#and every place favors fucking iphones

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Ok

Ok so im trying to get more into digital art cuz I wanna open up a society6 shop

I still prefer physical and would still like a scanner so I can more easily convert my stuff into a digital format

But I think im getting the hang of drawing on a screen

I had to trace my sketch from a picture of one of my drawings cuz I did not have the patience redraw it from scratch on my computer screen

⬇️ (its this one from my table project)

I wanna turn it into a sticker

And possibly design a pattern based off it

I wanna incorporate the triangle into the sticker design tho

#also probably phone cases #cuz i got very excited at seeing that society6 has cases for my phone #theyre fucking expensive as hell #but less so than fucking casetify and casetify doesnt offer as many android cases #so many youtubers are doing casetify ads these days. their cases are like 80-100 dollars #thats like a 3rd the price of my phone #they also do not carry cases for my phone cuz its a samsung from 2017 #and every place favors fucking iphones #so i cant even get cases in store half the time #and even when they have them there are far fewer options #so discovering that society6 offers cases for my phone i was very happy #cuz my only other option is amazon #which IS far cheaper #but its nice to have options

[whokilledjared]

the sluttiest thing a man can do is be himself. (& takes on social media)

Hi.

I'm lonely.

The moment I got "two weeks off school" in sophomore year, life went to 4x speed & I can't turn it off no matter how hard I try.

Maybe COVID-19 adolescence did numbers on me. Somewhere between the iPhone 5c and ChatGPT, 14-hour screen times have live-streamed to me a steady, homogenous death of culture.

Nothing is cool anymore. Nothing is sacred. Every movement is a trend, and every cult classic a sequel.

The value we place on things being beautiful, on being "cool," and our gatekept appreciation of how hard these things were to find: it's been co-opted, or perhaps stolen. It's been stolen by the new merchant class. "Disruptors" and "innovators" turning our lives into a burgeoning black mirror prequel. Soon, we'll graduate too, and we'll wring every morsel of value in each others' lives dry for cash.

Plain and simple, I think we're being manipulated.

Your dates are an algorithm. Your music is a social signal. And Zuck knows when you sleep.*

God. What the fuck are we doing???

“Individuation is becoming the thing which is not the ego, and that is very strange.” — Carl Jung

Recently, I deleted Instagram. My first impulse was to post a story or something, announcing my departure. But then, I thought that would be lame.

I got rid of my account, too. Kinda. Over 1 year, over 800 followers removed, and what remains of me is a little grey icon, and "JM_0000000010" where my name and face used to be.

yay.

There were many people I wish I could have been friends with, but I wonder, too, why I find myself so drawn to the validation of others. Does social media affect me worse, or do we all just choose to ignore it, languishing in private?

At any rate, this last year has almost felt like re-learning how to be a human being.

Personally, I think one of the biggest markers for maturity is when you become willing to disappoint the people you know in favor of what feels right to you, when you start to unravel the stories you’ve told yourself (or been told) about who you are and what you should be. In short, the sluttiest thing a man can do is be himself.

And sometimes, I think about every college student that has ever lived. My grandmother, my dad, and so on. Just consider for a moment all kids who graduated before 2010:

What was it like for the ones in 1940? To walk around, before a campus had computers? In 2006: To meet someone pretty, but forget their number? In 1999: To cram into dorms, and watch Seinfeld live on-air?

Would I, like my dad in 1988, have braved cold night, brisk wind, & landline phone-call just to knock and see if my friends were too busy to hang?

What stories could I tell if there was even the slightest chance of getting lost on the way home from a party?

Humans are social creatures. We crave our friends like water. To me, the clearest difference between Dasani and Instagram is that one of them comes in a bottle.

Yet despite these distractions and comforts we have in 2024, somehow, we still have engineering students. People who carve out time in their day to sit down, look at paper, and solve differential equations. But then, that's not so hard, is it? It just takes time. Precious, fucking, time.

At Meta, leagues and leagues of these engineers power behavioral scientists, who are competing for the highest salary. Their benchmarks? Your FOMO. Guilt. Anxiety. Obsession. The worse you feel, the more you engage with their content. The more you engage with their content, well, you're starting to get the point.

Try something for me: Open up Instagram, but don't tap anything. What happens? How many little animations? How many tiny nudges prompting you to get lost? Our home-pages are billion-dollar diving boards, hoisting us over engineered catacombs of subconscious quicksand.

My homepage is my FOMO, my envy, and my crushes. The pain and struggle of trying to be someone who I am not. My little existential crises, bundled-up, packaged, and shipped with a like button.

To abandon your social networks entirely, however, requires a safety net of close friends. After all, your friends are online, and you'd be miserable without them.

This is the problem with our monkey brains. Millennia of sociological natural-selection have made us quite great at feeling terrible. We're damn good at making tribal status games to play with, too.

Seeking refuge in quirked up septum piercings and boygenius listeners, my time in counter-cultural, alternative "scenes" between St. Louis and Tampa has shown me that even the weirdest of folks and the most removed can accidentally find themselves reduced to nothing more than high-school popularity contests. Even if I love them. Even if they're amazing people. We're human.

We can't "quit social media" as much as we can't "quit bottled water" Sure, we can, but it's inconvenient. And even without a bottle, we're still drinking water.

So I lost touch with my friends. I got no new updates on their lives. I forced myself into the inconvenience of not having a phone to reach for in fleeting moments of boredom. Suddenly, I was out of the loop. Suddenly, I was bored. And suddenly, nobody missed me. My only friends were the ones I had the time to text. Everyone else ... does not exist.

Weekends have become more valuable than ever. Without the empty social calories of seeing my friends' pictures, I find myself planning hangouts as often as my schedule allows. I have more lunches, more study sessions, and more is done in the company of less.

And I have the time to breathe.

And in this calm, I think I found my answer: it's my misplaced ambition. These fears of anxiety and people I thought I would miss, they seem represent something I want to see more of within myself. Something I want to develop, lean into more deeply, as an individual. And I think that's quite normal; to look out into the world and feel attracted to things we want to see more of. This is, I think, how everyone develops their own definition of beauty — and of coolness. It's largely the intersection of what we find most interesting, and what we want to see more of in the world. Because beauty and coolness, by definition, are rare and hard to find. If they were everywhere, nothing be beautiful, nor would anything be cool.

When we all turn into wrinkles and cataracts, bad backs and heart attacks, for a brief, glorious moment, our lives are going to flash before our eyes. In this moment, you'll see your story. The ultimate progression of you.

How much of that will be skibidi toilet and reaction clips? How much of that will be arguing on the internet? Can you tell me, just how much of your life will you have skipped over to pacify your intentionally-lowered attention span?

That girl whose number you couldn't find Those passing questions over coffee that you couldn't search on Google The boredom of a subway ride

Those are not inconveniences, they're what the older generations refer to as "life."

* (oh, but if you can't sleep, consider this aside: Google knows the angle you walk at, how fast you're walking, and they've got crowdsourced pictures of everywhere around you at all times of the day. fun bedtime thoughts <3)

#scene #alternative #social media #social justice #instagram #college #coming of age #writing #blogpost #blog takes

[silvermoon424]

Do not use JapanCodeSupply

Posting this in the tags of every popular gacha game I can think of so I can warn people not to use a particular Japanese iTunes card-selling service. For those unaware, iPhone users can purchase Japanese iTunes codes so they can buy in-game currency for Japanese mobile games (usually gacha games).

I'd been using a site called JapanCodeSupply for a bit to buy cards in order to buy in-game currency for my one and only gacha game, Magia Record. It was going okay one day until they sent me a code that had been previously used. Obviously upset by this, I went to their customer support on Twitter and asked for a new code. After doing a bunch of steps to confirm that I wasn't scamming them, they sent me a new, unused code. I figured it was a fluke and moved on.

A few weeks later, I bought another card (this time for a much larger amount) and once again recieved a used code. I was once again pretty upset but decided to go to customer support. They had me go through all the steps again to prove I wasn't scamming them... and then sent me a canned response about how their code system "had a 100% success rate" and how they would not be giving me a new code. No matter how many times I argued, I kept getting generic, canned responses from their support team.

I opened up a case on PayPal (which I had used to pay the site) and am currently waiting for my case to be resolved. This happened back in late August and I wasn't going to say anything until the case closed, but what pissed me off is that JapanCodeSupply was silent for weeks after I opened the case until I escalated it. Then they just provided a tracking number (what? it's a digital order, there would be no tracking number), presumably in the hopes that the PayPal overseer would be overworked, see a tracking number, and decide in their favor.

So yeah, fuck this company. They knowingly send out used codes to people and then refuse to reimburse them even after they provide the evidence the company themselves asked for. If you want an alternative place to buy Japanese iTunes cards, I recommend PlayAsia instead. I have had zero issues with them and they are overall a far more reputable company.

#fgo #magia record #fire emblem heroes #arknights #fate grand order #azur lane #Genshin Impact #princess connect! re:dive #uma musume #signal boost #scam #proxy service #warning

[all-hail-the-witcher]

questionable government spies, but better written and 5 years late chapter 2: please don't scramble my eggs

back at it again :)

i got stuck in florida for 5 days and produced this

___

words: 750 (short but its necessary)

edited: yes :)

warnings: kidnapping, threats, gangs

tags: @jack-kellys @ainti-pretty @boygirlctommy (let me know if you want to be tagged)

ch 1 | read it on ao3

___

*24 hours earlier*

It was a normal day for Spot. Which should have been his first red flag. There were no normal days when you worked for The Anonymous. 

Which was why he really shouldn't have been surprised when between one second and the next he was getting knocked out and thrown in a van. 

Next thing he knew he was blinking his eyes open in a dim, dank room. One single lightbulb flickered annoyingly above him and thick rope dug into his wrists. Something chirped in the corner. Rats, most likely. Spot wasn’t sure if the higher ups in the gang simply had no money or just had a thing for shitty movie interrogation core rooms because believe it or not, this was not the first time that he had ended up in a room that looked like this. 

“Sean Patrick Conlon.” 

Fucking Christ. 

“Oscar if you wanted to talk to me you could have just asked like a normal person,” Spot sighed. “We work in the same building. There was really no need to pull out all the stops for me.”

Oscar stepped into the light, a sickly smile stretched across his stupid face. The hilt of the silver knife he was rolling between his hands clicked against his many gold rings. Spot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You know you shouldn’t talk to me like that,” Oscar grinned. “Not after everything I’ve done for you.” 

“I wasn’t aware that kidnapping me and tying me to a chair fell into that category” 

Faster than he could blink, Spot felt the tip of Oscar’s knife digging into his collar bone. He ground his teeth together so he wouldn’t flinch. It wouldn’t do him any favors. He waited for Oscar to make some kind of smart ass comment, but what he said instead was far more terrifying. 

“Why did you never tell any of us that you have a sister?” 

Spot’s blood went cold. He hadn’t seen Grace in years. She had been placed in a different foster home than he had been after their mom had dropped off of the face of the earth and he had never been able to find her again after he had aged out. After a few years he had come to accept the fact that she had likely been adopted by whatever family she had been placed with.

He fought to maintain his composure. “So what if I do?” 

Oscar was unfazed. “Grace Michaels. You know she’s living in the city? 42 West 64th street. She has a cat named Slippers. Her Amazon package is arriving today, she ordered a new 10 foot iphone charger. She left the house at 7:33am with her fiancée. Did you know she was getting married? I’m assuming he didn’t ask for your permission.” 

Spot narrowed his eyes. Straining against the rope would just make Oscar more annoyed. 

“His name is Patrick Cortes,” Oscar continued. “He proposed during their vacation two months ago in Italy. The date is already set for next November. She picked out her dress two weeks ago.” 

“What do you want with Grace?” Spot asked, fighting to keep a straight face. In a way, it was comforting to know that Grace was still alive and seemingly okay, but if Oscar was interested in her then that might not last for much longer. 

Oscar flipped his knife in his hands. “Tomorrow morning you are going to go to the FBI Headquarters in Times Square and you are going to turn yourself in. In exchange for your immunity you are going to offer to work with their agents in order to take down this organization. You will refuse to work with every agent except for Antonio Higgins. You will build trust with him and help him to infiltrate our organization. After one month you will double cross him, leading him to his death.”

“And why would I do that?” Spot had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer. 

“Because it would be a shame if your sister was in a horrible accident before her wedding, don’t you think?” Oscar smirked. 

“You’re sick.” 

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not my plan. This one’s direct from the higher ups.” 

“Of course it is,” Spot muttered. “I’m assuming I have no choice?” 

“Not unless you want your roommate to find your head on his doorstep.” 

Spot tried to imagine Elmer opening the door of their apartment to his head in a cardboard box. Not a good mental image. Especially when Elmer thought that he worked as a security guard at a Hilton hotel. 

“Do I have to kill him?” Spot asked. That was his one remaining boundary. Over the years they had pushed him to do worse and worse things, but he had still remained firm in the fact that he didn't want to kill anyone.

“No,” Oscar said. “The higher ups have a plan for him.” Spot resisted the urge to shudder. Hopefully whoever this Antonio was was an asshole so that he didn't feel bad about leading him to what was surely to be a terrible and painful death.

It was a lose lose situation and as usual, the only way out was through. That was how things worked around here. And the worst part was, he was stuck here.

“So are you in?”

“Yeah.” Spot hated that he didn’t even hesitate. “I’m in.”

___

:O evil spot

ch3 will be long and incredible to make up for how short this one is

let me know what you think !!!

#saphie scribbles #newsies #newsies fic #ralbert #sprace #spot conlon #spies 2.0 #sprace newsies #racetrack higgins

[godlytransurfer]

List of things I ever remember manifesting (for remembering and self motivation purposes, as well as for you guys):

Before being conscious:

- Instant changes in personality and talents

- Being perceived exactly as I want in every sense, wether my physical self corresponded to it or not

- My teeth being super straight because I didn’t want to wear braces when I was younger

- A childhood friend that I never remember meeting in kindergarten because I thought there was no one I wanted to be friends with, became my constant friend throughout life

- Crushes liking me back up to extreme degrees and pursuing relationships with me

- Supernatural boyfriend (yikes)

- Conscious friends I designed in my head and that did in fact remember me from 4D

- Fame (decided I didn’t want it though)

- MacBook Pro and 2 iPhones

- The latest expensive DSLR camera at the time

- Winning giveaways

- Being in magazine covers

- Instant temporary or permanent personality changes in people

- Memory and physical proof of events wipeout

- Disappearance of objects

- Manipulation of world events (mainly associated with taxes because a girl loves to shop and politics because fuck oppressive leaders)

- Moving anywhere I want to

- Temporary eye color changes

- Money

- Manipulation of perceived time as in it going back, moving slower or faster

- Getting what I want even if I missed what seemed to be the right place and time

- Fashion trends

- Receiving lost orders on days that mail isn’t even supposed to be delivered

- Making stores, services and products that were oddly specific appear in my area

- Free concert tickets

- Being acknowledged and befriended by famous people from all over the world like actors, singers and important people in the industries I have interest in which always ended up having common very specific interests with me

- Getting free items I wanted

- Astrology chart changes in others when I was into that crap

- Flight cancelations

After becoming fully conscious:

- Being fearless

- Popularity intensified

- Major discounts in a lot of new clothes, shoes and expensive cosmetics

- Inducing huge sales, tax free changes and free shipping on my favorite sites

- Getting items from the site that weren’t being sold anymore and that were suddenly available in my size only

- Getting food delivery on places that weren’t even open at that schedule

- Weather changes, either scheduled or instant

- Celebrity relationships that I decided on being real

- Wiping out things that I didn’t want in my reality to the point there was no proof and no one remembered instantly (freaky)

- Making objects appear on command

- Making People message me just because I thought of them for a few minutes (not sure if I liked this)

- Situations going in my favor with exact monologues I wrote then being spoken by others to the most tiniest detail.

- Super specific texts messages and thought transferring

- Manifested actual millionaire and famous friends which I didn’t even know existed and seemed so obviously randomly generated for my reality, and also taught me on things I wanted to learn about

- Clear skin

- Got rid of skin and food allergies/ reactions and stomach problems I was convinced by others I had

- Got rid of the fear of astrology and all that crap dictating my love life and my living years

- Temporarily lived in a penthouse with a partner

- Weight loss and keeping up with it despite eating everything I want and I eat a lot (went to 40 something kgs)

- Friends getting into relationships

- Instant summoning of knowledge for assignments and exams I didn’t knew nothing of, or very little, or that I improvised. Through quick bridge of events or instant summoning. Also I know for a fact that some stuff I wrote down didn’t make sense at all for what it actually was but I still passed against all logic.

- Getting taken on dates to specific places and restaurants, getting ordered specific foods without saying anything

- Perfected time manipulation: Doing a lot in a short time frame, making time go back or forward, time freezing

- Ended up in the void after freezing time without even knowing what it was, just assumed I had fully detached from 3D

- Mastered perfect revision (found it annoying at one point though that I was revising everything instead of going back to self concept and assuming it was gonna work out in my favor and permanently getting rid of things like it did before I was conscious)

- Not sleeping for 6 months to test the law and how the consequences of hearing about what is the health limit for us is actually that impactful or not if you refuse to believe it

- More money, even on specific dates

- Extremely fast order deliveries

- Home renovations

- New fridge

- Cancelations of exams, postponing of exams, teachers passing everyone out of sudden laziness or mercy

- Postponing flights and life events of people I knew

- Making people move across continents

- Finding good blogs and a good neville community on here after feeling annoyed I was the only one who seemed to be practicing it in a more easy way before coaches and people more in lack came along (which I don’t blame, I was just a bit confused for a long time thanks to that)

#godlytransurfer #law of assumption #manifesting #neville goddard #sammy ingram #affirmations #manifestation #joe dispenza #self concept #law of attraction #manifestations #the void method #scripting #shifting #mysticism #subliminals #joseph murphy #success story #power of the subconscious mind #reality transurfing #becoming supernatural #desired reality

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

pause, m | myg | 2

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

warnings: rated M (18+) - please be warned this story has a physically and verbally abusive relationship; language; emotional manipulation; gender stereotyping; non-idol!AU; music producer!Yoongi x dancing fanatic!reader

rated M because I know how sensitive a topic domestic abuse is.

The music reader listens to is inspired by Frederic, specifically their songs ‘oodloop’, ‘OWARASE NIGHT’, and ‘Kanashii Ureshii’ and you can look up the MVs on YT. They have subs, yes the lyrics inspired certain scenes, no I have no idea what is going on, and I don’t know why they’re dancing like that lol

–

1.

-

She slapped him across the face.

You froze.

The cassette smashed.

“I hate you, Min Yoongi!”

She shouted it so loud that you heard it over your music. Your finger instinctively went to your earbud and tapped it, pausing the sound. You couldn’t believe your eyes. What had this guy done? What had this guy done to be yelled at like that the second he stepped off the night train to stand in front of his girlfriend?

“Useless piece of trash, always fucking late!”

Slapping him over and over, so loud because the train station was completely empty except for you and these two, yelling obscenities and the guy was just standing there, taking it, saying, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry for what? Why did she keep hitting him? Why? Stop it. Stop hitting him.

“Such a fucking waste of life, I can’t believe I have to be your girlfriend!”

Stop it.

