Santiago stops you.

"Not yet," he says.

His arm curls around the front of your chest, pulling you back again with an expression of pure schadenfreude.

"I'm gonna have to have you ask nicely for it, sweetheart. Ask Frank to let you suck his cock."

Frankie nearly rolls his eyes at Santiago. The man just has to rub it in doesn't he? Insufferable brat.

If he was Santiago, he'd sleep with one eye open tonight.

Still for all his teasing, it could be so much worse. Not to defend Santiago and his idiocy. But in comparison to what you had in mind for the man, Santiago is going more than easy on you. This is mild for the man.

You must know it too, because you don't protest. Barely even hesitate as you gaze up at Frankie, through your thick lashes, dutifully and do as you're told.

"Please can I suck your cock, Francisco?"

Shit.

Excitement pings across his nerves at your words.

This is a ridiculous situation. Frankie shouldn't get turned on.

But he can't help himself. not when he feels the warmth of your breath exhale gently over his cock and the stupid thing immediately stirs into rapt attention.

Your hands reach over, fingers wrapping around his girth. Frankie doesn't even get a chance to savor it before Santiago is already grabbing for your wrists.

Cock-blocker.

"Nuh, uh," Santiago admonishes. "No hands".

You don't fight him on it. Your hands withdraw to your sides and you keep them there obediently, as you lean down the rest of the way, until your soft gorgeous lips press down against Frankie's quickly hardening cock.

Heat spears through his stomach at your touch.

Soft and almost chaste, your lips linger on his cock and it has Frankie immediately swelling to full hardness, until he can feel it twitching against your soft cheek.

Your tongue darts out, the pink tip gliding along a protruding vein as you pamper his cock with your full attention. Lapping, sucking and kissing at the spot with a quiet moan before you finally move along and slip the head of his cock between your lips.

Dizzying pleasure punches through him and for a brief second, even sat on the bed, Frankie thinks he might pass out from the overwhelming sensation. His mind is in the process of drifting and floating out of his body and away from the room. The only thing that still keeps him tethered to consciousness is Santiago's voice. The gentle mocking praise that spills from the man's filthy mouth.

"Isn't our sweet girl good?" Santiago asks him. "Doing such a good job isn't she?"

Frankie wants to say yes. But his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and he's gone dumb with pleasure to the point that he's forgotten how to speak.

In front of him, Santiago is having the time of his life (because of course the bastard is). There is a sly smile on his lips as that clever hand of his palms the small of your back. He traces the length of your spine until his hand disappears under the edge of your panties.

It doesn't take much detective work for Frankie to guess what Santiago is doing to you as you moan keenly around his cock.

"Look at her isn't she so pretty sucking your cock, Frank?"

For all that the man keeps coddling you with his words, cooing and hushing you with a soothing cadence, Santiago doesn't show you much leniency. His hand isn't stopping, even as you whimper and shake from his touch. He doesn't let up.

Even from Frankie's obscured view from the bed, he can see Santiago's fingers working into you. Finding every perfect angle that has tears stinging in the corner of your eyes until they gaze up pleadingly at Frankie with a wet glossy sheen.

Fuck, you're so fucking pretty like this.

"So fucking perfect for us. I think my only criticism is she gets so easily distracted", he teases as your hips cant up to chase his hand, for Santiago to give you more.

All Frankie can manage is a desperate groan in return. His head tilts back as the overwhelming sensation washes over him. Hips canting deeper into your mouth to have more of your lips, your tongue, more of… anything that you are willing to give him.

Your throat protests at the thick intrusion, swallowing in fits around Frankie. You whine, trying to pull back but Santiago is there pushing you forward with another encouraging string of praise.

Frankie can see the man work his fingers deeper into you and your body is wracked in another series of shivers, mouth parting until his cock slip out. You try to cover your mouth with your hand to stop a moan that breaks out, but Santiago's hand immediately shoot out to grab your wrist again to secure it to your side.

"That won't do. Put your pretty mouth back on Frank's big cock sweetheart."

"Santiago," you protest throwing him a menacing glare, a second away from telling him that it's his fault to begin with.

"Whatever I say," Santiago reminds you, parroting your own taunting words from before. "Those were the terms."

You bite your lip with a pout that is all too similar to Santiago.

In moments like this, Frankie is reminded of the closeness of the two of you. How inextricably intertwined you two are having grown up together. Two sides of the same stubborn, competitive coin. And god he loves both of you.

Swallowing your bruised pride, you bend over again, parting your lips to put your mouth back on his cock.

Heat spears through him until his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head. The last thing he sees before they do is Santiago's eyes gazing back at him.

Even behind closed eyes Frankie can't get away from it. Santiago's sweet and murmured praises as he talks about how good you are. How pretty you look. In the dark it's easy for the lines to be blurred enough that Frankie isn't entirely sure who Santiago is directing the praise at anymore. And that makes it even better.

When Frankie opens his eyes again, blinking away at the watery edges of his sanity, Santiago is right there.

One hand palming languidly at his own cock as he observes Frankie and you.

He smiles at Frankie, holding the eye contact before he moves to position himself behind you, gripping at your hips. Cock lined up and nudging against the cleft of your ass, taking his sweet fucking time like he's putting on a show for Frankie's benefit to make sure he catches every single detail. Then he pushes forward, into you.

You gasp at the new intrusion, hands flying to Frankie's hips to keep yourself steady as Santiago thrusts forward. The momentum forces your entire body further onto Frankie's cock.

It's a struggle for you to keep your mouth on him and it's a maddening sensation for Frankie. The way your tongue darts out, desperately licking and sucking around the tip of him as best as you can. All the while the man is taunting you with unrestrained glee in his tone.

"It's not too much is it cariño? You can do it. You can take me and Frankie both can't you? Be our good girl, don't stop. Keep going."

And fuck, you don't stop. Your mouth envelops the length of his cock. inch by inch as Frankie watch in delirious fascination as the thick girth disappears between your lips.

You take in so much of him, Frankie has a momentary thought of how you even manage to fit it. Then he feels himself hit the back of your throat.

Christ, Frankie's not particularly religious but he's pretty sure he sees heaven as his cock nudges the back of your throat.

Still you continue, past your limits, eyes watering as you swallow desperately around him.

"Good girl. Such a good fucking girl," Santiago repeats, as he grinds his hips into you.

His hand rests on your back, sweeping your hair to one side until your neck is bare. Then he leans over, his chest pressed along your back and presses a kiss onto your nape.

It's such a sweet gesture, completely at odds with what the man is doing to you in this moment. Then his hips come to a still, an indicator that Santiago is well on his way to implement phase two of whatever devious plan he has for the three of you tonight.

Because Frankie knows Santiago. Better than you know Santiago sometimes, it seems. He knows him well enough that what has transpired so far is just the appetizer for what's to come.

That's just Santiago. Always a step ahead of everyone else. Always an opportunist to the core, his mind is always considering and assessing and re-evaluating the situation for changes.

It's where you lose to him. You get too honed in and narrow minded, your eyes too focused on the prize in front of you. Your mind always too occupied with thoughts of winning the battle while Santiago has his eye on the horizon to emerge victorious from the war.

In front of him, Santiago's hand comes to your cheek cupping you gently as he pulls you off Frankie's cock to your confusion.

"So good for us. You wanna claim your prize hmm?" Santiago murmurs in your ear ominously.

With one arm wrapped around your front, the man lifts you up and guides you to your feet. Then he's maneuvering you onto the bed, arranging you to his liking until you're sat in Frankie's lap.

He curls his fingers around Frankie's cock, like it's a trophy for you to claim and guides Frankie to your slick and waiting entrance, until the blunt tip is nudging against your wet clit.

That clever hand steady at the small of your back, in a steady but firm pace until the entirety of Frankie's cock is fully sheathed inside you.

Fuck.

You feel so fucking good. Warm, slick and so fucking perfect. Frankie thinks he's going to lose his mind with it.

His brain cells are melting with pleasure inside his skull and he can barely pay enough attention with the way you're clutched so tightly around his cock to register that Santiago isn't next to you anymore. He's gone off somewhere, fuck knows where, as Frankie palms the soft curves of your hips to press you firmly down on him, pushing as deep as he goes.

Frankie can't stop long enough to think much else, except for the sweet pace that you're rocking forward on his cock with. He's lost in it. Drunk and inebriated on the way you feel in his arms as he rocks you up and down on his cock that he barely even notices when Santiago's back again.

This time with a bottle of lube in his hand and a shit-eating grin on his face.

Of course, that's where the clever bastard went.

"San--" you start, but your voice is cut off at the long drag of Frankie's cock inside of you as he thrusts up again.

Santiago's smile spreads even wider, predatory. "What sweetheart? Don't you want your reward?"

Frankie can hear the click of the bottle, two seconds before he registers the way that Santiago's hand slips between your legs again, and then he fucking feels it. The pressure of Santiago's finger as he presses inside of you, and fuckfuck--shit! It knocks the fucking breath out of Frankie's lungs.

The sound you make is the sweetest fucking thing that Frankie's ever heard. It's needy and desperate. It echoes in his head and he never wants it to stop. Wants to record it so he can replay it a thousand times over.

"You did so well," Santiago says, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. He stills, allowing you to adjust to the new sensation.

"You won the game tonight. Fair and square. I'm just here to give you your hard-earned prize."

Even though Frankie can't see it, he can feel it. The rigid heat of Santiago's cock nudging at your ass, inches from Frankie's cock.

"This good cariño? You want me inside you too hmm? Tell me how you want it," Santiago demands.

But there's no way you can answer the man coherently.

You're an absolute trembling, shaking mess. Can barely form a word and much less a sentence. You just keep nodding, as you keep moving up and down on Frankie's cock with a stuttering "ye-yes."

And that's not enough for the bastard

"Yes what, sweetheart?" Santiago teases.

You sob, knowing fully well you won't be able to give Santiago what he wants in this state.

But he doesn't ease up. "Try again," he says.

"Both," you try, struggling. The word panting and out of breath. "I want-- f-fuck!" It's such a high pitched sound, you practically sound like a damned squeaky to. "Please, please," you cry, tears brimming in your eyes.

That smug bastard likes that, smiling and humming as he rubs the side of his jaw along the back of your neck, scraping his prickly five o' clock shadow against your soft skin until goose bumps form in its wake.

"Ple--please, San--I want--"

"Greedy girl," Santiago rasps out. He moves back for a brief moment, and you squeak in alarm that he's gonna leave. Instead he thrusts forward and fuck, fuckFUCK!

Shit. Frankie can't breathe.

There are bright sparks in his vision. Blood rushes to his head and for a moment Frankie isn't sure if he's going blind or having a seizure.

It's electrifying, a sweet burn that zips through Frankie's spine.

The blood thrashes and swirls inside his ears. It makes every noise around him distorted, like he's under water and drowning in you.

In the far off distance, he thinks he can hear Santiago groan brokenly against your skin. Whatever bravado was there before is all but gone in his voice now.

You're so fucking tight. He can feel Santiago through you. Can feel the way your perfect cunt is clutching onto every inch of his cock... and Santiago's not even all the way inside yet.

He doesn't know if you can fit more. Everything feels tight and overwrought and so so so much. His brain is so overloaded on sensation, it takes him a second to register that both him and Santiago have stopped moving.

None of you are speaking, and Santiago isn't teasing anymore, seemingly at loss of words now.

Santiago hisses out a breath between gritted teeth. His fingers gripping into your hips until it dents the soft flesh as the man tries to hold on by his literal fingernails.

"Fuck sweetheart, you're so tight. Relax for me okay?"

And you're trying to. Frankie can tell that much. You really are. It's not like you're doing this on purpose. It's real fucking easy for Santiago to ask you to relax when Santiago's never had to try to fit two cocks inside his body.

On top of that, while Frankie's never liked to brag, he's self-aware enough to know his own size and how he's a lot to take.

Frankie's hand comes to the small of your back, stroking it to provide you with comfort in the best way he can manage in the circumstances.

"It's ok baby, it's okay. We got you," Frankie murmurs against your skin.

Behind you, Santiago's eyes are squeezed tightly shut. An expression of bliss and torture all blended together. "I'll go slow," he chokes out. "I always do don't I? Let me open you up and make you feel good,"

His voice has gone sweet and indulgent. There's nothing mocking about it now. Just pure unadulterated fondness.

Whatever game he was playing before has ended now. Frankie knows that all Santiago wants in this moment is for you to feel good.

But you're too out of it to notice Santiago's defeat and your own outright victory.

You crane your head back towards Santiago with an indignant glare, no doubt to start off what will be a round of bickering between you and the man.

And that's the last thing Frankie wants in this moment, for either of you.

And maybe Frankie's an opportunist too. Maybe he's just as bad as Santiago. Because he quickly cups your cheek, guiding you back towards his lips to cut off any words you might have for Santiago.

His other hand, moves down to the front of your stomach, sliding his palm down along the inside of your thighs until his fingers can draw along the wetness of your folds, pressing light circles against your clit.

You try to escape it, oversensitive and overstimulated. You try to press back only to be met by Santiago's firm chest caging you in, pushing you forward and back into Frankie hand.

You shake and spasm in between them. Tears brimming in the wet sheen of your eyes.

Frankie's barely done anything to you and, god you're already close somehow.

He can feel it. The rise in the pace of your breathing, the thrum of your heart beating against your chest like your very heart is trying to escape from your ribcage as your impending climax builds and builds and builds from within you.

You come with a defeated whimper into his mouth. To Santiago's rasped groan in your ear and Frankie's low moan into your mouth. Your orgasm cascades over you as you shiver in his arms and squeeze tightly around them both.

Everything is a pleasant buzz thrumming in his veins as he can sense how all of you are unwinding. Your body melting in his arms, pressed between him and Santiago as you are.

They let you recover. Let you calm down. The only movement between them, is Santiago lips dragging against your hairline fondly as if to console you.

"That good baby? Think you ready for us now?" Frankie asks.

You're still swimming in the afterwaves of your pleasure, but you nod drowsily in reply.

Santiago continues to press open mouth kisses against your cheek and jaw, before he moves back to give you space.

