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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (2)

← chapter 1 // series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: a game of cat and mouse warnings: enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, guns, death, blood, angst, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as ‘wraith’) notes: remember when i said part 2 would take a while? i lied. the next chapter is fun as all hell so i wanted to churn this one out as build up. teehee i hope yall like it regardless

He let you go.

No matter how Miguel tries to vindicate it, he rounds back to the same conclusion. You weren’t subtle, regardless of what you’d have yourself believe; he’d seen the calculations glaze over your eyes the instant he pinned you to the wall. He knew what was coming, how your heavy breathing was a cover for the clicks of his watch – of which he heard regardless – and your squirming a diversion from the movement of your busy fingers. He had a goddamn plan too, a fail safe in case you decided to attack instead of listening to reason.

(One he’d settled on for the duration of your lost consciousness, for knowledge that you would.)

So, there is no dismissing it. You’re obnoxious and lack precision, and he could have had you halfway back home by now, which isn’t the case – because he let you go.

The frigid air of his office thrums with irritation, weighing down on his shoulders until they collapse inwards, his hands coming up to rub the weariness off his expression. HQ has been unsettlingly quiet as of late – occupied by only a fraction of its regular population – and the peace worries him. History betrays its status as the precursor to havoc; lulls in the past have fooled him into believing his mission was drawing to a close, only for another anomaly, another mess, to spin that naivety on its head.

You were one such instance. A year ago, you’d popped up on an Earth that wasn’t your own, and didn’t leave until you’d drawn all that you could from it. It’s an empty husk now, lacking land to propagate its agriculture. Thousands – millions – dead, from the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

Parasite. A fucking parasite who just won’t quit.

The mantra surges through him, festering from the base of his gut to the cap of his tongue. It bursts out with a roar right then, the sudden violence finding monitors thrown across the room, smashed to bits of orange light and static. It does nothing to sate him, though, the heady anger filtering out like molasses. His back hunches as he draws in thin breaths. He doesn’t count, nor does he attempt to. Instead, he looks for his only real decompressor.

The video of Gabriella flickers at him from a distant floor, the transparent tablet wrecked with four distinct claw marks. He exhales, pulling it back to the platform with an extended web.

“Boss,”

His mija smiles toothily down at his digital self, winding her small palms in his hair for balance as he carries her. He recalls helping with hers, tying it back into shabby ponytails the mornings before a big game. How she wouldn’t let anyone fix it afterwards, not until her elastic slipped off the ends and her bangs hindered her playing. And she’d run to him, whenever, to get it fixed again.

“Boss.”

Her jokes resonate still, echoing laughter from when she’d poke fun at how bad he’d gotten at it, amused by the sudden decline in ability. To Miguel, it was one more reminder that the life he led wasn’t his own.

“Oh Miguel!”

So much for calming down.

“Lyla.” He looks up at the virtual assistant, her corporeal character a little fuzzy around the edges. She chooses to ignore his dissociative episode, rather projecting a map of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse, a point off centre highlighted in red. His heart skips. Placing the tablet down on his desk, he takes a step closer to survey the pin.

“Managed to track the Wraith down using the day pass you’d given her. Currently stationed on Earth-15, no signs of jumping anytime soon.”

Parasitic, and stupid enough to forgo destroying a potential tracking device.

Lyla snickers, seemingly able to read the sneer pulling at his cheeks.

“Seems like she’s afraid of glitching more so than she is you, Boss.”

His glare snaps to meet her heart shaped sunglasses.

“Funny.” His assistant shrugs at his admonishment. “Pull up the anomaly cam.”

A second later, your figure blinks into sight.

You’re crouched atop a tiled floor, the grout darkened to near-black with grime. In front of you lies a sparse spread of medical supplies; gauze, scissors, and miniature packets of disinfectant wipes. Miguel can’t help but wonder what you think you’re doing, treating your wounds in a bathroom as unsanitary as the one that cramps you. Graffiti littered walls, nests of used paper towels in every corner. You spring up to wash your hands after undoing the old bandages that hugged your forearm, but all that comes out is an inconsistent splutter of grey water.

His chest twinges, a tug of intrinsic sympathy playing against him. It worsens at the sight of your injury, the consequences of his talons’ assault on you, the puncture points brimming yellow and blackening closer to their middles. He can’t tell whether it’s gotten any better, whether you were good and had it treated by a professional, or made the common mistake of relying too much on your enhanced healing.

“Gave her a harsh gig there. You always that rough?”

“When I need to be.” Miguel murmurs, skimming over the conspicuous innuendo.

“Right. Until it comes to finishing the job, that is.” And, despite the offence taken to Lyla’s jest, he can hardly disagree. Newfound resolve hardens within him, sympathy fleeting at its failure to deter him.

“Set coordinates for Earth-15.” He rumbles, gesturing to his wrist as he walks away. The assistant does as she’s told, shrinking back to an icon on his watch. While waiting for the portal to configure, Miguel cocks his head, taking one last look at your oblivious form.

“I won't let her get away this time.”

“Put the money in the fucking bag or she gets it!”

Of all the spider-people you’ve met, you don’t believe any have been the hostage in an armed robbery situation. You imagine that they’d come in at the last minute, valiantly swinging through the window, accentuating their arrival in a shower of shattered glass. They’d demand the money be remitted, and all’s well that ends well. But – of course – there’s got to be a first for everything; your record just so happens to be the lamest of the bunch.

The masked man presses the gun further into your temple, bursting capillaries until the spot starts to ache with a raw tenderness. His body wraps around you, other arm waving wildly outwards, extending a plastic bag to the poor soul behind the register. You take a great gulp of air, staring at the buzzing fluorescents above, and pray.

Lord, now would be a really good time to phase out.

“P-Please, leave her be.” The owner throws a potful of crumpled fives into the bag, as if to punctuate her plea. The man is dismissive in face, urging her for more, shaking the receptacle with comedic insistence. You purse your lips, blinking up at the ceiling once more.

Or make this more exciting, at the very least.

“And you!” You’re jolted out of being a passive observer, rattled when the man diverts his attention to you. His gun thrusts harder against your forming bruise, adding to the list of damages sustained in the past week alone. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. His roll incredulously, pointing to the bill in your grip. “The twenty!”

“Is that a real gun?”

“Wha– Of course it’s a real fucking gun! Put the money–”

“In the bag. I know.”

His hold on you slackens, expectant. By contrast, you ball your fist and punch him square in the nose. The hit sends him reeling farther than it should for the amount of space you had in winding back, the feat prompting a deluge of pride to wash over you. It’s bolstered when he drops the spoils in the process, toppling into a rack of chips and cup noodles that consequently cushion his fall.

Your first save.

Filled with bravado, you snatch and pass over the bag to the cashier.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

But she doesn’t look at you. Rather, her stare remains trained on the man you’d just disabled. Nerves maturating, you join her line of vision, only to be met with the barrel end of his weapon. You catch the vicious conclusion in the way his hand trembles, veins protruding from the pale skin, supplying courage to the finger hovering right over the trigger. You process it all, aware of the ways it can end, at how fast it can sour.

Before you can so much as act on it, he shoots.

Your skin prickles.

You’ve heard stories of people who don’t realise when a bullet strikes them. Their bodies take time to catch up to the pain, cells stuck in paralytic shock, stimulus signals held somewhere between the existential and a will to delay the inevitable. You think you understand what they mean, your mind dragging in a rare bout of silence. Things slow, for a perennial moment, and you wonder how fast the blood loss will kill you.

You can do nothing but follow the man, who scrambles to a stand, letting him take the money – with whatever else – and watching as he runs out onto the street.

And even still, the pain hasn’t caught up to you.

Looking down, the case starts piecing itself together. No blood sticks to your shirt, the fabric still as pristine as it had been upon purchase. You check your arms, then your legs, then reach up to smooth over your head. Nothing. You’re okay.

The relief is short-lived when the morbid sound of gurgling meets your ears. Slowly, you turn, bracing for what you knew you’d find.

The scene unfolds with a distressing intensity as crimson liquid blooms from the cashier’s throat. The torrent is never-ending, every gush of ichor bringing forth a new momentum, splattering its macabre scene over the register. Her eyes gloss over with an unshed panel of tears, and she looks to you for help.

She looks to you.

(You don’t admit it to yourself, but it’s the novelty of that fact that pushes you into action.)

With a swift leap over the counter, you intercept her mid-fall, carefully cradling her weight as you guide her down to the ground. Scanning your surroundings, you search for a means to call for help. A rotary phone catches your recognition, situated a ways off by the back exit. Despite the inconvenient placement, it stands as your sole option at this stage.

In a split second decision, you sling your backpack off, hastily rummaging through its contents. You find solace in your hoodie, gathering its folds to tightly bunch it up, converting it into a makeshift compress. Knowing she lacks the strength to apply pressure to the wound, you move to wrap it around her neck, hopeful that it’s tight enough to stem the bleeding while leaving enough room for air.

Urgency fuelling your every step, you leave her side for a fleeting moment, dashing over to call an ambulance. Your medical knowledge only extends so far, and some selfish part of you itches to pass on the responsibility to someone more competent. It’s an impulse that derives from an innate acceptance, that resoundingly insightful voice in your head telling you it's too late. That she’s already dead, had been from the moment the bullet – that was meant for you – missed.

Perhaps your help isn’t really helpful at all, then. Perhaps it’s your attempt to wash your hands of the sin. You think back to the grey water in the bathroom, how exasperated you had been at your inability to stay clean.

(You don’t think you’ll ever rid yourself of this.)

“911, what’s your emergency?” The question crackles through the receiver.

The bell by the entrance jingles, the chime accompanied by heavy footsteps. You press yourself against the wall, the concept of the robber returning filling you with such dread that you feel your stomach tighten and congeal. It’s a heavy lump, icy cold and slippery, and it seems to weigh a hundred pounds.

“Hello?” The operator says.

But if it was the man, then he'd have to have changed into a navy and red suit. Somehow, your terror worsens.

“Hijo de la chingada…” The whisper is barely legible, but the deep baritone is discernible enough to validate the assumption pulled from your brief glimpse. You’d recognise him anywhere.

Shrinking in on yourself, you cup your palm over your mouth. “Hello,”

“Ma’am? Can you describe your emergency?”

“There was an armed robbery at the convenience off sixth and Third. Someone’s hurt.” You hardly register the words as they escape you, eyeing Miguel when he crouches over the lady. You’re propelled back to the conclusion of your last meeting; how his claws tore into you, how his persistence didn't falter until you pressed yourself onto him.

That kiss.

He runs a finger over your hoodie-turned-compress, wavering, like he can’t quite place where he’d seen it before.

Or, maybe he can, for he spins to meet your wide-eyed stare.

You drop the phone, bolting out the back door, charged on a paroxysm of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated panic.

chapter 3 →

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jewishvitya · 4 months

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Mesarvot is a group of young Israelis who refuse to serve in the military out of an objection to the occupation. They posted to Instagram something shared with them anonymously by someone from one of the Kibbutzim not far from Gaza. I'm putting it here:

100 days of war, and I'm at the Kibbutz again. I haven't slept here since October 7th. When I left it was still warm outside. Now, I'm wearing a sweater and still shivering. The Kibbutz is rather empty, but not quiet. There are sounds of work, army vehicles, and especially loud cannons. Even us Kibbutz residents, who are used to explosion sounds, jump from them occasionally. There's a new scent in the air. Smoke, gunpowder, and something else I can't identify. It's bad, the kind of smell animals avoid.

I think that with all the news, the television, the tiktoks and tweets, we sometimes forget about simple things, like the human body. It's not a great politician. It shivers when it's cold, gets hungry when it's lacking food. Recoils when a bomb drops. It's always fighting to hold on, it grows weaker and collapses. For the body it's just a matter of time.

Not far from me there are people who for 100 days have been feeling hell itself on their bodies. Gazan children who face the cold in sandals and short sleeve shirts. 136 hostages who slowly starve. The cannon that made my home shake sent a bomb that will tear down the walls of another. I think about it with every cannon I hear, and the sound is deafening. It's louder than the voices that say "we have no choice," who say "victory," who say "revenge." With this deafening sound, you're only left with numbers. 100 days. Tomorrow, 101. The next day, 102. And every day, another body loses the battle to hold on, and stops.

My October 7th is over. For 15 hours my body was the only real thing I had. My hammering heartbeats. My ears, hearing gunshots outside. My mouth drying from thirst. But for me, those 15 hours were finite. Since then, it's been 100 days, where over 23,000 Gazans, over 10,000 of them children, were massacred. Where around 2 million people lost their homes and whole neighborhoods were destroyed.

100 days.

101.

102.

For me, these numbers don't bring up the memory of our dead. Not even the fact that after 100 days of war, no security or peace were achieved, just destruction. No, to me these numbers are a burning reminder of the lives that can still be lost. So today, don't mourn quietly and say pretty words. Today, scream, for the living, for their chance to live and the future they deserve. Scream tomorrow too. And the day after. This has to stop.

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gnpwdrnwhiskey · 1 year

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Roadside Confrontation

Pairing- Jack Daniels x f!reader SunDrop

Word Count- 1300-ish

Warnings- angst? foul language? sap? cheese? reader has a nickname but no physical description

Author's Note- oh look, more Jack & SunDrop. their other stories can be found on my masterlist. this one takes place somewhere a few months down the road from the events in New in Town.

Maddie sees the lights before you do and sure enough when you check your rear view mirror the dusty old Ford Bronco Jack dug out of the city's motor pool is gaining on you.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter as you pull over into an empty parking spot towards the end of the downtown shopping area on Main Street. "I swear he thinks this is some kind of foreplay. At least he didn't use the sirens this time."

Your sister is still laughing at you when Jack taps on the window and you cut a look at her before mouthing 'behave' and rolling down the window, beaming your biggest fakest smile up at Jack.

"Good afternoon, officer."

"Howdy, darlin," He grins. "You know how fast you were going right now?"

"Jack," you huff. "I do not have time for this today. There's like 15 million cupcakes melting in the back of this car and...."

"Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle, ma'am?"

"Jack," you whine. "The cupcakes...."

"Won't take but a minute, sugar. The cupcakes will be fine."

Jack opens the door of the Wagoneer and holds his other hand out for you and you reluctantly take it, sliding out of the Jeep and letting him pull you to his side.

He closes the door back and leans down to look through the open window and tips his hat at your passenger.

"Good morning, Miss Maddie. You know how to drive this thing?"

"Hi, Jack! Of course I do!" Your traitorous little sister chirps as she climbs over into the driver's seat and buckles herself in.

"Well, why don't you go on ahead and deliver those cupcakes and I'll deliver your sister back to the bakery in a bit. Deal?"

Jack's barely got the words out of his mouth before Maddie throws the Jeep in drive and peels off and you're left watching your vehicle fade into the distance before turning to the man standing next to you.

"What the fuck, Jack?"

"I needed a few minutes of your time and undivided attention. You were gone when I woke up this morning. I didn't like it, brings back some not so fond memories. And I had big plans for us, sunshine."

"I'm sure you did," you mumble. "Baker's hours," you add with a shrug.

"That all it is?" One questioning eyebrow arched high over his aviators.

"What else would it be?"

"You tell me, because I'm not interested in being your booty call. Or...or...a plaything you can pick up and discard on a whim. No one likes being used, SunDrop."

"That's such bullshit, Jack," you laugh. "You started all this, a booty call is all it ever was supposed to be. And then you roll up in my life six months later like it was something else and expect me to just fall in line? Get real."

"Okay, I will admit at the beginning my intentions were less than honorable, but I have apologized for that all I'm going to. And everything changed that last week. That time at the cabin changed everything and I know you felt it too, Sunny, don't tell me you didn't."

"It did," you concede. "But it didn't change enough, did it? It was all still a lie. You were still set on your track, still out for your revenge and even when you changed your tune, you didn't defend me. You didn't take your share of the blame for what happened in New York. I'm still a disgraced former agent who had to slink home with her tail between her legs and rebuild her fucking life while you got hailed as some kind of goddamn hero."

"Is that really what this is about? The goddamn job? You really think Champ would've kept me on after what I did?" Jack laughs bitterly. "Honey, you're not that dumb. I might've done the right thing in the end but no one back at Statesman thinks I'm a fucking hero. You're not the only one who's had to rebuild their life."

"And I didn't come here expecting anything from you but a fucking chance. That's a whole 'nother can of worms, sweetheart. We could've talked about all this shit six months ago but you fucking ran like a goddamn child and I woke up that last morning at the cabin alone. Maybe I'm a dumbass and should've taken the hint but I didn't so let's get it clear now- you want me to leave, Sunny, just say the fucking word and I'll be gone."

"Jack...." You look around and realize you've gathered quite a few curious on-lookers. Oh, they're trying to pretend they're going about their business but you already know you'll be the talk of every beauty parlor and dinner table for the next couple days. "Do we have to do this here? With an audience?"

"Why not?" Jack shrugs, taking his own brief glance around. "God knows there's not really any secrets in this town anyway so answer the damn question- do you want me to go or not?"

"It's not that simple!"

"I promise you, sugar, it really is. Just a yes or a no."

You take a deep breath. It's okay, you can do this. It's just you and Jack. Pretend half the town isn't trying to listen in while they pick through the produce in front of the country store.

"Back at the cabin- I didn't run because I was being a child. I left while you were asleep because it would've been too hard any other way. And I don't want you to leave now either, I just don't really know how to do this." You gesture vaguely between the two of you. "This, you know, whole relationship thing or whatever."

"Oh, honey," Jack's been standing in what you privately think of as his 'irritated pose'- hands on his hips, one knee cocked out to the side- but when you finish talking, he reaches out and pulls you into a hug and you wrap your arms loosely around him in return. "I don't know what all's going on in your head, but it's probably not as complicated as you're thinking. We just keep doing what we've been doing and see if it sticks."

"Just that easy, huh?"

''Yep, just that easy. We could build a life together, Sunny, and if you're unhappy with the circumstances, we don't have to stay here. Everything I've got is yours for the taking if you want it- money, contacts, resources...."

You had just started to relax against him but you feel your shoulders starting to tense up again at his words and pull away to look up at him.

"I don't want your charity, or your pity or guilt or whatever the fuck this is."

"Jesus Christ, woman," Jack laughs softly and gives you a little shake before pulling you back against his chest. "Do you ever stop jumping to the worst conclusion? It's none of that. It's just me telling you there are options if you don't want to stay here and bake cupcakes for the rest of your life."

"And what if I do? Want to stay here and bake cupcakes for the rest of my life? Just be normal. Will you get bored?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not sure you could ever be boring, or normal for that matter," he laughs. "And you already know how much I love your baking."

"Yeah, but what if...."

"SunDrop?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Just shut up."

And he kisses you- long and slow, just like the first time. Right there on Main Street. In front of God and all your neighbors. And you let him. Because he's right, there's really not any secrets in this town.

#agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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wiiildflowerrr · 8 months

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'5 Seconds of Summer have proven why support acts shouldn't be overlooked'

Daily Mirror (UK), 5 October 2023

'5 Seconds of Summer may have had a helping hand from One Direction but almost eight years since their last tour with the group, the Aussie lads have proven they're more than enough, writes Daniel Bird...'

Full article / review of The 5SOS Show Manchester below (link):

'Arguably one of the biggest bands right now, it's no surprise that 5 Seconds of Summer are continuing to sell out arenas.

Having seen the four Aussies at the start of their career, playing in venues with a capacity of 300 with tickets being sold for less than £15, to now seeing them at stadiums and sold-out arenas, they've come a long way. Luke Hemmings, Michael Clifford, Calum Hood and Ashton Irwin first joined forces in 2011, uploading videos to YouTube and amassing a string of fans.

One of those happened to be Louis Tomlinson from One Direction, who invited the quartet to support them on their 2013 Take Me Home Tour. They went on to support the 1D lads for another two years on the Where We Are and On The Road Again tours, performing to millions of fans across the globe.

But while they were warming the crowd up, the group were also busy with their own music, with early releases including Out Of My Limit and arguably their best track, Heartache on the Big Screen, they soon went on to establish their own name, 5SOS (five sauce). With this new-found fame came their own fans, in their thousands.

Tickets for their headline shows would sell out within minutes as fans packed venues to hear their favourite songs live. But in 12 years, they've proven that support acts shouldn't be overlooked. Many of us go to gigs, often missing the support act or not taking anything away from them but these lads were different.

Was it their humour? Their childish energy at times? Their on-stage banter with one another? That's something we won't know but their recent show at Manchester's AO Arena on the The 5 Seconds of Summer Show was certainly one of their best. Opening the show with Bad Omens, certainly set the mood for the night as Luke, Calum, Michael and Ashton delved through their back catalogue and delivered an electric set.

Part of the show included audience participation, with a giant red dice being launched into the audience by Hemmings, allowing the crowd to choose the next song, with Voodoo Doll being chosen, much to the excitement of the 21,000 roaring fans. This opened a gateway for the lads to discuss their past, with Ashton recalling staying at a hotel over the road from the arena while supporting One Direction.

"About ten people knew who we were at the time, now look," he exclaimed while reflecting on their meteoric rise to success as he recalled performing at smaller venues before the band managed to sell out the biggest indoor arena in Europe. But while reflecting, the group looked towards the future as they stated their plans for the next few months are pretty empty.

This, however, is for good reason as lead guitarist Michael is set to welcome his first child with his wife, Chrystal Leigh Clifford. Joking about his future, he laughed while saying he will be going from playing in front of thousands of fans to having a "house covered in poop" before Luke interjected, adding he will be able to teach Clifford's daughter how to wear make-up.

Anecdotes aside, the group certainly showcased their performance skills and failed to stand still for the cheering crowd as they made their presence in the arena known. Having seen the lads perform countless times, this was certainly their best performance to date.'

#the 5sos show manchester #one direction #5sos #5 seconds of summer #calum hood #ashton irwin #luke hemmings #michael clifford #louis tomlinson #daily mirror #british newspaper #gig review #concert review #4 october #2023 #the 5sos show tour

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kvetchlandia · 1 year

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Harold Chapman Allen Ginsberg in the Beat Hotel, Rue Git-Le Coeur Paris, 1956

In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in the night-time red downtown heaven staring through my eyeglasses I realized shuddering these thoughts were not eternity, nor the poverty of our lives, irritable baggage clerks, nor the millions of weeping relatives surrounding the buses waving goodbye, nor other millions of the poor rushing around from city to city to see their loved ones, nor an indian dead with fright talking to a huge cop by the Coke machine, nor this trembling old lady with a cane taking the last trip of her life, nor the red-capped cynical porter collecting his quar- ters and smiling over the smashed baggage, nor me looking around at the horrible dream, nor mustached negro Operating Clerk named Spade, dealing out with his marvelous long hand the fate of thousands of express packages, nor fairy Sam in the basement limping from leaden trunk to trunk, nor Joe at the counter with his nervous breakdown smiling cowardly at the customers, nor the grayish-green whale's stomach interior loft where we keep the baggage in hideous racks, hundreds of suitcases full of tragedy rocking back and forth waiting to be opened, nor the baggage that's lost, nor damaged handles, nameplates vanished, busted wires & broken ropes, whole trunks exploding on the concrete floor, nor seabags emptied into the night in the final warehouse.

Yet Spade reminded me of Angel, unloading a bus, dressed in blue overalls black face official Angel's work- man cap, pushing with his belly a huge tin horse piled high with black baggage, looking up as he passed the yellow light bulb of the loft and holding high on his arm an iron shepherd's crook.

III

It was the racks, I realized, sitting myself on top of them now as is my wont at lunchtime to rest my tired foot, it was the racks, great wooden shelves and stanchions posts and beams assembled floor to roof jumbled with baggage, --the Japanese white metal postwar trunk gaudily flowered & headed for Fort Bragg, one Mexican green paper package in purple rope adorned with names for Nogales, hundreds of radiators all at once for Eureka, crates of Hawaiian underwear, rolls of posters scattered over the Peninsula, nuts to Sacramento, one human eye for Napa, an aluminum box of human blood for Stockton and a little red package of teeth for Calistoga- it was the racks and these on the racks I saw naked in electric light the night before I quit, the racks were created to hang our possessions, to keep us together, a temporary shift in space, God's only way of building the rickety structure of Time, to hold the bags to send on the roads, to carry our luggage from place to place looking for a bus to ride us back home to Eternity where the heart was left and farewell tears began.

A swarm of baggage sitting by the counter as the trans- continental bus pulls in. The clock registering 12:15 A.M., May 9, 1956, the second hand moving forward, red. Getting ready to load my last bus.-Farewell, Walnut Creek Richmond Vallejo Portland Pacific Highway Fleet-footed Quicksilver, God of transience. One last package sits lone at midnight sticking up out of the Coast rack high as the dusty fluorescent light.

The wage they pay us is too low to live on. Tragedy reduced to numbers. This for the poor shepherds. I am a communist. Farewell ye Greyhound where I suffered so much, hurt my knee and scraped my hand and built my pectoral muscles big as a vagina.

-- Allen Ginsberg, “In The Baggage Room At Greyhound” 1956

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pc-98s · 6 months

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can u give a summary of what happened for ur non-dw followers. im a curious guy

i would love to but this one does require some prior knowledge stuff that aired in like 2008 lol

after regenerating back into david tennant (tenth doctor), the fourteenth doctor arrives in london and spots someone carrying way too many boxes. he rushes over to help, only to remove the first few boxes from the stack and see that it's donna, whose memory he wiped 15 years ago to save her life and who cannot ever remember him or their old adventures together, because she absorbed regeneration energy and gained the vast transdimensional knowledge of a time lord, which is too much for a human mind to handle.

donna is now married and has a daughter named rose. the doctor is very confused by the revelation that her daughter is named rose, and that he looks like his past self again, and then a spaceship crashes over london, cutting that line of thought off.

the doctor runs off to where the spaceship crashed in a steel foundry. the international military organization that handles aliens, UNIT, is already there. there are no life signs inside the craft, but a group of soldiers opens it up and becomes possessed by an energy that is released.

meanwhile, donna has returned home with her family, shouting at some transphobes who are harassing her daughter along the way, deadnaming her. donna threatens to tell their parents. back in the house: donna's family knows that she cannot ever remember anything about aliens, but luckily she missed the whole spaceship crashing thing, because she always misses everything. rose goes outside and a neighbor kid tells her that they found an escape pod with an alien inside nearby. she runs over to see, only to find that it's empty. she returns to the alley by her house and finds the very disarmingly cute star wars looking alien behind some garbage bags. she takes the alien, the meep, back to her shed where she works on crafts, and tries to hide it there. donna walks in and discovers it.

chaos ensues, made worse by the doctor knocking at the door. the meep has told rose that it is running from an evil group that wants to kill it. everyone catches up a bit (the doctor is slapped) and tries to hide the doctor's identity from donna, but there's another alien right there in the house as well so it's a bit of a mess. soldiers knock at the door, and the doctor goes to answer, only to find it's the ones who were possessed and are now attacking the house. two other aliens appear, firing back. the doctor creates an energy shield and helps the family escape from the gunfight into the attic, where they plan to escape to rose's dad's car by passing through several other houses' attics. they do that.

they escape in the car until the doctor pulls over, produces a judge's wig from his pocket, and questions both sides of the alien conflict about what's going on. it is revealed that the aliens who were "attacking" the meep are actually using stun guns, and are trying to capture the meep because it's actually an evil overlord. with the jig up, the meep reveals its true intentions. the doctor and co are captured by the possessed UNIT soldiers, and the doctor is knocked unconscious just for good measure.