“No one will ever fucking love you, you shithead, so I’m stuck with your stupid self!”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Mumbles. Fear.

Stop it!

“You think anyone will ever do anything for you the way I do? I’m all you have!”

Within two seconds, you crossed the space between you and them.

You smacked her hand away from him.

Pause.

You hesitated to press play. Standing in front of this random guy you didn’t even know, fury in your chest so strong that you forgot you were a stranger, glaring at this scowling, rage-filled woman with vehement disdain. You had no idea what the fuck was going on, you had no idea why he was being slapped so much, you had no idea why this woman was so angry and maybe there were very good reasons for it all, but somehow.

Somehow you didn’t think so.

Play.

“Stop it. He said he was sorry,” you barked, narrowing your eyes.

Her pretty face twisted with rage. “Who the fuck is this bitch, Yoongi? A whore you picked up?”

“I… I don’t know her…” the man behind you rasped, trying to move around you, but you kept yourself between the two, shouldering your backpack.

“I don’t know him. I just know you shouldn’t be hitting someone like that.”

The woman snapped at you, rising to her full height, challenging you. “This isn’t any of your fucking business. This is between me and him and doesn’t concern outsiders. Tell her, Yoongi.”

But you didn’t let Yoongi tell you, cutting him off as he tried to speak.

“This isn’t my business, but I’ve seen enough examples to be able to spot domestic violence when I see it,” you growled.

The woman scoffed, flipping her hair. “Domestic violence,” she snorted. “He’s a man. It’s not like I hit him that hard. I’m a woman.”

You curled your hands into fists.

“You stupid bully.”

The woman looked taken aback. “What?”

“I said, you’re a stupid fucking bully,” you snarled, taking a step forward and forcing her to take one back. “You think this is nothing, until you have children and your children have to watch this shit over and over, every night, thinking it’s right, thinking it’s the way it should be, but you’re fucking wrong, because this is not a relationship, this is not love, this is fucking bullying and you are a stupid, dumb bully who can’t admit you have an inferiority complex and your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example, so do me a fucking favor and get the fuck out of here and leave this guy alone, because you are an absolute sewage of a human being.”

She gawked at you, slack-jawed, probably never been talked to in such a forceful manner before, but you didn’t care, because you didn’t spend years in therapy to watch this shit happen right in front of your face.

Never in your entire life had you ever been so angry at a stranger before.

The woman seemed to gather her bearings and spat at the floor, staining the concrete with her spit. You raised your eyebrows, unintimated. She stamped her foot at your lack of reaction, pointing accusingly at Yoongi behind you.

“Don’t you ever think about coming back home. I’m burning all your shit.”

She turned her heel and stomped away.

You almost expected Yoongi to run after her, but he didn’t. He just stood behind you and breathed laboriously. You suddenly realized that you might have done something mildly insane. She said she was going to burn all his shit.

“Hmph,” you heard the mumble behind you. “All I had was clothes anyway.”

You turned around. He wasn’t looking at you. His black hair was all over his face, and his face mask was half-pulled down, revealing his red cheeks. You looked away quickly, taking a step back.

“Are you… okay?” you asked quietly.

You saw his eyes shift around. He didn’t actually respond. Just shrugged.

You bit your lip.

Silence.

“There… are no more trains,” the Yoongi guy whispered.

“Y… Yeah.”

Silence.

The lights above you were harsh, casting large shadows all over the concrete. Nothing but the sounds of the city and the darkness above, the moon witnessing it all.

He turned away from you, walking over towards the benches. Walking away. The crumpled paper of a man, shrinking as he took one step, then another, farther and farther away from you, and you opened your mouth to shout after that black back, extending your hand in the air.

“H-Hey!”

Pause.

He turned his head around to look at you with broken and lonely eyes.

“If you want… I have a couch and some blankets.” You swallowed, knowing how crazy it was. “Because… You shouldn’t go back. I…” Don’t want you to end up like my dad. “Even if it’s one night.”

I want to break this cycle.

“Just one.” You lowered your hand, holding up one finger. “One.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

Only turned around wordlessly and walked back to you, stopping in front of you. Saying nothing.

He didn’t say anything the entire walk.

Didn’t say anything as you opened the door and gestured him inside. Showed him the couch, got him the blankets. Asked him if he wanted anything else. He shook his head instead of talking. You ran to your room and got him a spare pillow. Held it out to him. He took it silently. Ran off again and got a new toothbrush from your stash of toothbrushes. An unopened travel toothpaste. Asked him if he wanted anything to eat. A glass of water. He shook his head.

Showed him the bathroom. A shower?

Shake, shake.

Okay.

You told him if he was cold to let you know. You would find another blanket.

Yoongi said nothing.

You nodded and turned away, letting him be. It was hard to look at him. You didn’t want him to think you pitied him or anything. But he reminded you too much of your dad if you stared at him too long. You had gotten him everything you could think of and let him know that if he needed anything to tell you.

You went to your bedroom and let out a big sigh.

No dance party tonight.

You went to your computer and opened Spotify. Put your headphones on and listened to the music, letting it carry you away. Before you knew it, one song flowed into another. You slowly began to bounce your head to the music, the cheerful, quirky beats making you smile, your hands moving on their own, lip-syncing the lyrics.

A happy tune with sad lyrics, but it made you smile at the same.

You failed to notice Yoongi appear at your door, holding his phone. He needed a charger. Did you have one? And then he saw the back of your head, bouncing along, headphones on.

He retreated back to your living room, clutching his phone. Decided to go to sleep instead.

Hours later, you finally decided to sleep, placing your headphones down. Was Yoongi sleeping? You padded over to the dark living room, seeing a bundled form on your couch. His coat was over the blanket. His head was under the blanket. Was he cold? You went back to your room and collected a pink knit one. Walked back to the living room and moved his jacket aside onto the armchair, putting the extra blanket on top of him.

His phone was on your coffee table, flashing. It was low on battery.

You checked if it was Android or iPhone. Android. Good, because you didn’t have a lightning cable, although you would have gone to the twenty-four-hour convenience store nearby to get one if he did have an iPhone. Back to your room. Got a charger and struggled to find an outlet in the dark. You’d think you would know where your own outlets were, but apparently you were too sleepy to remember. You felt around in the dark and poked at an outlet, stabbing the wall repeatedly before plugging it in. Maybe you should have turned a light on, sheesh.

You snaked the cable around and plugged his phone in. It vibrated approvingly and you gave it a thumbs up, even though it was an inanimate object.

Let’s just say living alone made you weird.

You let out an exhale and wandered off to brush your teeth.

Not noticing Yoongi had woken up and been watching your struggle. Saying nothing.

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Morning.

You yawned and nearly jumped when you saw the unmoving pink blob on your couch. Oh, right. You were surprised he wasn’t awake, but you shrugged. The blankets were over his head, blocking out the sun. You tried to stay quiet, opening your fridge, staring at the contents.

Staring at it with a million question marks.

You had… kimchi. Eggs. Cheese. Definitely expired take-out. You took that out and dumped it in the trash can, grimacing at it. A stranger didn’t need to see how disgusting that was. You went back to your fridge. Um. It wasn’t that you couldn’t cook, it was that you didn’t have jack shit. And if you cooked on the stove, you would definitely wake up Yoongi.

Your stomach screamed in rage.

Feed me!

Ah, well. Sorry Yoongi. You settled on a kimchi-egg-cheese pancake thing. Was it going to be good? Sure. Was it not the most elegant thing in the world? Maybe. What can you do?

You began to chop the kimchi.

-

Yoongi turned over on the couch, groaning. He heard the sizzle of the pan. Smelled spice. Eggs. The world was unfamiliar. No one was yelling at him to get up. No one was doing the blankets off of him and calling him a lazy pig. 

"Motherfuc–!"

A female voice cursed in a loud whisper. You cut yourself off, muttering.

"Stupid oil, ugh."

Not his girlfriend. 

Slowly, Yoongi pulled the blankets off his head. An unfamiliar scent, different laundry detergent than he was used to. The sofa smelled different too, like vanilla with a hint of stale popcorn. Probably from being dropped in the cushions and forgotten about until months later. 

His stomach growled. 

The smell of the food enticed him. He got up, seeing you at the stove, wearing black pajamas with the sleeves rolled to your elbows, and a cream scrunchie holding your hair up. You made a face at the pan and scolded it. 

"Who's the boss here?" you hissed hotly at the sizzling food. "That's right, me, because I'm about to eat your ass, so simmer down and stop trying to singe my arm hair off."

Yoongi blinked. 

He got off the couch as you continued your quiet tirade, shoving your hand into a bag of cheese and sprinkling it on top, laying down a generous layer. 

You should cover it, Yoongi thought. To let the cheese melt. 

You grabbed a pan lid, and covered it. The lid definitely went to a separate set because it was a different shade of silver, but it didn't matter. You mumbled triumphantly at the pan. 

"Ha, take that, you stupid eggs, who's in the hot seat now, eh?"

Yoongi stared.

You lifted the lid and checked the cheese. A billow of smoke floated out. You seemed satisfied and turned off the gas. Lifted the pan and spun around. 

Froze. 

Yoongi blinked at you. 

Your eyes were wide, still holding the hot pan. 

Silence. 

A good ten seconds past. 

You slowly put the pan on the cork potholders at the counter. Two plates were at the counter with two sets of chopsticks.

"Uh... I made a kimchi-egg pancake t-thing..." you stuttered. "With cheese on top. You don't have to eat it. But I'm not going to poison you or anything. Er, well, that's something a someone who would poison you would say, huh? Oh, maybe I should have checked the expiration date on the kimc–"

"Why do you talk to your food?" Yoongi asked pointedly.

You turned bright red. 

"Um... bad habit. 'Cause I live alone..." You shifted your eyes. "No one... to talk to."

Yoongi stared at you. 

You turned around abruptly and grabbed a knife. Took off the pan lid. The kitchen was suddenly filled with the delicious smell of eggs and kimchi. The cheese bubbled as you cut it into pizza-like slices.

Yoongi sat down at the barstool, staring at it. He was the one who usually cooked. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal by someone else in forever. Not since he lived with his parents. 

That was a long time ago. 

"I seasoned the eggs beforehand and poured it on the sautéed kimchi..." You placed a plate with a pair of chopsticks in front of him, ears still red. You avoided looking him in the eye, scratching your cheek. "I, uh, have to go grocery shopping," you mumbled, taking a slice. "Sorry it's not that fancy..."

Yoongi picked up the chopsticks and took a slice. He blew in it carefully and took a small bite. Spicy, savory, delicious. He took another bite. And another. The food was hot, almost burning the roof of his mouth. This must be a dream. He wasn't in his nightmare. He wasn't going to question it. 

As long as he wasn't in his nightmare, he could pretend this was reality. 

Yoongi didn't notice you watching him with relief. 

He took another slice. The meal was quiet, but not suffocatingly so. It was calm, only interrupted by chewing. You reached into the cabinet below you and produced a water bottle. Put it next to him. Didn't say anything. Yoongi are three more slices, throat prickling with the spice, lips puffy, before he opened the water bottle and drank from it.

"If you want, I can direct you to a shelter."

Yoongi put the water bottle down. Stared at his stained, now empty plate. 

"Or you can call a friend to shelter you," you continued. "You can even get a restraining order if we involve the police–"

"No."

He said the word with harsh finality. 

"It's not that bad."

It wasn't. He was just being a child, running away. 

"... Okay."

Yoongi looked up. For a split second, there was immense pain in your eyes. Why? None of this was happening to you. You didn't know anything. You were just some stranger. Why was he even here? Why had he come here to sleep on some random couch? So dumb. Some random woman couldn't save him from his problems. 

... Your kids will spend years in fucking therapy wondering why they don’t understand how to make relationships with other human beings because their mom was a terrible fucking example...

Yoongi stilled as he remembered your words from last night. That was far too specific. His brows furrowed. You let out a sigh and took his plate.

"Do you want a shower?" you asked. "I have spare towels."

Yoongi tilted his head. "I don't have a change of clothes." He stared at the hardwood floor. "And my other clothes are probably burned by now."

You placed the dishes in the sink and began to wash them. 

"We can go buy some. I need groceries anyway."

He didn't understand why you were being so nice to him. It was strange. You didn't know him. Well, actually... he didn't even know your name either. 

"Uh..."

You looked up from the dishes, hands covered in soap. Yoongi did all the dishes at home. He did all the housework, in fact. This was weird, watching another person do housework. His voice was quiet, timid, crumpled like a piece of paper. 

"What's your name?" 

-

"Do you want white or black?"

You held up two multi-packs of t-shirts in his size.

"Uh... Black."

You dumped the black in the cart and put the other back. Yoongi stayed behind you, not picking out anything. You were wearing your backpack, a black cap, red wide-knit sweater, and black jeans. Black combat boots, the familiar staple for you. The two of you are standing in an aisle at the local convenience store. Yoongi was still wearing the same clothes from last night – black parka, black turtleneck, black jeans, black face mask. 

He mostly stared at the floor, following your boots. 

"White or black?"

Yoongi looked up to see you on the other side of the cart, holding two multi-packs of underwear. White briefs and black boxer briefs. He felt his cheeks heat up as you blinked at him. Instead of speaking, he grabbed the black boxer briefs from your hand, intending to chuck them into the cart.

Except his jacket sleeve caught a strand of your red sweater, the Velcro sticking to and unraveling it, so that when he twisted his hand to throw the plastic pack into the cart, the yarn tangled around his fingers and got caught, rapidly getting pulled around. Your eyes widened, gasping as the red string was yanked from your sweater. 

"O-oh!"

"Fuck!"

His hand was tangled in it and the part around your wrist tightened, the missing yarn causing the constriction. Yoongi cursed again, trying to shake free, panic rising. Oh no, fuck, what if you got angry? What if you started yelling at–?

You laughed. 

You started laughing. Yoongi froze, slowly lifting his head to witness your laughter. Your shoulders shook, shaking your head, big smile on your face. The yarn hung in the air, shaking a little.

The red string connecting you to him. 

Yoongi stared. 

At you.

His heart thudded in his chest. 

Thump. 

"Hold on," you chortled, reaching over and following the red yarn.

Thump.

His heart was like a bass drum. Consistent and loud, rhythm in his own ears. You untangled the mess slowly, carefully, wrapping the exposed end loosely around your wrist. Finally, it was off his fingers. Your fingers were centimeters from the back of his hand. You grasped the red yarn tightly. Yoongi looked at the end, trapped in the Velcro of his parka.

Thump. 

A fleeting feeling. 

Happiness.

You ripped the red yarn off, the end frizzy and scraggly. 

Another fluttering feeling. 

Sadness. 

You backed up, going back to the cart, tucking the end in next to your wrist, all chuckles. Thump, thump, thump. He couldn't breathe. It was impossible. What was going on? Why did he suddenly start shaking all over?

"I'm sorry," he blurted, breathless in panic. 

You shook your head, waving a hand. 

"Don't worry about it. This thing is old anyway." You pointed to the rack. "Is four enough? Or do you need more?"

"U-uh..."

"Let's get one more. I can always return it if you change your mind."

-

"Do you have a job to go to? Because I have to go soon," you were saying as you shoved the groceries into the fridge. Yoongi was unwrapping the plastic and cutting off the tags from the few clothing items you two had bought. 

"Um... yeah, I work at a music studio..." Yoongi mumbled. "I make my own hours."

"And it ends right before the last train, right?" you affirmed, nearly dropping the green onions and making a mad dash for them before they touched the ground. Whew. You shoved them back in your fridge. You didn’t really have an organization system. You probably should. Being an adult was hard.

"... Yeah."

"Cool, you should take a shower now then. I'll get a towel, hold on!"

You scrambled out of the kitchen to find a towel in the linen closet, the fridge door still open. 

"... Alright..."

-

Pause.

Fast forward.

-

Yoongi spent the entire train ride tense. You sat in your usual spot, humming along, bobbing your head to your music in your earbuds. Neither of you attempted to sit next to the other. Yoongi fully expected his girlfriend to be there as he stepped out of the train, at the last stop. He thought he was going to get yelled at once again. He thought she would be there to smack him upside the head again. He braced himself as the doors opened, exhaling deeply as he walked out of the sliding doors.

"Ugh, I need some energy," you mumbled behind him, yawning. 

No one was there. 

The bright streetlamps only illuminated the concrete. 

"Hey, Yoongi."

He turned his head to see you tilting yours. 

"You coming?"

You bounced on your heels. He remembered your usual routine. 

"Wanna race?" you asked with a big grin. 

-

Morning. Night. Morning. Night. 

Empty station at the last stop. No one but you and him getting off. 

Morning. Night. 

"Hey, Yoongi."

Morning. 

"You coming?"

Night. 

“Wanna race?”

Repeat.

The cassette tape replayed over and over, flipped around in the stereo, day in, day out, stuck on replay, a weird reality that wasn't his until it became his, seeing your face when he woke up, watching you cook breakfast in the morning, chastising inanimate objects when you thought he wasn't looking.

Your lips asking him once again. 

"You coming?"

Then you and him, breaking out into a run, racing to your apartment. 

At first, Yoongi didn't smile. 

Then one day, he did. 

And he kept smiling, smiling as he ran breathlessly with you. 

-

"What are you doing?"

You froze. 

Literally one second before you heard those words, you had been wiggling your arms like an octopus in front on your full-length mirror, flapping the long sleeves of your over-sized blue sweatshirt, your billowy knee-length gray shorts following suit. You reached up to your Bluetooth headphones to take them off.

And realized, with heated cheeks, that the music was not coming from your headphones, but the Bluetooth speakers on your desk, blaring the odd twangs of guitar and quirky drum beats, paired with whiny, almost nonsensical lyrics. 

You turned around. 

Yoongi stood at the entrance of your bedroom door, staring. He was wearing a black t-shirt. Black sweatpants that were slightly too short, exposing his pale ankles. 

The song went into the guitar solo. 

He blinked at you. 

"Uh... dancing?"

Blink. 

Normally after work, Yoongi would either be asleep or watching television in your living room. You told him cable came with the apartment and you never watched TV, so he should at least watch some in your stead. You usually went to your room. The first couple nights, you only danced in your chair. Then you got up and danced next to your desk, and then you were back to your wacky mirror dancing, thinking that if it was though headphones, then Yoongi wouldn't notice. 

But, of course, you had disturbed him with your music blasting through the speakers, which had never been disconnected all this time because, well, how were you supposed to know? They must have connected because your over-ear headphones died.

"That was dancing?" Yoongi echoed.

Your eyes shifted. "Er... it's stress relieving?"

Yoongi stared at you.

Blink. 

The song changed. One of your favorites. 

Your shoulders began to bounce. Your head tapped to the beat. Then your heel. 

Blink. 

"Are you possessed?" Yoongi asked with a deadpan look. 

The tune was getting to the good bit with the xylophone. Fuck it. He had already seen you octopus it up. You began to bob your head from side to side, breaking out to a big grin, shooting him some finger guns before going back to your full-body jiggle and arm flapping, singing along on the top of your lungs, prancing around your room, Yoongi staring at you the entire time in mild shock. He probably thought you were psychotic, but who cared, because you were clapping along to the snare drum, skipping in circles, pointing at him at certain parts in the lyrics and playing air guitar. 

His normally downcast cat-like eyes were huge.