You whine, a little bit panicked at the sudden movement. Your hand clings onto Santiago's wrist and the man immediately stills for you.

"Stay," you plead.

"Not going anywhere sweetheart," Santiago says, there's no hint of teasing this time. No lingering bluster of pride or a need to one up you.

"I'm staying right here."

It's soft and loving.

The very same tone in his voice he held when he was gazing out at the rain on the balcony.

Frankie had a hard time placing it when he heard it the first time, but he recognizes it for what it is now.

Contentment... It's a tone so foreign on Santiago but it suits him so well. If he can, then for the rest of his life Frankie wants to make sure the man gets to keep it.

Raising one hand to the back of Santiago's neck, Frankie cups his hand over the old-worn surgery scar as he reels the man closer and seals his mouth over Santiago's.

His lips are soft and pliant against Frankie's own. Then his mouth parts with a sweet little hum that sounds all too similar to the gorgeous whines you've been making all evening.

Outside the rain doesn't stop. It rains for the whole of that week.

But Santiago was right. There are worse things in the world than being cooped up in a room with the two people you love the most.

I don’t have a tag list. 😅 Please follow astroboot-writes and turn on notifications for writing updates! 🥰

Author's note: We're baaaaaaaack! I know it's been a hot minute since we got some proper porn with these three! It's also the first time in months I've written proper porn so I may be rusty. Thank you for your patience everyone while I was off lusting for tall spidermen.

[quasi-normalcy]

Ways to Get Into Star Trek

In Release Order:

Advantages: + You get to see how the franchise and its concepts changed over time + Starting with The Original Series gives you a good understanding of why it became popular in the first place

Disadvantages: - Some of the older material can feel pretty dated - Many of the later series have been released simultaneously, so unless you watch it on an episode-by-episode basis, there are going to be some continuity snarls - The most recent series have been set all over the place in the continuity, breaking the narrative flow.

In Chronological Order: Advantages: + You get a pretty coherent narrative history.

Disadvantages: - Without wanting to bias the reader, a lot of the fandom considers some of the prequel series to be relatively weak. - Tone and design aesthetics jump all over the place, even between series that are supposed to take place within a few years of each other - The prequels occasionally spoil things that happen "later" - Due to time travel, you end up having to watch 36+ seasons of other series and 10+ movies in between seasons 2 and 3 of Star Trek: Discovery - The JJ Abrams movies don't really fit in anywhere - Sometimes characters you won't "meet" until centuries later turn up on the prequel series - You still have the problem of multiple series occurring simultaneously (although it's only really an issue with 90s Trek)

Starting with a Randomly Selected, or Recommended Series: Advantages: + If you watch a few episodes of one series and you don't really like it, you can just try another + Each individual series is *usually* pretty self-contained + For the episodic series, you don't even need to start at the beginning; you can just look up what episodes are considered the best and give those a shot + You can watch some of the newer stuff first if you want to participate in an active fandom

Disadvantages: - Certain series kind of exist in dialogue with each other - You may not have the full context on certain details that come up (though they will usually try to explain them) - You can occasionally get some spoilers - While most series are self-contained, Star Trek: Picard heavily utilizes characters and concepts from Star Trek: The Next Generation and probably shouldn't be watched on its own.

Catching random reruns on cable: Advantages: + Probably how most fans did it.

Disadvantages: + Requires you to have cable. + Unless you live in Canada, you won't be able to watch the new stuff.

[kyufessions]

Missing Person

synopsis: you’ve been happily dating your boyfriend, mark lee, for the past two years. but what happens when all of a sudden your best friend sends you a missing persons article and your boyfriend is listed as missing for the past three years?

pairings: boyfriend! mark lee x g.n. reader

genre: thriller/horror

warnings: blood, knives, killing, physical fighting

word count: 7.1k

a/n: in no way do i depict any member of nct like this, especially mark lee. i just wanted to write something dark for halloween so here we are. i had many ideas for this one but decided to make it shorter lmao. hope you enjoy ~

taglist: @joyumo @lovingvoidgoatee

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana

rain drops pelted the train window as you stared out into the setting sun, creamsicle skies mixing with a vital red that brought your nerves to a halt at the scenery behind the glass. normally you’d hate the summer rain, since it always seemed to ruin any plans you had, but being stuck inside this moving train with thirteen hours left with nothing to do but binge watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine reruns on Hulu and take occasional naps made you realize that maybe it wasn’t all too bad- maybe there was some beauty in things that you hated. with pink sweat$’s 17 playing at full volume in your airpods and a mug full of hot cocoa in both of your hands, you felt like you were in some romantic film. you know, the pretty individual staring out into the trees as they admire the fast-moving world outside all while the handsome stranger across the way from them is admiring their effortless beauty. and, truth be told, that’s what was happening. you just didn’t know until you saw someone sit across from you at the corner of your eye, making you turn your head to greet them and ask if you had bothered them in any way.

the handsome stranger smiled at you, making you smile back as you removed one of your earbuds from your ear to give him some of your attention. his blonde hair swooped over just above his eyebrows underneath his navy blue beanie that complimented his blue and white striped button-up, a white tank top underneath it. the way his smile brightened up his face made you feel comforted, almost like a warm hug. you watched as his frames fell down to the tip of his nose, making him scrunch up his nose in an attempt to bring them back up to their previous position.

a giggle escaped your lips as you watched him before speaking up. “hello, may i help you? did i bother you at all? i’m sorry if-“

he shook his head in disagreement, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “no no, you didn’t. you just seem pretty chill and i wanted to say hi, if that’s alright.”

for the rest of the ride, you both sat in those spots talking about everything yet nothing all at the same time. he told you all about how he was moving across the country due to getting an amazing job offer fresh out of college, and you exchanged your story as well with him as if you had known him for all your life. you told him about your family, your pets, and the reason for you moving across the country as well: transferring from a two year college to finish off your degree in psychology in a four year university. with each word that left your mouth, he listened with great intent.

and that’s what he did for your entire relationship. he always listened, always showed how much he cared, and never made you feel less than. even during his busiest days in the music studio where he co-wrote songs and even produced some days, he always found the time for you regardless of his schedule. and vice versa; with your busy college schedule and part time job you always made sure to make time for him as well. whether it be study dates where he helped you study for upcoming exams or texting him during work when you were able to sneak onto your phone for five seconds. your dorm mate even got so used to mark staying over that he ended up having designated days where he would spend some nights. but they never minded since he always brought over snacks and dinner for you all.

Mark Lee was a dream come true, a prince charming if you will. Everyone seemed to love being around him and having him in their life, whether it was the occasional meeting of a stranger in line to get coffee and he pays for your drink during the early morning rush or a friend that you kept close to you because he changed your life for the better. Everyday you were reminded of just how lucky you were to have someone like him in your life, even before you both made it official and made your switch from strangers, to friends, to partners. Mark as a partner was even better than you could’ve imagined: flowers and chocolates after a long hard day of exams or work, movie nights where he feeds you pepperoni pizza when you’re half asleep and halfway done with the movie you picked out for you both, little encouraging notes in your lunch bags, even offers you massages when you’re feeling stressed out from everyday life. He was the textbook definition of the perfect boyfriend; you couldn’t ask for more or less from him.

On your one year anniversary, he even wrote you an entire song dedicated the past year and a half together, from when you first met on the train to your last special occasion spent together. He even made a small picnic for you both in his personal office space where he produced and wrote his music, accompanied with a woven wicker full of watermelon, two mini cakes baked from a local bakery you both frequented, along with champagne with tall glasses and other of your favorite foods. Alcohol entered your body as you listened to mark sing to you his song, a slow beat playing through the speakers and his fingers strumming on his acoustic guitar. his small raps cut you off guard but in the best way possible; you loved everything about his sweet gesture and felt yourself falling more deeply in love with him.

on your second year anniversary, he made you another song. but not only did he sing it to you, he sang it to you in front of others on the piano. he had rented out a restaurant for you both to enjoy endless meals for the night, dressed up in very fancy attire that you knew you’d only be able to wear a handful of times before growing out of it. an hour down and reminiscent memories being shared between you two, he randomly got up from his seat and walked down to the grand piano in the middle of the room. you watched him in confusion, your head cocked to the side as you asked him what he was doing. he just smiled at you lovingly as per usual, sitting down on the bench and cracking his knuckles quickly before he started singing along to the melody his fingers played. tears welled up in your eyes at the gesture, his words stinging beautifully as you listened to every confession. falling in love with mark was the easiest thing you had ever done.

two and a half years later here you both were, sharing an expensive loft in the city while working your dream jobs. all the while happily together without any pressure of future marriage or kids from family and friends. your life was perfect, utterly perfect. if anything it was more storybook, something only young kids dreamt of. a happy couple with well paying jobs living in a big city, accompanied with the presence of a five month old ragdoll kitten. everything seemed perfect.

today was just another morning, or so it seemed. only difference was you both were working from home today. mark had his own room to work in when he had to focus on his work while you worked in the bedroom or kitchen; you didn’t mind not having your own space since mark kept his distance when you were busy at work. on days when he worked as well, you both forgot about the existence of one another while you worked for a bit. but with being so secure in your relationship neither of you minded at all.

kissing his puffy morning cheeks, you rubbed your thumb along the stubble on his chin as the rising sun illuminated his soft facial features you never got tired of waking up next to. you watched as he scrunched up his nose lazily, fluttering his eyes open slowly to allow his eyes to gradually adjust to the bright rays. the chirping of birds were mere background noise to the tired chuckles your boyfriend let out as you attacked his face with wet kisses, causing a gleaming smile to spread across your lips.

his arms laid around your waist securely, bringing you closer into his bare chest. “good morning to you too.” he mumbled, his morning voice deep and somewhat raspy.

you pulled your lips from his cheek and down to his lips, pecking it a few times before pulling away and allowing your head to hit the pillow once again. “morning, handsome.”

he shuffled under the sheets, throwing his legs over the end of the bed and rising to his feet. you watched as he slipped on his glasses, adjusting them on his nose as he turned to look down at his partner. he couldn’t help but smile at the sight below him on the bed: you with your head in your hands, staring up at him admirably with a cheeky grin and your morning bed head sticking up in different directions. “pancakes for breakfast, my love?” he questioned as he leaned down to place a soft kiss to your forehead.

the small gesture made your heart flutter immediately, causing your smile to grow wider. “yes please.” you responded, swinging your feet in the air dramatically.

he just ruffled your hair playfully before turning on his heels and leaving the room to start on the pancakes he just promised you. standing to your feet, you grabbed some fresh underwear, sweatpants, and a shirt of mark’s before walking down the hall to the bathroom. as you turn on the hot water, you hear the rustling of the pans in the kitchen on the first floor. you undress out of your clothing, tossing them into the dirty hamper and stepping into the steaming hot shower. with the door cracked slightly open, the sweet smell of banana and cinnamon pancakes fill your nose making you feel more awake and ready to take on the day full of zoom meetings and article writing. you hum to a tune mark recently showed you of his recent work he was planning on sending to a big company for approval, excited to be able to hear another hit of his on the radio and secretly knowing it’s your boyfriend who wrote and produced the song. mark being a ghost writer only hurt when you were reminded you couldn’t show off his creations to the world, other than that you were always very supportive and constantly told people of his career- you just couldn’t expose which hit songs he wrote and produced and for who.

even though mark was very friendly and popular locally, he was also very secretive about certain things such as his past and family. he was very brief about his siblings and childhood, only ever sharing about how his parents lived in canada and he barely spoke to them due to a falling out. whenever you asked, he dismissed it and said it wasn’t important since it was ‘all in the past’. whenever you asked how his childhood was, his regular bubbly personality changed to one full of tension. his frown was evident and eyes full of sorrow, making you change the subject to something else entirely that brought back the mark you had always known. so you never pondered much on the thought of it since everything else he did for you drowned out his secrets.

stepping out of the shower and onto the fluffy carpet on the floor, you dried yourself off with your velvet black towel and walked up to the mirror to start doing your morning routine. multiple steps later, you slipped on your clothing and matching house slippers with your boyfriend that he surprised you with last weekend. you rubbed some product into your hair before walking out of the bathroom and down the industrial spiral staircase, shuffling towards the soft vocals of Bazzi that bounced off the walls of the small kitchen. the sight of your boyfriend in his matching slippers, naked torso, and plain black boxers made your face light up. as previously stated: everything was perfect.

you shared a breakfast with him for the next hour as the cat took turns napping in each of your laps, ultimately deciding to sleep in yours for the last twenty minutes before you switched positions to start your work. mark happily cleaned everything up, not one complaint leaving his lips as he hummed quietly to himself as to not disturb your workday. you caught him catching glimpses at you as you attended a zoom meeting and waved bye to him off camera as he left the room to go do his work for the day.

you always wanted to see his personal at-home office, see how he decorated it or even watch him work his magic. but that was another secret he wanted to keep to himself, always making sure to lock the door behind himself as he exited and entered. he even went as far as to get a code lock for the door and not letting you know the code. one time you even tried every combination it allowed you to while he was out running errands but failed at every attempt you made. curiosity struck you from time to time at what he was hiding behind that wooden door, but you never questioned it since you knew it wasn’t any malicious intent behind it. i mean, he could never do anything wrong. he was mark lee. your loving boyfriend of two years who never did you wrong. so why would he start now?

by the time your zoom meeting ended, it was three in the afternoon and time for checking emails. logging into your emails, you noticed one labeled IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ ASAP from your close friend, jungwoo. he had become a close friend during your time in college, then when you both got accepted into the same company you both became even closer; you now thought of him as a brother. you automatically opened the email, concern flooding your brain as to why he emailed you in all caps at three in the morning. he was always known to be an early bird, even in your college days, so this was very unexpected and a bit odd. nonetheless, you opened the email and read his message attached with a link to a webpage.

i know it’s late, i’m sorry. but you need to see this. let me know when you get this.

was all it said above the link to a missing persons webpage. you clicked it, unsure of what she seemed so scared of in her email. but once you opened the page and scrolled down a bit, you understood. it was a bunch of different people, raging from missing for as long as five years to three months. but somewhere along the middle, you stopped.

impossible. this has to be some kind of sick joke. the face on your screen has to be some edit that one of your friends made as some distasteful prank. but the type of friends you had rarely pulled pranks and if they did they were minuscule and forgetful. this, this was different. an evil prank if there ever was one.

down the hall, the familiar creaking of your boyfriends work studio door was hearing opening. as his footsteps jogged down the steps towards your direction, you quickly shut your laptop closed and started packing up your items, pretending you had finished all your work for the day even though it wasn’t even four in the afternoon yet. the feeling of his arms wrapping around your body from behind startled you, making you jump in his arms at the sudden contact.