the group is taken back to the steel foundry where the spaceship "crashed". the ship uses an engine that destroys the land beneath it to launch; if the ship takes off, all of london will be destroyed. the current UNIT scientific advisor shows up and reveals that she can shoot tranquilizer darts and also rockets from her wheelchair, helping the group escape. the doctor runs to stop the ship from launching, and tells the others to escape. donna breaks off and follows him into the ship. he needs to stop the ignition process, but a glass barrier comes down, preventing him from reaching the other side of the controls, with donna on the other side. he realizes that the only way to save the 9 million people who are going to die if this ship takes off is to restore donna's memories; with those memories and that knowledge, she will gain the technical knowledge necessary to work with the doctor to stop the launch, but she will die shortly after.

the doctor tells donna that there's only one option left, but he can't do it because it'll kill her. she says i have a daughter down there, do it. he does it, restoring donna's memories, time lord knowledge, and the time lord energy that will kill her shortly. she helps him disable the ship and raise the barrier, knowing she has only 55 seconds to live, then passes out, seemingly dying in the doctor's arms.

she then wakes up.

by having a child, donna had passed the metacrisis energy partially into her daughter, diluting it enough that neither will be killed. rose gains the same time lord knowledge and energy that donna gained, awakening as having part of the doctor's consciousness living in her. rose helps stop the alien from back outside the ship, and it is revealed that she is nonbinary, and that she is nonbinary because the doctor, an alien who can be male or female, is also nonbinary. being nonbinary saves the world, and her mother's life.

the two then simply release the excess energy, something the doctor didn't even think of as being possible. it's also implied that rose gets a gender affirming regeneration????

with the day saved, the group returns to the TARDIS and the doctor asks donna to come with him for a trip. after a bit of arguing with donna's mom, she agrees and enters the newly redesigned TARDIS. the doctor runs around like a child on a sugar rush a bit, and makes donna a coffee using the new coffee machine on the console. they take off, and then donna spills her coffee on the console, causing the TARDIS to go out of control. episode ends.

tl;dr being trans and nonbinary grants you special powers, and also saves the world

#doctor who #doctor who spoilers #i know i missed details here but this was getting really long #that's the gist of it anyway

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eyes-of-mischief · 11 months

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weekly fic recs | 41

fandoms: bsd, dc, hp, svsss, tgcf

bsd

A Game of Chance by freefan1412

Instead of following Oda himself, Dazai arranges for his life to be saved by making a call to someone who has the means. That has consequences, chief among them that he could not have handed Mori a better card against him if he tired.

Brother Wanted by Vamillepudding

Well-behaved boy (10) is looking for big brother (11-15). Must meet up with me three times a week, for at least two hours each. Overall duties include helping me with homework, playing videogames with me, and showing me how to play catch. 10$ per hour.

Tim, lonely and in desperate need of company, decides that if his parents are not going to give him a sibling, he's going to hire one instead. Luckily, Jason Todd-Wayne shows up in the nick of time.

family and other wonders by resonance_and_d

Harry was supposed to pick- move on and be with his parents, or go back to finish the battle with Voldemort. But even Dumbledore doesn't know everything, and Harry finds that there are actually a lot more options than those two.

Harry wants more than what he got. He wants a home. He wants a family. He wants a chance to be happy. He isn't sure he deserves all that, but he's going to try anyway. If only to spite Dumbledore and Voldemort's plans both.

OR: Harry Potter wakes up ten years old but with all of his memories from age seventeen. He immediately begins to make Mistakes.

my head is bloody, but unbowed by NorthernRanger

Once again, she lifted the spell, and the wizard behind him moved forward. He reached down and took hold of Harry’s arm, pulling his shaking body up and twisting his arm behind him. “We should take him to the Dark Lord,” he said, and Harry’s heart beat wildly. Voldemort was dead. The war had ended. What was going on?

Ouroboros by NovusArs

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

Salazar Slytherin woke up in the body of a three-year-old boy with the most ridiculous head of black hair & a runic scar carved into his forehead. The last thing he recalled was dying. Now it is over 900 years in the future. There are a million things to deal with between new inventions, lost knowledge, missing spirits, & parasitic dark lords.

svsss

hey. by Nomette

(explicit)

After a strange artifact transports Shen Qingqiu to a world where the Peak Lords are demons, he is captured by Demon Lord Liu Qingge of the Burning Valley. Demon romance ensues, and Shen Qingqiu is forced to confront the fact that maybe he didn't know his world's Liu Qingge as well as he thought he did.

take me home, bury me there by nyoomerr

(mature) (graphic depictions of violence)

When Shen Qingqiu transmigrates, he finds himself in a world where heartbreak can make a person fall apart - literally, since those who are heartbroken crack open starting from the space over their heart, and only cultivators can survive the blood loss by using their qi to hold their blood inside their bodies where it belongs.

Having a physical indicator like this that alerts Shen Qingqiu in real time of the hearts he's breaking... well, it changes things.

Luo Binghe, somehow, still ends up suffering more than Shen Qingqiu ever wants him too.

tgcf

Something Foreknown by crowdedcafe

E-ming is born with a hole in his heart and an emptiness in his soul. Through centuries of hearing stories about Hua Cheng's beloved, E-ming grows to love the man he was born missing.

Whoops, I Almost Killed You Again 天官赐苦，鬼拂🈲️忌 by TentativeWanderer

As if on cue, the silver chain snapped for no reason whatsoever. Xie Lian startled and attempted to catch it as it fell, but a burst of bad luck ensured that it slipped through his fingers and went tumbling merrily down the slope. Catch me, come catch me, the ring winked in the sunlight. Naturally, Xie Lian attempted to do so. Naturally, he stubbed his toe on a root, toppled over, and rolled down the hill in hot, uncontrollable pursuit of the ring.

For a ghost, giving your ashes to a loved one is a high-risk decision. Giving your ashes to the God of Disaster is a tremendously high-risk decision.

Hua Cheng is the most qualified being to make that decision. And, as Xie Lian discovers, a Ghost King does not do take-backsies.

💍🔪💍☄️💍☠️💍⚠️💍🎭💍☢️

#weekly fic recs #no prompt #bsd fic recs #bsd #dc fic recs #dc #hp fic recs #hp #svsss fic recs #svsss #tgcf fic recs #tgcf

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beardedmrbean · 11 months

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People in North Korea have told the BBC food is so scarce their neighbours have starved to death.

Exclusive interviews gathered inside the world's most isolated state suggest the situation is the worst it has been since the 1990s, experts say.

The government sealed its borders in 2020, cutting off vital supplies. It has also tightened control over people's lives, our interviewees say.

Pyongyang told the BBC it has always prioritised its citizens' interests.

The BBC has secretly interviewed three ordinary people in North Korea, with the help of the organisation Daily NK which operates a network of sources in the country. They told us that since the border closure, they are afraid they will either starve to death or be executed for flouting the rules. It is extremely rare to hear from people living in North Korea.

The interviews reveal a "devastating tragedy is unfolding" in the country, said Sokeel Park from Liberty in North Korea (LiNK), which supports North Korean escapees.

One woman living in the capital Pyongyang told us she knew a family of three who had starved to death at home. "We knocked on their door to give them water, but nobody answered," Ji Yeon said. When the authorities went inside, they found them dead, she said. Ji Yeon's name has been changed to protect her, along with those of the others we interviewed.

A construction worker who lives near the Chinese border, whom we have called Chan Ho, told us food supplies were so low that five people in his village had already died from starvation.

"At first, I was afraid of dying from Covid, but then I began to worry about starving to death," he said.

North Korea has never been able to produce enough food for its 26 million people. When it shut its border in January 2020, authorities stopped importing grain from China, as well as the fertilisers and machinery needed to grow food.

Meanwhile, they have fortified the border with fences, while reportedly ordering guards to shoot anyone trying to cross. This has made it nearly impossible for people to smuggle in food to sell at the unofficial markets, where most North Koreans shop.

A market trader from the north of the country, whom we have named Myong Suk, told us that almost three quarters of the products in her local market used to come from China, but that it was "empty now".

She, like others who make their living selling goods smuggled across the border, has seen most of her income disappear. She told us her family has never had so little to eat, and that recently people had been knocking on her door asking for food because they were so hungry.

From Pyongyang, Ji Yeon told us she had heard of people who had killed themselves at home or disappeared into the mountains to die, because they could no longer make a living.

She was struggling to feed her children, she said. Once, she went two days without eating and thought she was going to die in her sleep.

In the late 1990s, North Korea experienced a devastating famine which killed as many as three million people. Recent rumours of starvation, which these interviews corroborate, have prompted fears the country could be on the brink of another catastrophe.

The daughter who fled North Korea to find her mother

Beatings, forced abortions: Life in a North Korea prison

"That normal, middle-class people are seeing starvation in their neighbourhoods, is very concerning," said the North Korea economist Peter Ward. "We are not talking about full-scale societal collapse and mass starvation yet, but this does not look good."

Hanna Song, the director of NKDB, which documents human rights violations in North Korea, agreed. "For the past 10-15 years we have rarely heard of cases of starvation. This takes us back to the most difficult time in North Korean history."

Even the North Korean leader Kim Jong Un has hinted at the seriousness of the situation - at one point referring openly to a "food crisis", while making various attempts to boost agricultural production. Despite this, he has prioritised funding his nuclear weapons programme, testing a record 63 ballistic missiles in 2022. One estimate puts the total cost of these tests at more than $500m (£398m) - more than the amount needed to make up for North Korea's annual grain shortfall.

Our interviewees also revealed how the government has used the past three years to increase its control over people's lives, by strengthening punishments and passing new laws.

Before the pandemic, more than 1,000 people would flee the country each year, crossing the Yalu River into China, according to numbers released by the South Korean government. The market trader Myong Suk told us it had become impossible to escape. "If you even approach the river now you will be given a harsh punishment, so almost nobody is crossing," she said.

The construction worker Chan Ho said his friend's son had recently witnessed several closed-door executions. In each one, three to four people had been killed for attempting to escape. "Every day it gets harder to live," he told us. "One wrong move and you are facing execution."

"We are stuck here waiting to die."

We put our findings to the North Korean government, which told us it "has always prioritised the interests of the people, even at difficult times".

"The people's well-being is our foremost priority, even in the face of trials and challenges," said a representative from the North Korean embassy in London.

They also said the information was "not entirely factual", claiming it had been "derived from fabricated testimonies from anti-DPRK [Democratic People's Republic of Korea] forces".

But Sokeel Park, from LiNK, said these interviews reveal a "triple whammy" of hardship. "The food situation has become more difficult, people have less freedom to fend for themselves, and it has become pretty much impossible to escape." They support the theory, he said, that "North Korea is now more repressive than it has ever been before."

In Pyongyang, Ji Yeon said the surveillance and crackdowns were now so ruthless that people did not trust each other. She was taken in for questioning under a new law, passed in December 2020, which bans people from sharing and consuming foreign films, TV shows and songs. Under this Reactionary Ideology and Culture Rejection Act, aimed at rooting out foreign information, those caught distributing South Korean content can be executed.

A former North Korean diplomat, who defected in 2019, said he was shocked by how extreme the crackdown on foreign influence had become. "Kim Jong Un is afraid that if people understand the situation they are in, and how wealthy South Korea is, they will start hating him and rise up," explained Ryu Hyun Woo.

Our interviews suggest that some people's loyalty has waned over the past three years.

"Before Covid, people viewed Kim Jong Un positively," Myong Suk said. "Now almost everyone is full of discontent."

#nunyas news #maybe they should focus on food #instead of bombs and rockets #but commies gonna commie

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hells-favorites · 17 days

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The Red Light (Episode 15)

Dante and Nedrigo find themselves in the Capitol with Typhon, who informs them they're leaving for a destination unknown. They are taken to Hell in a luxurious limousine, where Typhon reveals his status as a Devil and former god. They arrive in the city of Greed and meet Dolos, Typhon's brother, who taunts them before Typhon abruptly ends the meeting. Typhon gives Dante an address and symbol, instructing them to leave with his driver.

Things were a bit awkward around the Capitol. Dante filled Nedrigo in on the little knowledge he'd been given while they waited for whatever Typhon had planned.

"So, he basically just showed up and now you're working for him?" Nedrigo was sitting on, what used to be, Nolan's bed while Dante laid in his own, tossing a ball up in the air.

"I mean, basically. I was kinda just wandering and then boom, father."

The room felt so much more empty without more people in it. Sure, the bunker wasn't full. It never was since there was nearly thirty beds, having one stacked on another, but it felt more lonely.

Suddenly, the Hellish Raven appeared at the foot of Dante's bed. Nedrigo cocked his head for a few seconds, talking before the bird spoke.

"Isn't that a messenger? We learned about them-" Nedrigo was cut off by Typhon speaking.

"Good, you're awake. Come outside and bring your stuff. Pack as though you're taking a vacation, if you haven't already, and hurry," With the final word, the Raven disappeared.

Dante groaned, tossing the ball he was messing with into his open suitcase. Something about vacationing with Typhon didn't sit right. He knew, of course, that this wasn't a vacation but the mention of one was enough to make Dante uneasy, especially after Typhon had dodged so many questions yesterday.

After grabbing their suitcases, which were never unpacked after coming home from the school, Nedrigo and Dante headed outside. Parked in front of the Capitol building was a long, black limousine with the sigil for Greed covering the rims of the tires. Cars, while existing, weren't incredibly commonplace and cars to this caliber were one in a million. The limousine had blacked out windows with paint that matched the darkness. No light dared to shine on the exterior with the only bright color being the golden symbol of Greed. Two circles, one inside the other with three even smaller circles in a triangle on the second smallest segment.

"Why the fuck are we using horses when we have this?" Dante yelled, walking faster towards the limousine.

Mercury popped open one of the doors, poking his head out from inside the limo. His curl of hair covered the base of his new horns like grass at the base of a tree. "We were waiting for you. Come inside. We have a game going, I've promised not to cheat."

Nedrigo pointed to the symbol on the wheel's rim. "Greed, right? It was mentioned like once in school. I could be wrong. But I think it's one of the sins."

"It is," Typhon's voice came from inside the limousine. "You'll figure out why very soon. Just get in the car."