You grabbed his hands at the guitar solo and he yelped, his arms rippling as you swung them around, you stumbling through the lyrics, singing the absurd words, and Yoongi gawking wide-eyed.

The song went to the final chorus and you wiggled like a fucking squid. 

Only to see Yoongi burst out laughing and wiggle his arms with you, tiny wiggles compared to your full-blown tentacle swings, but it made you laugh too, because it was all stupid and ridiculous and very embarrassing. 

With a start, you realized you had seen Yoongi laugh. 

And he looked so wonderful laughing, perfect teeth and pink gums, huge smile and scrunched-up face, black hair falling back from the strength of his chuckling, revealing his lovely fair-skinned features and those cat-like eyes sparkling.

Sparkling with brightness. 

The song ended and you were panting breathlessly.

Yoongi raised his eyebrows in disbelief, half-smirk on his lips. 

"Your music taste is nuts."

You smiled as the next song started. 

"Nah, this is just my nighttime dance party music. It's supposed to be crazy."

You flapped your sleeves to the beat of the drum. Grinned at him. 

"Because every night should be a dance party."

And you started dancing again, Yoongi watching you and laughing, even joining in sometimes. 

From then on, every night was a dance party. At one point, Yoongi started to bring you songs and weird beats he discovered for you to dance to. He even said a few times, "Hey, I made this. Can you make a dance from it?"

You'd dance to anything. 

You weren't great at it. 

But it was always hilarious. 

And it was always worth it, watching Yoongi laugh all night. 

-

Pause. 

Fast forward. 

Wait. Are you sure?

You can always rewind. 

You don't have to press play. 

Pause.

Play. 

-

“Do you like rap?”

You were sitting next to Min Yoongi on the night train. There were still people around, not yet the last stop. He was clutching his phone, face mask on his chin. He looked a little nervous.

“Yeah, of course. I like all music,” you said cheerfully. “Something you want me to dance to?”

Yoongi chuckled a little, giving you that little half-smirk. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I’m a… music producer. And I… I make music. And I wondered if you wanted to listen to a little bit my mixtape.”

“I do.”

Yoongi looked taken aback. You grinned.

“I definitely want to listen to it.”

You connected your earbuds to his phone and listened carefully. His words, his beat, his rhythm. Yoongi sat beside you, wrapped in his black parka, looking nervous as he chewed on his lip, but you didn’t notice, bobbing your head to certain bits, mouthing the chorus, raising your eyebrows as he altered the framework of a traditional song. He had only five tracks on the playlist, but you listened to them all, holding his phone. When the playlist ended, you clicked back to your favorite parts and replayed them, over and over, listening to his strong, raspy voice.

Yoongi sounded confident when he was rapping.

Like he was meant to do it, perfectly expressing himself with his simple words and elegant phrasing, his anger, his sorrow, his hopes. You could tell there was an underlying theme, an uncertainty about the future. As if he was taking steps to an invisible, unlit path, and he wasn’t sure whether to run forward without a guiding light or go back to all he knew.

You handed him back his phone with a smile. You understood him a little better now.

“Well?” he asked, still biting his lip.

“I really like it,” you said. “Especially your vocals. It’s different from other voices I’ve heard.”

“… It’s not that–”

“And I like your lyrics. They’re simple, but they pack a punch and make you think.” You smiled widely. “I like music that makes me want to listen to it over and over again. That’s how your rap makes me feel.”

Yoongi looked stunned.

You pointed to his phone. “You could release it just like this, if you wanted.” You tilted your head. “Hm, maybe a few more songs though. It seems like you’re trying to tell a story.”

He blinked rapidly, putting his phone in his pocket. “Y-Yeah… I’m working on a few more that I want to add.”

You nodded. “That’d be awesome.”

The train screeched to a halt. There was no one in the car. That was your cue. You stood, stretching first and then shouldering your backpack. Yoongi stood as well, pensive and silent. The train doors slid open. He walked out first and you followed. Streetlights harsh and bright on the concrete. Yoongi did his usual routine of looking to the edge of the train station.

Both of you froze.

“Get the fuck over here, Yoongi.”

You recognized her. She might be wearing a different dress and a different coat, but it was the same woman all right, with the same harsh scowl.

“I knew you wouldn’t be a man and face the music. Instead, you went off prancing with some whore.”

“She’s not a whore,” Yoongi muttered, pulling up his face mask.

You didn’t say anything. There was a sudden pressure on your chest, an overwhelming, tense heaviness, because you knew what was coming.

“Are you telling me that you’re not going to come home to the woman you supposedly love, the one you were supposedly going to marry and give a comfortable life to?” the woman accused. “Are you telling me that you can’t take responsibility for your actions? That you’re not a man, but a child?”

Yoongi took a step towards her.

The weight in your chest felt like a ton of bricks crushing you.

Another step.

“Yoongi.”

He turned his head, dark brown eyes flickering to you.

You smiled.

Smiled even though the moment was killing you.

“I… I have to finish this,” he mumbled, the sparkle in his eyes dulling with every passing second.

You kept the bright smile on your face.

Like a cheerful-sounding song with sad lyrics.

“Okay.”

Pause.

You wanted to rewind. You wanted to rewind so bad, even if it was only to ten minutes before this painful moment. With a shaking hand, you pressed play.

“My door is always open for you, Yoongi.”

He made eye contact with you. He nodded.

“Goodbye.”

You turned and ran.

Ran and ran, hoping he was running after you, but you knew he wasn’t, you knew he was walking towards that toxic woman and you could do nothing about it, you couldn’t care, you just had to keep running, running and running until you hit your front door, fumbling with your keys and running inside, slamming the door closed.

You froze.

You wanted to scream.

Instead, you ran to your room and threw up a specific playlist, a playlist full of cheerful-sounding songs with agonizing lyrics, hopeful beats tainted by upsetting words, and danced the night away, danced and danced. Not wanting to think about the blankets on the couch, the suitcase you had dragged out to let Yoongi borrow and put his clothes in, not wanting to think about his toothbrush on your bathroom sink, not wanting to think about all those nights dancing stupidly in this bedroom with him, and focusing only on dancing alone, singing the night away, on and on and on until you couldn’t stand anymore, couldn’t sing anymore, and you just fell on your bed and passed out, completely drained.

Physically.

Emotionally.

Empty.

-

3.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #bts series #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[truglori]

Homebody (Ch.4)

Summary: Amiyah is the younger sister of local drug dealer (Durkio). Shy and reserved she keeps to herself and stays out the way. But lately she began to find interest in his right hand man/ best friend (Erik Stevens). Wanting to get him to notice her she discovers that he already had her wrapped around his finger without even trying! There was only a few problems that kept her away from her fantasies , her brother that controlled almost every single breath she took and would kill anyone who looked at her that way and lastly Eriks girlfriend, Alexis , who they called the queen of the hood according to her lavish lifestyle as well as being with the next newest top boy in the making. While Alexis was his girl to the streets all Amiyah wanted to do was be his Homebody...

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick OC

Warning: Language, teasing

Her Spotify playlist resonated through her speakers in her room. Going back and forth between baking her face with a setting powder and checking the time on her Alexa, Amiyah prayed that she still had plenty of time to get dressed.

“Why the hell is time moving by so fast today?” She stressed walking to her closet. It was now 6:34pm which gave her lest than half an hour to finish.

Taking in consideration to what Erik asked her, she made sure to go out her way to put together a bomb outfit for the night. Amiyah didn’t want to be extra but she wasn’t trying to look boring either. After taking almost two hours to decide, with her ranksacking her wardrobe and overthinking she settled for a chocolate off the shoulder jumpsuit and paired them with a clear short heel.

Walking to her body length mirror Amiyah checked both side profiles before standing in the middle.She tried her best stretching out the fabric just a bit to prevent it from making it seem like she had no breathing room. Then going to her breast she pulled it up to not show so much cleavage but contradicted her actions when she slipped it down trying to even it out.

“I want him to see them but not SEE them.” Slapping her hands on the side of her thighs she sighed.

She was overthinking again and her insecurities was starting to show. Reminding herself about the meditation tips she once read on she copied some of the steps that she could remember. Inhaling for three seconds and exhaling for five. She calmed her nerves.

The ringer from her phone echoed in the room. Looking at the caller Id it was Kelley FaceTiming her.

“Okay sis you look cute. Where we going?” Kelley asked as, from what it looked like from Amiyah’s view, she was getting into her car.

Unable to hold back her cheesy smile Amiyah informed her best friend ,with details, about what she was going to look forward to for the night. She felt like she was on cloud nine and she couldn’t come down.

“Wait so he’s taking you on a date?” Kelley asked genuinely happy that her friend was finally starting to put herself out there in the dating world.

“Well...” Amiyah hesitated.

“Oh God! What is that pause for?”

“I mean he asked me to hangout...isn’t that the same thing? Right?” Amiyah, completely oblivious of anything that had to do with dating or relationships.

“I don’t know honestly..but if he wants to see you then he HAS to be interested.” Kelley wanted to make sure that Amiyah would take in her friendly words of affirmation, not wanting to her to stress and end up renigging.

“Okay you’re right. But he should be on his way now so I’ll talk to you later and let you know how it went.” She blew air kisses to her.

“Alright babes have fun.”

Their call ended and it was a minute later she got a text from Erik letting her know that he was ten minutes away. She walked to her dresser and picked up her Carolina Herrera Good Girl perfume and sprayed on all of her pulse points so that the fragrance would emanate from her skin and into the air.

Throwing on her black waterfall duster coat she got one last glance at herself before walking into the livingroom. As she waited on the couch while taking pictures on Snapchat she heard a set of keys. Snapping for head towards the door she watched the bolt lock turn with the handle of the door and in came her brother.

He had his phone squished between his shoulder and ear showing that he was listening to someone on the other end of the call. His hand holding a Versace bag while the other closed the door locking it behind him. Eventually he glanced at her for a good three seconds and then looked away as he walked to his bedroom.

Amiyah sat confused as for the very first time her older brother didn’t bombard her with one hundred questions. But even though this was a first she still kept her guard up.

Hearing his footsteps again he appeared in back into the living. Phone still up to his ear, this time with him holding it. She studied as the expression on his face change from how he looked earlier which was, heedless to now showing curiosity. He stood there staring at her.

Maybe she spoke to soon.

“Hold on..hold on. I gotta call you right back.”

Without even waiting for a response Durk ended his phone call. Placing the phone back into his jeans front pocket he cocked his head to the side taking in the view of his little sister.

“What?” Amiyah spoke nervously as she kept her eyes on her phone and every now and then she would glance at him.

“I’m just trying to figure out where you think you going, and who you think you going with? That’s all?” He sat on the love seat across from her waiting on an reply.

Knowing that there was no way that she was going to tell her brother the truth about her going on a date with his right hand man/best friend, Amiyah had to make up a lie. That was essentially committing suicide for the both of them. Aside from that she wasn’t even sure if it was worth the risk to even tell him about was going on between her and Erik. She didn’t know if this would be something that could turn into a serious situation or ended up to be nothing at all.

“I’m going to dinner with Kelley.” The lie slipped easily through her lips.

“Dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” She questioned really wanting to know from a mans perspective?

“Like you bout to go out to eat just to end up at some random ass nigga place to get fucked.”

Her mouth dropped opened. Tightening the belt on her jacket to close it she stared at her brother, shocked from his words. Taking a couch decorating pillow she threw it at him.

“Don’t talk to me like that Derrick.”

Whenever she would call him by his real name she was upset with him for real.

“Why you hitting me..you the one with ya tittes all out and now you sitting here lying talking about you going with yo friend.” He waved her off.

“I am. We planned this about a week ago.” Amiyah didn’t like to lie to her brother but she had to make it seem believable.

The familiar IPhone ringtone went off and she looked down and saw that it was Erik calling her. Being so occupied with her brother insulting her she didn’t realize that he sent her two text messages letting her know he was there.

Erik 💕: I’m here..ready when you are.

Erik 💕: I see your brother car out here. You good?

‘Oh my gosh not now Erik.’

She quickly declined his call. Amiyah looked at her brother with guilt written all over her face.

“Why you ain’t answer the phone? That’s yo nigga waiting for you? Pick it up!” Durk relaxed against the couch eyeing her.

“I don’t have a nigga and I already told you that I’m going to dinner with Kelley. That was her and she’s waiting for me now. Bye!”

Picking up her purse she walked to the front door. Before she even got a chance to unlock it, Durk was right next to her with his hand against it as he blocked the exit.

“Aight so I’ll walk you down.” He shrugged his shoulders.

Amiyah’s face scrunched up into a scowl.

“No! I don’t need you walking me down like I’m some child. I can handle myself. You’re always trying to control me-“

He cut her off. “Miyah don’t even start that shit. Just because I look out for you doesn’t mean I’m controlling you. I know how these niggas are around here and seen how they treat they shorties. So my bad if I’m helping you.”

“Okay and I understand but you have to trust me too. I’m very responsible and you know this. If I tell you I’m going one place than believe it...damn Durk sometimes I feel like you treat me like I’m your property instead of your younger sister.”

Amiyah expressed her true feelings. She felt as if she had no breathing room. Deep down she knew that her brother just wanted to protect her but she was getting older and due to his overprotective-ness it was causing her missed opportunities.

“Durk I never go anywhere. You know this. All I want to do is just hang out with my friend without you hounding me.” She gave him her best pout.

“I don’t hound you.” Shaking his head he sat back down on the couch.

“You’re right you don’t.” Amiyah stated sarcastically but agreeing just to get his approval.

There was a silent pause for one minute.

“You taking yo ass to dinner and coming right back?”

Nodding her head rapidly. “Yes.”

“Miyah let me find out you lying to me I’ma get my homeboy Erik to follow yo ass and find out who you fucking around with.” Durk scolded her.

“Okay, gotta go!”

‘Boy only if you knew.’

She thought to herself as she bit her lip to refrain from smiling. Unlocking the front door and opening it she wave a quick goodbye and began a fast pace walk to the elevator pressing on the down button. Not taking any chances she wanted to get out of the building as quickly as possible. The doors opened and she walked inside. Picking up her phone she called Erik. It only rung two times before he answered.

“Hey you still alive.” He gave a soft chuckle.

“Whatever. I’m coming now. I’m in the elevator. Can you do me a favor?” She asked with a soft tone.

“Wassup?”

“I need you to park a little bit further down. I’ll walk to you.” The elevator doors opened and she stepped out strolling to the entrance.

“Yeah. I got you. I’ll be two houses down to the right.”

“Okay thank you.” She ended the call.

While in his car Erik reconnected his phone back to the USB charging cord. He sighed as he took his car out of park and moved up to the location where he told her he was going to be. Shaking his head with the realization the he really had to sneak around with this girl. He was a grown man hiding from another grown man the fact that he wanted to take his younger sister out. Never in all his years of dealing with the opposite sex, he had to be this discreet. This was a new level.

Finding a place to park he left his car running and got out. Walking to the passenger side he leaned on the hood and waited for her to reach him. She came into view a minute later. Checking her out he noticed that she had make up on. This was the first time he saw her with it. It wasn’t a need for her though because she was already stunning with her natural features.

“Look who made it out alive!” He grinned poking at her.

Rolling her eyes but still blessing him with the sight of her beautiful smile she hit him playfully.

“Shut up.” Her laughed echoed through his ears.

“C’mere.” He clasped her hand bringing her body into his. His arms embrace her as they found their way around her waist.

Amiyah welcomed the act of affection swaddling her arms around his torso. He chuckled removing her arms. Lightly grasping her wrists with both of his hands he brought them around his neck before returning back to his previous position. It was his way of teaching her how to hug him correctly for next time.

Leaning in her neck Erik whispered against her supple skin.

“Hold me like this mama.” His body rocked them side to side.

Amiyah almost felt her eyes rolled to the back of her head when she felt his lips touch her neck. He was the epitome of being a tease and knowing what he was doing to her body. If this man was to tell her to jump she was going to take off her heels then asked him how high. Erik was the walking definition of having a sex appeal without even trying.

Their movements ceased and came face to face with one another again. Erik’s hands now relaxed on her hips. He leaned against his car to give himself room to fixate his eyes over her body. Her black coat covered her outfit. Taking his hand he began to untie the jacket belt.

Amiyah grabbed his hands halting his actions. She looked around before bringing her eyes back to his.

“What are you doing?” Her voice shaked.

“Let me see you.” His hand went up to her chin tapping it gently.

Being successful this time, he unfastened the waistband and revealed her wardrobe. Erik’s eyes gazed at her figure. Her tittes sat up flawlessly. The way her cleavage showed had Erik tempted to pull the fabric down and suck on the pillowy like flesh.

“You look too good right now.” His dimples appeared as he spoke. He closed her jacket and tied her belt.

Amiyah bashfully looked away. Butterflies being introduced to her stomach.

“Thank you...it was just something I threw on.” She nonchalantly responded pretending to be unbothered from him practically eye fucking her.

Erik’s eyebrows raised. “ Oh just like that make up too, huh?”

“Whatever Erik can we go before my brother come chasing after me?” She slipped her hand into her jacket pocket to make it warm as she waited for his next move.

“My bad mama. Here you go.” Erik opened the car door for her. Waiting until she was inside safely he closed it after her and strode to the drivers side.

“I like your outfit by the way.” Amiyah chose to make conversation once he got settled in.

“Thank you. I can’t even lie I was tryna look good for you.” Speaking honestly as he observed his outfit. His head then relaxed against the seat. “What you think?”

“You look really nice to me Erik.” She shyly retorted but giving a sincere opinion.

Prior to getting acquainted with Erik, Amiyah always found herself intrigued with his sense of style. Making that another reason for her to be attracted to him.

“Damn just nice..I was going for fine but fuck it I’ll take it” He fastened his seatbelt, drove off and en route to the movie theater.

“Oh my God. You are so extra.” Laughing she made herself busy with her phone, going back and forth between scrolling and taking small glimpses of the road.

“Can I ask you a question?”

His deep voice had her melting right in the front seat.

“Yeah but you just asked one.”

He snickered. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Purple, why?”

“ I’m trying get to know you that’s all.”

“Oh okay well it’s purple. What’s yours?” Pressing down on the power button of her phone she place it in her purse.

“Black.”

“Black? Really?” She stated questionably.

“Amiyah don’t start no shit with me.” Erik laughed as he looked at her.

“ Erik, me and you both know that black is the most basic color you can think of-“

“And purples not?”

“No it’s not and it’s actually the color of royalty thank you very much.” She fluttered her eyelashes sarcastically.

“Okay princess, you got it...It’s still ass.”

Amiyah grew warm from the new nickname in spite of the insult he made about her favorite color.

Erik laughed as she rolled her eyes for the umpteen time that night. He wasn’t actually making fun of her color, he just wanted to help her calm her nerves with some light play. She looked tensed to him just sitting there on her phone. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought that she wasn’t feeling him at all but he knew it was just her introverted ways.

Turning on the radio to break the silence, he went to the local hip hop station. Juicy by Biggie Smalls resonated through the vehicle. Bobbing his head to the beat with a little bounce of his shoulders Erik started rapping the lyrics.

“This my shit. You don’t know nothing about this, huh?”

“Whatever yes I do. This a classic.” Amiyah bobbed her head as well grinning.