“woah, are you good babe?” mark asked you as he moved his face down towards yours, planting a quick peck to your cheek before pulling away to stare at you lovingly.

the pit in your stomach wasn’t comforting in the slightest, if anything it made you want to vomit up all your emotions onto him and run away from your shared apartment. but you couldn’t do that; you had no idea what would even come of it. there had to be an explanation to all this.

you put on your best fake smile, pecking the lips you’ve loved for the past two years that suddenly felt more cold than warm. “sorry, was deep into packing everything up. i just finished for the day!” you attempted to sound excited that you had finished for the day, smiling from ear to ear and believable as you could.

luckily, it worked. mark had a voice telling him something was wrong with you, that something was up, but he ignored it because he trusted you with every fiber of his being. his one hand moved from your body to your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “so early? i thought your work day ended at four thirty?”

“it does,” you started as you wiggled from his grip attempting to stand up from your seat at the dining table. thinking of an excuse to throw him off your trail, you said it in an aggravated tone to show you were at least somewhat serious. well, you weren’t. but you didn’t want him to know that. “but i forgot one of my files at the office for tomorrow and have to run to go get it really quick.”

he just nodded, running a hand through your hair as he placed another loving kiss to your jaw. a fake giggle left your lips, a fake giggle that seemed nothing but real to your boyfriend. he might not buy what you’re selling him, but he knows there’s nothing malicious behind your potential fake lie. if anything he assumed it was for a surprise for him. “tacos tonight? my treat, i’ll place the order online for pickup.”

“sure babe.” you grabbed your briefcase and shut it tightly before walking out of the kitchen and towards the front door to slip on some sneakers. “taco bell or the taco place off of Woodbury and 15th?”

“Woodbury and 15th, duh. they have the best tacos around.” he followed behind you like a lost puppy, watching as you threw on your jean jacket and grabbed your keys from the key hook. “what time should i place it for pickup?”

you looked up in thought, pondering what time it would be best. “four thirty sounds good enough. should be done picking up my files and make it there in time for it to still be hot enough for us to eat when i return. do you need anything while i’m out?”

with a swift shake of his head and a goodbye kiss, you exchanged ‘see you later''’s as you exited the apartment and went down into the parking garage to your car. when you entered the vehicle, you threw your briefcase that you didn’t even need in the backseat so you could grip tightly onto the steering wheel in frustration.

why was your boyfriend, mark lee, on a missing persons list? and why did it say he went missing nearly three years ago? you tried convincing yourself it was a stupid website, a dumb website someone made up to trick you and get a laugh. but it was also an official government website so it couldn’t be fake. it was real. too real.

holding back tears as you drove down to your friend's home, you pulled into his parking lot and ran straight into the building. texting or calling him hadn’t even crossed your mind, you needed to talk to him face to face about this. how did he even find this webpage? when did he find it? was he just as confused as you were? nothing made sense and you just needed answers, any answer that remotely made sense would do at this point in time. within the first two knocks you were face to face with jungwoo, walking straight past him and into his living room with no hesitation in your step. you waited till he closed the door to even attempt at speaking.

“what the fuck?” was all you could say as you stared into the eyes of your distraught friend, taking a seat on his couch before putting your head in your heads.

he made her way to you cautiously, making sure to stay his distance since you seemed so upset by the news. “i found it last night and sent it to you right away. it makes no sense. im just as confused as you are.”

his hand resting on your shoulder brought you comfort, not much comfort but a pinch of what you were craving from anyone but mark- if that was even his real name. “i don’t know what to do.” you turned to face him, small tears streaming down your face that he subconsciously wiped away with his thumb. “do i ask him about it? i mean i met him two and a half years ago and it says he went missing three years ago, so i met him six months after he was reported missing.”

jungwoo shook his head right away. “no, don’t. we don’t even really know him-“

“i do-“

“no you don’t.” he interrupted, his voice remaining as calm as possible. “nobody does. i mean, what if he ran away from doing something terrible? what if he hurt someone?”

“he wouldn’t do that!” you yelled, more tears stinging your eyes as your best friend spoke. you watched his expression change to hurt, making him back away from you and over towards the other end of the couch. “no, i’m sorry. i’m sorry. i’m just- he just seemed so lovely. maybe it’s a misunderstanding?”

he picked up his nearly empty wine glass, taking a sip as he leaned against the armrest. “for three years?” watching you crumble in front of his own eyes made his heart break into pieces; he never wanted to see you like this. “listen, i did as much research as i possibly could before passing out on my laptop and made a google doc about it, i could share it with you if you’d like and we can go over it together tomorrow? when you’re more calm.”

nodding in agreement, you wept in his arms for a bit before leaving his apartment and driving off to pick up the tacos mark ordered in. as you walked up to the vendor, he asked if you were okay since it seemed you were crying. you reassured him you were okay and there was nothing to worry about, smiling along with your lie to try and mask it as a truth. he didn’t buy it but gave you your tacos after payment anyway and wished you a goodnight, telling you to tell mark he said hello.

you made sure your face look somewhat normal before exiting the car and heading towards the elevator of your shared apartment, fiddling with the plastic bag out of habit due to your nerves. as you opened the front door, you plastered on your fakest, brightest smile so mark wouldn’t suspect a thing. and he didn’t, at all. his head shot in your direction as he laid across the sofa, jumping to his feet to go greet you and help you carry in your tacos and briefcase. his lips that greeted you no longer felt like safety, but instead of betrayal.

“missed you, babe.” he commented as he made his way into the kitchen, his smile never leaving his face.

“missed you more!” you shouted in reply, hanging your jacket back up before making your way to the couch to plop down in thought. how were you supposed to act normal around him, knowing he’s a supposed missing person?

the next morning you woke up an hour earlier than normal, wiggling your way out of your boyfriend's grip and quietly making your way downstairs to start the coffee and make some eggs with bacon. as you slipped on your morning cup of energizer, you read the google doc jungwoo had shared with you the previous night. you were reading every bullet point and reading every article he attached.

each article and point he made was more shocking than the last. one article mentioned how there was a late teen who went missing in ontario, canada with an attached photo of what seemed to be a younger version of your boyfriend. you couldn’t even attempt to convince yourself it was someone different- the resemblance was uncanny. the only difference was the name in the article was Minhyung Lee instead of Mark, but besides that there were no differences. a different article went on to explain his childhood, how he was always a troubled kid who always found himself in detention or in different juvenile detention centers. it continued on explaining how despite all of those challenges, he was such a great guy up until the incident.

the article never went into detail or said-incident, but it mentioned the slaying of three family members. reading just that small blurb left you sick to your stomach, but even more so after it explained that after the bodies were discovered in his home he was never seen again. how if anyone ever came across him to not interact or draw suspicion, but instead dial 911 and inform authorities of his whereabouts.

you were so caught up in reading the article you didn’t even hear mark coming down the stairs and enter the kitchen, grabbing a mug from one of the cabinets and starting to pour himself a cup.

“you okay, babe? what’s wrong, bad nights sleep?” he questioned, breaking you out of your daze.

your eyes immediately darted to him, smiling warmly at him to withdraw suspicion of you being awake so early. “you could say that again.” closing your laptop, you made your way over towards the stove and moved the fully cooked bacon and sunny side up eggs onto a plate for him. you turned to face him and noticed him already dressed for the day, taking one last swig of coffee before grabbing his keys from the small bowl on the island counter.

he noticed your confusion and then the plate of eggs, frowning apologetically before grabbing a piece of bacon and shoving it into his mouth. “i don’t have time to eat this morning, i have an important meeting then a long day ahead of me. i’m sorry, i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shook your head in disagreement, leaning over to peck his lips before placing a small one on his cheek. “it’s okay, just make sure to eat when you can and to let me know when you get to work so i know you’re safe.”

he mumbled a soft ‘shit’ as he realized the time, noticing that if he didnt leave now he would be late. he placed his mug down swiftly before placing a sloppy kiss on your forehead and running out the door. normally you’d get giddy about him running late while seeming very professional, the sight being too cute for you to handle. but that pit in the bottom of your stomach wouldn’t leave no matter how much you wish it did. you wish everything was just some sort of sick nightmare and that your loving boyfriend of two years wasn’t some sort of potential killer from canada who’s been missing for three years.

as soon as he left, you called your friend and luckily he answered. you went over the facts you both found, or more so he found and you caught up on. jungwoo comforted you the best he could over the phone, saying you both would figure out a solution together. when you told him mark was gone in the studio all day till late, a lightbulb went off on top of his head.

“try sneaking into his office.” he suggested, running a nervous hand through his hair.

your eyes widened at the thought. “what? but i’ve tried every possible combination, it’s useless.”

“but what if he used the anniversary of the day he committed the crimes?”

you bit down on your lip, pondering for a moment. “but we don’t even know the date-“

“july twenty fifth.” he interrupted. “one of the last articles i sent you mentioned it, but i’m guessing you didn’t finish reading it all?”

“no, mark interrupted me before i could finish the whole doc.” you sighed, ultimately deciding to take on your friend's idea and walking up the stairs towards his at-home studio. “if i’m going to do this, please stay on the phone with me.”

jungwoo reassured you he wouldn’t hang up at all, and he never did. you tried the numbers of the date he provided, but the red blinking light signaled it was wrong.

“it didn’t work.” you mumbled, biting on the inside of your cheek nervously.

“instead of 0725 try 2507, switch it around.” your best friend suggested, anticipation stringing through his words.

after typing in the numbers backwards, the green lights signaled you could open the door and enter inside. wasting no time, you swung open the door and was greeted with something you didn’t expect. it didn’t look anything like a home studio, but instead a lonely mahogany desk with piles of different color coordinated folders and files scattered across the top of it with very few sitting on the floor around the chair. stepping inside, you looked around and noticed a duffel bag sitting at the corner of the room near the window that was closed off with wooden panels. you slowly made your way over there, being cautious not to step on anything or move anything out of place.

the bag itself was already zipped halfway open, allowing you to be able to peek inside and notice some bloody knives sticking out of the side. your eyes widened, making you take a few steps back into the closet of the room. when first buying this loft, you hadn’t noticed this particular closet. but granted you haven’t been inside this room for several months now so you might’ve forgotten it. but since you let your curiosity get the best of you, you found your fingers sliding it open and being greeted by nothing. there was nothing but black clothing, extra sneakers that were also black, but that was until you noticed something dangling from the ceiling: a small rope. you knew you shouldn’t open it, you knew you should’ve just called the cops or even answer your friend who was still on the phone screaming at you to answer him, but you did the stupid thing you knew you shouldn’t have and opened it.

down came a set of wooden stairs leading up to something that seemed to be an attic, or a makeshift attic of some sorts. as the stairs came down, some movement was heard and a light popped on in the middle of the room. you took in a big breath of air before climbing up the dingy stairs and peaking in the room. inside seemed empty, nothing but an extra mattress and a few boxes. but when you heard some shuffling from the corner behind you, you whipped your head in it’s direction and noticed a man sitting there chained up to the wall.

the sight alone almost made you drop your phone but thankfully you tightened the grip on it which caused it to stay in your hands. the man’s eyes widened as well, trying his best to say words but failing to do so as a ball gag was in his mouth. in the background of all this was your friend on the line, asking what all the commotion was. it wasn’t until he said he was going to send the cops that you spoke up.

“this is so much deeper than we thought, jungwoo.” you said to him, making him yell a ‘what’ on the other end. “send the cops. give them the code to my apartment door. tell them there’s a man in the attic.” was all you said before hanging up on him.

leaving your best friend in confusion, you fully pulled yourself into the attic and crawled over towards the scared man. although he was excited to see someone else for a change, he was also scared you were part of what mark had going on. he cowered in fear, backing up into the wall as he watched you remove the ball gag from his mouth. he was unsure whether to scream or just stare, so he opted out on just staring at the stranger in front of him.

you stared back, not sure what to even say to him. “what’s your name?” you asked him, putting the ball gag to the side of him as you stared down at his condition. his clothes were dirty, ripped at some edges and obviously had been worn out for quite some time now. the sight made you frown, tears welling up in the back of your throat. but you kept them down, you had to for this stranger that was being held captive by your boyfriend for some unknown reason to you.