Dante made his way in, Nedrigo following behind him. Inside was Typhon and Mercury, sat next to each other, playing cards. The seats were long black couches on either side of the walls with a loveseat at the end where Typhon and Mercury were playing their game. Embedded into the middle of the long couches was what seemed to be a cooler with a black lid over it. It was magnificent.

"Come play," Mercury gestured for them both to join the game, setting out two more decks.

As Dante and Nedrigo sat on the edges of the couches closest to the loveseat, the car started driving. There was a wall separating the driver seat from everyone, so Nedrigo and Dante flinched, though Typhon and Mercury seemed like nothing had even happened.

About halfway through another round of blackjack, Dante spoke, "So, where are we going? And since you can't dodge the question if you're stuck with us, you're going to answer my questions."

"Our home." Mercury shuffled his cards around, setting a jack into the discard pile. "We have someone to talk to. You'll meet him when we get there, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Nedrigo's turn was next, pulling a six of hearts from the deck, adding to a four of clubs and an eight of diamonds. He'd never played before, so he had just assumed he was winning.

"We hate him," Typhon and Mercury spoke in unison, both nearly in a hiss.

"However," Typhon continued as he pulled a two of clubs, adding to his combined nineteen. "He owes me a favor and we'd both play much nicer if we didn't owe each other anything."

"What a bitch," Mercury grumbled as he looked at Typhon, grinning. "Hey, you got twenty-one. Don't hide it."

"How did you see that? His cards were hidden!" Nedrigo set his cards onto his legs, assuming the game was over.

"I'm a gambler and Typhon gave me magic. I see your cards. It's not like it does me much good in blackjack, but it's fun to see."

"You guys are having a lot of conversation and not answering a lot of questions," Dante grumbled, setting a collective eighteen onto the table. "Typhon, you had a wife? That's what the school said."

Typhon scoffed and Mercury burst out laughing. "I wouldn't call it much of a marriage," As Mercury collected the cards, shuffling them back into the deck, Typhon glanced out the window, they were headed somewhere Dante had never been, "And to add, you've never asked about her. It was a political marriage. I appeared at dinners and when I was needed, then the rest of the time, I was home. I was just getting soldiers for when I killed Linus. When I no longer needed the king's men, I left and never saw her again."

"Typhon didn't like her. She started telling his *secrets*," Mercury laughed as he set out new decks for everyone. "Typhon had other partners during the time he was *married*-"

Typhon cut him off, "Dante does not need to know that part."

"Awh. Come on. I could tell him about your-"

"No."

Mercury kept talking, despite Typhon's protests. "-teenage years. Typhon was real friendly with the women when he was younger."

"You'll be the death of me, Mercury," sighed Typhon, much to Dante's disgust.

Over the next few hours, they all talked, most jokes made by Mercury were at Typhon's expense. Eventually, Dante had fallen asleep with his head against the back of the seat, looking straight into the roof. Nedrigo followed suit, clearly not used to long rides.

Though, in the middle of Nedrigo's deep sleep, he was startled awake. It felt as though he'd fallen ever so slightly. Nedrigo jolted forward, looking at his surroundings. Mercury and Typhon had fallen asleep as well, though it looked much lighter. Mercury had his back to Typhon's side, using him as a back rest. Typhon slept like Dante, though he seemed much more used to sleeping in the limousine and had somehow found a pillow to put under his head.

Nedrigo turned to look outside, hopefully recognizing his surroundings. Though when he looked outside, all he saw was glowing off in the distance. There laid a very, very bright city, despite it being night time by now.

A few hours later, Dante woke up, Nedrigo following suit after going back to bed. The smell of cigarettes poked into the limousine from an open door. Stood in the doorway, Mercury was talking to Typhon. Dante moved over, stretching as he poked his head out the door. Around him was beautiful. The streets were full of glistening lights, only being out-shined by the sun. The road was like a labyrinth lined with casinos, various hotels, and massive restaurants, each casino door wide open, welcoming new demons to their games of chance. The streets are alive with demons milling from casino to casino. Each one having a different pair of horns atop their head, some reminiscent of Typhon's own.

"Welcome, boys, to our home. The Greed ring of Hell," Typhon gestured down the streets, happy to be home while Mercury was trying to run off to a casino.

"Hell?" Dante screamed. "What are-"

"The ruler of Hell, Dante, in the undead flesh. This is where I was born, this is where I will most likely die for the final time-"

"I fucking hate you. Any more secrets you'd like me to fucking know?" Dante was pissed. Sure, the city around him seemed like his paradise but everything Typhon did only brought more questions.

"Hm, well, first. We are not fawns, we're Devils, which are different from demons. The title, Ruler of Hell is passed down. My *father* had it before me. Only people with the Morningstar bloodline can be in charge. However, there are seven smaller sins-"

Nedrigo cut Typhon off, "The deadly sins!'

"I wouldn't consider Sloth to be deadly, he's more annoying than a real threat. Anyways," Typhon continued. "Those smaller sins work for me. They rule each ring under me. I am essentially their supervisor, as well as taking care of Limbo, the place where souls wait to be sorted, and Violence, Hell's jail. Questions?"

"How the fuck are we in Hell?" Dante yelled, again. At least this time Typhon waited for questions. "And back in the school, you were talking about some god shit, what's with that?"

Typhon gave a small wince, covered by Mercury trying not to laugh. "Aw, yes. Godlyhood. When I was born I was a god-"

Dante tried to cut Typhon off with even more questions, but Typhon just spoke assertively over him.

"However," continued Typhon, "when I killed Linus, the higher gods stripped me of my godhood. They ripped away my ability to access my godly magic and shortened my lifespan to that of a normal Devil's. The goddess responsible for taking it goes by the name Asara. Before you ask, you are not a god. I'm not quite sure when you were born, however, I'm very aware that it didn't happen while I was a god."

Dante spent a few seconds just blinking, staring at Typhon before Mercury butted in.

"That was before me, too. I knew him a few years after it happened. Dunno, maybe you weren't as much of a drunk back then," Mercury laughed, still gazing around him at his home, longing to go into a casino.

"I met Mercury in a bar, if you didn't know. Regardless-"

Nedrigo cut Typhon off. "How did I go from being at a school, to being with an ex-god, who's supposed to be dead mind you, to being in Hell."

"Welcome to my world," Dante rolled his eyes, frustrated with nearly everything around him.

"Enough talking. We have a purpose for being here. Follow me," Typhon started to walk away, only to be stopped by Mercury tugging on his jacket sleeve.

"We should stall longer. He sucks, I don't want to talk to-"

Dante cut off Mercury. He was starting to get a bit fed up with everything and this was all a lot to process. "Mercury, I thought you were Typhon's slave when we met. I assumed he would have killed you for just stopping him from doing what he wants," Dante bit his sentences out. It was all too much to process and he wasn't going to be nice about it.

Typhon and Mercury looked genuinely bewildered. Nedrigo, on the other hand, was trying to hold back a chuckle. Mercury just awkwardly held onto Typhon's jacket sleeve, trying to think of a response.

All Dante got in return was Typhon assertively saying, "You thought wrong."

Typhon kept walking, talking to Mercury as he did, nearly dragging him. The group made their way towards a beautiful casino. Mixes of reds and blacks were laced with gold, brandished off with the words "Royal Hearts Casino". The doors were tall and red with golden handles with flares at either end. Even despite the casino's beauty, Typhon and Mercury both scoffed. The interior was impossibly bright, with red and black flooring in the style of a roulette machine on each of its three floors being seperated by nothing more than a step and a rail differentiating between a lounging area with pool tables and the floor with slots and poker tables, each bustling with demons. Placed in the middle of the highest is a massive slot machine, large enough for the poker chip's cage to be under it. The entire room can see the result of the spin, though it has a bigger payout should Lady Luck be in your favor. Creatures that looked like humanoid snakes played games with creatures who looked almost deer like, though they were certainly not fawns. There were high rollers in suits with ram horns playing games felines that looked like they'd just stepped off a sport's field. It was the most varied location Dante had ever seen.

Nedrigo and Dante were baffled as they looked around the casino, searching for anyone that looked *normal*, yet all they saw were either animal related or demonic. The most common were aquatic creatures, though demonic creatures followed closely behind.

At the back of the casino, lied a small ring where what looked like a dog, though bigger with sharper teeth, fighting another of its kind. Hellhounds.

Typhon and Mercury kept walking, past all the glitz and glamor, talking and laughing about something Dante and Nedrigo couldn't hear. In their walk, they made their way towards another red door with golden handles placed at the back of the casino. Dante was nearly too caught up in looking at the beautiful bar display to realized, Typhon and Mercury had slipped into another room.

Nedrigo dragged Dante into the room. The man on the other side of the door has two bull horns sprouting out the front of his head almost completely hidden under a black fedora. Peeking out from under his horns was two pointed ears and black wavy hair that reached down to his shoulders. The man was dressed in a fine red blazer atop a vest with a swirling orange pattern covering a white dress shirt with the top two buttons unpinned holding a black tie. The man also was mostly clean-shaven beside a black goatee.

"Dolos," Typhon spoke, Mercury standing with his shoulder behind Typhon's.

"Awh, welcome back, Typhon. What, you couldn't even last a few days up on the surface? And I thought you were pathetic- why are there more people in my meeting room?" Dolos responded, looking over Typhon's shoulder at Nedrigo and Dante.

Mercury whispered behind him, "Let Typhon do the talking."

"That is my son," Typhon pointed behind him at Dante, then at Nedrigo. "That is a friend of his."

"So you kept a little brat? You mean to say you marched down back to Hell after returning from such a long break, leaving me to rule Hell while you had your little party on the surface and you didn't even introduce me to my nephew?" Dolos laughed and stood up, his grin snide and pointed.

"Don't pretend to care. You've slaughtered more children than I have. I came here with a-"

Dante screamed out, "Nephew?"

Mercury glared behind him at Dante as Typhon spoke. "Dolos Morningstar, my bastard brother. Regardless, Dante, let me finish. We will discuss this at home," Dante grumbled something under his breath while Typhon continued. "My newfound parenthood does nothing in the context of our arrangement. A simple need of protection in the interest of Axom’s slaughter does not concern whether or not I have a child."

"You waltz down here with the spawn of an elf, pathetic Typhon, I didn't know you slept with elves too. You're clearly Hell's favorite vamp. What, you don't even have the decency to bring hooch?"

"When using your men, my alcohol supply isn't my first concern," Typhon shot back before Dolos interrupted.

"Really? Usually when men are-"

Typhon tilted his head and a small red light appeared in his palm. Suddenly Dolos's sentence was replaced by a laugh.

"Oh, Typhon. Crawling back are you? Send the little ones out. I don't want to watch my words. Have fun, little dewdropper, Hell will eat you alive." Dolos gestured for Dante and Nedrigo to leave, Typhon scribbled something on a paper he'd snatched from Dolos's desk and handed it to Dante.

"I'll tell them you're coming." The paper had an address and a symbol scrawled across it. "Have my driver take you back."

#writeblr #short story #story #writing #original story #my story #oc #original character #my ocs #oc stuff #ocs #writers on tumblr #writing on tumblr #writerscommunity #The Red Light

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paarke · 1 year

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The young giant had an amazing back story and for as long as he could remember his only goal in life had been to not only break every record going but to totally dwarf and annihilate anything humanity had ever achieved. His family were secretly relieved when at the age of just 13, and already well over 150’ tall he cut off all ties with them and refused to acknowledge that such weak, boring people could have anything to do with such a godly, powerful being as him. He was going to play by his own rules and the rest of the world would have to follow him. The backlash against the family had been enormous, as even at that young age his mere existence had already plagued the neighbourhood for years and destroyed the city they lived in. Homes and businesses were in ruins, roads were impassable. He liked to bathe in the reservoir after a run and had made the water supply undrinkable. Even back then, before he’d had some of his epic growth spurts he could easily get through $1 million worth of food every day. He was obsessed with his fitness and physique, already considered himself some kind of vastly superior species that would make the whole of humanity serve him. He’d already got used to and expected leaders and decision makers to simply give in to his demands, no matter how ridiculous they were or difficult to meet. They soon learnt saying no to him was a bad idea. He was already causing global supply issues, he’d think nothing of chugging down a tanker full of 60000 raw eggs, and his insatiable appetite for protein meant that he ate astronomical amounts of meat every day. In the end it became so impractical to prepare it he simply ate it raw, and sometimes still alive, he didn’t give a fuck about animal welfare, it was all just fuel for his body. He emptied truck after truck into his mouth, and if some of the delivery workers happened to fall in he loved the extra crunch. Sometimes he even ate the trucks.

The military learned in an attempt to drug him and control him that his hyper developed metabolism meant that he could eat or drink pretty much anything and he’d be completely unharmed. His body would use anything it wanted and just get rid of anything it didn’t. Of course, their biggest mistake was teaching him that he had this amazing ability in the process, and he was like a kid in a sweet shop, drinking all kinds of chemicals, acids, poisons, and pretty much turning himself into a walking biohazard. He once downed over 250000 gallons of alcohol in a single evening, long before he should have been old enough to buy it just to see if it gave him a buzz. It did nothing, but after he took a leak and flooded a nearby wildlife reserve so much alcohol seeped into the water table that nearly half a million people in a city a few miles down the road died of alcohol poisoning because it got into their drinking water. His favourite party trick was to down a few tankers worth of fuel and then belch out flames reaching hundreds of feet from his mouth, like some gigantic flame thrower. Even his sweat was like a toxic soup, depending on what he’d been consuming, seeping deep into the ground and poisoning everything it touched.