“Nah you too young.”

He rapped a bit more before Amiyah jumped in and joined him.

“I'm blowin' up like you thought I would

Call the crib, same number, same hood

It's all good

And if you don't know, now you know, nigga”

Erik’s eyes lit up surprised she knew the words. Most of the ladies he been out with in the past always pretended to have the same interest in music as him but would never be able to recite one line from the song. His lips curved into a smile.

“Okay you valid. But that don’t count because everybody know that song.” He joked

“Why you always trying to play me Erik.” Amiyah sighed playfully.

They finally arrived at the movies. It was Saturday night so of course the parking lot was overfilled with cars. Finding a parking spot close to the entrance, Erik turned his car off and hopped out strolling to Amiyah’s side and opened her door. He held out his hand to assist her.

“Thank you.” Her eyes gleamed.

He drew his lower lip between his teeth. “I got you.”

Closing the door behind her, he clicked the lock button on his key fob. Amiyah started to walk to the building. She was stopped in her tracks. Erik grasped her hand intertwining their fingers and began to walk next to her. She peered down at them and beamed.

“What movie you want to watch?”

They were now standing in front of the movie display booth where you could purchase a ticket without waiting in line. Erik kept scrolling until she spoke up.

“I want to watch that one. Monster Hunter.”

He gave her a blank stare.

“What?”

“Do you even know what it’s about?” He chuckled.

“Yes a little bit. All I know is that it has T.I and Megan Good in it, so I want to see it.”

“Wait you said Megan Good. Bet.” His lips formed into a smirk.

Erik’s fingers tapped on the movie icon. Purchasing two tickets he waited for them to print before separating them and handing her one. Amiyah received the ticket as she gave him a dirty look. Jealous about his comment she walked to the concession stand to wait in line without him. Erik felt the feeling of jealousy radiating off her body language. She had a little attitude on her. Following her footsteps he stood behind her invading her space. His chest to her back. Erik’s head dipped down between the area of her neck and shoulder that was exposed laying a soft kiss on it.

“What you mad about....Hm?” The breath from his words bounced off of her skin.

Amiyah felt her pussy jump. Crossing her right leg over the left she clenched her thighs. Too afraid to even speak she bit her inner jaw and shook her head instead. Not long after she felt his strong hand travel around her waist to her front slipping in the inside of her jacket. He gripped her pudge. Amiyah’s small hand quickly wrapped around his forearm bringing it down.

“Erik!” She gasped out loud. Looking around and hoping she didn’t draw any unnecessary attention.

Her head tilted up due to the height difference to stare in his eyes. She was surprised she could even make contact after that stunt.

“I asked you a question so answer me.” His low voice demanded her.

“Nothing.” Hers barely coming out as a whisper.

He knew she wasn’t telling the truth but he didn’t want to push it out of her. Erik wanted her to be the one to make a decision about being honest with him. She had to make that step. But along with that he knew that she would have to trust him first. His hand roamed up to her exposed neck and lightly clenched it forcing her to move closer to his body as if was anymore capable. Amiyah felt the chill of his ice pinky ring as it laid against her skin. The sticky lipgloss that she wore created a tiny saliva string as her lips parted. Erik eyed the full plump flesh feeling enticed to suck on them.

“Chill, aight.” He waited for her to nod before he removed his hand as the line moved forward.

Fuck me. Were the words she wish she could tell him if she had the confidence to. At this moment she felt her natural sticky lubricant attach to her panties. She created a wedged with her underwear between her lower lips from all of the thigh clenching. None of it helped at all, it only generated a small amount of friction leaving her wanting more. She felt the walls of her vagina contract around nothing.

‘Did this nigga just grab my throat in the movie theater?’

She thought to herself touching the area where his hand left. Amiyah kept her eyes fixed on him as he ordered the drinks and snacks for the movie. She watched the way he would point at an item whenever he wanted the employee to get it for him. The way his jaw would tighten every now and then. Not in an angry way but out of habit. She took note of all these things.

“You ready?” Erik wandered back to her handing her some candy and a medium lemonade.

“Yeah. Thanks for buying the ticket and this other stuff.” She moved a piece of hair behind her ear looking away sheepishly. Her mood switched from a few minutes ago.

Erik sipping from the straw of his Powerade observed it.

“Told you I got you.”

_______________________________________

Bendix Diner was one of Amiyah’s top five hidden restaurants in the city where she loved to eat. It was and old fashioned style restaurant that always gave her an aesthetic vibe every time she went there. Currently seated at their table she flipped over the menu searching to see what she might have a taste for. Their family made apple cider donuts were her favorite item from the desert section. It’s been a few months since she had one and now being here she craved it.

Looking up at Erik she monitored his activity. He was checking out the art hanging on the walls seeming to be amused by it. His eyes shifted back to her. Wanting to pretend she wasn’t staring at him like a creep she informed him about a dish on the menu.

“Their Turn Me Loose meal is really good. It comes with catfish and jalapeño hush puppies. You should try it.” She gave him her recommendation.

Erik made a face. “I don’t fuck with seafoood.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” Amiyah apologized feeling embarrassed from assuming.

Erik picked up on. “Don’t stress it. How were you supposed to know I don’t like seafood? Don’t be to hard on yourself mama.” His hand reached across the table and caressed hers lightly offering his reassurance.

She sent a half smile. “What do you like then?”

Erik paused and bit his bottom lip. Deep dimples showing themselves from the action.

“You.”

Her eyes shifted towards the window seeing that it became fogged up due to the pouring rain that was coming down relentlessly. With nothing but the barely audible music coming from the intercom through the restaurant, Amiyah felt as if he can hear her heart beating through her chest.

“I meant food Erik.”

“You can be that too. Ain’t never have nobody eat you like you was a full-course meal before?” He asked her on the spot.

“You..are..” She shook her head. “Ridiculous. You know that.” Not having a comeback, those were the only words she could produce without stuttering.

Sighing and smirking he leaned back. “I’ve been called worst. But how you find out about this place. It’s low key as fuck. I like it.” He changed the subject.

Pleased with the compliment she responded. “I used to come here with my dad when I was younger. That was before he went to-“

“Prison.” He finished her sentence.

The look of confusion approached her face.

“Durk told me about him a few years ago.” He informed not meaning to alarm her.

“Did he tell you he was doing life without parole as well?”

Erik nodded his head.

She scoffed. “They said that he was the head of a drug ring but I don’t believe it. I mean I never remembered him being away from us long enough to even have the time to do that.”

“Sometimes we hide certain things from the people we love so that they won’t get hurt. And I’m not trying to insinuate anything when I say that.” He spoke honestly.

“No you’re right. But the last time we were here together I was thirteen. He took me here after picking me up early from school. It just sucks that I can’t even remember anything about that day but I want to so bad.”

Erik nodded his head totally understanding what she went through. He dealt with his own lost at a young age as well.

“I lost my father too. I was eleven when it happened. He was murdered. So when I tell you I know what you been through I’m not just saying that shit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her face soften when she seen his eyes sparked with hurt.

“You gotta learn how to live and heal right?”

Nodding her head in agreement she used her thumb to tenderly stroke his fingers. They were still holding hands the whole time as they shared a moment to be vulnerable with each other. It was intimate. That’s when she realized she had more in common with him than she thought.

“What about your mom? If you don’t mind me asking?” She desired to know more about him.

“I never got to know her. She passed away while giving birth to me.”

Erik felt his mood change with the thought of never being able to experience a true mother’s love. After the death of his father he was tossed back and forth from home to home in foster care. None of the caretakers genuinely cared for him, all they thought about was a paycheck.

“My mom overdosed when I was in high school. That’s why I live with Durk now. He’s been taking care of me ever since. I guess with everything that happened he had to find a way to survive for the both of us which lead him to the streets. Durk had his run in with the law but after our mom he became someone different.”

Amiyah spilled everything out on the table not holding back. She never had someone who she could vent to that would actually listen. Kelley was her best friend but she even kept some secrets from her. Amiyah was always afraid that one day the same person she trusted with everything would turn around and hurt her. From the moment she laid eyes on Erik she never thought that. In her eyes he looked as if he was a walking journal that she could expose all of her deepest darkest secrets to and not have to worry about one of them getting leaked.

“Now I see why your brother protects you the way he do. He just don’t want to see you hurt anymore.” His eyes gazed into hers making her feel small.

“Well, sorry If I ruined the mood. It’s been a minute since I’ve talked to someone for real.”

“I’m here for whenever. Only a phone call away.”

The waitress came around and sat a vanilla milkshake with whip cream in front of her and a water with lemon in front of Erik. Amiyah recognized her from the many times she been there.

“Are y’all ready to order.”

“Yeah, let me get your Turkey wrap heated up with a side of french fries.” Erik picked up his menu handing it to her.

Writing it down she took his menu and smiled.

“Okay and for you miss Amiyah.”

Her lips curled up bashfully.

“I’m going to get the honey dipped chicken with French fries as well. Thanks Stephanie.”

Going back to her pad she marked it down. “None of our famous donuts today?”

Erik looked over and read the hesitation over her face so he answered for her.

“We’ll take four of whatever they are.”

“Alrighty. I’ll be back with your meal in fifteen.”

The waitress disappeared into the kitchen.

“You didn’t have to do that, Erik.”

“What? I wanted to try their famous donuts. Oh you thought I ordered them for you?” He laughed.

Rolling her eyes she heard her phone buzzed. Reaching inside the pocket of her coat that was laying next to her she got a text from her brother.

Durk 🤬: When you comin home?

She sighed and text back.

Amiyah ☔️: I’ve only been gone for two hours..I’ll be back soon.

Placing the phone back in her pocket she put her attention on her milkshake taking her first sip of the night. Erik watched the way her lips wrapped around the straw as her cheeks sunk in whenever she sucked to taste some of the creamy treat. His tongue swiped over his top lip lightly.

“Let me get some..” His eyes darted between the milkshake and her lips.

Laughing she shook her head. “No, why didn’t you order one?”

“Because I was thirsty and I needed some water. But that looks good as fuck.”

“So then just order one Erik.”

He smacked his lips. “I don’t want a whole one I just want some.”

Giggling she pulled her beverage away hiding it from his view.

Erik’s eyes glinted before he got out on his side and slid next to her in her part of the dining booth. His right thigh hitting her left plush one causing it to ripple from the sudden movement. Having one arm behind her and the other reaching for her drink he leaned in.

“Stop playing and give me a sip.”

Now being backed into the corner she was trapped. Still firm with her answer she shook her head sipping once more.

“You not gon give me nun.” Biting that bottom lip Amiyah felt that came out as a double meaning.

Tired of going back and forth she gave in and slid her drink to him.

“Just a sip. That’s all!”

Erik nodded but not really listening, took the straw into his mouth and sucked the liquid. He didn’t have a big sweet tooth but he had to admit that the milkshake was fire. Taking more than what he was told he sat it down after gulping more than half of it. He leaned against the booth. One arm still around her.

Her mouth dropped as she studied that half her drink was already gone.

Smacking her lips she pushed at his chest. “Erik I told you not to drink that much...now look.” She whined picking up her cup to show him.

“Damn you can’t be hitting me like that on the first date, Amiyah.” His free hand rubbed the area pretending that it hurt.

She caught his words that slipped from his mouth. “I thought you asked me to hang out? You didn’t say nothing about a date.”

“What you want it to be?” Erik sized her up with his deep throaty voice close to her ear. Her scent filled his nose making his dick twitch.

She gave him a once-over before looking a way.

He grabbed her chin gently bringing her face millimeters away from his. “What you want it to be baby girl?” His eyes drawing her in with a lustfull gaze.

“I want a date.” Her lower lip quivered and skin apprearing flustered.

“Then let it be that.”

Erik couldn’t hold back anymore as his lips connected with hers. He gave her two soft pecks at first just to warm her up before giving a full lingering kiss. He tilted his head going to left making hers do the same. The taste of the vanilla coming off of her mouth drove him crazy. She was tasting as sweet as she looked. Her kissing compared to his were lighter and didn’t apply enough pressure like they should have.Letting his free hand travel up to her neck for the second time that night, he lightly squeezed before pulling away from her lips.

“Kiss me for real...” He bit her bottom lip and tugged it while watching her reaction. Her body shuddered.

Amiyah’s toes curled. Her stomach filled up with butterflies as she felt his hand around her throat. Her mind at the moment felt high. She didn’t really know what she was doing, just trying her best to keep up with the man in front of her. Mocking his actions she pressed more into the kiss and brought her hand to his cheek to give herself leverage.

Breaking them apart was the sound of a phone ringing. Erik reached in his pocket and pulled it out. Reading the caller ID he threw his head back blowing out air.

“Fuck..” He stated agitated.

Wiping her lips she looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s your brother, Durk.”

_______________________________

Please excuse any mistakes!

Tag-list

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[felassan]

Insights into DAI’s development from Blood, Sweat, and Pixels

The book is by game industry journalist Jason Schreier (it’s an interesting read and well-written, I recommend it). This is the cliff notes version of the DAI chapter. This info isn’t new as the book is from 2017 (I finally got around to buying it). Some insight into DAO, DA2 and cancelled DA projects is also given. Cut for length.

BW hoped that DA would become the LotR of video games. DAO’s development was “a hellish seven-year slog”

The DAI team are compared to a chaotic “pirate ship”, which is what they called themselves internally. “It’ll get where it needs to go, but it’s going to go all over the place. Sail over here. Drink some rum. Go over here. Do something else. That’s how Mark Darrah likes to run his team.” An alternative take from someone else who worked on the game: “It was compared to a pirate ship because it was chaotic and the loudest voice in the room usually set the direction. I think they smartly adopted the name and morphed it into something better.”

A game about the Inquisition and the large-scale political conflicts it solves across Thedas, where the PC was the Inquisitor, was originally the vision for ‘DA2′. Plans had to change when SW:TOR’s development kept stalling and slipping. Frustrated EA execs wanted a new product from BW to bolster quarterly sales targets, and decided that DA would have to fill the gap. BW agreed to deliver DA2 within 16 months. “Basically, DA2 exists to fill that hole. That was the inception. It was always intended to be a game made to fit in that”

BW wanted to call it DA: Exodus, but EA’s marketing execs insisted on DA2, no matter what that name implied

DAO’s scope (Origin stories, that amount of big areas, variables, reactivity) was just not doable in a year, even if everyone worked overtime. To solve this problem, BW shelved the Inquisition idea and made a risky call: DA2 would be set in one city over time, allowing locations to be recycled and months to be shaved off dev time. They also axed DAO features like customizing party members’ equipment. These were the best calls they were able to make on a tight line

Many at BW are still proud of DA2. Those that worked on it grew closer from all being in it together

In certain dark accounting corners of EA, despite fan response to DA2 and its lower sales compared to DAO, DA2 is considered a wild success

By summer 2011 BW decided to cancel DA2′s expansion Exalted March in favor of a totally new game. They needed to get away from the stigma of DA2, reboot the franchise and show they could make triple-A quality good games. 

DAI was going to be the most ambitious game BW had ever made and had a lot to prove (that BW could return to form, that EA wasn’t crippling the studio, that BW could make an ‘open-world’ RPG with big environments). There was a bit of a tone around the industry that there were essentially 2 tiers of BW, the ME team and then everyone else, and the DA team had a scrappy desire to fight back against that

DAI was behind schedule early on due to unfamiliar new technology; the new engine Frostbite was very technically challenging and required more work than anyone had expected. Even before finishing DA2 BW were looking for a new engine for the next game. Eclipse was creaky, obsolete, not fully-featured, graphically lacking. The ME team used Unreal, which made inter-team collab difficult. “Our tech strategy was just a mess. Every time we’d start a new game, people would say, ‘Oh, we should just pick a new engine’.”

After meeting with an EA exec BW decided on Frostbite. Nobody had ever used it to make an RPG, but EA owned FB dev studio DICE, and the engine was powerful and had good graphic capabilities & visual effects. If BW started making all its games on FB, it could share tech with sister studios and borrow tools when they learned cool new tricks. 

For a while they worked on a prototype called Blackfoot, to get a feel for FB and to make a free-to-play DA MP game. It fizzled as the team was too small, which doesn’t lend itself well to working with FB, and was cancelled

BW resurfaced the old Inquisition idea. What might a DA3 look like on FB? Their plan by 2012 was to make an open-world RPG heavily inspired by Skyrim that hit all the beats DA2 couldn’t. “My secret mission was to shock and awe the players with the massive amounts of content.” People complained there wasn’t enough in DA2. “At the end of DAI, I actually want people to go, ‘Oh god, not [another] level’.”

It was originally called Dragon Age 3: Inquisition

BW wanted to launch on next-gen consoles only but EA’s profit forecasters were caught up in the rise of iPad and iPhone gaming and were worried the next-gen consoles wouldn’t sell well. As a safeguard EA insist it also ship on current-gen. Most games at that time followed this strategy. Shipping on 5 platforms at once would be a first for BW

Ambitions were piling up. This was to be BW’s first 3D open-world game, and their first game on Frostbite, an engine that had never been used to make RPGs. It needed to be made in roughly two years, it needed to ship on 5 platforms, and, oh yeah, it needed to restore the reputation of a studio that had been beaten up pretty badly. “Basically we had to do new consoles, a new engine, new gameplay, build the hugest game that we’ve ever made, and build it to a higher standard than we ever did. With tools that don’t exist.”

FB didn’t have RPG stats, a visible PC, spells, save systems, a party of 4 people, the same kind of cutscenes etc and couldn’t create any of those things. BW had to create these on top of it. BW initially underestimated how much work this would be. BW were the FB guinea pigs. Early on in DAI’s development, even the most basic tasks were excruciating, and this impacted even fundamental aspects of game design and dev. When FB’s tools did function they were finicky and difficult. DICE’s team supported them but had limited resources and were 8 hours ahead. Since creating new content in FB was so difficult, trying to evaluate its quality became impossible. FB engine updates made things even more challenging. After every one, BW had to manually merge and test it; this was debilitating, and there were times when the build didn’t work for a month or was really unstable.

Meanwhile the art department were having a blast. FB was great for big beautiful environments. For months they made as much as possible, taking educated guesses when they didn’t know yet what the designers needed. “For a long time there was a joke on the project that we’d made a fantastic-looking screenshot generator, because you could walk around these levels with nothing to do. You could take great pictures.”

The concept of DAI as open-world was stymying the story/writers and gameplay/designers teams. What were players going to do in these big landscapes? How could BW ensure exploring remained fun after many hours? Their teams didn’t have time for system designers to envision, iterate and test a good “core gameplay loop” (quests, encounters, activities etc). FB wouldn’t allow it. Designers couldn’t test new ideas or answer questions because basic features were missing or didn’t exist yet. 

EA’s CEO told BW they should have the ability to ride dragons and that this would make DAI sell 10 million copies. BW didn’t take this idea very seriously

BW had an abstract idea that the player would roam the world solving problems and building up power or influence they could use. But how would that look/work like in-game? This could have used refinement and testing but instead they decided to build some levels and hope they could figure it out as they went.

One day in late 2012, after a year of strained development on DAI, Mark Darrah asked Mike Laidlaw to go to lunch. “We’re walking out to his car,” Laidlaw said, “and I think he might have had a bit of a script in his head. [Darrah] said, ‘All right, I don’t actually know how to approach this, so I’m just going to say it. On a scale of one to apocalyptic... how upset would you be if I said [the player] could be, I dunno, a Qunari Inquisitor?’” 