“taeil. moon taeil.” he replied, his voice sounding dry and broken. “who are you? please help me, i’ve been up here for months.”

suddenly, you heard the front door of your apartment open and mark shout out that he forgot something and apologizing for disturbing your work. eyes widening, you slip back on the ball gag as tears fall from his eyes, quiet mumbles of disagreement falling from his lips being heard from him before you tighten it on him. you quietly pull up the rope to hide the stairs, making sure it closed tightly before shuffling around to find a place to hide. you ultimately decided on the abnormally large yet dusty toy trunk in another corner of the room, unlocking it quickly and squeezing in as tightly as you could before you heard mark pull down the rope to enter the attic.

you heard him tsk as he crawled up the creaky wooden steps, an obvious smile on his lips as he spoke. “you’re lucky this room is soundproof, you're moving around way too much for my liking.” he said, his tone different from his usual one. this one was threatening, more scary and off putting.

taeil’s muffled cries were filling the room, earning a small laugh from mark. this laugh was different as well, very sarcastic and something fueled by rage. “i have a proposition for you, taeil.” you heard something being picked up from the floor, earning a loud muffled scream to be heard from the chained up stranger. “tell me where they are, and i won’t kill you tonight like i planned.”

your eyes widened. he couldn’t possibly be talking about you, could he? no, it’s impossible. you’ve been quiet this whole time, and you made sure to not leave a trace that you had been in his ‘studio’. your mind flooded with what he was referencing, but everything kept pointing back to you. and what does he mean tonight? is that why he was staying at work late and encouraged you to go out and have fun with audrey? so he could sneak home early and get rid of taeil?

a shake of some chains could be heard, signaling taeil had shaken his head. “come on, i know they’re in here somewhere. i saw on the camera, now where are they?” fuck. you didn’t even notice any cameras. “if you tell me, i’ll let you go right now.”

another shake of the chain and you soon heard footsteps approaching the toy trunk, meaning taeil gave you up. as much as you wanted to hate him for telling mark, you probably would’ve done the same if you were in his situation. you could’ve sworn your breathing stopped as you heard the lock twist on the toy trunk, soon the dim lighting of the attic showing you your boyfriend with a knife between his fingers. he smiled down at you, not with love or admiration but with something sinister.

he shook his head with a chuckle, kneeling down to your eye level as he teased you with the already bloody knife. the blood seemed recent, and when you glanced over at taeil for a split second you noticed a fresh mark across his chest that was dripping from a fresh wound. attempting to mask your fear was no use, even if you did try your hardest to. mark was able to see right through you, the mark you thought you knew.

“how’d you figure it out, huh?” he brought the knife down to your cheek, trailing the cold metal along your cheekbone with gradual pressure. “how long have you known?”

his evil smile never once left his face, making your insides churn in disgust. you swallowed hard before responding, mentally yelling at yourself not to stutter as you replied to his questions. “FBI’s missing persons list, i’ve known for two days.”

“two days and you’re already getting this nosey? tsk tsk, babe.” the knife trailed down to your jawline, the pressure starting to sting when it starts to draw some blood. “you’re so cute, trying to save little taeil over here but he gave you up without a thought thinking i’d actually let him go.”

screams were heard through taeil’s ball gag, making you both turn to look at him as tears fell from his eyes. without a thought, you quickly kicked mark in the face with your foot with a swift yet hard kick. watching him fall onto his back and the knife slide across the wooden flooring, you jump out of the trunk and run towards the knife, picking it up and climbing down the attic stairs. an aggravated groan was heard from mark as you touched the floor of his supposed studio, running out into the hall and hearing him follow behind you shortly after. you heard him scream after you followed by him grabbing at the shirt you were wearing that was coincidentally his. he pulled you back harshly, causing you to slide across the floor and towards the industrial stairs with the knife falling down to the first floor.

you crawled backwards down the stairs, kicking at him as you attempted to escape. eventually, he fell back onto the floor once more which gave you a few seconds to jump to your feet and attempt to run down to first floor and out the door. but before you could, mark was quick to his feet and grabbed your shoulders. he tried to push you over the railing of the spiral staircase, but you were a fighter. always were, and always will be. you fought back just as hard, even if half of your body was dangling off the edge of the railing and his hands around your neck in attempt to weaken you. in one motion, you brought your knee up to his crotch hard which made him groan and loosen his grip on you. taking this small window of opportunity, you pushed him back and off of the railing successfully.

the noise it made when he fell made you cover your ears, the crack and imagery of his body limp out across the floor with blood pouring out at a rapid rate made you nearly vomit. you slowly made your way down the stairs and towards the front door, not even sparing a glance in the direction of your boyfriend. before you could

turn the handle, the door swung open and in front of you were policed officers with their guns pulled out accompanied by your best friend. all the officers rushed past you and into the apartment while you fell into the comforting arms of jungwoo, your tears finally escaping from your eyes.

you sat on the balcony of jungwoo’s apartment as you read the new article written about mark. it was ten months after the incident had occurred, and people were still writing about everything that happened; even youtubers were making videos about it and netflix and peacock both reached out for documentaries or a dramatic remake of your trauma. of course you declined, even if the seven digit numbers they offered were the tiniest bit tempting.

the full story about mark shocked you to your core, because the mark that you met and loved all those years was not the same mark who tried to kill you that day. after fleeing canada successfully, he took the next amtrak train out to the farthest city and figured he’d wing it when he got there. which he ended up doing successfully. he ended up meeting poor taeil, becoming close friends with him and eventually masking as him in daily life. taeil was a fresh college graduate starting at a new company, and after mark found that out he decided to chain him up in taeil’s own apartment for months and stealing his identity. he posed as taeil at work and did a damn well good job at it. then once you both decided to move in together, he moved taeil up to his ‘at home studio’ attic and the days you thought he was working from home, he was really torturing taeil up in the secret room behind the closet he had built in. every sadistic detail about the past three years was written down in a leather journal he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, every detail of how he hurt his family, tortured and kidnapped taeil, and how much he loved you. everything was very sick and twisted.

as the summer rain pelted against the metal railing, you couldn’t help but shudder in disgust at the sight and noise. jungwoo, who was sitting beside you noticed this and decided to bring it up. “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you nodded, taking a sip from your coffee mug as you looked out to the setting sun. the oranges and reds mixed together beautifully, but the view just made you upset if anything. “i’m fine. i just hate the summer rain.”

maybe there wasn’t always beauty in the things you hate.

[hathorneheiress]

A very Hawthorne Thanksgiving.

Avery's POV

It had been almost two years since I had joined the Hawthorne household, and in those two years, we had celebrated Thanksgiving. At least not the proper way.

Before my mom had died, we tried to do something special on that day. Since we didn't have much money, a homemade lasagna and garlic bread was usually what our Thanksgiving consisted of. I never complained and one year Libby was able to join us. Instead of pie, we feasted on tons of chocolate cupcakes.

It was the best Thanksgiving I remembered.

When I had told the boys about it, they all agreed that we needed to do a large Thanksgiving. Hawthorne style.

I apricated that they didn't want to rerun the good memory I had shared with my mom. But I was ready for new ones. With people that I had grown to love. That had become a family to me. A family I had never had.

To be honest, I was excited. And maybe a little nervous. From what I knew of the Hawthornes, nothing was done small.

Weeks of preparation and planning went in before the big day. I watched in awe as the house transformed into fall pardise.

Leave garland gracefully adorned every stair railing and wild flowers in massive vases prouded every table top.

A few days before the big day, I could start to smell the sweet fragrance of many pies and turkeys.

All the boys were very excited for Thanksgiving. It had been since their grandfather had died, that they had had a Hawthorne Thanksgiving.

Surprisingly, everyone pitched in. It wasn't just the servants.

Xander and Jameson helped make the pies and stuffing. Nash surprised us by coming home with a fat turkey slung over his shoulders. Shot and plunked it himself.

I was impressed.

Libby was in her own little world with baking tons of Thanksgiving themed cupcakes.

And Grayson and I over seed everything.

Even though I was master of the house, Grayson knew what needed to be done. And I was slightly shocked at how excited he seemed to be as well.

I heard from Jameson he was int he kitchen every two hours checking up on things. Jameson laughed as he retold the story of how Mrs. Laughlin threatened to kick and lock Grayson out of the kitchen if he didn't stop annoying her.

"What did Grayson say?" I asked after a chuckle.

"Oh, he just stood there and calmly reminded her that he can picks locks just fine!" Jameson light green eyes twinkled in merriment.

I laughed . "Sounds about right."

The day before Thanksgiving the massive dining room table was decked out in all it's glory.

Elegant white lace tablecloths and crystal glasses. Delicate china and linen napkins. The silverware was polished and shined. Jameson and Grayson went down into the wine cellar and brought up the best wine we had.

20 pies sat in a massive refrigerator ready to be devoured the next day. Four turkeys, with Nash's as well, was all cooked. Stuffed with the best stuffing around. All the side dishes were completed and many other drinks were waiting to be drank as well.

I was told that there was going to be a surprise for me, but I couldn't guess what it was.

As I lay in bed that night, with Jameson beside me, I thought of everything I was thankful for.

My mom and everything she had taught me. Libby with her sweet spirit and taking me in when my mom died. For inheriting all that money. But not for selfish reasons. If I hadn't inherited, I would have never met all the wonderful people I now knew.

Oren. Alisa, the Laughlin. Thea, Rebecca, Zara, Nan, and most importantly, the boys.

Xander, with his joyfully personality and my forever BHFF. (Best Hawthorne Friend Forever) Nash; for being an older brother figure to me, and being the best person Libby could ever have. Grayson; Sworn enemies when I first arrived, we are now the closest comrades and he has been my right hand man in everything. And Jameson; the boy I met drunk when I first arrived, and somehow fell in love with. He makes me laugh and I couldn't imagine my life without him.

All the people I had mentioned would be there for tomorrow, plus a few more. Zara's husband would be there. Max was already here from collage. Jameson's uncle had been invited and we were delighted to hear he was coming. Xander's dad would be there and even Grayson's half sisters were coming.

It was going to be a very big, but hopefully, a wonderful Thanksgiving.

I awoke to sunlight streaming in and Jameson staring down at me.

"Happy Thanksgiving Heiress." he murmured softly, giving me a kiss on the lips.

I savored it. "Happy Thanksgiving too."

The festivities started around 11 with apple cider and appetizers.

I dressed for the occasion in a brown pleated skirt, flowered blouse, heels, and a 5 thousand dollar pearl necklace.

At one we made it to the massive dining room. Taking our seats, we sat down.

Nash did the honors of giving thanks and then cutting open his prized bird.

Plates were piled high and we all enjoyed a massive feast.

I listened to the laughter that echoed throughout the room. Everyone I loved was here. Everyone was happy and smiling.

It was perfect.

"Xander, you want to get Heiress our surprise." Jameson said.

Xander scurred to the other room. I had totally forgotten about it.

He came back with a steaming casserole dish of Lasanya. Max followed with the garlic bread.

I watched in shock as they placed it beside me.

"I know your mom isn't here, but we wanted to make it extra special for you." Jameson said.

I could feel the unwanted tears forming in my eyes. It was the gesture more then anything, that mattered. The fact that they had taken the time to make something my mom and I had done together, made me feel appicaited.

"Thank you so much." I chocked out. "I love it. Though fare warning, I have eaten so much I don't think I'll be able to eat this till tomorrow."

Ripples of laughter filled the air and we continued with our meal.

We finished the day with pie that could have been made from Heaven and singing some hymns.

As people began to disappear for the night, I leaned my head against Jameson's body.

"Did you have a good Thanksgiving?" He asked.

"I looked up into his gorgeous face. "It was the best I have ever had."

He smiled. "Good."

We kissed like there was no tomorrow and then retired to bed.

I fell asleep quickly. Before I went into nothing land, I gave another Thanks to God for everyone and everything in my life.

I couldn't have been happier.

[simplifiedemotions]

Who Said That?

You see Hermione Granger in phases.

She’s the girl you learned to hate before you even set eyes on her bushy hair and too-large front teeth. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, you think, point, and snarl, and expose the delight of her tears to those around you. 

For a moment, this thought: didn’t mother tell you that making a girl cry wasn’t part of a proper Pureblood upbringing?

But then you shake off the feeling, think: Mudblood. She is not the same. 

Oh, you will find out how wrong you are in the years to come. 

—

Her slap in third year makes you boil with rage.

It isn’t until later, when your hands are shaking and the sting on your cheek blooms red, that you remember the hurt in her fiery brown eyes.

Did you cause that?

Not that it matters, you reassure yourself.

You ignore the twinge of something that feels stupidly like guilt, and go on to tell everyone about the savageness of Muggles.

It’s only right. 

Right?

—

Periwinkle blue. A fluttering of dress robes. How could Viktor Krum demean himself so low as to take the girl with filthy Muggle blood to the Yule Ball? Any girl could make a pretty face with the right charms and pouty lipstick. One such girl hangs off your arm at this very moment, though Pansy’s nails are sharp and you can’t help but wince.

You see Granger twirling in your periphery, her entire face lit up in a way you’ve never seen before.

When you see her crying later on the bottom steps of the Great Hall, her makeup splotched and her smile vanished, you think, maybe, that her smile was at least preferable to this look of devastation.

—

You’ve barely looked at anyone this year. 

Every time your ribs expand, there is poison being dusted across your bones.

Death Eater. The name finally makes a sort of twisted sense.

— 

You confirm her identity in order to protect Potter’s, and bile forces its way up your throat, lines its way on the walls bordering your trachea and sticks there like an old friend.

Later, when the memory of her screams rattles your bones and makes you break out in a cold sweat, your throat refuses to upend itself.

That, too, is a form of guilt.

—

The sickly sour taste remains, as you float through the first half of your eighth year. 

She is one of many who stare at you as you wander the castles like a ghost, but it’s only her stare which makes heat creep up your neck.

Unrelenting shame clouds you through most of the year, until you feel sick with it, until your bloodstream is more shame than blood.

Dirty, dirty, blood, but you’re only talking about yourself.

—

You work with her now, as part of your probation. Two years at any Ministry of Magic department willing to take on an almost murderer. 

Some twisted sort of faith brought you both here. She’s smiling through a grimace and you stare off at a wall behind her head.

“I know I wouldn’t have been your first choice—” she starts, and you surprise yourself with the bark of laughter you let out. 

She’s glaring at you when you meet her eyes. 

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure,” she says primly. 

“No.” You stand firm, not wanting this to be a rerun of the first eight years you’ve known each other. “I’m just surprised you took me on.” The admission hurts, but pride is no longer a comfort you can afford.

She looks staggered, and you almost want to smile. She’s so expressive, and it’s the first time you don’t feel a pressure rising inside you at the thought that she’s rather pretty.

“Well,” she says after a moment, “shall I explain your position?”

—

It becomes routine, working with the girl who wants to save the world. You expect most of the reason Granger took you on is that no one else will work the mind-numbing hours she does.

That, and she seems to have a knack for taking on broken things.

Of course, you have no choice. You call her an evil little chit, but she only grins.

It only takes the first year: the accidental brush of hands, the way she forces you to eat when at first you only settled for tea, and a persistent Granger-shaped stubbornness, when you realise you’re already half in love with her.