Although his life was so much fun he was also very disciplined when it came to training and building his body. He’d always started the day with a run to get his cardio in and as he grew so did his speed and distance. It almost seemed laughable now that when he ran his first marathon it took almost 15 minutes. Now his morning run lasted around an hour and he’d usually cover around a thousand miles, partly due to his size and partly due to his insane genetics powering him to supersonic speeds. Good for him, but the world just wasn’t built to take such a pounding. The constant sonic booms could shatter windows hundreds of miles away, and the impact of his massive feet pounding the earth with incredible force was like a major earthquake with every single step. Buildings designed to cope with the strongest seismic waves had taken such a pounding with his daily runs that even they would collapse without warning, even if they were miles away from his route. He could outrun any missile and that would run out of fuel long before he got tired

It all felt so easy that he soon started strapping bits of scrap metal to himself for more of a challenge but it didn’t really slow him much. He started light with a few trucks and locomotives, before his first major growth spurt he grabbed a few commuter trains from a station at a city he’d found and twisted them together to make an improvised weight belt. A couple of thousand commuters expecting to have a short journey to work soon found themselves being tossed around like dolls as he hit 600 mph and the train cars smashed against his sweaty abs. If anyone had survived they didn’t after he dived into the ocean and swam for a while a couple of miles below the surface to cool off. The heat from his body sending a cloud of scalding hot steam miles into the atmosphere. The rate he was growing he soon moved on to bigger and better things, and it wasn’t long before he was ripping up bridges, crushing up ships, he once even ran coast to coast with an aircraft carrier strapped to his back with a quarter of a million tons of anchor chains.

In the short time it took him to grow from a seriously muscled up teen into a man he changed the earth more than billions of years of geology ever could. Miles of solid bedrock soon began to crack and shatter under his incredible onslaught, so much so that he often felt like he was running on gravel instead of solid rock. Land levels began to change, some rivers began to flow in the opposite direction. Some cities disappeared as they sank below sea level. Others found themselves getting torn apart as new mountains formed beneath them. Some were destroyed as fissures opened up right through the crust and rivers of lava bubbled up, not that the searing hot molten rock seemed to bother him. He’d often lazily dip his foot into a lava lake and laugh as he flicked it around with his toes, sparking off huge fires and destroying anything it hit.

His achievements have been truly mind blowing. At the age of just 16 he became the first person to swim the Atlantic, mainly because he wanted to see Europe and make sure they were diverting most of their resources to him. By this time he’d just eclipsed the tallest building on the planet in height and stood just over 2800ft in height. His weight was impossible to calculate since no one really knew just how dense his superhuman muscles had become, but some scientists estimated it could be as much as 13 million tons, possibly even much more. The treacherous ocean was no barrier to him and he ploughed through the water with ease, still faster than any jet, swimming over 3000 miles in around four hours. Of course this wasn’t without it’s problems, his huge body blasting through the water at such a massive speed sent apocalyptic tidal waves battering both sides of the ocean. Scores of towns, villages and cities were wiped off the map, some parts of Britain experienced more than 500 years worth of coastal erosion in just 10 minutes. Some small low lying countries and islands were completely washed away for ever.

He soon grew bored with Europe. The cities were too small, the buildings were even smaller and there wasn’t much to have fun with. He almost wished he was big enough to snuff out the entire continent under his foot and put it out of its miserable existence. He did climb the Matterhorn but it only took a few seconds for him to clamber up to the summit, and then he swung off the top like King Kong on the Empire State building until his millions of tons of mass weakened a fault in the rock and the top 2000ft of the mountain snapped off and he fell to the bottom, leaving a crater of barren wasteland miles across. Devastating earthquakes and avalanches rocked the whole Alpine region but he just stood up as if nothing had happened. Still, he was a little pissed off that his fun had been cut short and decided to finish the job, pulling back his arm and unleashing a punch with all his strength into the side of the broken mountain. He felt almost no resistance as his colossal fist pulverised the rock hitting with the force of a dozen nukes. Tons of rock instantly vaporised. He unleashed his full fury then, using it like a punching bag. His huge arms moving with incredible speed as he blasted punch after punch into the mountain. In just a few seconds he’d made a hole right through it. He glanced down at his thick, veiny quads and decided to finish it off with a big roundhouse quick. The stricken mountain shattered on impact. Billions of tons of granite pulverised, scores of alpine villages buried with no hope of ever being seen again. He decided he may as well finish the job and set about systematically destroying the entire mountain range. If nothing else, it was a good workout and was getting him pumped. In little over and hour he’d changed the face of the planet forever and left a continent in ruins. A vast dust cloud covered thousands of miles, turning day into night temperatures plummeted. He’d been breathing so hard he’d actually forced the jet stream way off course and all the way down to his level. The searingly cold hurricane force winds gave him a pleasant tingling sensation as they slowly cooled off his hot, sweaty torso, the vast contours of his pecs and abs acting like their own wind tunnels, creating deadly turbulence anywhere near his body.

He conquered the Atlantic with ease and the Pacific wasn’t much more of a challenge. He decided to take his time. He soon found he could compress enough oxygen into his vast lungs to stay under water for hours at a time, and he even got to the bottom of the Mariana Trench. The crushing pressure of 7 miles of water above him didn’t bother him at all. In fact, he found he could get a nice burn doing ab crunches down there. It didn’t all go well, he dragged a couple of cruise ships he found back down with him thinking he could use them as weights and the water might give him a bit of extra resistance, but by the time he reached the ocean floor the ships had compressed so much he looked like he was holding a couple of bath toys in his hands. He wondered if the submarines a few miles up that had been tracking him might work better. They didn’t. They shrunk down so much that they looked like the whales he enjoyed snacking on, so he popped them in his mouth and swallowed them. The heat from the reactors breaking down and the missiles and war heads exploding made them nice and spicy. It also made him into a walking Chernobyl, and for months afterwards he was spewing out deadly radiation. His walk across the Amazon was still visible from space, like a scar as every tree for 50 miles either side of him turned brown and died within hours. No one knew if anything would ever grow there again. Except him, the radiation did something to his already inhuman DNA and he could feel himself growing stronger and bigger by the day, like he was absorbing the massive amounts of energy and using it.

Now that he’d finally reached manhood he was truly a god amongst men. He’d already achieved more than most would do in a million lifetime’s, and ruled over his billions of subjects without any mercy. They were there to serve and the whole world was his playground, not that he didn’t dream every night about being able to straddle the whole planet with his muscular thighs, smother entire nations with his balls, drink dry every ocean, river and lake, not because he needed to, but because he could. For now he was just loving life. He could do anything and go anywhere. Anything he wanted he got. Food, weights, clothes. It was up to the world to come up with the solutions and deliver the goods. He was still getting over the rush from visiting Tokyo. Rising out of the bay like Godzilla and spending a few blissful days systematically toying with and destroying one of the largest cities on earth, leaving nothing behind but miles of smoking ruins and a toxic wasteland of all kinds of bodily fluids.

Today was a new day and a new city. He’d had thousands of houses flattened on the outskirts to make space for the custom made gym equipment he’d ordered. The most expensive and biggest construction project in human history, although it should be an honour to watch him deadlift nearly 50% of all the iron ever produced on the planet for rep after perfect rep. Luckily there were still plenty of cities left because that massive barbell was already feeling too light and he was wondering what would happen if he dropped it on top of the city centre. Life was good.

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caffeineandsociety · 11 months

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Honestly, as much as many people point out how much large quantities of money spent by the ultra-wealthy on frivolous things could change their lives as a reason that the level of wealth inequality we're at is absolutely unconscionable, and they're ABSOLUTELY correct that it's a great illustration of the problem...

I think an underrated and equally important illustration is how much those quantities CAN'T do.

Let's think about a million dollars. That's a quantity that says "HOT DAMN, you REALLY made it!" to most people. That's a lot. It's more money than most people will handle at once in a lifetime.

And it can BARELY buy most single-family homes in California. It can't buy many that don't even qualify as McMansions, just...nice houses. It's even worse in NYC, where you can find apartments the size of a postage stamp that it can't buy.

And if you want to RETIRE with "just" a million dollars? You'd better hope you die soon.

Suppose you retire at age 55 with a million dollars. Congratulations! If you live to age 75, that's 50k a year. 85, it's $33k a year. 95? You've got $25k a year...and it's likely that you're ending up with medical bills that take an entire year's worth of money in one go. Ending up in assisted living? Well, the median cost of assisted living in the US is...$54k a year. Congratulations, ALL your money goes to rent now! Every cent! Better hope you die within 15 years!

You COULD avert this by putting the money in a high-yield account and only skimming off the interest, yes - the average retirement account, with an interest rate of 5-8%, would give you $52-83k a year...but even then, you have to have a million dollars in the first place and not withdraw from your initial principal, which, good luck doing THAT with the complications that tend to arise in old age and health insurance deductibles and coverage limits and loopholes to make you pay out of pocket. $83k a year may sound like a lot, and it certainly is to most of us, and even so, life has a way of eating through it fast, especially if you're retirement age.

In addition, there's a concept that I call "item debt" - it's about those things that, sure, you can SURVIVE indefinitely without them, but you will live a longer and healthier life if you have them. This can be anything from a stove that can actually maintain a constant temperature, to a computer that lets you do your job without freezing and crashing every few minutes, to assistive devices. Item debt can be the need for transportation in the US's car-centric society - you can't even afford a shitty old beater, so you have to take the bus 3 hours each way; the first thing you'll do if and when you get the money is buy a car and...then what? Your bills are no less impactful; if anything, they're worse because now you have to pay maintenance on the car. It can take the form of, "well, I really SHOULD be using a wheelchair, but I can't afford that and I can walk ENOUGH that my insurance won't even partially cover it, so guess I'll rely on this $10 cane until it inevitably gets worse." It can take the form of saying "I'd aggravate my various orthopedic problems a lot less if I had more power kitchen appliances, but those are expensive, so I guess I'll make do without" until you can't lift a bowl anymore without hitting 8 on the pain scale. It can be the empty first apartment, bare mattress on the floor, that's a wonderful improvement over wherever you came from but if you don't get a bedframe you're either going to wear out that mattress really fast and have to spend a ton of money replacing it, or have to strain to pick it up and let the underside air out every day, which may not seem like a lot now but will destroy your back over the years if the cheap mattress itself doesn't do it first.

Thing is, most people who are not MULTImillionaires have some form of item debt - and if you have multiple disabled family members or a sufficiently expensive illness in the family (e.g., need for a lung transplant, which can cost upwards of $1mil WITHOUT complications, or cancer that requires a particularly expensive type of chemo), sometimes it'll take something like $10mil to get out of it.

Again, we're talking about WAY more money than most people will see IN THEIR LIVES. We're talking about quantities of money that MOST people are expected to live our entire lives without. We would all live longer, healthier, happier lives if we could all have basic food and water, sufficient living space, and health care including home medical devices as needed, guaranteed. There is no scarcity reason why we SHOULDN'T have these things guaranteed to everyone except a many-times-over-disproven myth that everyone would just stop working and then we'd have no supply chain if we didn't have death by poverty as a constant looming threat.

And so these things remain out of reach to EVEN THE LOW END OF THE WEALTHIEST 10% OF AMERICANS.

And for what? 90% of the country is left second-guessing, postponing, or even outright foregoing NECESSITIES, and FOR WHAT?? So the top 0.5% of fucking assclowns can have megayachts and eat gold and spend amounts of money that could change people's lives on stupid and dangerous shit whose horrible safety standards they can then inflict on the rest of us??

If that doesn't piss you off and tell you something needs to change I don't know what will.

#$250k would be able to clear MOST of my item debt #i would be able to get all the kitchen appliances i need to stop destroying my body to cook #id be able to get some mobility devices and braces ive been badly needing #but it WOULDN'T be enough to get me a house that could actually meet my accessibility needs without moving ro a cheaper state #where i would know no one and not be able to see my own doctors anymore #now that ive FINALLY found a medical team that ACTUALLY works for me #and tbh i find THAT to be an even more damning illustration of the problem than what that money COULD do

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whentommymetalfie · 2 years

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Home to you -chapter 26

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Tommy struggles with staying at Arrow house.

Warnings: ptsd, injury, aftermath of forced hospitalization and medical malpractice, hallucinations, disordered eating, mentions of suspected non-con

Wordcount: 4,7 K

The damp underground air chills him from the inside and every breath hurts

hurts trying to breathe past the tight straps keeping his arms his hands bound and all he wants is to sleep to fade into nothing

there’s no peace for you Tommy not in this world

how could you think

there would ever be

He wakes up choking on tears and damp air. Sits up, shirt clinging to his back. Drags deep breaths into his aching lungs. Shaking with the chill of the cell. The smell -vomit, blood, dirt, mold- clings to the air around him. He flexes his trembling arms in front of him over and over the straitjacket is gone and the

padded walls are gone but it’s

so dark he can’t tell where he

Arrow House, he’s at Arrow house, how did he

get here?

The shadows creep around the room. Move in the corners and drip down the walls pooling at the floor creeping towards the bed

a white dress luminous among the shadows

He gets out of bed. Out of bed, out of the strange room needs to move get away from here far away from moving shadows and walls closing in

The corridor stretches in front of him endless and dark and the floorboards are cold underneath his bare feet they shift and creak and the walls crack about to come crashing down around him Tommy what are you doing out of bed Tommy it’s not safe for you out here Tommy this is why we lock the door it’s just to keep you safe that’s all we want for you to be safe and they keep saying that but why didn’t they come when he needed them to no one came they left him out there in the mud and blood and it swallowed him whole and now he can’t find his way back out

A sharp flare of pain in his foot digs up a memory among all the fractured pieces.

He needs to go back home. To Alfie. Margate, he needs to-

He stops and turns, looks back towards the open door, the small crack of moonlight far away at the end of the corridor.

Alfie is here, Alfie came to find him

Why did he get out of bed?

How did he get so far away from the bedroom?

He squeezes his eyes shut against the dark, arms wrapped around his chest, the darkness can’t get him if he makes himself as small as possible Tommy what are you doing out of bed Tommy we’ve told you a million times it’s not safe for the patient seems docile today the straitjacket has a very calming effect perhaps we need to increase the dose it’s for your own good Tommy why won’t you just do what they tell you we wouldn’t have to do this syringes and hands holding him down no no

No, go back to the bedroom. Alfie is there. Wake Alfie up. Alfie will hold him and make everything okay but what if when he comes back the bed is empty none of it was real and all that awaits are endless hours alone in the dark with the voices

The panic squeezes around his chest

until his knees give out from under him.