Laidlaw was baffled. They’d decided that the player could be only a human in DAI. Adding other playable races like Darrah was asking for would mean they’d need to quadruple their budget for animation, voice acting, and scripting.

“I went, ‘I think we could make that work’,” Laidlaw said, asking Darrah if he could have more budget for dialogue. 

Darrah answered that if Laidlaw could make playable races happen, he couldn’t just have more dialogue. He could have an entire year of production.

Laidlaw was thrilled. “Fuck yeah, OK,” he recalled saying.

MD had actually already realized at this point it’d be impossible to finish DAI in 2013. They needed at least a year’s delay and adding the other playable races was part of a plan/planned pitch to secure this. He was in the process of putting together a pitch to EA: let BW delay the game, and in exchange it’d be bigger and better that anyone at EA had envisioned. These new marketing points included playable races, mounts and a new tactical camera. If EA wouldn’t let them delay, they would have had to cut things. Going into that BW were confident but nervous, especially in the wake of EA’s recent turmoil where they’d just parted ways with their CEO and had recruited a new board member while they hunted for a new one. They didn’t know how the new board member would react, and the delay would affect EA’s projections for that fiscal year. Maybe it was the convincing pitch, or the exec turmoil, or the specter of DA2, or maybe EA didn’t like being called “The Worst Company in America”. Winning that award 2 years in a row had had a tangible impact on the execs and led to feisty internal meetings on how to repair EA’s image. Whatever the reasons, EA greenlit the delay.

The PAX Crestwood demo was beautiful but almost entirely fake. By fall 2013, BW had implemented many of FB’s ‘parts’, but still didn’t know what kind of ‘car’ they were making. ML and team scripted the PAX demo by hand, entirely based on what BW thought would be in the game. The level & art assets were real but the gameplay wasn’t. “Part of what we had to do is go out early and try to be transparent because of DA2. And just say, ‘Look, here, it’s the game, it’s running live, it’s at PAX.’ Because we wanted to make that statement that we’re here for fans.”

DA2 hung on the team like a shadow. There was insecurity, uncertainty, they had trouble sticking to one vision. Which DA2 things were due to the short dev time and which were bad calls? What stuff should they reinvent? There were debates over combat (DAO-style vs DA2-style) and arguments over how to populate the wilderness.

In the months after that demo, BW cut much of what they’d shown in it. Even small features went through many permutations. DAI had no proper preproduction phase (important for testing and discarding things), so leads were stretched thin and had to make impulsive decisions.

By the end of 2013, DAI had 200+ people working on it, and dozens of additional outsourced artists in Russia and China. Coordinating all the work across various departments was challenging and a full-time job for several people. At this sheer scale of game dev, there are many complexities and inter-dependencies. Work finally became significantly less tedious and more doable when BW and DICE added more features to FB. Time was running out though, and another delay was a no.

The team spent many hours in November and December piecing together a “narrative playable” version of the game to be the holiday period’s game build for BW staff to test that year. Feedback on the demo was bad. There were big complaints on story, that it didn’t make sense and was illogical. Originally the PC became Inquisitor and sealed the breach in the prologue, which removed a sense of urgency. In response the writers embarked on Operation Sledgehammer (breaking a bone to set it right), radically revising the entire first act.

The other big piece of negative feedback was that battles weren’t fun. Daniel Kading, who had recently joined BW and brought with him a rigorous new method for testing combat in games, went to BW leadership with a proposal: give him authority to open his own little lab with the other designers and call up the entire team for mandatory play sessions for test purposes. They agreed and he used this experiment to get test feedback and specifically pinpoint where problems were. Morale took a turn for the better that week, DK’s team made several tweaks, and through these sessions feedback ratings went from 1.2 to 8.8 four weeks later.

Many on the team wished they didn’t have to ship for old consoles (clunky, less powerful). BW leadership decided not to add features to the next-gen versions that wouldn’t be possible on the older ones, so that both versions of the game played the same. This limited things and meant the team had to find creative solutions. “I probably should’ve tried harder to kill [the last-gen] version of the game”, said Aaryn Flynn. In the end the next-gen consoles sold very well and only 10% of DAI sales were on last-gen.

“A lot of what we do is well-intentioned fakery,” said Patrick Weekes, pointing to a late quest called “Here Lies The Abyss”. “When you assault the fortress, you have a big cut scene that has a lot of Inquisition soldiers and a lot of Grey Wardens on the walls. And then anyone paying attention or looking for it as you’re fighting through the fortress will go, ‘Wow, I’m only actually fighting three to four guys at a time.’ Because in order for that to work [on old gen], you couldn’t have too many different character types on screen.”

Parts of DAI were still way behind schedule because it was so big and complex, and because some tools hadn’t started functioning until late on. Some basic features weren’t able to be implemented til the last minute (they were 8 months from ship before they could get all party members in the squad. At one point PW was playtesting to check if Iron Bull’s banter was firing, and realized there was no way to even recruit IB) and some flaws couldn’t be identified til the last few months. Trying to determine flow and pacing was rough.

They couldn’t disappoint fans again. They needed to take the time to revise and polish every aspect of DAI. “I think DAI is a direct response to DA2,” said Cameron Lee. “DAI was bigger than it needed to be. It had everything but the kitchen sink in it, to the point that we went too far... I think that having to deal with DA2 and the negative feedback we got on some parts of that was driving the team to want to put everything in and try to address every little problem or perceived problem.”

At this point they had 2 options: settle for an incomplete game, which would disappoint fans especially post-DA2, or crunch. They opted to crunch. It was the worst period of extended overtime in DAI’s development yet and was really rough: late nights, weekends, lost family time, 12-14 hour days, stress, mental health impacts.

During 2014′s crunch, they finally finished off features they wished they’d nailed down in year 1. They completed the Power (influence) system and added side quests, hidden treasures and puzzles. Things that weren’t working like destructible environments were promptly removed. The writers rewrote the prologue at least 6 times, but didn’t have enough time to pay such attention to the ending. Just a few months before launch pivotal features like jumping were added.

By summer BW had bumped back release by another 6 weeks for polish. DAI had about 99,000 bugs in it (qualitative and quantitative; things like “I was bored here” are a bug). “The number of bugs on an open-world game, I’ve never seen anything like it. But they’re all so easy to fix, so keep filing these bugs and we’ll keep fixing them.” For BW it was harder to discover them, and the QA team had to do creative experimentation and spend endless late nights testing things. PW would take builds home to let their 9 year old son play around. Their son was obsessed with mounting and dismounting the horse and accidentally discovered a bug where if you dismounted in the wrong place, all your companions’ gear would vanish. “It was because my son liked the horse so much more than anyone else ever had or will ever like the horse.”

MD had a knack for prioritizing which bugs should be fixed, like the one where you could get to inaccessible areas by jumping on Varric’s head. “Muscle memory is incredibly influential at this point. Through the hellfire which is game development, we’re forged into a unit, in that we know what everyone’s thinking and we understand everyone’s expectations.”

At launch they still didn’t have all their tools working, they only had their tools working enough.

DAI became the best-selling DA game, beating EA’s sales expectations in just a few weeks. If you look closely you can see the lingering remnants of its chaotic development, like the “garbage quests” in the Hinterlands. Some players didn’t realize they could leave the area and others got caught in a “weird, compulsive gratification loop”. Internet commentators rushed to blame “those damn lazy devs” but really, these were the natural consequences of DAI’s struggles. Maybe things would have been different if they’d miraculously received another year of dev time, or if they’d had years before starting development to build FB’s tools first.

“The challenge of the Hinterlands and what it represented to the opening 10 hours of DAI is exactly the struggle of learning to build open-world gameplay and mechanisms when you are a linear narrative story studio,” said Aaryn Flynn.

“DA2 was the product of a remarkable time-line challenge,” said Mike Laidlaw, “DAI was the product of a remarkable technical challenge. But it had enough time to cook, and as a result it was a much better game.”

Read the chapter for full details of course!

#dragon age #bioware #video games #SW:TOR #mass effect #I've seen plenty of this info discussed in articles/thinkpieces and on online communities over the years #but it's nice to read it first hand #some very insightful stuff here #these behind the scenes looks are very valuble #a lot of DAI's elements make sense given the context and what was going on in the background and the tech challenges they faced etc #be kind and respectful to devs folks they're human beings #also in general this book is really interesting and easy to read #funny in places too #it has lots of other chapters on lots of other games including Stardew Valley #I def recc buying it #anyway hope this post is useful/interesting to someone! #oh and as always support good treatment of game devs #crunch culture in the industry is harmful and exploitative

[wsgeon]

hey everyone! ummm this is peyton (also the mun of lee hyeon) taking a second shot at a second character — i have a lot of muse for this one, so i swear he’ll be around for a while… 🥵 this is ryu geon, yes his name rhymes with hyeon’s & no i do not care ♥️ he’s the lead guitarist/vocalist of meta and also the son of a former nobody rockstar, but i’ll get into all that below! like this post if you’d like for me to come into your ims to plot, click the read more for more info on geon, and/or click here to be taken to his pages: CAREER, DOSSIER, PINTEREST.

HISTORY.

born in autumn ‘97 to a “budding rockstar” (translation: “no yeah i swear our band’s really starting to take off, we sold twenty-three tickets to our last show!”) & a woman with commitment issues ♥️ geon’s dad always told him that his mom left because she had some dire matters that needed to be taken care of and SWORE that she cried the last time she held her dear baby boy, but all of his dad’s bandmates say that she was just some groupie and had to be persuaded into carrying her child to term… who can say for sure?

naturally, there are no pictures of this mystery woman. there was one (1) of her holding infant geon, but then he found out that that was actually a sound tech who worked for his dad’s band… and he just never corrected geon’s assumptions LOLLLL

anyway! he was always really close to his dad, considering they were a two-person family. he has a set of grandparents, an aunt and a couple cousins but they were never involved with geon’s life because his dad is the #blacksheep of the family. geon and his dad against the world, am i right?

uhhh geon was also kind of a black sheep growing up, but he didn’t really notice? he was a happy kid, very energetic and enthusiastic. a lot of adults in the area looked down on him & his dad, but he was SOOOO blind to it because his dad’s a god in his eyes and HE’S always been nice to everyone, so why would they not like him??? because his clothes smelled a little like dad’s cigarette smoke??? big deal

wasn’t troublesome (beyond talking too much), but a lot of people still expected bad things from him :/ “his father’s a dirtbag, i’ll be surprised if that boy doesn’t end up in jail by 20”, “he won’t amount to anything without a proper role model in his life”, “his dad is teaching him how to slack off”, “he won’t contribute anything to society”, etc. he kindaaa picked up on this as he got older but pretended not to because it was more rewarding to play dumb and keep being a good kid(tm) to prove them wrong

was basically a mini version of his dad. same style, similar features, birthmarks in the same places, same “live today, die tomorrow” approach in life, same affinity for singing & playing rock music. ummm he loved his dad a lot. a lot. a lot. wanted to make him proud SO BAD, started his first band when he was 15 and they sucked so bad but his dad was their biggest fan… you know how it is. a lot of people misunderstood him, but he was a very good guy and such a great parent

TW DEATH unfortunately he passed away just shy of geon’s 18th birthday and your boy still hasn’t forgiven the world for taking his dad when he was in the middle of his angsty teen phase — had he known that their time together was dwindling, he would’ve been so so so much better to him END TW

his dad’s band actually rocketed into the charts after he passed & suddenly they were getting loads of publicity, lots of “what a shame that he went under-appreciated” which pissed geon off SOOOO bad because why couldn’t they have had that energy when he was still alive? he’s still mad about it five/six years later

this is getting kinda long, so uhhh tl;dr, he ended up staying with the drummer of his dad’s band until he was old enough to live alone/READY to live alone, but he changed quite a bit. was really going through it, quit his band, stopped putting effort into school. barely graduated. went from being a social butterfly spending every weekend at a gig or with friends to spending all of his time on a pc or in front of a tv, playing console games. the internet comforted him when nobody else would/could and then he met the future members of meta <33333333 #newbeginnings

present day geon is still struggling, has to go to counseling bi-weekly but he’s coming back out of his shell! he wants to fall in love with life again, just wants to tread carefully... outgoing & will talk to absolutely anyone, but he still spends most of his time alone. hard to reach by text, so if you wanna talk to him, you better call/facetime LMAO. talks a mile a minute, especially if you get him going abt something he really likes. laughs a lot, smiles a lot, more habitual than actual signs of happiness but yk. ummm he has a really loud voice, mostly controlled nowadays but he still gets carried away sometimes. an absolute menace during long drives/flights, sorry meta.

funny but only when he’s in large groups. feeds off of other peoples’ energy, really good at reading a room and breaking the ice/making everyone comfortable, but if you meet him 1-on-1, none of his jokes land quite the same.

i envision him as being the kind of guy who carries himself in such a way that you’d assume he’s really popular/out of reach/maybe even full of himself, but he’s... not like that... at all... in fact, he’s kinda irritating when you get to know him. the personification of a flood followed by a drought and vice versa, always either too much or not enough. gets used/ghosted/dropped/dumped/whatever a lot because he’s soooo fun in the moment (if he isn’t in his feelings), but draining long-term.

really emotionally intelligent, in touch with his feelings in a way that a lot of people never thought he would be (probably thanks to counseling tbh). he’s very very rarely the type of person who will make you wonder what your place in his life is — he’s communicative, kind, honest. ummm he thinks that intimacy between friends needs to be more common, so he’s really affectionate with the people in his life. type of guy to tell you he loves you every chance he gets (calling you when he’s drunk, sounding like a clingy ex type beat) & greet you/depart with a hug. losing his dad kinda fucked him up in the way that he won’t leave/hang up until his friends say “i love you” back, gets kinda (re: very) upset if he’s denied that and/or a hug.

TRIVIA.

has been playing the guitar “longer than he’s been walking” (not really, but he swears it’s true).

uhhh he really likes nail art, but he’s kinda hesitant in what he tries? mainly sticks to black polish (or other plain colors), but sometimes he’ll get little designs added in as well. mainly does it himself because he still doesn’t feel comfortable in salons... if his work looks bad, leave him alone <3 he’s trying

inspired by people like kurt cobain, nicky wire, yungblud, billie joe armstrong & damiano david in the fact that he’s not against wearing dresses or skirts on stage. doesn’t do it ALL the time, but often enough that it doesn’t go unnoticed. some people say that he does it for attention because he doesn’t dress like that elsewhere and tbh they’re probably kinda right

interested in history (only SOME... dinosaurs, ancient civilizations, specialized areas like the history of circuses/clowns/skateboarding/punk, stuff like that yk), stand-up comedy & documentaries. could spend a whole day watching documentaries and would say he had fun, has a lot of useless knowledge that nobody gives a fuck about and is kinda dumb when it comes to things that matter

when it comes to music, he prefers playing really fast and heavy rock or punk over anything else, but he actually listens to a lot more soft indie on his own time... he’s too tense these days to be listening to anything else RIPPP

the vibe: homemade tie-dye, ripped slipknot t-shirts, frosted tips, neon crocs with alien & peace-sign charms, chipped black nail polish, calloused hands, cheesy pick-up lines used NOT to land a date but to pull a smile, driving until he’s lost, stupid socks paired with pressed suits, dramatic poetry in an iphone note, etc. 

PLOT IDEAS.

people he met through online support groups about coping with grief

uhhh an on & off relationship that’s been going for who-knows-how-long. the reason for this is up for discussion, but i imagine that he hasn’t given up yet because the constant highs and lows are a good source of inspo 🤪 artists must suffer for their art!

opposite side of the coin — someone he’s interested in, but he’s NOT disloyal so it’s a pattern of persistent courting when he’s single vs intense friend-zoning when he’s not and they’re getting tired of trying to figure out what he wants from them

someone else who likes nail art & can convince him that NOBODY cares if he goes to a salon

someone (probably female but doesn’t really matter tbh) who feels like his feminism is entirely performative… maybe they attack him directly for it or maybe they just REALLY don’t like him and they’re super vague about it idk. either way, please tell him that activism is much more than recommending one female artist a year and saying “clothes have no gender 🤪” so he can be praised for the bare minimum (his heart is in the right place but his skull is empty)

someone super introverted who comes out of their shell with geon! uhhh maybe they think that he’s the one doing them a favor, but in reality spending time with them has been doing wonders for his mental health

other people who like to skate. let’s congregate at the local skatepark and scare the middle schoolers away

someone who inspires him musically, for whatever reason. lots of late nights in studios, idly strumming his guitar and writing lyrics that definitely aren’t about how their eyes look in these dim lights… umm maybe he thinks he has a crush on them but really doesn’t and ends up hurting them eventually, maybe he really DOES have a crush but will (probably) never do anything abt it or maybe it’s entirely platonic and he just admires them a ridiculous amount

someone who likes to make music as a hobby, prob won’t publish/release any of it but it’s fun to imagine. spontaneous meetings with geon in the middle of the night, recording songs together and keeping the WORST takes for the laughs. there’s probably a diss-track of them going in on each other floating around somewhere even though geon can’t rap for shit

night owls who keep him company on the phone, even if they can’t be there physically. them talking really quietly vs geon shouting at them while he plays games LMAO

gaming buddies. come over, maybe you can carry geon through his game of the week or you can both fail but have fun while you’re at it… or you can scream while he fends off that hoard of zombies behind you

i’m typing this at the last minute (literally) so i’m gonna stop here, but i will get a proper plots page put up asap with a wider variety of connections!!! but as always, please do let me know if you have any other ideas. i’m always happy to plot and write with you all 🌚

#ws:intro #frankly my characters end up a lil different from intended 90% of the time soooo take my description of his personality w a grain of salt #this intro is long and illiterate but i'll fix it at a later time

[lamesiscanon]

Candy Cane

Day 3 of the Wolfstar Holiday 2020 prompt list from @remus-john-lupin !!! Includes: Single father Remus with toddler Teddy being CUTE and Sirius being kind. 

Remus was hoping the DVLA wouldn’t be so busy this early in the morning, but nothing seemed to work in his favor this week. First, Teddy got sick and had to take a few days off school which meant Remus had to take a few days off work to watch over him. Second, his babysitter, Alice, was out of town for the holidays so there was no hope for him to make it into work for even just a few hours. 

And then of course, there was the fact that Remus had urgent errands to run and had no choice but to force Teddy along despite the kid’s running fever and constant fatigue. He was grateful for Teddy, the superstar, for not complaining in the slightest when Remus explained he had to get out of bed early that day and go with dad to renew his license. At least Remus had that going for him. 

All hopes of getting Teddy back to bed with a warm cup of soup and his decongestant medicine were thrown out the window when he stepped into the DVLA building. For some godforsaken reason, the building was busy at 7 am on a Thursday so close to Christmas. The line snaked throughout the room, barely ending where Remus and Teddy had walked in through the door. Remus sighed at the scene, resigning himself to his fate and hoping for Teddy’s sake that the line would move a lot quicker than he thought. 

Remus crouched down to Teddy’s eye level and reached out to tuck the coat a little tighter around the boy. 