—

It’s eight years of working together with her, when you finally crack. Somehow, it makes sense that you would have to atone for the eight years in which you made the wrong choices. You’re not sure if you believe in balance, or even the thought of your redemption, but you’re a selfish man, and the way Granger looks at you makes you believe in something more.

Even after probation, you stayed on. You became her second-lead for several projects around feature legislation for magical creatures. 

It’s this: the way she is clearly jealous when one of the witches at circulation asked if you wanted to go to dinner with her.

(You declined.)

It’s this: the way she snuggles into you when she makes you watch b-rated Muggle films.

(Her warmth is a foreign relief. You don’t deserve to have your arm around her, but you still can’t help but tighten your hold, wanting to make sure she isn’t just a figment of your imagination.)

It’s this: when she comes swerving into your hospital room after you were attacked in Diagon Alley, promising revenge on whoever hurt you.

(A four-year wand probation for the two men who attacked you, and two broken noses.)

“My wand slipped,” she says innocently, and even though it hurts your ribs, you can’t stop laughing. 

It’s this: a drunken kiss, started after a drunken fight, when she screamed at you at the top of her lungs about how stupid you were for assuming it was one-sided, and how dare you, how dare you, Draco Malfoy, not notice how she’s felt for so long.

“I’ve waited longer, Granger,” is all you say, as your hands curve around her face. 

She smiles. “Who said that?”

In another few years, you’ll tell her about your eight long years of wretched pining, and she’ll admit that her crush on you started back in eighth year, when you were assigned as Potion’s partners and she couldn’t stop staring at your hands. 

She always did have to come first in everything.

But, for now: finally, finally, the last scene.

She sighs into your mouth like you're air, and you recoil. You’re air mixed with noxious gas, and you don’t want to hurt her. You’ve hurt her enough. 

She opens her arms, and you, you pathetic Draco Malfoy, sink to your knees and‌ press your face into her stomach. Her touch is a balm against you. The softness of her delicate fingers as they weave into your hair.

She is the tremble that makes up your heart.

“Forgive me.”

It’s benediction. It’s you, begging, quite literally, on your knees.

It’s hope then, when she gets to her knees in front of you and gives you a smile.

Yes, you think, as she closes the distance and presses her mouth to yours, as you remember her in fourth year, with a smile lighting up her face. 

Her smile is the thing you want most.

[xmortuarykittyx]

Ever Unlocked

Part 6: As Does the Sun Shine

Part 5: Broken Mug

pairing: Officer!Leon Kennedy x Coroner’s Assistant!Reader

warnings: none this chapter, brighter chapter, calm before the storm type set up

Birds chirping, it had been a long few days since she'd heard such a joyful sound. Wildlife was out to bask in the rays of sunshine. It had been far too long since Raccoon City saw the light of day. Perhaps, the town needed a break, a moment of clarity. A peace in the ever present storm that overshadowed the life of those residing in the town.

Pain. Lips pulled back into a wince as her eyes came upon the muted light from her curtain, a single ray of light shining directly in her eye from the slit between the fabric and wall. She felt like her brain was moving in slow motion, hand pushing through her hair to feel the knot at the base of her skull, it was tender and swollen. What happened last night? Her brain couldn't place the moment she had acquired the injury, nor could she remember just how she'd ended up in bed still fully clothed in her work uniform. Her fingers toying with the sore flesh as she hissed, air sucked between her teeth. Had she fallen and simply didn't remember? Come to think if it, she couldn't really remember anythi- she felt like she was going to be sick.

Leon. He was in her home, he must've hit her over the head, right? Her legs pushed out of the bed, running to the bathroom, shoulder checking the door frame in her frantic hurry. Knees hitting the cold tile, stumbling, as the near nothing content of her stomach was purged from her lips. Her hands held back her hair, she braced herself  on either side of the white porcelain seat, the cold nipping at her shaky arms. Fingers embedded in her silky strands, pulling them up as she dry heaved. Acid burnt her nose, her lips slick with spit. She struggled to remember all that played out in her mind. Had she just... dreamt it all? That was the more reasonable answer. Nipping pain poked the back of her eyes from the taste in her mouth, she couldn't help the hot tears that rolled down her cheeks. It was horrifying, dream or not. Trying to rationalize her racing mind, she thought to any plausible cause for her panic, for her pain. She must've hit her head on the nightstand, wouldn't be the first time. She'd rolled over many a times or slid back and thought she'd had more room and slammed her head into the corner of that damned mahogany wood nightstand. That's what happened, she'd rather believe that than the alternative, her head hung as she waited for another tensing of her stomach muscles.

It was better to wave off the entire thing, surely he hadn't actually been there, in the darkness of her kitchen. Lurking in the darkness, watching. Her fingers hooked under her skirt, pulling the corduroy fabric over her hips. It was Friday, thank God, she was ready for a relaxing moment. Probably just sitting in front of her tv, watching reruns of the same crime show she'd watched for years. Her fingers ran down the fabric, smoothing it out over the curve of her ass, rotating her hip so she could make sure everything looked put together. The grey blouse matched perfectly as she palmed the sleeve, pulling it over her knuckles to take a final look. She thought the outfit was good enough for a Friday.

Her phone dinged, the sharp sound of her text tone breaking her bubble. She couldn't think of anyone who would text her this early, knowing she had work today. Her lips slightly twitched at the thought one person. He was a clingy thing, not that she truly minded but the dream, at least what she was gaslighting herself into thinking was a dream, made her mind a little less eager to hear from him. Despite how much she really did like him. It just left a bad taste in her mouth. Dreams were crazy like that, feeling so weird and real. She shook her head from the thoughts, she was being ridiculous. Leon was a good boy, a sweet, shy, anxiety filled man. He barely came into her home when she offered. She was being irrational, but the dull ache at the base of her skull... she could explain it away. She hadn't seen him it her in her dream, she just remembered after she ran from him, it got dark. She needed to relax, she was over thinking it, it was a simple nightmare.

Even so, maybe today, she'd lock her door when she left, but what if Mrs.Jones wanted to come in, leave some of that delicious chicken casserole in her refrigerator like she always did? If she started doing that she'd need to get keys made. She was not going to miss out on that casserole just because the door was locked. She would, also, have to make a key for her maintenance man, then for Mrs. Jones, then have a spare if anything happened to her key. She may even need to make one for Rebecca incase of emergencies- it was all too much for her to deal with at the moment. She was slammed at work and her weekends just filled with her trying to take her mind off of anything of importance. Her thoughts, once again, broken by her text tone. "What-?!", it was 6:47 in the morning, it had to be him. She ripped the charger from her phone, flopping down to sit on her bed as she swiped up on the screen. The badly lit, contact photo of Leon popped up. He was doing a very overtly happy smile, he looked like he was in pain. She snapped it while they were at her home that night, claiming 'i need a photo of you. Say cheese.', to which gave her the most dorkiest photo of the man.

'Do you want to stop for coffee before work?', her lips pulled into a slight frown. 'Honey Hollow. I'll buy. ;)', how could she think that that dream was real? The man was softer than a puppy. Part of her did wonder how he knew that she liked Honey Hollow, but then again it was a common place for any Raccoon City resident to visit and being the nicest coffee shop between his place and hers- she really should lay off the crime shows, she rubbed a hand over her eyes, before focusing back on his message. The soft tapping sound echoed in her room and her dull aching mind. 'You'll buy, huh? How can I turn that down?", a weak smile fell on her lips, pulling them back as her finger tapped the blue arrow, sending off her message to him.

  'Also, did you get home safe last night? I know you said you had bad breaks and you didn't message me after you got home.", the message got to her field of view before it was quickly followed by the text bubble bouncing, then a 'want me to pick you up for coffee? I don't mind.', her supple bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her canines worrying the flesh as she contemplated. Would it hurt having him pick her up? She had already rode with him before and, yeah, he had snapped at her but like he said, just some work stress. He wasn't a bad person, she was just letting a dream freak her out. How embarrassing. 'I'd like that. Yeah, sorry, I think I came home and passed out immediately.', she sent it back quickly before she stood back up, looking over her outfit once more. Now, looking at it from another perspective. Would Leon like it? Did he like corduroy? The ribbed material that covered her thighs. It wasn't like they were dating or anything... she wasn't even sure why she was worrying about his opinion on her work clothes.

  'Awesome, I'll be there in in 15? See you soon, bunny.', her eyes narrowed at the nickname, the corner of her mouth curling. Bunny? Where the hell did he come up with that? She couldn't help but think it was cute. Bunny... she could get use to that. She placed the phone down onto her bed, her fingers brushing the surface of her purple comforter. It was that muted purple, a color of comfort and royalty. Her eyes scanned the floor, searching for her shoes, those damned kitten heels that worried at the back of her heel after so many hours of wear. Eyes catching her sleep pants from yesterday, lifting them up to place them on her dresser in her search. She tsked, those shoes weren't anywhere to be seen in her room. Maybe she'd kicked them off in the few moments she remained conscious? She moved slowly as she searched her kitchen, eyes picking up on the late bills as a defeated sigh left her parted lips. An irritated eye shift followed before she saw the shoes, her fingers scooping under the lip as she walked them back to her room, slipping on the balled up pair of no show socks and heels over her feet.

As she placed down her toothbrush, she heard the familiar gravel being disturbed outside her apartment. With her window open, she could hear nearly everything outside. Her eyes rose to meet themselves as she looked in the bigger mirror. Fingers brushed her lips and cheeks as she wiped away left over water. He was here... was she really falling for the man outside? She wasn't sure, but her heart fluttered when she thought of him, that was a crush right? She was crushing, hard, on the rookie. They'd just started to actually speak to each other and here he was, bringing her coffee, buying her donuts and taking her to their shared work. She felt her heart skip in her chest as she imagined a mental picture of him, that damned smile on his lips, laced with nervousness but the want to seem as if he had his demeanor under control. The way his blue eyes shone in the bright lighting of RPD as he shifted, his social anxiety obviously, painfully, present, waiting on the file she swiped from Rebecca. Her chest tightened as she replayed his little body language, he was so sweet it hurt. Damn her, if she was going to let a dream get between her and Leon. He was just too fucking sweet, he almost looked out of place as the flash back of his face so close to hers, his little whispers in her ear as she struggled in his grasp. Her fingers nearly snapped off part of her counter with her white knuckle hold she had on it.

  "It was a dream!", she whispered, angrily, to herself, "stop being so chicken shit over a dream.", she grumbled, standing back up. Leon was waiting on her and damn it all if she was going to act a fool in front of him today. She needed to be confident, he was asking to take her to work. He wanted to spend time with her. She wanted to spend time with him. A shaky breath left her lips before she marched out of her bedroom, steps confident as she snatched up her bag and phone from her bed. She paused, looking back to the window. Her hand brushed the curtain back, seeing Leon sitting in his jeep, idly scrolling his phone, or what she assumed was his phone as she couldn't see it for his steering wheel being in the way.

  She watched his blonde hair, disturbed by the breeze from his open windows, dance around his pale skin. His thumb buried between his front teeth, chewing at the nail. He ran his finger over the nail as he pulled his hand from his lips, feeling over whatever piece was pestering him as he peeked up at her. A shift from idle eyes to a shine that was only reserved for her, his hand falling to his lap as he smiled at her. Eyes crinkling and his boyish features even more innocent as he did so. Yeah, it was totally a dream but so was he, as she smiled at him, looking down at the open gap in the window, holding up one finger, gesturing that she'd be out in a moment. She mouthed the words, 'almost ready' as she unlatched the window and shut it, locking it. She didn't see Leon's look of astonishment, his lopsided smile as he watched her, he wanted to ask her why, after all this time did she choose now to shut that ever present opening to her room, but he knew.

  She'd start with the window, starting to take a little more initiative with her safety now that she has something worth putting her thoughts into. Him.

[springbloggy]

Steve Theory - an analysis on a peculiar love letter

Another odd theory from me! This one is based on the recent newsletter.

See, for a while, the top leading theories for chapter 3's superboss was either a character inspired by Toy Story's woody or Sonic the hedgehog. Those are pretty decent theories, but I think this newsletter has a new smoking gun that blows both of those out of the water.

I think that people were on the right track of the third superboss being based off a childhood character, but it isn't woody or sonic, it's Steve from Blue's Clues (and a bit of other similar hosts).

For this theory, I will be calling the character Mike, you will see why soon.

Let's analyze Mike's letter shall we? Bit by bit.

But hey, first off, isn't it a bit odd that this reveal is in the form of a Valentine's letter? Yes, that was the most recent holiday, but previous holidays that the newsletter aligned with weren't this overt. Why present this info via love letter?

Well, this is, I believe the first clue (blue's clue if you will). What segment is Blue's Clues (and other childhood shows like it) known for? A mail time segment.

Mike may have been a tv character, but he knew that the screen wasn't the only way for fans to reach him. Mail Time was an important segment in his show, and right now he needs mail time the most. But why? Well, let's follow Mike's letter and find out.

The first clue is the distinction of the spelling of Delta Rune, with a space. I believe Mike is aware of the importance of the prophecy in the deltarune universe as well as the real world player's wait to fulfill this prophecy. If Mike truly was a Steve-like character, it would explain how he knows both, as the interactive aspect of his show would make Mike forcibly aware of a greater world outside of his show while still having to abide to the rules and storylines of that show.

Another note is how Mike isn't sure if it's the Old Year or New Year, which could reflect both how Feburary isn't close to being a "new year" anymore but also Mike's show being in reruns, where the passage of time is artificial and determined by what networks choose to broadcast.

Here is the most interesting tie to theory, Mike doesn't know what Valentine's Day is. This is odd because Valentine's Day is a common holiday, but in a children's show often times names of holidays will be changed in order for people of many religions to appreciate the episode. Something infamously parodied in Clone High.

So Mike wouldn't know Valentine's Day, he'd know it by another name.

Below his thoughts on Valentine's Day, he asks the viewer a question in a similar manner that Steve (or similar hosts) would.

Much like Steve at the beginning of an episode, Mike asks the viewer of the letter for help to find his forgotten friend. In fact, subtracted the odd feel of the letter, one can easily imagine a children's show where the main character is trying to find someone he forgot about in a lighthearted tone.