“Stop.” He pleads with them. Covers his ears. Fingers graze the scar, ridges opening up underneath them you’re very sick, Mr. Shelby

he knows that, but he was getting better, he was

your family only wants

what’s best for you.

The bullet ruined something in his head and if he can only get it out, out, out, they’ll see, he can be good he’ll be useful again and they won’t have to send him away

but they already have

left him here alone

in the dark

Steps approach and he cowers against the wall, knows it’s no use fighting but the buckles on the straitjacket has somehow gotten loose so he needs to try

“Fuck, Tommy, what are you doing here?”

Arthur is standing before him how did he get into the cell through the bars there are no bars only the dark walls of Arrow house but why is Arthur here? He doesn’t fit in, Tommy doesn’t understand, if he could only understand.

Arthur’s eyes widen.

“Fucking hell, stop that!” He sinks to his knees. Grabs his wrist hard. It hurts. But he has to get the bullet out, can’t Arthur see that it’s hurting him? He scratches and Arthur tugs harder at his wrist, forcing it away from his head. A pitiful whine escapes him and he squeezes his eyes shut. Struggles against Arthur’s grip but Arthur only holds him harder.

“Tommy, snap out of it! Come on.”

He squirms and tries to kick. Scratch. Do anything that will make the intruding hands go away.

“Hey, stop it, fucking hell Tommy,” Arthur yells at him and the loud voice makes him fight desperately to get away, find someplace safe, safe, Alfie, Alfie is here, he’s in the bedroom, he want’s Alfie.

“Enough!” Arthur slaps him across the face, and he freezes. Terrified sobs hack up his throat. Arthur looks distraught. “Shit, sorry, sorry, but you’ve got to calm down, or you’ll fucking pass out.” Arthur grabs him by the shoulders but he curls into a ball. The tears seep in hot trails down his cheeks.

“Alfie,” he tries to scream but only manages a whine. Arthur cradles his face and holds it and he’s too strong for Tommy to get loose.

“It’s okay. You’re home, eh? You’re back with us, right where you belong.”

“Alfie.”

Something dark settles in Arthur’s eyes.

“Did he hurt you?” he whispers, leaning closer. “You can tell me, Tom. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault if he took advantage of you. If he made you do things you didn’t want.”

No no Alfie would never hurt him, Arthur is hurting him, but Arthur doesn’t understand and Tommy can’t make him understand because he can’t speak.

“Just say the word and I’ll fucking shoot him myself.”

Arthur crowds him against the wall, tries to wrap his arms around him and finally he screams. The sound bounces in a terrifying echo between the walls.

“Get the fuck away from him!” Someone shouts. Alfie, Alfie Alfie- footsteps run down the corridor. He opens his eyes just as Alfie kneels before him, arms open, and he throws himself into the waiting embrace. Clings as Alfie lifts him onto his lap.

“Shh, I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you,” Alfie whispers into his hair and cradles his head against his chest. Arthur watches, hands clenching into fists and Alfie snaps at him, “What the fuck did you do to him?”

“Aren’t you supposed to look after him? Why do I find him wandering the fucking corridors in the middle of the night bleeding from the head?”

“I don’t keep him chained to the fucking bed, even if you’d like to think that.”

“You should have that henchman of yours guarding the door-“

“Uncle Arthur?”

Things go very still around him.

Charlie is standing at the other end of the hallway, rubbing his eyes and looking at them.

“Shit,” Alfie mutters.

It takes a moment before Charlie’s eyes find his.

“Dad?” he looks at the blood. The sunken cheeks and the protruding collar bones. His eyes tear up.

“Charlie, go find your mum,” Alfie says, voice firm.

He can’t breathe needs to calm down you’ll scare the kids Tommy what if they saw you like this but he can’t can’t breathe and he can’t stop shaking

Alfie tucks his face against his chest but not even the familiar scent of his shirt can quell the panic.

“Arthur, take care of your nephew.”

“What’s wrong with dad?”

“Charlie, let’s go find Lizzie, eh?”

“No, I want to know!”

“Tommy, sweetheart, you need to breathe,” Alfie tells him. “It’s all going to be okay, you hear me?”

He does but it doesn’t matter black dots cloud his vision and the mud on his chest grows heavier and heavier until it crushes his lungs and Alfie’s voice is drowned out by the ringing in his ears. The breaths all catch in his throat and the world begins to tilt, fading at the edges. Alfie cups his face and his mouth moves but it blurs along with the rest of his surroundings.

He’s lifted off the floor. Only half aware of being carried for a brief moment before that sensation too fades into nothing.

When he wakes, it’s to the feeling of gentle fingers raking through his hair and to Alfie’s voice. They’re in bed. It’s dark outside, still.

“Hey there,” Alfie says and kisses his forehead, smoothing his hair back. “You with me, love?” There’s a bandage wrapped around his head again.

Is he here?

“Not quite, Tommy.”

But he looks up at Alfie and meets his soft gaze.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Everything’s okay. Lizzie took care of Charlie. He calmed right down. He was worried about you, is all. But he’s asleep and happy now.” Alfie presses kisses into his hair. His temple. “It’s okay. He’s okay.”

He curls into Alfie’s arms and tries to forget everything else.

…

There’s a knock on the door. Tommy keeps his eyes closed. Only hears the voices far away in the distance. First Ishmael, speaking Yiddish to Alfie and then Lizzie, hissing,

“I can tell him myself. This is my bloody house!”

Alfie sighs. Shifts beside him.

“Fine. Let her in.”

Steps come across the floor.

“How is he?”

“Well, it’s not great, is it?”

“Did he get any sleep at all?”

“Fell asleep ‘round dawn somewhere. Hopefully he’ll be out for a while. He needs it. Was it something you wanted?”

“Could we talk outside?”

“No. No, not right now. Not after last night. I can’t leave him.”

“Charlie wants to see him. He’s asking. And Ruby. I thought it best to tell her. So that Charlie wouldn’t have to keep it as some kind of secret.”

“What have you told them, then?”

“The truth. Part of it, at least. I told him that Tommy’s been someplace where they’ve taken care of him. But that bad people took him away from there and hurt him. I did tell him about the asylum, but without the… details. But I want him to understand why he’s like this.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for them to see each other right now. Didn’t go well last night. And Tommy isn’t- well, he’s not all there right now.”

“But it’s up to Tommy, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Of course. It always is.”

…

“You still sure you’re okay with this, love?” Alfie asks and seats himself on the edge of the bed. “It’s alright if you’re not ready.” And Tommy nods, even if though feels as if his heart will hammer through his ribcage. He doesn’t have a choice anymore. He has to be ready for this. Even if the sunlight of a new day has done nothing to make Grace’s presence in the room fade. She seems clearer with each passing day.

He keeps his eyes on Alfie.

Alfie smooths his hair back.

“Lizzie’s talked to them,” he says. “They know they can’t ask too many questions. And she’s explained enough, so you don’t have to. They just want to see you. Alright? And I’m right here with you. If it becomes too much, you can let me know. No one will blame you.”

There’s a knock on the door.

Lizzie comes in with Charlie by one hand and Ruby by the other. Charlie looks at him. Ruby holds onto Lizzie’s skirt. He tries to smile. Can’t feel his face enough to know if he succeeds.

Charlie comes up to the bed. Climbs up. And hugs him. It takes some time before he can make his arms cooperate enough to return the hug. He tries to keep himself from shaking. Ruby hides behind Lizzie and watches him with dark, wary eyes. Charlie looks up at him.

“What happened to your head?”

Tommy swallows and tries to answer, but there are no words there. Swallows again. Then shakes his head and looks to Alfie.

“It’s just a scratch, nothing to worry about,” Alfie says. Charlie frowns.

“Did the bad men do that? Mummy said they hurt you.”

He nods.

“Mummy said you were sick. And that’s why you had to go away.”

Another nod.

“Are you still sick?”

He wants to say that he’s better now. Even if he’s still… sick. But as always the words are stuck somewhere under the mud. So all he can do is nod once more. Charlie does too, thoughtfully.

“You’re not going to die, right?”

At that he can finally shake his head and Charlie’s shoulders slump in relief and he throws his arms around Tommy’s chest again. And suddenly Ruby moves from behind Lizzie, runs to the bed and springs herself into his lap, wrapping her tiny arms tightly around his neck. He holds them both. And it feels as if the mud and earth over his ribcage grows in weight until it shatters it.

From the corner, Grace watches with a smile and a cold glint in her eye.

Both kids begin talking at once, loud and fast as if they can’t wait to get it all out. Ruby is virtually jumping on the bed.

“Mummy is letting me ride the big horses now, but only if she’s there-“

“Guess what-“

“Soon I’m gonna do it all by myself, just like Charlie! When you’re better I’m going to show you.”

“I’ve lost my first tooth look!”

“And I’ve talked to Aristades every day.

“But I’ve saved it in a box in case I ever need an extra one.”

“He’s going to be happy you’re home now!”

“Can you come home now?”

“Dad what’s wrong?”

Charlie reaches up to wipe at the silent tears seeping down his face. Alfie strides across the room and comes to sit next to him, the hand between his shoulder blades keeping him from sinking completely under the crushing weight that’s settled on his shoulders. Lizzie comes to the bed, her smile pained at the edges.

“Dad is just tired. We’ll let him rest for a bit,” she says and lifts Ruby into her arms, stroking Charlie over the hair. “You can talk more later, alright, love?”

“Alright,” Charlie says and gives him a tight hug before taking her hand and climbing off the bed.

The second the door closes behind them, the scream that’s been building in his chest escapes him. But only as a whine through gritted teeth as he curls inwards against the pain.

“You need to fix this. They need you. But not this. They don’t need whatever it is you’ve become.”

“You owe it to them to stay.”

He can’t stay. He can’t be here where the walls move and the air smells like mud and they all need something he can no longer give.

He isn’t even aware of Alfie’s arms around him at first. Alfie mutters quietly to him. Rocks him slowly. Strokes his hair. But nothing helps. His mouth moves but he can’t hear the words.

“You don’t have a choice, Tommy. It’s the least you can do.”

“Breathe with me, sweetheart,” Alfie says, voice muffled. “That’s all you need to do. Go on. I’ve got you. Just in and out.”

“There’s no peace for you in this world, Tommy.”

Out

“No rest.”

“You have to be what they need you to be.”

Out.

“Pick yourself back up, Put yourself back together.”

In.

“You have responsibilities. You have duties.”

Out

“You know what you have to do.”

…

He sinks. Sinks and keeps sinking underneath the weight. Knows what he has to do but it’s so impossible that it’s left him paralyzed. Around him minutes and hours and days slip through his fingers like wet sand. The light in the room changes but there’s no difference between day and night anymore.

People flicker in and out of the room, wary glances and endless questions what’s wrong, I thought he was getting better, why- He lies frozen underneath the covers. Looks at them through a fog. Adelman asks him questions he can’t hear and Alfie watches him with worried eyes and it’s all too much and he closes his eyes. Opens them when Alfie makes him, when he’s brought him food. Alfie tries to feed him when he won’t take the spoon you have to eat have to pull yourself together have to- and he tries but it comes back up. Under the weight of what needs to be done he can barely breathe, let alone swallow, but Alfie tries again and again until he squeezes his mouth shut and turns his head away. Covers his head with his arms and buries his face in the pillows but they smell of mold and damp air and vomit

“You have to tell him.”

Grace smiles.

“Tommy, love, you have to at least drink something,” Alfie tells him far above the ground the water the padded walls. Lifts him to lean against the pillows and puts the glass to his mouth. Holds it there. And when he doesn’t open his mouth he coaxes the edge of it between his lips. “Go on. Just a little bit, there’s a good boy.” He cards his fingers through his hair and Tommy swallows, He has to tell him now, now, or the pain will only grow worse, but instead he curls into his embrace and tries to pretend that the world isn’t crumbling around him.

…

One morning evening cloudy afternoon he can’t tell anymore Alfie is moving around the room. Picking up clothes, books, whatever he can find and throwing them into a suitcase. Perhaps he’s realized without Tommy having to ask him? The shards of glass in his chest cut at his insides.

“I’m taking you home,” Alfie tells him when he notices he’s awake, shattering the illusion. “Which I should have done days ago. Fuck what anyone else thinks. We’re not staying here another second.”

This is it, then.

He takes a long breath. In. in. in-

“I have to stay.”

Alfie pauses, and it’s the only way he knows he’s spoken the words out loud, that the raspy, broken sound was his own voice. Alfie seems as surprised to hear his voice as Tommy is. But once that initial happiness has worn off the actual words sink in. He snorts and keeps packing.

“No, categorically. Out of the fucking question. This viper’s nest is doing you no fucking favours.”

“I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything in this situation. You’ve been through, fuck, an absolute bloody nightmare. That you haven’t even begun healing from. And I may not be a doctor but I can tell that this, all of this-“ Alfie gestures at the room. “The family members demanding answers, the hollow bloody grandeur and empty hallways full of portraits with ogling eyes, fuck, I swear this place would make the sanest of men lose it. Not to mention you’re back in the fucking place that broke your head to begin with. All of it makes any kind of recovery impossible.”

Grace watches him from the corner. He swallows the damp air and coughs to get away the mud clogging his throat.

Alfie frowns and comes to sit on the bed. Reaches out to brush the rough pad of his thumb over his cheekbone. “Do you want to stay?”

What does it matter what he wants?

It’s never mattered before.

“You don’t owe them anything, Tommy,” Alfie tells him.

“You owe them everything you have,” Grace tells him.

“The kids-“

“-Will be better off with a father who’s fucking alive,” Alfie says and grabs his shoulders. “That you’d be a few hours away is the least of the problems in this situation. You can’t take care of them right now. Fuck, you can’t take care of yourself. Look at you.” He gestures towards his pitiful state. “You can’t eat, you can’t sleep, you wander around at night like a restless spirit. You were getting better. Yeah? But since the asylum, since we came here, you’ve gone completely fucking dead behind the eyes.”