“Why don’t you go sit in the chairs over there, bud? You can play games on my phone while you wait.” 

Teddy nodded, accepting Remus’ iPhone and walking over to the chairs while sniffing. Remus had a feeling his son’s scarf would become snot rags.

The line progressed much slower than Remus would have liked. The stress and the noise of the place was giving him a headache, on top of the strong whiff of cologne that came from behind him each time the door opened. Remus desperately wanted this morning to be over. 

After forty minutes of waiting in line, Remus had made it halfway through. Each time he glanced at Teddy, the boy just looked more and more tired and his nose was red from being wiped on his coat sleeve. Still, Teddy never complained, just continued playing one of the few games Remus had on his phone for situations like this. 

Another ten minutes went by and Remus had moved two spaces up when he felt a tug at his sleeve and he looked to see Teddy with watery eyes and a very runny nose. 

Remus crouched down to speak with his son, hoping he knew how sorry he was about him having to be here. “What’s up, bud?”

“My throat hurts.” Teddy sniffled. Remus’ phone was clutched tightly in one hand while the other wiped at his eyes. “I want to go home.”

“I know, Ted, but daddy’s almost done. Why don’t you keep playing games and we’ll go get some soup after, okay?” Remus kissed Teddy on the forehead and ran his hands over his hair, trying to comfort his son. 

“Your phone died. I’m sorry.” Teddy shook his head, handing the phone back to Remus. 

“Hey, don’t apologize.” Remus smiled, “I’m glad it kept you busy. Do you want your coloring book?”

Teddy shook his head and sniffled again, wiping his eyes of the tears that threatened to fall. “Can we get a candy cane? My throat really hurts.”

“Yeah, I think you deserve a candy cane. You’ve been so good. We’ll stop by the store when we leave, okay?”

Teddy whimpered at that, breaking Remus’ heart a little and making him frustrated at how this morning was going. Of all days, he had to renew his license on the busiest day before Christmas.

“Can we get one here?” Teddy begged, wiping his nose on his coat again. 

Remus cringed at the snot on his son’s coat before grabbing his own tissues and wiping Teddy’s nose.

“I’m sorry, bud, I don’t think they have any here. I promise we’ll get one soon, okay?” 

Teddy nodded, eyes still watery and moving to go back to his seat when a voice behind them cleared its throat. 

“Actually, if it’s okay with your dad, I’ve got a candy cane you can have.” 

Remus stood up again, hand holding Teddy’s as he faced the stranger. Warm, striking grey eyes met his and Remus almost forgot to breathe for a moment. The stranger’s hair fell to his shoulders under a red beanie and Remus wished he didn’t want to run his fingers through it, but he did. Most alluring of all, was the man’s kind smile as he held out a red and white striped candy cane towards Teddy. 

When he felt a tug on his hand, Remus was forced back to reality, where he had a sick kid in need of peppermint for his sore throat. Focus, Lupin. 

Teddy glanced up at him questioningly, eyes begging him to say yes, as if Remus could ever say no to Teddy when he was like this. 

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.” Remus grabbed the candy cane from the stranger’s hand, who brushed their fingers. Remus blushed and passed the peppermint candy to Teddy.

“What do you say, Ted?” Remus prompted when Teddy smiled.

“Thank you, mister.” Teddy smiled at the man and wiped his eyes before sticking the peppermint in his mouth. He already looked so much happier. 

“No problem, I’m happy to help.” The stranger replied, smiling at Teddy and then looking at Remus with those damned distracting eyes. 

Teddy went to sit back on his chair after Remus said it was okay, and Remus was so happy to see him smiling again, looking less in pain now he had a treat.

“Thanks again,” Remus faced the stranger, “That was nice of you.”

The man shrugged, burying his hands in his coat pockets while still smiling at Remus. 

“It’s nothing, he definitely needed it way more than I do. I’m Sirius, by the way.” His right hand left his coat pocket and was extended out towards Remus. He shook the hand and reveled in the warmth and how Sirius’ hand completely covered his own. 

“Remus. And that’s Teddy.” He pointed towards his boy when Sirius released the handshake, and Remus was only mildly disappointed at the loss. 

“He’s a nice kid.” Sirius nodded at the boy when he looked up, “You’re very good with him, most parents would tell their kids to sit down, shut up and be good.”

Remus quickly shook his head, seeing how much better Teddy looked playing with the candy cane wrapper while the candy itself was stuck between his lips. “He’s very good, I could never get angry at him like that. Even if he isn’t always well behaved, I try my best to be patient with him.”

Sirius gave him a funny look, but it was gone before Remus could process it. “You’re a good dad, Remus. Your wife must be very happy to have a father like you around.” 

Remus wondered if there was a subtle question in that statement, but decided to answer before the thought could make him blush. 

“Oh, um. I’m actually not married. His mom moved to the states shortly after he was born.” Sirius looked mildly embarrassed at that, and went to open his mouth to apologize but Remus stopped him before he could.

“It wasn’t love, she sees him during his birthday and every other Christmas but there’s no need to worry.”

Sirius nodded and sighed in slight relief, running his fingers through his hair and putting his beanie back on after. Remus itched to fix the strand that landed on Sirius’ lashes without him noticing.

“Ah, well, sorry anyways. I guess that’s what I get for assuming things. My mate says I always speak before I think, and he’s right most of the time.” Sirius chuckled awkwardly. Remus made sure to move on from the topic, assuring Sirius it wasn’t a big deal. They found themselves chatting about the holidays and Teddy’s school work while they moved through the queue, not bothered that they were complete strangers to each other. Remus found himself liking the conversation enough that it was making his day, even with the horrible start and the amount of people at the DVLA.

He was actually disappointed when they had to separate from each other when it was his turn at the counter. After the photo on his license was renewed, he looked around for Sirius, but saw him still talking to one of the workers behind a desk. Remus sighed, chiding himself for getting his hopes up about some man he had just met and had one conversation with.

“Ready, bud?” Remus asked, reaching Teddy’s waiting seat and reaching his hand out. They walked out to the parking lot, as Remus spared one last glance towards Sirius no matter how silly it made him feel. If this was the last time he’d see the man, he might as well get one more good look. He was tucking a blanket around Teddy in the backseat to keep him warm when he heard running footsteps behind him.

“Remus!” Sirius was running towards them, stuffing some papers in his coat pocket as he ran.

Remus could only look at Sirius with surprise as he tried to regain his breath. 

“Sorry, sorry, I know you need to get Teddy home, but I- fuck.” Sirius’ eyes widened when he heard a giggle from the car and realized Teddy’s door was still open. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I always swear when I’m nervous.” Sirius moved his beanie off his head again to run his fingers through his hair, and Remus desperately wished he wouldn’t.

“No, it’s fine. Nothing he hasn’t heard before.” Remus assured as he closed Teddy’s door to give them privacy. “Wait, nervous?” Remus had assumed he left behind a paper or something and Sirius was here to give it back. 

“Yeah, uh, shit I really hope I wasn’t reading this all wrong but I was wondering if you’d like to maybe get dinner sometime? Maybe when Teddy’s getting better because I don’t want you to have to leave him alone sick or find a babysitter but you’re just really good with him and I liked our conversation, and I think you’re cute-” 

Remus realized Sirius was rambling. This gorgeous man he had just met in line at the DVLA was rambling nervously because of Remus.

“I’d love to get dinner sometime.” Remus cut him off with a kind smile, briefly glancing at Teddy through the car window to see him grinning at Remus. Shit, he had probably just heard everything. Little devil. 

“Great! Uh, great. So, can I pick you up sometime next week?” Sirius asked, smiling widely now with his hands still fidgeting in his coat pockets.

“That sounds perfect. Here, I’ll give you my number.” 

Remus pulled out of the car park with a laughing Teddy while he watched Sirius in the rear-view mirror waving at them with a grin. This morning, which had started out so rough, was now something Remus was grateful for. Teddy was happy, sore throat feeling better and smiling now. And he had a date with the gorgeous stranger he met in line while running errands. 

All thanks to a candy cane.

#terrible terrible terrible I hate this #oh well have it anyways #Wolfstar Holiday 2020 prompt list #wolfstar fluff #get together #Sirius x Remus #christmas fic #christmas fluff #wolfstar fic #harry potter au #harry potter #hogwarts imagine #remus lupin #sirius black #mwpp era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #marauders era #wolfstar au #Sirius black headcanon #Remus Lupin headcanon #Sirius Black imagine #Remus Lupin imagine #marauders map #marauders fluff

[frostedfaves]

Shouldn’t Come Back (2)

Part 1

Pairing: Jake Peralta x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: violence, death, hostage situation, angst with some resolution in the end

Y/M/N - your mother’s name

Y/F/N - your father’s name

-

“Y/N? Y/N...Y/N, baby, wake up.”

“Mom?”

She opened her eyes and turned her head to see her mother sitting beside her. The sight instantly brought her to a state of alertness, as well as the realization that they were both tied up to the wall in her basement. 

“Mom, what’s going on? Did my father do this?”

“Yes,” Y/M/N answered tearfully. “He escaped prison and came here and….I don’t even remember anything except opening the door to see him standing there, and then next thing I knew he was here. How did he find you? I thought you were at work.”

“I left to get an early lunch because I couldn’t exactly stomach breakfast after discovering he ‘got out’ early. I heard someone crying in an alley on my way back and went to check it out. That’s the last thing I remember.”

Y/N took advantage of the moment of silence to listen to her surroundings, frowning when she didn’t hear a single footfall in the room or a creak of the floorboards above them. 

“Wait, is he not here?”

“No, he left just before you woke up. I didn’t try anything because I was afraid to get caught again, like I did when he first brought you in,” Y/M/N responded in a whisper, as if she feared Y/F/N was still around.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure that he took my phone. Luckily I have a Plan B.” She turned her body and brought her feet close to her mother. “Do me a favor and reach into my left boot.”

-

Meanwhile, Jake was nowhere near as calm. He gripped the phone tightly in his hand as he ran to Captain Holt’s office. Before Holt could question his sudden interruption of his conversation with Terry, Jake blurted it out. 

“Y/F/N L/N has Y/N.”

“What?! How do you know?” Terry questioned as he stood up in shock. 

“Because he called me,” Jake spit out angrily. “I swear if I find so much as a wrinkle on her clothing because of him, I’ll—”

“Peralta!” Rosa called from the bullpen, causing him to pause and face her through the office door. “Call tracker in the briefing room.”

The squad gathered as Jake dialed Y/N’s number a couple times, groaning in frustration every time it went to voicemail. He slammed his hand on the table as he hung up a third time. 

“Why won’t he answer?!”

“It’s possible that he either left the phone where he called from or he knows that we can trace him. Do you know her Find My iPhone password?” Amy asked, pulling up the app on her phone. 

“No, but I’m sure I could guess—wait.” Jake jumped to his feet again, rushing over to his desk.

“What’s going on, Jake?”

“Y/N told me that her mother convinced her to turn her father in, so maybe he’s coming after both of them,” he told them as he logged into his computer quickly. “Does anybody know where she works?”

“She’s retired so she might be at home,” Rosa called from her own computer, adding a few seconds later, “Got an address.”

“Perfect, everyone suit up while I get a van arranged for us.” Holt took off toward his office as everyone else headed down the hall to get ready. 

“Hey, Peralta.” Jake looked up at Terry as he secured his bulletproof vest. “Y/N’s tough. She’s probably kicking his ass right now as we speak. I’m sure by the time we get there, all we’ll have to do is cuff him and send him off to maximum security.”

Jake gave him a weak smile as he turned to leave the room. “I really hope you’re right, Sarge.”

-

Y/N froze for a second at the sound of the front door opening, quickly turning to her mother again. 

“You don’t happen to have any newfound roommates I haven’t heard about yet, do you?” she asked, sighing when her mother shook her head. “Shit, okay. I just need a little more time. Can you keep his attention off me?”

“I can try, but I think he wanted you here more than me.”

Both women kept their eyes on the basement stairs as Y/F/N slowly made his way down, grinning at the sight of his newly conscious daughter. 

“Wonderful of you to join us, baby girl,” he told Y/N as he finally reached the cement floor. 

“Please, Y/F/N, just let her go. I’m the one that made her turn you in. It’s me you want!”

Y/F/N laughed loudly in response as he let his gaze fall upon her. “You think I’m stupid enough to let the detective go?! She didn’t need you to tell her to do anything; she’s been a snitch all her life.”

Y/N felt a bit of anger bubbling in her chest but pushed it down to focus on finally freeing herself from the rope, slowing down slightly when she noticed her father’s eyes on her again. 

“What?”

“Just wondering if you have anything to say to me yet, or if you’re too busy trying to get out of that knot.” He chuckled as he stepped closer. “Good luck with that; I had a lot of free time to perfect rope tying.”

“I wouldn’t brag about being a piece of shit rotting away in a jail cell for most of my only child’s life,” she snapped at him as the last rope strand finally split in half. 

“It’s a brag if your child is an even bigger piece of shit.”

“Fuck you,” she jeered as she kicked him hard in the shin, smiling as he flinched back and groaned in pain.

He quickly recovered, grabbing Y/N by the shirt to pull her to her feet. The blade she cut herself free with fell to the floor, but she managed to keep hold of the rope. She sent a rapid knee to his groin, followed by a punch to the face to knock him to the floor. He pulled her down with him before she could stop him, creating a tangle of rope and limbs.

They fought for a while, Y/N quickly realizing that her father had taken the time to build his strength in prison. She was faster with her movements but his hits were harder, and both parties were growing tired. Y/F/N managed to get the upper hand as Y/N tried to tie his hands with the rope, flipping them both so that he was on top and began wrapping it around her neck. She fought as hard as she could, suddenly noticing her mother kicking the blade toward them.

“NYPD, open up!”

The shout from outside momentarily distracted Y/F/N just enough for her to grab the blade without being caught, but the sound of the front door being kicked in and the detectives following the light to the basement sent him into a frenzy. He went to pull the rope tight around her neck, not even flinching as she frantically scratched at his skin with the sharp point.

“NYPD, put your hands up!” Jake called as he ran down the steps, stopping when he saw Y/F/N limply lying on top of his girlfriend. “Y/N, you okay?”

He stepped over and pushed Y/F/N away, revealing her horrified expression as her eyes followed him to the floor, resting upon the blade handle that stuck out from his chest. Jake quickly unwrapped the rope from around her as she stayed frozen, only able to watch as Amy checked for a pulse, shaking her head at the captain.

“Baby, look at me,” Jake softly commanded as he turned her gaze away from her father and Terry, who was now talking to her mother. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“No, I don’t think so. I…” Her eyes turned to her father once again. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, babe,” Jake tells her as he fails to gain her eye contact again. “You were just defending--”

“No, I could’ve stabbed him anywhere but I--”

“You did what you had to do to save yourself,” he cuts her off sternly, placing his hands on either side of her face to force her to focus only on him. “You do not have to apologize for protecting your mother and yourself, okay?”

She felt herself giving in to the warmth that Jake radiated around her, lifting her hands to rest on top of his with a slight smile. The shakiness she felt slowly calmed until it was hardly noticeable, to her at least. The smile on her lips widened a bit at the sight of Jake’s appearing.

“Okay.” She closed her eyes for only a moment, allowing herself to lean into his touch more. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too. Come on.” Jake helped her to her feet, leading her away from the basement as the coroner came in and outside of the house entirely, only letting her go to embrace her mother. As sad as it was, he couldn’t fight the joy he felt at having her back. A small part of him felt her father deserved his fate, because he shouldn’t have come back anyway.

#jake peralta #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x fem!reader #jake peralta imagine #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #brooklyn nine nine imagine #brooklyn nine nine x reader #b99 fic #b99 imagine #b99 x reader #b99 fanfic

[radiojamming]

This a weird prompt but would you write jonmichael? Asking solely because I want to read Elias and the archives staff dealing with that

good-ish AU where sasha’s still sasha and everyone’s cool with stuff, i guess? :DDD

- - -

The door-that-wasn’t-there-a-minute-ago slams open against the wall, shaking the shelves and knocking one cheap vase to the floor in a small explosion of sad porcelain shards and accumulated dust. Martin lets out a high-pitched, “Jesus Christ!” in surprise as much as raw shock when Jon Sims himself staggers out the door like a teenager doing the walk of shame. Granted, he’s bleeding from his hairline and one sleeve of his sweater appears to just be missing, but he looks more sheepish than injured.

Just as he makes the last step over the threshold-that-shouldn’t-be, Martin sees a vague person-ish shape wobble in the mysterious beyond. And it is, in fact, wobbling, like a bobblehead or one of those playground toys shaped like horses that waver on oversized springs until they fling some unfortunate child headfirst into sand. Extended metaphor it may be, but the wobbly thing gives a high, wavering giggle before cooing, “Don’t forget this, love!” in a voice tiered in multiple pitches like an eldritch wedding cake. Jon turns just in time for an arm-that-shouldn’t-be-that-long-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck to come shooting out of the door, an iPhone clutched pinched between its enormous fingers. Martin might be hallucinating, but he thinks the razor-sharp fingernails are lacquered in sparkly purple nail varnish. 

He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it before Jon gingerly takes the phone with a mumbled, “Thanks,” and the hand recedes back into the hellish landscape beyond the door.

“Of course!” garbles the wobbly thing. Then, with a range of voices topped off with an impressive soprano flourish as light as meringue, it yodels, “Call me!”

As abruptly and shockingly as the door appeared, it disappears with a sharp crack, causing the shelves to slam back into place with a small cataract of old books falling into the pile of broken ceramic.

Jon and Martin stand in the stuffy office, each caught in the awkward position of how the hell do you talk about that? 

Finally, Jon gives Martin the most soul-deep, weary look before quietly beseeching, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

All Martin can do is nod before Jon shuffles out to the hallway

- - -

Sasha sees him at the flower stall again. 

Through the warped windowpane, she watches him scoop up a great, garish bouquet representing nearly every spectrum in the visible rainbow, and some colours that might not exist save for the eyes of the mantis shrimp. When she gets to ground level and sees him semi-properly, he’s just a blond man in a beanie, carefully regarding a sorry bunch of daffodils held together by what looks like clingfilm cinched shut with twine. Rather than being all spooky and mysterious, Sasha thinks he’s actually deliberating. There’s a pinch in his brow as he lowers the daffodils in favor of prodding the drooping lower lid of a sorry little orchid suffering in London’s less-than-tropical climes.

Sasha kind of feels… sorry for him?

Granted, he’s a monster with terrifying monster hands and monster tendencies and apparently a taste for caffeine, but he really looks caught on what to get. That in mind, she does remember that he bought lilies the last time he was around. Maybe that was less of a coincidence and this Michael creature really does like flowers; or he may have some fellow monster friend that he deems worthy of buying flowers for. Honestly, Sasha doesn’t want to think of what kind of friends Michael keeps.

Against her better judgement and sense of self-preservation, Sasha walks across the street to where Michael forlornly weighs his options. He looks up at her approach, and the first impression she gets is that his eyes are more like spinning tops prone to rotate anti-clockwise. She blinks and sees stationary blue eyes regarding her with confusion, and then… relief?

Huh.

“Sah-shah Jaaayymeeesss!” he almost sings, lifting up the dying daffodils like a salute. “What a pleasure to see your radiant face again!”