The top is interesting because the real-life viewer of this letter wouldn't respond out loud (unless you did, which uh, good ig?). But you know who would? The children voice overs used in these interactive shows. They are still there with Mike, even after his show (presumably) ended.

This seems like a silly joke a preschool host would make, poking fun at daily self care lessons for children. But it also reminds me of another children's host before Steve, the king of children's hosts, Mr. Rodgers.

Putting on the coat could be a reference to how Mr. Rodgers began his show by putting on his sweater, Mike is beginning his adventure with the viewers/players by having them put on their coats with him.

You may have noticed me skipping the text at the top of the letter, this is because I wanted to group these two notes together. I think the letter being "illegible" and Mike misspelling goodbye goes together. I think these are both hints of Mike not being a grown adult, but rather a young child who can barely write and spell writing this letter. It's similar to the writing seen in Disney's Winnie the Pooh movies.

This would make Mike fit right in with modern preschool hosts such as Dora, Bluey, and the kids from Cocomelon. A younger character ensures that younger viewers will be more engaged with the show and its various lessons.

The final note of this letter takes on a different meaning when you view it under the lens of a preschool show. Once an object, like a letter, is no longer needed to be around, writers will simply just have the object go away then stay on screen.

So now the larger theory, this is a bit of a stretch mind you, but these are all of the pointers I think of.

So wait, you're saying this is Mike?

Yes, I do believe this is the same Mike Spamton thinks so fondly about.

There's two reasons why I think this is the case. The first is his name, all the bosses and superbosses so far have had outlandish names: Jevil, Spamton, Lancer, King, and Queen. Mike sticks out like a sore thumb. Unless he was a character that was created for the sole point of being relatable to the audience, and thus shares a normal name that most people have to enforce that.

The second is this quote

This quote becomes scary if attribute it to this theoretical version of Mike. Think about it, you meet a kind man or child who hosts a preschool show, he's kind, warm, trusting. Wouldn't hurt a fly. But then he suddenly backstabs you.

So how did Mike and Spamton know each other? I think Mike (or the producers of Mike's show) gave Spamton the greatest publicity any salesman could, he made Spamton his show's sponsor.

Once Spamton stopped earning profits, Mike (or his producers) dropped him as a sponsor, leaving Spamton blindsided as a result. Maybe Mike didn't intend to hurt Spamton's feelings, but it was too late by then and Spamton hasn't reached out since.

The Missing Friend

So does that make Spamton Mike's missing friend? I don't think so. I think Mike's missing friend is actually his equivalent to Blue from Blue's Clues or Boots from Dora. A friend he's never without in universe, until one day, they suddenly disappear without a trace. Maybe the loss of Mike's friend parallels that of Noelle losing Dess or Kris missing Asriel from College. Both being events that force both of these characters to grow up and move on in life even if they don't want to. Unlike these two however, Mike will do anything to find this friend, and with some advice from a certain someone, Mike knows what exactly to do.

Take the player's SOUL.

Mike's lack of control

Mike's lack of control is pretty simple yet terrifying. Mike is not only controlled by the in-universe response of yelling children like Steve, but he's also controlled by the whims of the network, forever being taken on and off air, repeated, and more throughout time. I personally believe Mike's show has been long cancelled ever since the sudden disappearance of his friend, yet he's forced to relive moments through reruns. Thus losing track of time itself. This is the secondary reason why Mike wants the player's soul besides a promise to find his lost friend, all he wants is a normal life again, where he doesn't have to relive moments and just hang out with his cartoony friends.

Even if you don't believe in this theory (it is all an admitted stretch based off of one letter), I hope this provided an interesting and entertaining read!

[ineedahugtm]

Hello! This was into response about someone complaining about Hazbin Hotels (admittedly) pretty bad pacing so strap in for 8 paragraphs outlining the history of television and how Hazbin hotel’s terrible pacing fits into this.

So here’s a little (unneeded but still fun) history of television. So as we transitioned from the Radio Era a full season was 39 weeks (3 quarters of a year) and was preformed live, during the rest of the year that time slot would be designated for replacement shows because show hosts have to vacation at some point in their lives.

Anyways due to primitive recording techniques making reruns virtually impossible, the industry standard of replacement shows continued into television. Although finally by mid-fifties reruns were more possible and commonplace. From this point on the number of episodes began to decline, by the late 60’s the 46 episode standard season became 26 instead. (1ep per week is half the year meaning reruns for the other half so that every show could be repeated once a lot easier than the longer seasons of the past )

Essentially broadcast networks wanted more bang for their buck

Then came the miniseries format in the 70’s. Usually about 13 episodes telling stories week to week that were self contained (Think Phineas and Ferb, the episodes have no impact on each other) Also 13 is half of what a normal season was so networks would use this if a project was on the edge of cancellation.

Also in the 70’s networks would cancel shows mid year (now it’s after the November sweeps) so they’d order shows in 12 episode groups and if the ratings weren’t good enough a new one would replace it in January.

By the 90’s it kept getting shorter ordering shows in either 8, 16, or 24 episode seasons. For almost all new shows that a network isn’t sure about they give 8 episodes to test out the waters and see how fans react and that’s what I believe Amazon Prime did for Hazbin Hotel.

And so after an entire history lesson of television, let’s talk about Hazbin Hotel.

So let’s get one thing straight, yeah the pacing of HH is not great and definitely could be improved upon. From what it looks like, we’re supposedly watching a show that has a time span of about 6 months in between 8 episodes which gives no time to develop almost anything but plot relevant to the extermination. However like I just spent the past 4 paragraphs leading up to, season’s episodes are only getting shorter and shorter, not to mention that it’s up to the networks to tell the show how many episodes it’s going to be getting. So with 8 episodes to tell decades worth of planning a world out for Hazbin Hotel I’m sure that’s a little hard, especially with all of the characters that we love and want screen time for (remember how everyone was mad at Encanto for the pacing as well? The plot was there but the movie was too short for the amount of characters and stories that they wanted to tell)

Additionally it’s been said that the team didn’t know that the show was getting a second season until half way through production (I don’t have any sources to back this one up but I’ve heard it going around a few places) so it seems like this season was planned like it was the only season we would be getting which would explain why everything is so fast paced.

Hopefully with that second season (and maybe more) they will feel more fluid and organic but for now we need to understand that this is just the first season and that the rough start shouldn’t be entirely on the blame of the show itself. If your mad about something sure, I’m down to put the blame on those responsible- but I think instead of being mad at the show, or saying “I’m disappointed in the show” we should shift the blame onto the networks who put such small episode constraints on not just Hazbin hotel- but all new shows! Sure if you have a well thought out story that you can tell in 8 episodes then that’s great! But too many shows are forced to rush through their plot because of greedy networks enforcing restraints on the creativity of the shows their hosting

[sorryjustafangirl]

make it to christmas

a/n: in the absolute middle of exams, winter, homesickness, and holiday stress, i was well overdue for some (resolved) angst me thinks. this is also based off one of my fav christmas (sad but upbeat) songs of the same name by canadian icon alessia cara. i really hope you enjoy!

word count: 2.7k+

pairing: quinn hughes x gn!reader

warnings: swearing, kinda rude parents, mentions of Christmas, sad quinn a little, i can't think of anything else?

disclaimer: this is a piece of fiction so don't come for me about real life stuff. also i didn't make the gif, @gabelandeskog did (and it looks amazing!)

Quinn gets distant with you when the team is on losing streaks. When the team was on losing streaks in the winter? It would get worse. 

After three years with him, you’d noticed that this time of year makes your boyfriend get in his head a little. His frowns were a little deeper, the light rarely reached his eyes even around you. He always said it was the lack of snow Vancouver got that messed with his winter routine. When he told you that, you made him promise that he’d tell you when he was feeling particularly sad. 

He was good at keeping that promise. During the winter months when the sun set too early and the sky was grey for days on end, he’d be quiet for a day or so before confiding in you under the comfort of the covers. If things got bad, the two of you would watch reruns of Friends until he fell asleep to your heartbeat and the claps of the theme song. You’d always savoured the winter because there were so many of those moments you’d get to spend together.

But this year, it felt different.

The whispers in the dark never came and he never gave the pleading eyes to watch a show. He’d open his phone again and again, the blue light reflecting onto his face but a smile never came. You’d try to pry a little — he never did respond well to it — but you knew this wasn’t your Quinn, winter or not. 

The breaking point came when he stopped saying ‘I love you’. He never failed to say it or even send a text with it before one of his games, and he especially never forgot on road trips. But now? You couldn’t remember the last time you were able to slip into bed beside him, and say a ‘love you’ without the ache in your chest of knowing you won’t get anything more than silence in response. 

“Do you still want to come home with me for Christmas Eve?” you asked one night, when you saw the date in your calendar. 

“If you want me to, yeah sure,” he mumbled, barely looking up from his phone. You couldn’t even fake a smile at his response, just settled into bed. He may have been beside you but he might as well be a thousand miles away. 

On Christmas Eve, the two of you had dressed silently. It wasn’t like a no words communication, it was no communication, a stark contrast to other occasions when music had been playing and Quinn had been asking your opinion on which tie matched your clothes the best. Now, you waited by the door, the car keys in your hand until he came out of your bedroom, took them, and silently moved out the door. You locked the door on your own, your boyfriend twenty steps ahead of you. You sighed. 

“Just make it to Christmas,” you whispered to yourself. 

The car ride was silent and you just couldn’t take it anymore. 

“I got Milo and Coolie some cute toys I thought they’d like. They’re wrapped under the tree for when you see Brock next,” you offered. He just grunted in response and you sighed a little. 

“Did Petey say what he was doing for the holiday break?” You asked, turning slightly to see his face better but the frown never left his face.

“No.”

“Oh, Holly sent us their family Christmas card, they all look so nice. Did you see them?”

“No.”

You took a pause. “Did you want to see?”

“No.” 

You pursed your lips, sighed a little, and sunk further into the seat, looking out the window so he didn’t see how his behaviour was affecting you. 

When he pulled into your parents driveway, you could see all the bright yellow lights and your family already sitting in the living room with smiles on their faces. Usually, a sight like this would make you excited to bolt out of the car and be in the warm familiar house. This time, it only filled you with dread, having to pretend your relationship was okay, and you sighed for the last time. 

“That’s the third time you’ve sighed like that,” He said, unbuckling his seatbelt. Oh so now he was attentive? Sure. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, let’s go.”

“It’s not nothing, what’s the matter?”

“Q, can we not do this right now? My family is waiting on us and I don’t want either of us to be grumpy. Let’s just try to make it to Christmas please,” you grumbled. He just grunted and got out of the car, his door slamming behind him. You took a deep breath before exiting the car yourself. At least he’d been bothered to wait for you before walking up to your parents’ house. 

But when your dad opened the door, it was like a switch was flipped. Your boyfriend smiled, shook your dad’s hand, and passed the gift (that you were a little confused on where it came from since you hadn’t bought it — and you did the holiday shopping for the both of you) to your mom. 

He sat on the couch with his arm draped around your shoulders. He brought you a drink in your favourite mug without asking. He held your hand and caressed the back of your hand when your dad brought up a work project that frustrated you. There would be times when you were talking to your sister and his arm would rest on your thigh and you’d forget about everything that happened before and just relish in his love. But as soon as it moved, the cold seeped in and you were reminded that this was not the regular anymore – this was a one-off and only a matter of time before it wasn’t there at all.  

“Y/n, honey, could you help me in the kitchen really quick?” You mum asked.

“Yeah, sure. Be right back, Q.” You started to get up from your place on the couch but Quinn leaned over, quickly giving you a peck on the cheek. 

“Hurry back babe.” He winked, throwing you a little off-guard. This was like the Quinn you knew, but where has he been the past four months? You walked into the kitchen, ready to help your mom but she was ready with questions.

“Is everything okay sweetheart?” Fuck fuck fuck. You tried to give her your best confused face instead of the panic in your mind that she saw right through your facade. 

“Yeah, why do you say that?” 

“You just look a little down,” she said, rubbing your arm lightly. “Even with that boy so nice to you, you just don’t look super happy. And it’s Christmas! Is everything going okay with him? He’s not too busy with work, is he?”

“No, Mom, he’s fine,” you lied. “We’re fine, thank you for checking.” 

“Well, if you say so sweetheart. There’s no shame in breaking it off with this hockey boy so you can have something where you’re happier.” 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I’m going to be right back.”

“Don’t go anywhere! I’m making hot chocolate with marshmallows before the board game,” she called after you, seemingly aware that she sent you into a tailspin. 

“I’ll just be a minute, you can get started without me.” You were already halfway down the hallway by the time you said it, your focus on nothing but getting out of the room. 

You walked out the back deck, taking in the night sky and silence. You took deep breaths. It just didn’t make sense. How could he just think that nothing is wrong in front of your family? Act so carefree so easily? You were struggling to even smile at his gestures, wondering what got into him to act like his old self and your mom noticed. She noticed and basically told you to break up with him, so nonchalantly, like she’d never taken your relationship seriously. 

“Hey. Here.” His voice interrupts your racing mind and you turn around to face him. In his hands is the hoodie he keeps in the car in case you get cold, outstretched to you. You suddenly are aware of the goosebumps all over your arms and how you could see your breath. You take it and pull it over your head as Quinn walks closer to be beside you. 

“What’s wrong?”

You scoff. “What's wrong?”

“Yeah, you never miss out on a hot chocolate, especially not with the marshmallows. What’s wrong?” He didn’t seem to have caught onto the slight edge in your voice, and you dropped the attitude. 

“If I’m honest, it’s us,” you huffed. 