“I have to stay.”

“Tell him he should leave,” Grace says. “There’s no place for him here.”

He closes his eyes. Can’t bring himself to look at Alfie when he says it.

He’s gone so cold.

“You should leave,” he says and that’s it. He’s said it. But the words do not have the expected effect: Alfie remains on the bed. Perhaps he didn’t say them out loud? He takes Tommy’s face between his hands and his and the look in his eyes clear away the fog around him for a moment.

“Think it’ll be that easy, eh?” he says. “You think I don’t understand? Think I don’t see straight through this and the fact that you’re fucking falling apart. If you think for a bloody second that I’m leaving you here then you’re truly fucking mad.”

When Alfie kisses him, Tommy is too weak to resist. So he lets him. Even if all of this has to end.

In the end they all leave. Alfie will too.

…

You can see the river from the window. Only if you know it’s there. A dip in the landscape a black vein cold enough maybe not deep enough. Trees surrounding it. Her white dress stand out in the dark. Far away among the trees. But her voice is close

“There’s no peace for you in this world, Tommy. You see that now, don’t you?”

It was foolish of you to think otherwise.

This is where you belong.

A flutter of wings and he looks down the hallway stretching for miles and miles where dark feathers eyes and a beak glimmers in the moonlight like glass and sapphires and the sea at night a caw that echoes what is the crow doing here it’s not supposed to be here and it’s

not real, yeah? Remember that because it’s-

the crow is stuffed and it’s in a cabinet back home, he knows knows that then again he doesn’t know many things these days does he you’re very sick mister Shelby very sick and we only want what’s best for you this is what’s

best for you the syringes and the straitjacket in the dark look how

docile the patient has become it’s the medication and the binds and soon he’ll be all better

everything

can go back to the way it used to be

The crow seats itself on the windowsill and cocks its head. Pecks at the glass.

“You want to go outside?” Of course it wants to no one wants to be locked up with the shadows with syringes and cold hands and the metal of the clasp is cold and it’s difficult getting the window open. The crow pecks at the glass again, harder this time.

“It’s okay, I’ll let you out,” he tells it and it blinks at him. Finally the window creaks open and a burst of cool night air brushes past his face, air that doesn’t smell of mold and vomit. He takes a step back and waits for the crow to fly out. It jumps across the windowsill, claws pattering against the wood and looks out the window.

“Go on. Don’t you want to go home?” The crow looks back at him. He goes closer to the window and looks down at the ground far below, far far away and yet only a step away.

“Tommy!”

He flinches at the voice and the windowsill digs into his leg. Lizzie comes towards him.

“What are you doing?”

out of bed what are you doing out of bed you’re supposed to rest you have to rest so that you can get back up and take responsibility

“It wanted to go outside.”

The crow is still seated next to him.

Lizzie furrows her brow and comes closer. He takes a step back until the ledge digs into the back of his knees. She stops. Holds her hands up, the way you do to soothe a frightened horse.

“Tommy, get away from the window,” she says and her voice trembles in a way it usually doesn’t. He looks down at the crow who only blinks up at him. Flaps it wings. Doesn’t it want to go outside? He reaches a hand outside into the cold night air to show it that the window is open, it can fly away now. Home.

“Tommy.“

“It wanted to go outside,” he tells her again. Her chest rises in slow breaths.

“Who wanted to go outside, Tommy?”

“The crow-“

“There’s no crow. Get away from the window.”

He blinks at that. Tries to clear his head but it’s all foggy from the medication no that is a different place and a different memory he needs to keep them apart-

“It wants to go home.”

“Alright, alright. But the window is open now so it can go if it wants to. Come here.”

Lizzie gestures for him, wants him to go to her and he knows he’s done something bad they’ll start locking the door again he doesn’t want to go back and be alone in the bedroom.

“Solomons will worry if you don’t go back to bed.” Solomons? Pick through the pieces, find the right ones, put them together into memories.

“Alfie?”

“Yes, Alfie. He doesn’t want you to wander around like this, right?”

Alfie. Alfie is here. Even if he shouldn’t be.

Finally, the crow flaps its wings and flies out the window. It disappears into the dark. Far above the ground where the mud can never reach it.

He takes a step away from the window. Lizzie moves quickly and slams it shut with a bang bang bullet through bone and flesh blood no one came no one ever comes

She takes his hand away from the scar just a scar there’s nothing there Tommy it’s all healed and if he goes back to bed Alfie will be there- Lizzie wraps an arm around his shoulders and the touch makes him flinch but not enough to shrug the arm off. Lizzie keeps it there.

“Come on, we’re getting you back to bed.”

He shakes his head it’s lonely and dark in the bedroom and they’re so loud

“Yes, we are. You want to go to Alfie, right?”

He nods.

“Yeah? We’ll he’s in bed and we’re going there now.”

“To Alfie?”

“Yes, Tommy. To Alfie.”

Alfie is here. Alfie will take care of him. He’ll tell him about the crow. It’s strange that it’s come here. But Alfie will know why.

Alfie shouldn’t be here. Alfie should be home. Alfie should be home he should be home he wants to be home

“It wanted to go home.”

“Who wanted to go home, Tommy?” Lizzie’s voice is tired it’s strange that she’s already forgotten, he just told her, didn’t he?

“The crow.”

He can never go home again, there’s no rest for him-

Lizzie leads him through the darkness without asking anything else about the crow.

“Go on, it’s not far,” she tells him when his knees begin to grow weak. “Just stay on your feet a bit longer.”

The bedroom door is open. Alfie is lying in bed, arm splayed out over the spot where he usually sleeps.

Why did he get out of bed?

Lizzie sits him down. When he only sits there, she reaches across the bed and shakes Alfie. He wakes with a sharp inhale, eyes snapping open, scanning the room.

“Tommy?” he mutters and reaches for him. His body feels oddly distant. Alfie sits up and takes him by the shoulders, looking him up and down. “You okay?”

“I found him wandering around in the hallways again,” Lizzie whispers. “He wasn’t making any sense. Kept talking about some crow.”

“Tommy?”

Alfie cradles his face but he’s too tired to open his eyes now.

“Tommy, sweetheart, what have we said about the crow, it’s not real. Remember?”

He hums even if Alfie isn’t making any sense, he saw it, but he wants to sleep now. He’s tired, very tired. Alfie cradles his head against his chest. He listens to his heart. Tries to memorize the sound of it.

“It’d be easier if you forgot.”

He focuses on the sound of Alfie’s heart to drown out the rest. Alfie can’t stay here. But he’s here now.

#tommy x alfie #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #breathe again verse #home to you

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mateusboga · 1 year

Text

Characterization Exercise for T&Z

THIAN:

I wake up with a rumble in my stomach. I lift my arm to try and reach my RCD, but I barely have the strength to do that. “Kalipso, what time is it?” My vox assistant responds, in a synthetically sweet voice: “Good evening, Thian. It is 16:49.” I groan, rolling around in my sheets. I overslept again. I feel like if somebody stabbed me right now I wouldn’t protest. Maybe I would even thank them. But I have nobody to give me that coup de grace I desperately need. Minutes pass, or hours, I don’t know anymore. I eventually get up and go to the bathroom. I turn on my chamber and my computer, the usual ritual, and it would take little to call it satanic all things considered. Oh yes, the rumble in my stomach. I forgot to eat. Again. I put on some less disgusting clothes and get out of my apartment to go get some “fresh” GulgSok. Usual blend. I drink the green liquid. The chemically enhanced flavor is barely noticeable to me anymore, just tastes like tap water with gasoline and sugar. It does make my eyes open up a little more though. That’s what I pay them for. I go back home and check my inbox. 15 unread messages from work. Ugh, bosses really must be a different species of human, that do not understand the concept of a “holiday” and need homo sapien interns to feed them pre-masticated worms and wipe their ass. I blast some of those funky emowave riffs that are the only thing keeping me alive at this point. My neighbors should thank me for my new sound-proof walls. I find myself doodling some stupid toons on a blank piece of paper to get me through the awful workload. I hate this fucking job so much, but what can I do? They pay me for my medication, my bills, my chamber, etc. I even have a free VIP helipod travel card for like a million places, but I don’t want to leave the comfort of my room, so that’s useless. I hated living with other people, so having a new apartment where I can be all alone is refreshing in a way. I can thank them for that. But at what cost? What am I even doing with my life? My parents say they’re proud of me, but why do I feel so empty inside? I’m doing alone in a week what a team of 50 people couldn’t do in a year, yet I feel stupid and useless. I look at the awards on my shelf. Dust has settled over them. They’re just pieces of metal anyways. I try to shove away the bad thoughts, I feel that black cloud suffocating me again. I drink the rest of the GulgSok, along with my meds. It helps. I begin the process of entering into my workflow, and once I’m in it, nobody can get me out. The monotony of daily life has a certain bittersweet feeling. I hate it, but I hate it a lot less than the hellish pit inside my mind. May the neo-industrial megalodon wash those thoughts away.

ZARVIN:

I wake up to the rays of sun shining through the polarized glass. I jump out of bed, put on my favorite blouse, pants, kickers, clean my teeth, style my hair, and I’m off to one more trip to the station. In my bag there’s everything I need: my music player, my earphones and my notepad. Instinctively, I grab my RCD, and I stop for a moment. I haven’t used this thing in so long, it’s probably full of unread notifications, a distant relative sharing a holo of their cat dressed as a cowboy, or scam crypto ads. Will it be today that I break my vow and turn it on? No. Not today. I throw it aside, put on my earphones, and step out into the real world. I inhale a bit of the gasses in the air and I feel a convulsion. The pollution is really bad today. Still, I press on. The things this world throws at me don’t phase me anymore. I’ve gotten accustomed to the smell of nitrogen. To the distant, demonic roar of the city. To the sleepless, anxious, or grim faces I see on the street. To the angry yelling of passengers in traffic, and the fights in the bus stop. I have found my way through the monotony of the city, and found my little corners, where some rare quiet beauty still survives. I look at the time and I see I’m early again, so I stop for a few minutes, sitting on some degrading fibrocarbon box, appreciating the old architecture and the plants in a stray garden, yellow from the fumes, but still alive, and for a moment I forget everything. I lose myself in the tiny breeze that gently caresses the leaves, a sweet kiss of courage, inspiring it to not give up, and keep fighting despite it all. Then, a buzzing brings me back to my senses. I look at the bus stop, and I see my railbus departing! Guess I have to wait for the next one. I couldn’t care, though, because I saw an old friend, Martin, sitting on the bench. We talk for a bit, about the new Finglecunk album, then my bus arrives and I have to end it short. The trip to the station is quicker than usual. Perhaps the fumes kept most people at home today. Or maybe it’s some religious holiday I don’t know about. Regardless, I arrive 2 minutes late to work, and I quickly swipe my HoliDeck card and enter the pad. My helipod is waiting for me, with a fresh paint of glittery violet and tan undertones hiding the fact this model is almost 20 years old. I don’t want a new one though. This one works flawlessly, even if it’s a little chunkier than most. Nowadays it’s all AI-assisted and digital. I don’t wish to give the reins of my life to ones-and-zeroes. Luckily, my boss is very patient with me, and she got me a special deal where I get to keep this one but have to pay for the expenses. I enter the cockpit and begin heating the motors. I feel lucky that I have this job, where I get to drive across the skyline for hours, sometimes passing over a surviving patch of bornean forest to go deliver mail to some old lady on the 193rd floor in another city. People make fun of me for liking Gen Alpha, but I don’t get the joke. They have so many stories of the past they can tell us about. Sure, you can read about the Texan-American War on the holodocs or join a simulation of The Tronsborgle Crash in a chamber, but to talk to somebody who was actually alive when these things happened, has memories of the event, and was affected by it directly, is just… different. I can’t explain it well. Even if I could, I feel people wouldn’t listen to me anyways…

#cyberpunk #futuristic #creative writing #character writing

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kieuecaprie · 11 months

Text

KieueCaprie's Games Finished List of 2023: Entry 7

#11: Pokémon Infinite Fusion

What's done? Kanto

What platform? PC

Started when? 20/3/23

Finished when? 22/3/23

Clear 2

What's done? Kanto, again, but randomized

Started when? 22/3/23

Finished when? 23/3/23

So, this fangame I picked up playing after seeing a couple of people playing through it and man, it's quite nice playing through Kanto yet again but this time it's with weird strange freaks you make with the fusions in a fangame.

Classic Mode was actually a little harder than Randomized but it may be because I was playing on the dumbest setting possible with Randomized, so it ended up with me seeing a million legendaries and getting to the point where I just wasn't really pleased to see a legendary or mythical anymore.

It was still fun, mind you, it was just really funny having a second playthrough be seeing previously rare Pokémon become exceedingly common.

#12: Sludge Life

What's done? All endings

What platform? PC, Steam

Started when? 26/3/23

Finished when? 27/3/23

This game was on my radar for a good while but I kind of forgot about it as though I had suffered a weird fever dream about cigarettes, cats with two buttholes (no, seriously), and graffiti. It did come back onto said radar later on when it released on Steam but was drowned out by the noise of other games at the time (I honestly forgot what was there at the time.)

Then it became free. So, I guess I took the opportunity to do so before the period of when it was free came to an end and it was an enjoyable walking sim of sorts, I like these kind of weird games where you do stuff and just generally explore an area without much lore to go off on.

Maybe now that the sequel is out, I'll probably grab it once my radar empties, sadly, I got Pikmin 4 and AC6 on the horizon so that may be a while...

#13: They Hunger

What's done? Full campaign

What platform? PC, Steam, Sven Co-Op

Multiplayer? Yes, with armoreddragon99 and Kaelynthegoat (I dunno if there was a fourth? Could be, please correct me.)

Finished when? 29/3/23

So, I think I remember trying to play They Hunger solo several times back in the day but I could never complete it because I was not very skilled or knowledgable about operating my own private listen server back then.