“Michael,” she replies, a little colder than she intends. Last time they met, there were far more meaty hands and worms involved, and she’d rather get to work unscathed.

If he thinks the reply is chilly, he makes no sign of it. Instead, he flops the tortured flowers around in his terrible hands. “Actually, I was hoping to see one of you lovely little Institute-dwellers around. I think I gave Martin a bit of a fright laaaaast time!”

Sasha frowns, but can definitely picture Martin having to be peeled off the ceiling after a Michael encounter. “Oh,” is all she says.

Michael goes on, gleefully undaunted. “You see, you and I have a mutual acquaintance! And I think he’s in need of a little—” He gives the daffodils a vigorous shake. “—cheering up these days! But I just don’t know what he’d like! Silly me for not being obseeeeervant!”

“I… A mutual acquaintance?”

“Yeeeessss! Your lovely boss!”

“Elias?”

Michael laughs. Well, more like he laughs in a way that sounds like he laughed ten minutes ago and ten minutes into the future, and then layered the sounds over one another like phyllo dough in a hellish baklava. It’s impossible, but Sasha hears it all the same. “Noooo!” he giggles. “Not in a million endless cycles of time or those dimensions yet unperceiveeeeeed!”

Sasha won’t even start on that statement, except that it isn’t Elias, which means it has to be— 

Oh. Jesus.

Grubby, curmudgeonly, insomniac Jesus.

“Jon?” she gasps.

Michael laughs again, louder and higher so that a glass breaks somewhere in the distance. “Yeeeesssss! Poor Jonathan, always working so hard in that dismal cave you call an archive. I offered him office space that would appeal more to a sense of aestheticism, but he… Oh, what did he say? He thought it was a little heavy on the—” And here he speaks in an exact mimic of Jon’s dry voice when he says: “Impossible, improbable, and honest to God, Michael, my brain would shatter into a thousand pieces if I looked at that painting for another minute.” Michael dissolves into a fit of giggles before saying, “It’s just a lost Hieronymus Bosch painting, honestly.”

So Michael McMeatyhands is buying flowers for Jonathan Sims. Sasha’s having a hell of a time wrapping her head around that particular fact. 

The infernal giggling stops and Michael seems to circle (spiral?) back to his previous predicament. Dying daffodils or suffering orchids?

For a lack of anything more to say, Sasha wordlessly points to a bouquet of slightly more enthusiastic-looking daisies, bobbing peacefully in a tin pail of water. “Those,” is all she can manage to say. 

Michael looks thrilled. He actually hums some impossible tune (in full SATB with orchestral arrangement, all localised in his throat) as he puts the daffodils back, scoops up the daisies, and drops four quid into the stall owner’s hands with a wet, meaty thwap that the owner doesn’t seem to hear. Then, Michael swivels back toward Sasha and grins with the corners of his lips somehow curling up near his eyes like a particularly twisty Cheshire Cat.

“Thank you, Miss James!” he says. “You’re a lifesaver!”

“You’re… welcome? I think?”

But Michael’s already walking away, taking steps in a gait that doesn’t seem to match the rhythm of the rest of his body, like two halves of entirely different people drunkenly attempting synchronicity. Sasha half-expects his legs to walk away from his torso.

Toward Jon. 

She sighs and rubs a hand over her face before heading in the direction of the Underground station.

- - -

The boss is dating someone. This, Tim is absolutely sure of. He’s watched Jon like a hawk for a week now, carefully comparing his moods in the morning with how early he left work the night before. Long work nights equal really bad mood. Long not work nights equal better mood with less shouting and calling people morons under his breath. This is good.

This is very good.

Tim is pleased with his enviable knowledge. Whoever somehow won the heart of the boss must be a pretty special person, or at least someone with an endless well of patience. Or maybe they’re Jon’s opposite? Either way, Tim’s got a hankering to send them a box of chocolate as a thank you for chilling the boss out and making him more tolerable to work with. 

He tries to picture who this mystery person is, as Jon’s definitely not the type of person to take his personal life to work with him, inasmuch as he likes to take work home. Tim pictures someone easygoing, like a Margaritaville type. They balance Jon’s stick-up-assery out, maybe giving him massages over the back of the couch while Jon watches dry documentaries about the actual speed of drying paint. In his mind’s eye, Tim gives this person a hideously neon Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, but a winning smile that melts Jon’s ice-locked heart and makes it so he can’t help but smile back.

Tim likes them, whoever they are.

And when he gives Jon a little wink after dropping off a follow-up report, says, “Had a good night?” in a way more than a tiny bit suggestive, he only relishes a teensy bit in how dark Jon’s cheek become and how he ducks his head down. He mumbles something before actually thanking Tim for the report.

Yeah, this is awesome. Tim owes Jon’s mystery partner a thank you card and maybe a cake. 

- - -

“Eliaaaaas.”

“Michael.”

Staring. Lots of staring. Cold, unflinching irises to a set of psychedelic, rotating disco balls set in a grinning face. Behind Michael, blue and purple streaks like the top of a wildberry Pop-Tart flash about and dance madly as Michael gives him the strangest of staredowns. Occasionally, his head appears to flip upside-down a few times on his swirly straw of a neck, and half of his teeth try to glitch through his lips in a way that Elias thinks of as an attempt at a sneer.

Finally, Elias sighs and calmly folds his hands on the top of his desk, ignoring the waves of tangible static pouring out onto the floor and possibly leaving a stain on the carpet. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the janitorial staff. “We may have to set some ground rules,” he says.

“I’ll bring him home by eleven,” Michael cackles in reply.

Elias narrows his eyes just as he feels Beholding roll its great omnipresent gaze in irritation.

“I mean to say that you’re not to interfere in Institute business any further than you are right now,” Elias retorts. “I should completely ban all Spiral-related statements on grounds of personal involvement.”

Michael grins. His smile rises up to his forehead like a crescent moon before rolling down the side of his face and hooking back up into the empty space where a normal mouth should be. “I can make this weirder. I can spiral any statement in this place. Every little word can bend in and around on itself like a pipe cleaner.”

Elias glares. “You won’t.”

“You can’t stop me!” Michael sings. “But I’ll keep courting your Archivist nice and proper as long as I’d like, or he’d like.”

“If this is an attempt to draw him into the Spiral’s influence—”

When Michael laughs this time, it seems to be drawn from every laugh that was ever laughed in the history of the muscular and diaphragmatic spasms that caused them. It’s so charged, so loud and explosive that Elias nearly winces at it. And when it’s over, there’s a vacuum of sound in its wake, so it takes a full minute for Elias to hear anything properly again.

Then, Michael taps his horrible fingers on Elias’ desk, eliciting a sharp tak-tak-tak-tak-tak that repeats in on itself fifty times over. “Not everything is about influence,” Michael hisses through too many teeth. “Not every attempt on a person is to draw them in and mark them, unlike what you do. Maybe sometimes, one of us can authentically like one of them. Is that too hard for you to understand, Man-of-the-Eye?”

Beholding tries to truly See Michael, but something about the Spiral’s nature twists the image. 

“No,” Michael goes on, followed by another round of tak-tak-tak-tak-tak. “I rather like the Archivist. And he likes me. Aaaand if you try to get in the way of us, I will peeeeerrrrsonallyyyyy claw your precious little eyes out of your sockets. Understand?”

Elias doesn’t have time to make a reply. Michael is gone in a gunpowder-bright flash of light and a shock of sound. If there was a door, it’s gone. So he sits alone in his office, staring at the space where the Spiral was, and he feels something terribly empty and terribly familiar.

- - -

Jon picks their next date and opts for something as normal as the last one was strange. He chooses a walk at St James Park, eating ice cream and admiring the pelicans while Michael regales him with some bizarre story that sounds more like a backwards recitation of the Jabberwocky poem. He pauses in between stanzas to eat more of his pistachio ice cream with a delighted gusto before he presses on in gibberish.

Something about it makes Jon feel oddly warm and content, even as the early spring wind chills him.

Their last date was to Annwn, which Jon had originally suspected was in Wales. He was half-right; it was Wales as much as it was also the traditional world of the afterlife in ancient Welsh rites. It was rather lovely and Jon thinks very highly of their honey cakes, although he suspects he probably wasn’t supposed to eat them. 

But Michael looks just as pleased to be in this park as he was to be in ancient Welsh paradise. His Jabberwockish story comes to an end and he finishes the rest of his cone before throwing the little paper ring into a nearby litter bin. Then, he stretches his arms out to the side and sighs in contentment. “Just bonny, as they say!” he cheers before reaching down and taking Jon’s free hand in his. It’s got a mind-boggling weight and an odd texture, while appearing to be a normal hand. At first, it gave Jon such an acute sense of discomfort that he found himself involuntarily withdrawing. Now, it’s just another aspect of Michael that he’s learned to like.

Love, maybe. He hasn’t thought on that overmuch.

Yet here they are, holding hands like all the other couples in the park. It’s so simple, so normal. Jon’s life has been so ridiculous lately that the fact he’s holding a Spiral avatar’s nigh-impossible hand on a date in a park is just… maybe the most normal thing that’s happened so far. Michael’s not trying to kill him or throttle his mind to the point of madness.

They’re happy.

Jon’s happy.  

He smiles, and so does Michael. Yes, Michael’s smile is making an attempt to summit his head like Everest before flickering back into place like he remembers where he is, but he does smile and it’s perfectly authentic. 

It could be weirder, and for once, that thought delights Jon.

#prompt fill #tma #the magnus archives #jonmichael #THIS WAS RLY FUN ;w; #tried to fix the wonky mobile formatting!

[zaritarazi]

Chastra Week | Day 5: Discovery

“It’s funny,” Astra says. “I barely know what Earth’s like and now I’m stuck on Jupiter.”

The bartender, green- Martian? Seems to ignore her, and she recognizes the situation for what it is.

“I lived in Hell, you know,” Astra says. “Humans- Earthlings, I guess- We have a Hell and we have a-“ She points up. “This place reminds me of Hell.”

It’s not meant as an insult. An old movie had once taught Astra that there’s no place like home, and Hell is home. And if you stick her in any seedy little bar with a seedy little crowd, she’ll blend right in.

Alien liquor might be a mistake. It hasn’t stopped her from drinking. “I’m looking for someone,” Astra says, pulling Charlie’s photo up on her phone. Most extraterrestrials she’s encountered are surprisingly nonplussed by the iPhone, so she knows that’s not why the bar tender isn’t paying attention.

If this were her bar, she’d have the Martian by the neck, pinned to the wall. But it’s not her bar, it’s not her hell, it’s not even her planet.

“This is my partner,” Astra says. “Charlie. You might have seen her with a blonde woman?”

The fuck is cleaning glasses. Astra is drinking out of one of the bar’s glasses right now, and she can attest they’ve never actually been really cleaned.

“Hey!” she says, pounding her fist on the bar. “Big and stupid!”

That gets the bartender’s attention, and Astra replies with an old fallback, her familiar wolfish grin.

“That’s right,” she says, voice low with anger. “You. I’m looking for my partner. Have you seen her?”

The bartender finally gives the image on Astra’s phone a cursory glance, and then shakes their head.

Astra responds to this with a sort of sneer, running her tongue along her molars. “Okay,” Astra says. “That’s fair. How much?”

The bartender tilts their head.

“How much for information?” Astra asks. “What do you take as payment? Favors? Theft? Hits? I’m flexible.”

“I don’t understand,” the bartender says, and Astra almost startles at the sound of their voice. Not because she hasn’t been able to understand anyone- she’d swallowed that little translator pill when this mess had started, but because the bartender hadn’t seemed at all like the speaking kind.

“What don’t you understand?” she asks.

“I haven’t seen your lover,” they say. “Why would I ask you for anything else?”

Astra’s face feels hot. “I said partner.”

“That’s what I said,” the bartender says. “Lover.”

Okay. Imperfect translator. Understood. “Well that sucks shit,” Astra says. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Charlie’s not even supposed to be here. She wanted to leave and then they got like, the fucking Captain, and maybe I thought it would be good to bring her back, just because it had happened so quickly, maybe I should’ve let her go?” She looks at the Bartender and wishes he’d give her something. Even empathy. “Maybe I wanted her back too much. Now they got her, too.”

“Who’s they?” the Bartender asks.

Astra presses her finger to the screen of her phone, against Charlie’s cheek. “I was hoping you’d tell me,” she says. “They’re picking us off. First Sara. Then Nate. Now Charlie.”

“Go back to Earth,” the Bartender says. “Go back to what you know and protect yourself.”

Astra shakes her head. “There’s no point,” Astra says. “Without Charlie, there’s no point.” She looks up, hoping they can’t read the surprise on her face, at her own words. “I mean. I just got back to the surface, but I don’t want to even… do anything. Until I can do it with Charlie. Does that make sense?”

No response. The bartender seems to be considering the glasses again.

“And now I’m stuck here, by the way,” Astra says. “With no way to contact my ship and no idea where I am, besides Jupiter.” She wants to stop talking, but she also doesn’t. She wants to throw it up. “John says I’ve just replaced getting my mom back with finding Charlie but- I didn’t love my mom like I love… like Charlie. It’s completely different.” She checks the photo on her phone again, to make sure Charlie is still the same, unchanged. Not a trick. Not an illusion. “Why do I keep doing this?”

She realizes the bartender has slipped out, leaving her to stare at the items behind the counter, another new thing to study that will lead her nowhere.

“Love,” Astra answers herself. “Every time I’ve pushed my boundaries, it’s for love.” Some of the bottles have creatures inside them, another familiar, hellish feature of the place. “It’s stupid,” Astra says. “It’s stupid of me to keep looking for love in the biggest, most dangerous places.”

One of the bottles seems to bubble and fizz and she sighs.

“Not like I’d do anything else,” she says, and puts her phone back into her coat.

#chastraweek #chastra #charlie clotho #astra logue #legends of tomorrow #chastraweek2020 #quickfic #my edit #long post

[honeypiehotchner]

Deception (John Watson x OFC) -- part seventeen

I think I’ve made you guys wait long enough, so I won’t be hesitating to post these last few parts. The epilogue is all that’s left. This one is pretty sad, I won’t lie :( 

Small mention/warning for pregnancy/abortion.

“These are yours, I do believe,” Sherlock says, nudging my arm.

           I turn and look to see he has my heels from the restaurant we’re leaving behind. “Thanks.” I take them from him angrily. He pauses walking, allowing me to use his arm to help me stay balanced while I slip back into them. Ahead of us, John continues walking, clenching and unclenching his hand, a habit I thought he had kicked a few months ago. The sight of his sunken shoulders and loud footsteps has my heart aching, and I know it’s all my doing.

           I know it’s only going to get worse.

           Inside the small restaurant – the name I didn’t bother to even catch – John sits across from Sherlock and I at a table for four. When I tried sitting next to John, he silently glared at the chair. That was enough for me to move next to Sherlock.

           Unbeknownst to the idiot private detective next to me, I would also like to slam his head into a wall right now. But I won’t. If I kick his ass, it’ll be done privately.

           John is silent, giving me the time to lay into Sherlock.

  ��        “You couldn’t have talked to me about this?” I nearly yell at him. “You could’ve come to my house, not crashed our fucking dinner reservation and gotten yourself thrown out of the place!”

           “If I remember correctly it was John who punched me.”

           “Because you’re a giant idiot with no concern for anyone’s feelings!”

           “I could say the same about you,” Sherlock replies testily, narrowing his eyes. “When were you going to tell him?”

           I glare at the man before me. “Faking your death is not a good look on you, Sherlock. It changed you.”

           Sherlock merely tilts his head, firing up his next witty remark, but John speaks before he can. “Answer him.”

           I turn my head to my boyfriend – can I still call him that? “What?”

           “You heard me,” John replies, all affection gone from his tone. “I want to know. When were you going to tell me you knew him? And anything else I’m sure you’ve been lying to me about. Surely knowing him isn’t the only thing.”

           “John…”

           “Don’t,” he snaps, shaking his head. “Don’t. Just tell me.”

           So I do. “My real name is Nicole Jane Stewart,” I say. “You knew me—”

           “I don’t know you at all. Keep going.”

           The blow stings when it hits me, but I nod, continuing. “I’m a retired federal agent. Or I was. About a year and a half ago, Mycroft came to me asking for my help. I wasn’t going to agree because I’ve been out of work for a long time, but Sherlock and I were friends, and Mycroft knew I could never say no to helping out a friend.”

           John scoffs. I blink the tears out of my eyes, catching one before it has the chance to fall.

           “My job was simple, to be your therapist and to keep you sane. I have a Bachelors in Psychology and a Masters in Counseling Services, so it wasn’t illegal at all. I was to report to…Mycroft about your wellbeing every month. It was for your safety, John.”

           “Great,” John shakes his head, nodding to Sherlock. “So while you were dead, your brother kept tabs on me through an undercover government spy right under my nose.”

           “I’m not a spy—”

           “You might as well be,” John interrupts me, his gaze falling on me, and I flinch when it does. “So all this time, you knew?”

           I nod slowly.

           “You knew he was alive and you let me grieve and you—We went to his bloody fucking gravesite—!”

           “I know!” I cry, wanting nothing more than to hold him as I tell him all this. That was the plan I had in mind, as silly as it sounds now. To be at home, my house, on the couch, holding him close, confessing it all. “I know, and I’m sorry, but you have to understand, falling in love wasn’t part of the plan. I was only supposed to be your therapist, but then you asked me out—”

           “So this is all my fault then, is it?”

           “No, John, it’s not, that’s not what I’m—”

           “Then don’t say it like it is,” he bites through every word, his eyes showing a hatred toward me that I never thought I’d see. It’s chilling. “Don’t. Pretend. That you care about me, when you let this happen. If you truly loved me, you wouldn’t have done this to me.”

           There is no point in arguing with him. None at all. I nod.

           “That’s it?” John continues. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

           “Nothing I say will make this better or change what happened,” I reply slowly, catching another tear on my finger. “I love you, John. My feelings for you have and always will be real. You have to know that.”

           He looks down, saying nothing.

           That’s that, then.

           I stand from the table, wincing as the chair squeaks against the tile. “I’m going to go,” I announce. “So you two can talk the rest of this out. Goodbye, John.”

           He barely moves.

           I look down at Sherlock. “Goodbye. I hope faking your death was worth it.”

           I brush past him and the table, not looking back. There’s no point in it. I was foolish and let myself believe John wouldn’t care. I was foolish and in love and it’ll never happen again.

           Never.

+++

Mycroft stares at me almost solemnly from his desk. I came here to see if he can fire up the private jet tonight and get me the hell out of England as soon as possible. Apparently, since he’s Mycroft, he can. The pilot said he should be ready in an hour.

           I return all of the documents and devices, including Jane’s iPhone. I’ll get a new one when I get back to America, or maybe I won’t. Who knows.

           I requested that Mycroft have some clothes for me to change into, and thankfully he supplied me with sweatpants and a hoodie. It’s exactly the kind of comfort I need right now.

           When I emerge from the bathroom in my new clothes, I muster up a weak smile. “Thank you for getting the jet and all. You can take it out of my funds for the pilot. I imagine he’s not happy to be flying at nine at night.”

           “That won’t be necessary,” Mycroft waves my offer away. “And the pilot is a night owl. It’s why I hired him for moments like these.”