“Us?” You could see the furrow in his eyebrows even if you weren’t looking at him. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”

“For the past two hours when we’ve been in front of my family, sure. But even my mom noticed I’m not really happy. In two hours, my mom saw what you couldn’t in months! Q, it’s been weeks since we’ve been really fine. Weeks. We are not fine! There’s all this distance between us, even when you’re sleeping right beside me! When was the last time we went out on a date? When’s the last time you even had time for a date? Time for me? We haven’t talked about anything other than hockey and my job for what feels like months!“

He goes to open his mouth but you cut him off. “And I know, I know, it’s winter, this is how you get. But it’s not. Quinn, I’ve been around enough to know what it’s like in the winter but this is something else. You give me one word answers, you’re shutting me out. I can’t even remember the last time you said you loved me. It’s fucking different and I’m so so close to saying fuck it and throwing the towel in!” 

“Then why didn't you? Why did you invite me here?”

“Because it’s Christmas! Because I’m an idiot! Because I’m not ready to give up on you! Because I keep thinking that this is just a bump in the road and one day, we’ll feel like us again, just like we did in there! Because if you didn’t come, my dad would give me such a look of pity at the empty chair beside me and my mom would tell my sister “I told you so” when she has evidence you’re too busy for me. And on Christmas? I…I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it. Break up with me on Boxing Day, but can we please just make it through Christmas?”

“Wait, break up? Who said anything about a break up?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been wanting to do? Why else have you been so distant these past few months, so engrossed in your phone?” You said, crossing your arms across yourself and looking down at your feet. 

“I’ve been trying to propose.”

You stared at him blankly. “To me?”

“No, to Brock. Yes, of course to you.”

Your mouth hung open in shock. “You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“I’m not following,” you said, genuinely confused. Where was this coming from?

“This isn’t how I wanted to tell you all this, but you remember that night out on the lake in July? When we went out and watched the sunset and you told me you could do this for the rest of your life?” You nodded.

“That’s when I knew I wanted to marry you. So I started looking at rings, asking some of the married guys for advice, that sort of stuff. But when I went to my mom to ask for her help picking out a ring, she…she just seemed surprised that I didn’t know what you wanted. I went through your jewelry box and everything but I still couldn’t figure it out. So I started to think that maybe I didn’t know you as well as I needed to before we got married.” He looked down at his feet as he started shuffling them side to side. 

“And then when I asked your parents about marriage, your dad didn’t look very impressed with me. Like they said fine, but they didn’t seem over the moon that I was going to be the one asking. That’s why I acted so different in there. I…I didn’t want your parents to think they made a mistake by telling me yes. I guess that all of that just made me feel really insecure about me and this lifestyle that threatens to move us across the country in one second! I was insecure in our relationship, convincing myself that you and your family wanted no part in being part of the league, part of the drama, the chaos. Believe me, you’re the last person I ever want to hurt and I was just too much in my own head to see how it was hurting you, and baby, please, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I-“ he cut himself off. “I can’t believe I let myself get so caught that you don’t remember I love you. Because I do. I love you a lot. A whole fucking lot, I can’t even explain it. I want to marry you, please, I don’t want to break up.” He made eye contact with you then, his brown orbs void of anything but sorrow. 

You felt your own eyes welling up but you had to get it all off your chest before consoling him. “Why didn’t you just talk to me about this?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to tell me our parents were right. I thought if I kept it to myself, you wouldn’t notice how I might not be enough for you.” 

The tears that had welled in your own eyes started to fall and there were no words coming to mind that could do your feelings justice. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck fiercely. His arms wrapped around your waist with as much ferocity and one of your hands held the back of his head. 

“Not enough for me? You are everything,” you whispered into his ear. 

“Don’t quote The Office to me.” His voice was muffled by your shoulder but you could hear the slight smile in it. 

“Q, I don’t care what my parents said. I don’t care that you don’t know what ring I would want – I don’t even know what kind of ring I’d want! I don’t care about any of that; I care about you. I love you. And you are enough. You are all that matters to me.” 

He pulled away from you, slowly, to see your face but his body stayed as close to you as possible. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as good as you.” Your face softened. One of your hands moved to cup his cheek and he leaned into your touch. 

“It doesn’t matter. You have me. But the next time you feel like this you have to talk to me, okay? I was absolutely miserable when you wouldn’t communicate with me and I thought you didn’t…”

“Believe me, I’m never again going to let you believe, even for a second, that I don’t love you with every fiber in my body. I’ll talk with you next time,” he promised, pressing a long kiss to your temple and pulling him towards you again. “Now, you’re freezing and look desperately in need of a hot chocolate, so let’s get you inside.” 

As the two of you walked back towards your parents place, hand in hand, you turned to look at him. 

“Oh, and by the way, my answer is yes,” you said.

“Answer to what?”

“When you ask me to marry you. My answer is yes and it will always be yes.” His face softened and he slowly turned you to face him. His fingers, although cold, cupped your face and he brought you in for a slow kiss, dragging it out for as long as he could. 

“I love you,” He said breathlessly, a sliver of light reaching his eyes again. “I love you so much.” 

You gave him another quick peck, before leaning into his chest for a hug. 

“I love you too, Q.”

taglist (join here): @heatherawoowoo @4ambagelbites @typical-simplelove @2manytabsopen @stars-canucks @lorrmorr @fallinallincurls @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @yummygoldenfood @drei-mrssvechii @bananarantanen @pulpfixion

[bakedbakermom]

can you tell use more stories of what it was like waiting/watching the x files when it was on air?>:)

i was late to the fandom - i stumbled across the episode Humbug during the hiatus between s6-s7 and was HOOKED. i was also, unfortunately, 13 at the time, and not allowed to use the internet nearly as much as i wanted. so i can't tell you about what the fandom was like before 1999.

HOWEVER i can tell you that the end of s7 was a nail biter, and the summer between 7 and 8 was filled with an unprecedented surge in fanfic as we all tried to imagine what season 8 would bring. (i wrote one that i may return to at some point, it was very apocalyptic.) there were a LOT of angry fans when robert patrick was announced as joining the cast, to the point where many of us felt like scully hitting him with water in Within was meant to be a catharsis for US.

what i miss most about those days, however, is how creative and connected the fandom was. there were web hosts out there like angelfire and geocities where anyone could make their own completely free website about whatever they wanted, with a simple wysiwyg interface (what you see is what you get, aka drag and drop) so even the most tech-illiterate among us could make something cool - and if you knew html (or had lissaexplains bookmarked) you could make something truly spectacular.

there would be surges of new fic and fanart after every episode (some more than others lol). you would find screencaps and videos on napster from those who had better tech than you. being 13 with a strict 10pm bedtime and no computer of my own, i couldn't hop on the forums after the episode like i wanted; instead i'd have to wait until monday afternoon after school to catch up on all the hot goss and new content, and i had NO irl friends who watched the show until high school (literally day one a girl named jenn spotted xf art on my binder and we were friends immediately). so you can imagine that by the time 3:00 rolled around i was positively VIBRATING with the need to talk about it.

there was one official forum and dozens of fan-made offshoots (walter's wenches, for example, started as a sub-board on the main forum and then became its own group) that felt like small towns. you could follow individuals or threads and get notifications for posts and updates. this was before social media, so it was all as anonymous as you wanted it to be.

i met several penpals on the official board that i stayed in touch with for years after the series ended and the board was shut down. one of them was a collector of xf memorabilia up in canada from whom i was able to buy several tapes of hard-to-find episodes (if you missed one, you had to hope for a rerun or a marathon) and merch (xf barbies my beloved) as well as extras like interviews and music videos and the celebrity deathmatch segment etc.

i miss late 90s/early 00s fandom so much.

also i was in catholic school and learned more about sex through fic than my school's pitiful sex ed would ever begin to touch on (did you know the penis goes in the vagina? because they never said that. did you know women can orgasm? because they never said that. etc)

[cliowo]

In this essay, i will explain the reasons why sky children of the light has become an increasingly unwelcoming game to new players and veterans alike-

Yeah yeah i usually only share my words here but tumblr feels like a really comfy place for me to share unfiltered thoughts and i needed somewhere to vent ig (skip if you have no idea what I'm talking about)

When I first started playing in prophecy, sky was a really fun game. We didn't have the request for a guide function then and I'm actually really grateful for it because the joy was in exploring each of the different realms and season areas on my own and randomly stumbling across spirits whose stories were waiting for me to discover. Maybe it was because I was a dumb moth - i didn't even know how to access seasonal spirits trees - but the pressure to cr just wasn't as intense as it is for moths today. The back to back seasons and "days of" events seem to have sucked the fun of exploring the world of sky for moths because they're so focused on grinding for candles/hearts/event currency that they just dont slow to smell the in-game roses anymore. And the thing is I get it because there's just so many new cosmetics as well as older ones from past seasons and events to farm for.

I mean sure you don't have to collect every cosmetic but 1 cape costs like 70 candles on average, same for a pair of pants iirc, a prop/acessory at 40-70 candles (70 if its an instrument??) , and hair at around 40-50 candles; and the best part is you can only earn 20-21 candles max in 1 reset 🤡 Add all of that plus the need to look for event currency in fear of facing such prices in the event rerun and you get stressed out moths facing existential crises every 2 weeks when ts arrives😀 Sorry moths, the economy is bad irl and just as bad in sky.

And what of the veterans? Yeah, well, we get no friends as everyone starts to quit the game and those that stay live off copium revisiting the places we once visited with friends- Or maybe that's just me

New friends, you say? *cue flashback to moths begging for help with cr* we exchanged like maybe 5 sentences max at chat benches🥲 i have nothing against helping out but it does make it difficult to form a bond when they disappear right after and you fade into their constellation of ubers

And then we have the seasons.

... Honestly the only season that made an impression with me after aurora was the recently concluded season of the 9 coloured deer, which was also another collab season💀

I actually had to check the sky wiki for this:

Remembrance - ironically very forgettable. What was the story again? Was it the one with the group of spirits living in one specific hole in vault like why- vault is bigger than that sad hole- OH THE PLUSHIES okay maybe this one was passable... im trying okay

Passage - ??? Havent finished this season's quests so uh- so far it seems like... a cult..? In isle...?

Moments - if they wanted a camera in-game, they could have just added it to like the days of sunlight event (the camping one) or smtg. They did not have to force a season for a camera💀 imho the camera was the only thing worth mentioning abt this season and i don't even take pictures

Revival - i suppose aviary is pretty and it's nice that the spirits have somewhere to stay now. Not particularly impressed. Don't really remember the story in this one.

...i heard rumours of a furniture season after the 9 coloured deer. Looking forward to hearing what they'll name this one lmao

The quality of "days of" events is still acceptable to me. Just maybe ignore the numerous iaps and the fact that we have multiple umbrellas but only 1 is f2p (don't understand whats up w that btw)

And also the recurring bugs💀 I've been playing for at least 3 years and I've faced these bugs/problems multiple times:

1. Unable to light frends constellations because the screen just yeets itself into oblivion or some random environment feature where i cant press the button

2. Game crashes (after every update istg-)

3. Splitting servers

4. Sky discrimination and gate keeping, aka refusing to let me open the game

5. Being unable to collect currency/dailies (it's not my internet i checked)

The lack of compensation is another matter entirely

I don't know man I'm tired. The only reason why I still have it installed is because it's my only link to the people I used to have fun and relax with. Not everyone has discord or insta or some other social media.

If you made it this far thank you for coming to my ted talk. Feel free to leave your thoughts- just remember to be respectful

Tldr:

The sky economy is bad. For everyone. Moths (and maybe even vets) are stressed out and vets are losing friends. The seasons are increasingly dull and the long-lived bugs are frustrating.

[acoldsovereign]

{{ Okay, here we go. A better/proper post about it. I know, I know. "But you said you wouldn't post--"

I'm breaking it this once. Only this once.

I'm still a reforming sociopath so being sad/sitting with intense feelings is very difficult for me. Concerning the circumstances, I'll try to express myself properly without the fear of "feeling things wrong".

I'm still new to the RPC. I started in March 2023, it'll be a year soon. God, that's so fast. I made minor and major mistakes in the process of learning Tumblr etiquette, but I learned from those instances all the same and nobody heckled me for it. Nobody made fun of me at all. Aside from the one incident I had late last year (it wasn't anyone in this community, though they did have a DBZ character on their roster), I've had ZERO problems with this community. I may be annoyed at stuff I see on the dash, or at highly specific or miniscule things nobody else sees if I ever venture out of my safe bubble, but ... I never felt unwelcomed, excluding my beginning months (which was when I didn't understand Tumblr culture). That changed when I started following and talking to people seriously. Everyone, even the shy people have been nothing but sweet to me and you all still continue to be really sweet and kind to me, even going as far to remind me to take my time when I push myself too hard. DBZ wasn't my first anime (that honor goes to Magic Knight Rayearth, Sailor Moon and Rurouni Kenshin), but it was one of the most influential I've ever watched. Unlike most in the community, I have a tumultuous relationship with the series due to being bullied severely in my childhood/adolescent years. I wasn't "allowed" to like or enjoy it because I was a girl, and it was a boy's show, even worse, it was deemed "white people shit". (Yes, this was said to my face by kids my age).

It was so incredibly dumb and disheartening to never be able to enjoy things because I associated being liked with survival. And yet, I still found a way to enjoy DB in secret. I started with Kai reruns. As you all know, even though I started at the Saiyan Saga, it was the Trunks Saga that truly converted and changed me-- so much so that he's my favorite character hands down, even after all these years. I ended up finishing the entire series on an old computer I no longer have. The pirating website I was using had a little chatbox where people were doing script RP (aka they used asterisks and all that). I thought it looked fun-- so, I made an account, username and joined in. I was a female Saiyan character (because why wouldn't I?) and I discovered the world of RP that way; that's how I started. DBZ is why I'm here with you all. The cycle repeated again and all of my old RP partners were nowhere to be found when I logged in one day. I got bullied again (which deeply hurt and confused me) and verbally/emotionally harassed online until I changed my username and deleted the FC I was using (one of them even told me to uh, you know. Do the opposite of live). I searched online for other RP forums and found them; started on other sites until I found my way to Facebook. I learned I had a knack for describing things, and making wholly unique characters that breathed life into the series they were from. I found my home, you could say. I've been in many other fandoms, made good memories but the majority of them are unfortunately tainted with the cruelty and lack of compassion others had towards OCs, especially of the female kind. Even in the Naruto community years ago, I had been at the end of a "call out/ship-vent" post for something I had no control over (the situation was actually caused by the person who wrote it, worse of all).