Either that or I lacked the motivation to play through it.

However, with Kaelyn and Armored in tow, we completed the campaign for They Hunger over two sessions, although we eventually had to use a walkthrough to figure out where to go next because there were times when conveyance was pretty bad.

It was very quaint and enjoyable for what it is, certainly not something to write home about in this day and age but the fact that this existed in the first place waaay back then, I can truly appreciate that.

#14: Dungeon Defenders

What's done? Base Campaign, Hardcore Hard mode

What platform? PC, Steam

Finished when? 5/4/23

Multiplayer? Yes, with Armoreddragon99

Now, I should iterate that this is the ORIGINAL version, not the remake, not the other branch, the ORIGINAL, with all of its flaws and issues on full display.

It's kinda fun and enjoyable still, feels loads better than its successor, Dungeon Defenders 2, which kind of... I dunno, there's something that's felt off about it.

No screenshots, again.

#15: Toontown Corporate Clash

What's done? The main taskline as of V1.3

Finished when? 6/5/23

Toontown Online is one of those games that kind of sit in my subconscious and only surfaces from time to time, much like stuff like Maplestory, Neopets, Kartrider (RIP OG), and maybe a few others I neglected to mention.

Now, Rewritten was the first private server I've played after TTO's servers had shut down and while I liked it for what it was, which was a nearly-pure vanilla gameplay, I felt like I had been spoiled by other more modern MMOs and it was a little rough trying to get into a groove with it. Couple that with my social anxiety and, well, I've never made much progress into Rewritten. Heck, I've yet to leave TTC there and the furthest I've gotten recently is my bear toon named Flint who is halfway through his Sound track training!

Enter: Corporate Clash. I've seen this private server variant float around for a while and thought the concept felt interesting but never really got into it until The First (Second? Third? I lost count...) Twitter Exodus and I came onto Tumblr.

You see that toon in the second screenshot, Loopy Lancelot? Yeah, that's a toon belonging to photondoesstuff, who I follow here on Tumblr, whose reblogs and likes kept putting TTCC content on my dashboard, most notably these stranger looking cogs that were classified as managers.

Combine that with the drive to see Sads the Skelecog (who is now gone from canon forever so I'll never see him now 😔), and I created my first proper toon on there, a non-binary deer who now joins the ranks of my OCs because god knows I need more of them. I'm still debating on whether I should change their name or not but this isn't the post for it.

I really loved how much they changed the game, they took the entire Toontown game, stripped it down to its components and basically said "How far can we push this game to its limits?" and they've largely succeeded.

The main taskline was an easy and clear goal, the manager fights were fun and not Sound Meta Sound Meta Sound Meta (Still have that in Cog Facilities and HQ Cog Waves (Up until Bossbot, at least)), there were more cosmetics to play around with, there's stickers, choosing your gag tracks was great and having them all levelled and KEEPING their experience if you respec was amazing, and there's still more to this if their teasers about 2.0 content is to be believed.

Sure, you get the Ship of Theseus problem with Corporate Clash where you ask if this is still Toontown even when it has been majorly reworked but I still think it has some Toontown Online DNA still in there, for better or worse, and I'm okay with that.

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#kieuecaprie gaming #kieuecaprie gamer list 2023

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jellyfishright · 1 year

Text

Still My Beautiful Man - Pt 15

*********************Hira*******************

Hira looked at the night sky as he strolled down the path home.

The moon was full, shining brightly.It was such a beautiful night but his heart felt heavy.

On impulse he reached for his camera.

An empty space.

It wasn't there. He remembered it was broken.

He'd walked this path a million times but it had never felt this lonely, if it had, he'd never noticed it before.

A person like him had always been used to trodding alone. An invisible person with no one to hold his hand.That had been his life.

This same path had become infinitely more beautiful after he met Kiyoi. During high school , they would ride on his bike. It was as they rode along on this very path that he first told Kiyoi about the beaker of change he'd kept since high school.That was the first time Kiyoi had shyly told him he loved him.

That was broken now too.

Would something else he held dear be broken?

It was just him again now and he was profoundly aware of how lonely this path was.It was so lonely it was stifling, even in the open air with the cool night breeze, he felt like he could hardly breathe.

Step after step he trudged closer to his house, uncertainty tormenting him.

If Kiyoi wasn't home, he would be glad.He wasn't ready to face reality yet. He could atleast sleep and delay it for another day.

By now he was at the gate. The lights were on. His desperate wish had been denied. He would have to face reality at this very moment.He wasn't ready.

The moment he stepped into the yard and made his way up the two short steps that beautiful figure greeted him at the door.

"You." Kiyoi said the moment he saw him..

*****************************Kiyoi***********************************

Kiyoi felt like he'd been waiting an eternity for Hira to get home. He'd paced the living room, sat in the sofa, looked out the window.There was that annoying little voice in the back of his head that constantly taunted him, reminded him of how he'd told him to "get lost" and "go away."

He hadn't meant any of it. It was because he wanted him to be close to him, be his and only his why they were in this situation to begin with. He hadn't done a very good of expressing any of that to Hira, in fact, he'd done the opposite.

His heart swelled and his nervousness quadrupled when he finally heard the sound of the gate opening.He was also relieved--- relieved that Hira had not gone away.

There were no words to describe how he felt when he finally saw Hira standing in the doorway.

"You." was the only thing he could say before darting across the room and grabbing him into his arms.

Kiyoi held him tightly, burying his face in his neck. He didn't speak and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He pulled away briefly to look at Hira's face before embracing him again.

Hira probably thought he was crazy but he didn't care. He could admit it.He was going crazy. It was a wonder he could have made it through the day.

"Kiyoi." Hira said his name in that gentle voice like he always did.It was music to his ears.

They stayed in that embrace for a long time before Kiyoi could bring himself to part.

"You're home."

"Mmn." Hira nodded.

Their embrace was over but Kiyoi held on to his hand, refusing to let go as though he was afraid his boyfriend would disappear before his very eyes.

Hira looked at their joined hands.

"Kiyoi..are you alright?"

Unshed tears threatened him again as he shook his head, looking at the ground, swallowed by shame.

"What's wrong?" Hira was very concerned.

Kiyoi exhaled sharply, as a measure to stave off his tears.

"Why did you leave?" his voice was low. "I woke up and you weren't there."

"I thought Kiyoi wouldn't want to see me." Hira's head dipped "I--I didn't want to upset you anymore."

Kiyoi's heart sank lower than the ground.

"I was so afraid.." He couldn't hold his tears anymore "I thought...." the rest of the sentence wouldn't come but his tears did.

Hira look stupefied.He'd never seen Kiyoi cry.

Kiyoi had never been vulnerable with anyone before.Even though he'd always nursed the desire to be loved, he'd also kept his defences up.Hira's love had come like a torrent, knocking him flat. He'd tried to maintain whatever little walls he had left but against Hira it was pointless. He would lose to him everytime.

He swept Hira's hair from his forehead. "Please forgive me." he sniffled. "I didn't mean it."

Hira looked even more stunned."The truth is, when it comes to you, I get a little crazy." he confessed. "You're the one thing in my life that I can never bear to lose." He gripped Hira's hand tighter. "Please don't go anywhere." His eyes were desperate as he looked at Hira.

"I won't."

Even though Hira said those words, he was still anxious.

Still holding Hira's hand he led him to the couch where they both sat.

"I'm sorry." Kiyoi apologized . "I really lost it yesterday.I was scared and angry.I know I haven't spent alot of time with you lately and when I saw that guy all over you I just ---"

It was hard for him to confess his guilt to Hira but he also knew it was necessary.There were things Hira would never know unless he said them and there were things he's said which needed to be cleared.

"Hira." he turned to face him, using his other hand to cover Hira's hand that he was already holding. "There will never be a day when I don't want you by my side." He looked at their hands "Promise me--" Hira held his gaze "Promise you will stay with me---no matter what."

"I promise."

Kiyoi hugged him again.

Feeling more at ease he stood up and went to retrieve a bag which he held out to Hira.

His boyfriend looked at the bag, then at him "For me?"

Kiyoi nodded shyly. "Take it." He encouraged, extending it further.

Hira complied.

Nervously,he watched as Hira retrieved the item inside.

"I'm sorry I broke your camera." He was truly remorseful "I know it was very important to you." He looked at the new camera which the salesperson said was the latest model of the one Hira had "I know its not the same but I hope you can use this one to make new memories."

Hira just sat there looking at the camera which made him nervous again.

"Do you like it?"

Hira smiled broadly and nodded. "Mmn"

Kiyoi was relieved.

He raised the camera and pointed it at Kiyoi

Click

Inspecting his work he saw Hira smile "Beautiful."

There he was---the man he loved with his whole heart.

He stood again, extending his hand to Hira.

"Come."

Hira set the camera down and took his hand ,allowing himself to be lead to the bedroom.

Kiyoi brought him to the little shelf in the corner.There was a new addition.

"I'm sorry about this too." He looked at the new container that housed the coins. "I know it's not the same as the one you had before but I hope you like this one.And it has more room...for us to keep adding."

He faced his boyfriend "I'm sorry.I was wrong."

Hira looked at the new beaker and smiled before tenderly caressing his face.Gently he tilted his chin upwards until their lips met.

Between them there was a long, lingering kiss, their tongues dancing intricately around each other.Hira held his face between his hands, firm but gentle.

"I missed you." Kiyoi told Hira in a breathy voice when their lips parted momentarily.

"I missed you too." Hira replied before kissing him again,lacing his fingers through his hair just like he liked.

Hira rained kisses on his face, on his jawline down to his neck. Kiyoi bit his lip.

Without breaking contact Hira began leading them to the bed when Kiyoi suddenly stopped him, using his palm to ease him off slightly.

His lips moist and his chest heaving from desire, Hira looked at Kiyoi, a question on his brow.

Kiyoi smirked and brought his hand to his shirt. One by one he undid his buttons, revealing more and more of his perfect skin . Hira was transfixed, his eyes riddled with lust as he watched his boyfriend.

There it was. That look.

Kiyoi slowly eased himself out of his shirt, casting it casually in Hira's direction.

"I need to take a shower."

His steps to the bathroom were deliberately slow.

In the bathroom he stared at his reflection and smiled when he saw that figure appear behind him in the mirror.

Hira palmed his throat with one hand, taking his ear into his mouth while his other hand gripped him firmly by the waist.Kiyoi bit his lip and closed his eyes as Hira's hands roamed from his waist downward into his pants to get a firm grip of the thing that was already swelling down below.

He gasped when his palm made contact there, rubbing gently.Hearing Kiyoi's reaction encouraged him and Hira rubbed more.

Removing his hand Kiyoi spun to face his boyfriend, kissing him deeply.Hira hoisted him on the counter,securing his own palm on the mirror.

"You went out with Koyama." Kiyoi said in between kisses.

"Mmn." Hira confirmed before kissing him again, more hungrily.

"Don't go with him." Kiyoi kissed him, tugging gently on his lips. "I don't like him."

"Mmn." Hira confirmed before kissing him again, thrusting his tongue into his mouth. "I won't."

That did it. The fire was officially lit. Pulling Hira closer he hastily relieved him of his sweatshirt, tossing it wildly aside.

Hira really was beautiful. He thought to himself when he saw his bare chest.

He wrapped his legs around Hira to keep him in place while he kissed his chest, pressing gently into his back with his nails.

Hira in the meantime was raining kisses everywhere his lips could touch. He drew his tongue along the length of Kiyoi's jawline before nibbling on his chin.

Kiyoi hopped off the counter and stood before Hira.Casting his eyes downward, it didn't take much to see how excited Hira was.He kissed Hira's lips before inching his way downward, tracing kisses down his neck, his chest,his abs. He lingered at his navel tracing its circumference with his tongue before sticking it in the middle. Hira gripped the counter.

"Kiyoi---don't." Hira touched his head when he felt his lips below his waistline.

Kiyoi swatted his hand away before pulling his pants down.

Finding what he needed , Kiyoi dotted it with little kisses at first before running his tongue along it's length. He still felt awkward doing something like this but today he wanted to love all of his boyfriend.He wanted him to know how much all of him was loved.

"K-K-Kiyoi.." Hira tried to pull him up again.

"Don't stop me." he swatted his hand away again before taking it into his mouth. An object of that size could not fit comfortably in Kiyoi's small mouth but he tried his best to accommodate it nonetheless. He was spurred on when he cast his eyes upwards and saw Hira's face. His head was tilted back slightly, his eyes closed as he bit his lips.

His boyfriend really was sexy.

Kiyoi gave it his most valiant effort before he finally allowed Hira to pull him up.

When their eyes met again, Hira's brown eyes were scalding. His cheeks were a little flushed and his breaths were uneven.

Hira swiftly switched their positions, positioning Kiyoi to face the mirror while pinning one hand behind his back.

After biting his shoulder Hira entered Kiyoi's sacred space.

His movements were slow and rhythmical at first. He held on to Kiyoi's waist as he moved.

Kiyoi beheld their forms in the mirror.They were perfectly joined at the waist.The corners of his eyes were moist and his cheeks were flushed but it was such a beautiful scene. The more he watched, the more the inferno inside of him raged.

He caught Hira's eye through the reflection of the mirror.

"Kiyoi." Hira said his name.

It was the sexiest thing he'd ever heard.

He was unable to suppress the moans coming from his lips. Hira thrusted, forcing him forward. His palm slapped the mirror, leaving a sweaty print.

"Kiyoii.." Hira said his name more earnestly.

Every sensation was driving him crazy, pushing him towards the point of crescendo-- the sights, the sounds, each point of contact.

It was building...building...building until they both found their release together.

Still joined, Hira leaned forward so his torso was rested on Kiyoi's back, the sweat from their bodies melding into each other as they tried regulate their breaths.

when their breaths were back to normal Kiyoi kissed Hira's lips.

"So beautiful." he smiled before stepping away and into the shower.

Hira watched him go before following behind.

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