When I RPed in the DB fandom on Facebook, the only things that happened were: people's feelings getting hurt when my villain OCs said something rude to their characters (I always, ALWAYS, warned the other person in advance just to make sure they were okay with it), and people (mainly male muses-- canon and OCs) trying to reform them through having crushes on them or being "nice" to them. Romance plots, basically, or hoping for it. Though the latter was sometimes annoying, I managed to have fun, still. (Funnily enough, it mainly happened to the Cyborg/'Android' OCs I had, and not my Saiyans). The former though, kept me away from writing any more villains/antagonists for a long time because I didn't want to harm someone or be the reason they had a bad experience with roleplaying. Quite some years ago, I abandoned it due to life responsibilities and all that. Had to focus on college. I've been doing this since middle school all the way up to high school. I'm 26 now. I've been roleplaying for 14 years. I started when I was 12, at most. That means I've been a fan of this series for that duration of time and even longer since I didn't know RP was a thing. Because of DBZ, I've had long distance relationships. Because of DBZ, I've discovered my passion of writing goes deeper than what I thought it did originally. I even discovered what fanfiction was, through RP. I met people in the past through RP that I've developed crushes on and went on to date online. Met my first cosplay community (when I started cosplaying), made friends with local anime-shop owners before they closed down for good. I had a freaking Future Trunks Funko at one point! And I donated it to the shop because I loved the owners so much that I wanted them to have what personally gave me joy. I tried to write Trunks at one point, tried to cosplay him at another, so on and so forth. As many downs I had being attached to this series, I had more ups-- and gods, were the ups so HIGH. So, I'm much more willing to work with the series and all of the IP, because the truth is, something keeps making me come back. And it sparks my enthusiasm.

I've been told since starting my blog that my enthusiasm is infectious and I'm glad it is, because the truth is: this enormous body of work deserves it. My enthusiasm is because of Toriyama. This blog is here because of Toriyama. No, seriously. He said we never got female Saiyans prior to Super because he never could settle on a design. Growing up, I've been told toxic things about this series (usually from my own ethnic group, immature boys and creepy, grown men), only to find out the dude struggled with indecision! He was just like me at the time-- a freaking panster! Talk about a relief! I belong here!! I've always belonged, as a female fan!! My Saiyans, whether in RP or fanfictions, were female for this explicit reason. Long story short, Maiz is here because he planted that seed. I just took it and ran. As you all know, Maiz originally came from a fanfiction herself but, her current personality, motives and goals came from another character. The version you're seeing and writing with was specifically tailored to the needs of the RPC-- a villainous female Saiyan (with huge amounts of much needed Saiyan lore backing her up). I created this blog with my decade long experience of writing in mind. I wasn't expecting much when my best friend Koji convinced me to try Tumblr RP. I was so jaded. I thank her so much because if she didn't, I wouldn't have refound my drive for this series. My neverending love for various aspects of DB would have just stayed between me and my close irl friends. I wouldn't have met any of you. I wouldn't be here at all, and neither would Maiz. I wouldn't be surrounded by beautiful, amazing people. I wouldn't be as motivated as I am to improve my writing and vocabulary. Just ... Gosh. You guys remember when I said I can't think of Trunks' backstory too hard/too long or I'll get sad and cry? Well. It's moved to "if I ever hear Heroic, Episodic or Heaven Sent Trunks, I'll get sad" now. Gotta laugh at myself a little somewhere. I'm getting better at being okay with being sad. Bare with me. The fact that he based my favorite character on the Terminator movies and Trunks existing was why I even got into sci-fi to begin with (Terminator, Total Recall, Stargate, Star Trek, etc), just makes everything I've been though with this series hurt that much more.

To make matters worse, the first time I ever wrote within the sci-fi genre WAS the fanfiction Maiz comes from. It was a rewrite of DB Super, starting with the Broly movie, so naturally I decided it should be a blend of that and Space-Opera. Sigh. Do you see what I mean? By why this all hurts? I wouldn't be here at all if I didn't take what Toriyama said about female Saiyans to heart. Being told I was taking this IP too seriously over the years has paid off. I'm glad I'm so damn stubborn and resilient. I'm glad I have tunnel vision. Others would've broken if they went through the bs I did. If I had to go get bullied for liking Trunks over Vegeta and Goku all over again, I'd do it knowing what I accomplish later down the road. (But you know, I don't need to be bullied again-- nobody does). There's much more I could say but I'll leave it here as I think this is a full explanation enough. Thank you, Akira Toriyama (and the editors) for the Trunks, Androids and Cell Sagas. I'm glad Western movies inspired you. Finally, thank you for existing.

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

If Ford thought about it for long enough after the fact, he supposes that should have seen it coming from a mile away.

Gravity Falls was always a quiet town on the surface. You'd never think something was amiss, with the way (most of) its citizens acted cheerful and welcoming. Folding their laundry, grabbing drinks, running their errands, you'd never assume each and everyone of them lived through hell a year ago. They were good actors that way. It could almost be seen as... safe.

But as Stanford has learned over the years, a lack of excitement did not mean he was in the clear.

A normal day this noon was going to be, and Ford was set on this notion. He had been sent into town to purchase groceries, but alone at the display of Stanley's plain laziness. While he was lounging in his personal armchair and watching old black-and-white reruns, Ford was encouraged to visit civilization alone. He only agreed due to his budgeting freedom, because Stan seemed to have forgotten Ford needed restraint when it came to those places. All those years with nothing, now with everything. (A foolish mistake, Stan would learn.)

Gravity Falls Grocery Store is even quieter than the street it was on. Large and untouched, one could roll their shopping cart through the colorful aisles with eyes closed, and would bump into no one. Ford doesn't roll, of course, but he does walk fast. The sooner he leaves, the sooner he can head to Greasy's Diner, to pick up a sweet pie for their dinner tonight. Ford fills up his shopping cart nicely, so no one else will need to head to this place for a good month or so. The freshest of fruit, the crispest of boxes, he can't help but pick those. He had an eye for those things.

As Ford almost rounds off his trip by scanning the candy aisle for a nice pack of jelly beans, his day takes a slight turn. This neon aisle is nestled in the middle of the rest, right by the eight cash registers. Only two of them are on duty during noon—a pair of elderly teenagers, with matching green uniforms and teenage atmospheres. The left is a tall blond boy who looks to be more than interested with his co-worker, while the right is a shorter girl with all of the heat in her face.

"Yep, just moved to town," the cashier on the right, brushing her blue-streaked brown hair aside, says. "My mom really wanted the 'chill vibes' of towns stuck in the middle of nowhere."

The cashier on the left chuckles, casually leaning forward over his station's conveyor belt. His voice is somewhat familiar to Ford, but it's what he's saying is the thing that gets him to pause. "Yeah, this place is anything but chill. Like, have you seen the place? One time, some really huge guy named Pubetor broke into our school and wanted to fight the principal. It was wild. And don't even get me started on last summer, because that? Could've been the best summer ever, if it weren't for the end."

Ford's hand rests lightly on the largest pack of The Fish's Fish-Shaped Jelly Beans he found in his area. He isn't sure why he's so hesitant to leave—Weirdmageddon was an understandable event to warn a newcomer about. Maybe it was how the subject had been worded. The apocalypse was not to be taken lightly, but teenagers took many things that shouldn't be light as light. It can be ignored.

Ford shoves the jelly beans into his cart and stands just far enough to be hidden from the pair. "Like, it was bad," Blond Boy is saying. "The sky exploded, my friends got turned to stone, I turned to stone, the whole town got turned to stone—it was a lotta stone. We're not even supposed to talk about it."

"Yikes," Blue Streak winces. "Now I get why my mom wanted to be here so bad. So you're just supposed to… keep living? Pretend it never happened?"

"Yep," Blond Boy confirms, nestling back into his stiff chair once more. "Except for the dudes who saved us and stuff, we just think it never happened. Don't tell anyone I told you, though. It's stupid law or something."

"Got it," Blue Streak says, also turning back to her post. Neither of them say any more.

He isn't panicking. Of course he isn't. This is stupid. Under a quarter of his age, making him question his entire sense of self. This is stupid. Ignore it, Stanford.

As silently as he can, Ford leaves the aisle. Looking straight down into his filled cart, as if revising everything he has in store. He glances up so he doesn't crash—Blond Boy's eyes flicker in recognition, and Blue Streak keeps her attention on an open magazine. As Ford looks closer at Blond Boy's name tag, it reads the name Lee.

"Mr. Pines!" Lee says a little too loudly, startling his co-worker off her seat. "We were definitely not breaking the law just now. How's things been with the brain, dude?"

Ford tries not to flinch in confusion at the sad cover-up. He always forgets that everyone in town knew about Stan's sacrifice, but not about who made it happen. "Stanley is doing well. I'm assuming you've mixed us up again?"

Lee begins to scan the items placed on the conveyor belt as he continues talking. "Riiiiiight. Sorry… Doctor? That's you."

"Yes," Ford replies rather stiffly. "I'm the other twin."

"Dang. Sorry about that, doctor dude." Though the teens are separated by both two conveyor belts and Ford's cart, Lee whispers to Blue Streak conspiratorially. "This's one of the dudes who saved us and stuff I talked about."

The girl nods in little awe. Ford pretends not to hear that.

The process is rather quick, but only because of Ford's mind thinking back to two minutes ago. Law? It sounded like the town had a mutual agreement to just… pretend last summer never occurred. But that was absurd! Ford must not have heard all of the context. Maybe the boy meant another law, one obscure and only mentioned to impress the dyed haired girl. It had to be, because if they all really did agree to…

"93.78," Lee says with slightly gritted teeth, like he's had to repeat it multiple times.

Ford almost forgets to mutter a thank you before walking away. He shakes his head of the alarming thoughts, swiftly taking the three bags to hook upon his arms. He doesn't see Lee or the dyed hair girl waving him goodbye, or what they start to whisper excitedly when he leaves through the automatic doors. The sheer concern of it all has clouded his mind completely.

Ford could not be crazy. He didn't spend forty-two years with that eye lurking over his shoulder for his home to dismiss it like a sham.

heheheh. I know exactly where it's gonna go too lol. if you wanna add anything/have criticism/anything of comment I'd like to hear it. this is the Very First Draft. :}

Gotta say, you really know how to build anticipation!

I like that Ford sort of spaces out. Not entirely sure why- just a little thing I like seeing, I suppose. Of course, there’s a lot here that I like, but I’m not great with words. I think it’s pretty good so far!

Also, question: did everyone decide not to tell specifically Stan and Ford about the law? Because- wow, Mayor Tyler really is the worst at decision making isn’t he

[mannequinreligi0n]

Metamorphosis

A bite from a lycan provides a fate worse than death for Chris.

WC: 588

WARNINGS: none really, just really grim lol

NOTES: head full of lycan!chris thoughts and hcs, so this might develop into a multi-part thing, but who knowsss. also tumblr ruined the format, so check this out on AO3, if you’d rather read there.

⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️⚔️

Crawling. Itching.

Skin too tight.

Too tight.

Too tight.

Stretching, bending, breaking.

Burning - flames everywhere.

Wildfire runs through veins, scorching every fiber and nerve.

Chris writhed in pain, diving head-first into a tree trunk, grasping at the bark for support. The bite to his shoulder throbbed relentlessly, surging pain and venom throughout his cells. A flashbang of memories sparked through Chris’ brain: soldiers falling, gunfire, yellowed teeth and mirages of hair —

No.

Not teeth. Not hair.

The teeth were fangs, the hair was fur.

Pain. So much pain.

Pain in the eyes of dying commandos, in the wails of fleeing villagers, and in the ache of Chris’ body.

It’s too much.

“Get out! Get out! Get OUT GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!!!”

Blood starts to weep down his brow as he slams his head again and again and again into the tree, trying so hard to shut off the reruns of violence from yesterday. Everyone was dead, everything was for nothing. It’s all his fault. It’s ALWAYS his fault. Why did he take this job? Why did he care so, so much for other people? Why was this —

His train of thought breaks from another eruption of pain. Chris drops to his knees and claws at his clothes.

It’s too hot, they’re too tight.

The clothing reverts to its natural state of mere threads as he tears them from his body, happily accepting the bite of the cold on fevered skin. He flops forward into the snow, staining the innocent white with the shameful red oozing from his shoulder. Chris, weak from blood-loss and guilt, allows his eyes to shutter. He’s dying and he knows it. ‘Finally….no…more…’, he thinks, letting the wave of black take over.

————————-

C R A C K.

With a bellowed scream, Chris’s eyes shoot open and he thrashes his limbs, spine contorting every which way. A hand comes up to wipe blood from his vision, a shriek of fear escaping him soon after.

‘My hands…..what?……how-“

Claws replaced nails on fingers far too long to be human; tufts of brown fur trailed from his arms up to the last knuckle on any given digit. He lifted his other hand up for examination, his stomach churning when he saw the transformation of his other hand happen in real time. Fur sprouted from unseen follicles as bones altered in shape, mangling the human anatomy into one of a beast.

A fate more brutal than death, Chris flailed in the snow, feeling every inch of his body betray him. He was turning into something he spent many long nights fighting. He can’t recall the amount of times he prayed to a god he didn’t even believe in before those fights, asking - no, begging to be spared just one more time.

But sometimes, your all isn’t enough.

Sometimes, your prayers are just words in the wind.

And Chris was scared.

He was so fucking scared.

Tears poured from him - it had been years since he let himself cry so fully. He didn’t care. His body wasn’t his. It was wrong. It was being replaced by a stranger, and no amount of shouting, crying, or praying would save him. He was alone with his tears and despair.

And just as suddenly as Chris’ body wasn’t his, his mind wasn’t either. It was gifted to the beast to be molded to its liking.

The tears stopped.

Pain gone.

Mind blank.

Tabula rasa.

All he was left with was this ancient hunger that was gnawing at the walls of his stomach.

Complete metamorphosis.