           I nod, not in the mood for anymore arguments.

           “Thank you,” Mycroft says suddenly. “For coming out of retirement.”

           “No problem.”

           “I know it wasn’t easy,” Mycroft continues, and by the look in his eyes, I know exactly what he’s alluding to. “But John Watson would not have survived if it weren’t for you.”

           “If you say so,” I mutter. “I think he would’ve been better off without ever meeting me.”

           “I don’t think so,” Mycroft shakes his head. He eyes me for a moment, up and down, before settling back on my face. “You’re pregnant.”

           “I know,” I murmur. “Or I had my suspicions.” I only had half a glass of wine last night because with every sip, something felt off. And I opted for water tonight at dinner because of it. “I haven’t taken a test yet, but I will once I’m home.”

           Mycroft furrows his eyebrows. “You aren’t going to tell John?”

           “What’s the point?” I shrug, looking up through my tear-soaked lashes. “He wants nothing to do with me. I doubt a child will change that. It’s better if I just go.” I don’t even know if I’ll keep it.

           Mycroft must have read my mind just from my expression. He doesn’t mention it, though, and for that I’m grateful. All he says instead is, “I’m sorry, Nicole.”

           “Yeah,” I chuckle sadly. “Me too, Mycroft.”

           He nods, sensing the nearing end. “Well. I’ll call a car to take you to the airport. The pilot should be ready by the time you arrive.” He pauses. “You’ll let me know when you’re home safe?”

           “Sure,” I smile. Despite our differences, Mycroft has always seen and protected me as a sister. Even if sometimes his actions seemed twisted. “I’ll send an email.”

           “Alright,” he murmurs.

           I take a seat in the cushioned chair against the wall. I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. Mycroft talks on the phone briefly before hanging up.

           “The car is outside, whenever you’re ready.”

           “Okay,” I whisper, opening my eyes. “You know, Mycroft, I get it now.”

           He raises his eyebrows. “Get what?”

           I keep my gaze on the picture opposite of me. “Why you’re alone. It’s easier.”

           “I don’t know about it being easier,” he admits, folding his hands. “But it’s hard to find love in this line of work.”

           “Caring is not an advantage, I think you said once.” I scoff, shaking my head. “How right you were.”

           I push myself up from the chair, surprised to find Mycroft is walking around his desk toward me.

           “I’ll walk you up,” he says. “I’ll never ask another favor from you, Agent Stewart. I swear.”

           “Please,” I try not to cry. “Just call me Nicole. I’m a shit agent.”

           “You’re not,” Mycroft protests lightly, pulling the door open for me. “But as you wish, Nicole.”

           We walk up the stairs and out front to the car in silence. Mycroft stands on the sidewalk as the car door is opened for me. At the last minute, I wrap my arms around him in brief hug. I’m not sure if I just needed one, if he looked like he needed one, or if I thought he deserved it after our conversation. But regardless, he hugs me back, swearing to me once more that he won’t ask another favor of me.

+++

The private jet touches down in America around ten at night. I’m at my home by eleven.

           Everything is the same as I left it.

           I grab my laptop and search for the charger. Once I find it, I plug the computer in and wait for it to come up. As soon as it does, I send an email to Mycroft, letting him know I have arrived and am back home now.

           He replies quickly (the notification nearly scares me half to death) and tells me thank you. And that John called him looking for me.

           I read it, but I don’t reply.

#Deception #john watson #John Hamish Watson #John Watson x OFC #John Watson x original female character #john watson x reader #john watson x you #john watson fanfiction #john watson fanfic #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #mycroft holmes #sherlock #mycroft #THE EMPTY HEARSE #still angst #all the angst #sadness #tw abortion #only a mention but still #sad face #i'll fix it i swear

[strikearose]

Wrong place wrong time

Okay, I’ve been obsessed over GioMis for the past few weeks so here’s a silly story with Thief!Giorno, Normaldude!Mista, Cop!Abbacchio and Chef!Buccellati.  You can also read it (clic) on ao3.

Napoli - a wonderful metropolitan city full of life, culture and history in the South West of Italy. A city full of hope and opportunities.

A city where it felt good - so good, to be back.

Guido Mista took a deep breath, completely unbothered by the mass of people rushing in the inside of the airport. Gosh - at least he had made it. He had successfully returned home - well, he had returned to the place he was willing to make his new home. Everything there was so bright, so shiny - upbeat!

The sun was dazing, the delicious aroma of Italy was tickling his nose, he was completely surrounded by pretty faces and dashing outfits. He was a simple man - all he wanted was to pursue a happy and cheerful life: eating pizza napoletana at lunch and going to the Stadio San Paolo when he'd saved enough money to watch a football game.

Bang.

Something suddenly brought him back to reality: someone in a hurry had just bumped into him and a long blond strand of hair whipped him in the face. Guido didn't paid much attention to the man who muttered a quick "Sorry" before resuming his path.

Well - he guessed that it was some kind of sign meaning that he needed to get going. After all, there were many things that needed to be done that day and it was already past noon.

Mista leaned down to grab his suitcase and go to the taxi stand - but he stopped on his track.

What the fuck?

Why was his luggage suddenly so light-weighted?

Panic seized the young dark-haired man as he tried to shake his arm, in vain.

The suitcase didn't make any sound, despite him clearly the small keychain at the effigy of his favorite band that he had attached to the handle. For god sake, that damn thing would make the most annoying tinkling song with every step he'd take - what the hell was happening?

He was just robbed - realization hit him hard as his thick eyebrows frowned. A pickpocket had ruined this marvelous new beginning on the very minute he had set foot in Napoli.

"Where the hell is that son of a...-," he stopped mid-sentence - the guy from earlier, it had to be him.

He hadn't had the time to look at his face, in what direction could he be heading now? What was he wearing again? Hell- all he could remember was the lock of golden hair - there was no split end and any dandruff in there.

And it smelled like fresh lavender.

There was no way he could find him among the crowd of tourists. Mista rummaged through his pockets and let out a sigh of relief when he realized that, at least, his wallet was still there. Feeling hopeless, his black eyes landed the wall clock that now indicated 12:18. before being drawn to a vibrant purple shape.

Adrenaline kicked in as he followed the form of that plum shirt to settle on a short blond braid.

Wait - it wasn't blond but golden blond.

That fucking thief! He could swear it was him.

"HEY YOU!," he roared in panic.

His scream managed to hit the bullseye. Despite the noise of the airport, it seemed to the poor Italian man that every pair of eyes instantly turned in his direction. Everyone was now staring at him with confusion, security guards and thief included. They locked eyes for a brief moment before the robber turned away and resumed his walk, with the utmost serenity.

What the...?

It was him, Guido was now sure of it. And there was no way he could alert the officers about what had just happened, he wouldn't have the time to - the thief had just left the airport entrance, he was going to get away with his stuff! So Mista did what any other football aficionado would have done if they were in his situation: he channeled his best Maradona impression and sprinted in pursuit of his precious belongings.

People were looking at him with puzzled expressions as he run through the crowd but it didn't stop the brown-haired man.

Hell no - he needed to get his bag back.

There was no way he was going to lose the few things he had bother to bring with him to a damn crook on his first day here.

Mista was now frantically running in the Calabria Avenue - the sun was at its' zenith and he was probably sweating like a pig but at least he had managed to reduce the distance between him and the thief. What kind of burglar could wear such flamboyant purple clothes? He had always imagined them entirely dressed in black, with gloves, dark hat and all that jazz. They didn't have the luxury to stand out, and yet, the man he was pursuing was walking at a swift and confident pace - as if he hadn't noticed Mista following him, as if he hadn't been urging him to stop for the last two minutes. But just as the Italian began to wonder whereas he had mistaken him for the real thief, the blond made a sudden turn and disappeared.

"Shit, where did he go?"

Guido was now standing in front of a crossroad - he could either go left, right or straight ahead even if it would take him further in the opposite direction of the city centre.

Well - desperate situations called for drastic remedies.

Eenie, meenie, miney - mo.

Chance was pledging him not to go left and Mista's life had been nothing but bad luck these last few months, so he decided instead to take that direction.

And there he was now, stuck in a narrow alley, facing the back of his nemesis.

The thief no longer seemed to be keen on ignoring his presence - he turned around to look right at his victim. And any profanity that had been dying to come out of Mista's lips instantly vanished before the sight that was in front of him.

He was strikingly... pretty.

He had the most delicate features - deep emerald eyes that were looking at him with curiosity, a straight and elegant nose as well as full (and probably well moisturized) lips.

In one word, with his halo of golden hair, he was the image of innocence itself.

"Is everything alright, sir?" - of course, his nemesis was the one who ended up breaking the silence. How dared he feign candidness so well?

Mista tore himself away from the contemplation of the purple jacket that had to be tailor-made to look at the suitcase laying on the stranger's feet.

"That's mine!," Guido said as he vigorously grabbed his precious belonging.

"I beg your pardon?"

Mista shot a furious look at the thief and shook the chain that was attached to the handle of his case.

It twinkled.

He was right about it: that guy was a fucking thief.

"See that ? That's an official Sex Pistol key ring. I bought it years ago on Ebay - it's a very limited edition."

The pretty con artist arched a perfectly manicured brow.

"You stole my stuff, you truffatore!"

Anger filled him more and more as he watched the blond man remained impassible. He didn't seem the least concerned by what was happening.

"I hadn't noticed, there must be an explanation." The thief paused for a moment and his jade eyes suddenly lit up. "Oh, weren't you at the airport earlier?"

Guido frowned, his hands clenching firmly his suitcase.

"Yeah - but don't you try to fool...-," the younger-looking man cut him off.

"I was there too. What flight were you on?"

What the hell was that question?

"I was in Roma but...-"

"L'Aeroporto di Roma–Fiumicino," the thief softly nodded his head, as if it made perfect sense. "I was there too, we were on the same flight then. The customs must have mixed up our bags. Well - they do look similar, don't you think?"

Mista carefully inspected the two suitcases - they were black and quite worn out. The only difference was the key chain and despite of that detail, they did look exactly identical to each other... As well as to the majority of those in Italy: it was the most common model of travel bags.

The frown on his face grew even more pronounced as he eyed the blond man standing before him.

Well - if he was a crook, he certainly didn't look the part.

He was way too elegant and good-looking to go through people's pockets for a living.

And his explanation somehow made perfect sense.

Guido finally let out a sigh and the man smiled courtly at him.

"I apologize deeply for the inconvenience, sir. May I now get my belongings back?," he asked Mista.

"Yeah, sure..."

Guido was now starting to secondhand embarrassment Shit - he had just chased after him like a madman for no reason since the guy hadn't done anything wrong.

Gosh - why did he always have to be so reckless.

"Uhh," the poor citizen cleared his throat after receiving his bag. "You haven't touch anything in there, right?"

His voice sounded hesitant and Mista cursed himself a second time. He must looked like such a nutcase.

"Yeah, I swear I..-"

A very familiar music suddenly cut him off and they both frowned.

Boogie Wonderland.

It was the stupid ringtone Narancia had set on his phone.

And it wasn't coming from his back-pocket, where he was sure he had placed it.

Figlio di putanna.

Caught red-handed, the thief (whose ears had turned bright crimson) obediently took out the Iphone of his inside pocket to hand it to its' owner.

"What is happening here?"

They both turned in direction of the new voice.

It was the airport's security service.

Thanks god - things were finally working in Mista’s favor.

"That guy stole my bag and my phone," the brown-haired man pointed to the thief who had recovered his perfect composure. How on hell was he able to do that?

"Police is on their way. We call them as soon as we saw you rushing out the airport. We thought you were some sort of dangerous lunatic."

The two guards then smirked when they saw who the felon was:

"Serves you right for picking on an olympic runner!"

**

13:45. Mista clenched his teeth when he saw the time on his phone. They've been waiting in the police station for more than an hour now.

And it was his first day in Napoli.

Gosh - why the hell did he have to be here? They've caught the thief, they knew what had happened - and it wasn't as if the guy would magically disappear in the blink on an eye. He had things - so many things - to do today and instead he had to be here. Stuck with the company of a pickpocket that looked too comfortable in such a situation. In the fucking police precinct.

He glared at the blond man sitting next to him who was reading an old Vogue edition.

The thief briefly raised his head and shot him a curious look.

"Is everything alright?", he still had that innocuous tone.

Mista stared at him with mild anger.

"Do you know for how long we've been sitting here? A fucking hour! Did they forget about us?"

The blond shrugged and turned a page:

"Well, this kind of thing always takes time. We have to be patient."

"How can you be so calm?," Guido exclaimed. "Wait, it's not your first time here, right? You're some sort of a professional pickpocket or something like that."

The gorgeous golden-haired man smiled and Mista frowned - it wasn't a compliment.

They were interrupted by the arrival of a police officier - thanks god! The man who sat on the opposite side of the table had some sort of washed-out green hair and Mista couldn't help but wonder if he truly didn't have a chin. But what really mattered was that out of the three of them, the thief still seemed to be the more relaxed.

"So, um," the policeman began in a weak voice. "You're here because of an attempted robbery near the Airport, is that correct?"

They both nodded in silence.

"I need your names to complete the report," he looked at Mista. "So, you are Mr...-"

"Mista. M-i-s-ta. And first name's Guido."

The constable carefully tipped it into the computer.

"And you are...?"

"Haruno Shiobana."

Mista looked at the thief in surprise, Haruno? What the hell - that guy didn't look Asian at all.

"You're.. a foreigner?," the policeman asked, puzzled.

"My family is from Japan. But my name might be difficult to understand, here's my id card for reference."

"Thank you."

They waited until the officer stopped tipping.

"You don't...," he was frowning. "...really look like your picture..."

'Haruno Shiobana' didn't seem the least affected by how dubious the policeman was.

"It was taken before I started dying my hair. Look." he placed his hands around his face to hide the blond strands.

Guido took this opportunity to take a closer look at the thief. There was no sign of dark roots so this guy was either lying about not being a natural blond, or he had a really skilled hairstylist.

"Oh, I can see it now!," 'Haruno' was granted his card back and Mista rolled his eyes.

Whatever - he simply wanted to get the hell out of here as fast as possible.

The officer cleared his throat and began his questioning:

"So... Do you often target tourists, Mr. Mista?"

...

What the fuck?

Guido opened his mouth wide. He didn't miss the smirk that the thief managed to conceal a few seconds later.

"How often do I what?," he shook his head in exasperation. "Hey! I'm the victim here. He is the thief, not me! I've done nothing wrong!"

Haruno snorted.

The officer looked at Shiobana and then at him.

His eyes lingered on the blond's immaculate tailor-made suit. Then on his leather shoes. And finally on the pretty face that was displaying nothing but a disconcerting serenity.

Then, he looked at him up and down - from his red beanie to that old vintage rock band sweater. Mista knew how nervous he must have looked in that moment but well - everybody would be in such a situation, right? Being trapped in a police station wasn't pleasant.

Especially after the last months he'd spent.

In the end he couldn't really blame the officer: he was sweating like a pig while Haruno's skin was simply glowing.

"I can't believe it - Giorno fucking Giovanna!"

The three pairs of eyes turned to the door where another policeman was now standing.

**

Mista quickly unlocked his phone (one-two-three-five-six-seven) to check the time while the two policemen were arguing - it was now 14:10. He didn't notice how Haruno (or 'Giovanna', or whatever his real name was) had peaked over his shoulder with curiosity.

"He said his name was Shiobana.", the first officer was trying to push back the newcomer who had already settled on the desk.

"He's a pathological liar. You can't believe anything he says. Let me take care of that."

The two men were as different as chalk and cheese. The new officer was exuding confidence and had that whole 'quit your bullshit' demeanor.

"But Prosciutto put me in charge of the case!"

"Then go make him a cappuccino or something." The grey-haired man rolled his eyes and took his cap off to place it on the desk. "I'll deal with Giovanna."

"You can't stole my case like that!"

Mista shot a quick look at Giovanna who shrugged in return.

"Inspector Abbacchio has never seemed to quite fond of me," he quietly told Mista for sole explanation.

Their discussion was cut short by the tearful departure of the green-haired policeman. The new detective was already reading the report.

Well, at least, Mista hoped that things would be over soon.

"So...", Abbacchio glared at the thief. "You had to pick on the first clueless tourist you could find, huh?"

Mista almost protested, feeling hurt. He wasn't a stupid tourist - he was even supposed to settle in Napoli on that very day.

Unfortunately for him, the inspector had a keen sense of perception: "You have something to say about that?"

He quickly shook his head and the 'questioning' continued.

"I can't believe you finally get caught right in the act - I wish I could have been there."

Giorno Giovanna didn't bother to answer - his arms were folded over his chest, he was looking calmly at the policeman. But from where he was, Mista noticed the fact that he was slowly taping the ground with his left foot.

Seems like they were both nervous now.

"Well, I'm waiting?"

Mista suddenly stopped daydreaming and raised his head as he realized that the officer was talking to him. He screeched his cheek: "Sorry, what were you saying?"

The policeman rolled his eyes in annoyance but still repeated:

"You want to press charges, right? I'll get the papers."

"Hmm yeah, I guess?"

Abbacchio stopped on his track and both he and Giorno turned to look at Mista as he had grown a second head.

"'You guess'?", his eyes were shining with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, you're not sure you want to?"

"No!", Mista almost began to stutter. "I mean, of course I do. But do I have to do it now? I've been there for almost two hours already, and I really need to go!"

He had arrived in Napoli at noon and he's been trapped in the police station ever since. There was no way he was going to wait here for another two hours - not when he still didn't know for sure if he was going to have a roof under his head for the night.

The policeman's jaw tightened. And Mista realized that Giorno hadn't taken his eyes off him for a while now.

Gosh - he wouldn't have complained about the attention in another situation, but it was putting some pressure on him.

"You have better things to do than getting the felon who fucking robbed you in the airport arrested?"

Inspector Abbacchio had always taken great pride of his gut feeling - he knew for a fact that Holy Giovanna was nothing but trouble. And right now, he definitely knew that there was something wrong too with the dark-haired young man.

"Well..," stammered Guido. "Not when you put in that way but..."

The policeman cut him off:

"You'll have plenty of time to go for a walk and take pictures later. I guarantee you that Giovanna won't kindly agree to come back here tomorrow. "

Mista shot a glance at the thief who almost looked offended.

"Can't you keep him here tonight?," he tried his best to ignore the daggers he received from the two others. "And I'm not a dumb tourist!"

Mista immediately regretted what had just come out of his mouth.

"What are you, then?" - it was Giorno's voice. Fuck him.

Guido didn't know if the latter was really invested in the discussion or if he was just being used as a mere tool of diversion.

"Hey!, you don't get to ask me questions!"

"You're right, shut up," the Inspector glared at Giovanna. "But that's what I'm wondering too."

And that was it - his stupid loudmouth had once again gotten him into trouble.

"I live here."

Abbacchio was quick to retort:

"No, you're not. I don't know you."

"Well - I'm living here starting today. This is why I have to hurry to see if I can still crash at my friend's for the night. "

Guido cringed as he realized that he had probably over-shared but the policeman wasn't even listening to him anymore.

"You're moving in today - and all you bring with you is a suitcase?"

Abbacchio wasn't glaring at the thief anymore, he was glaring at him.

He seemed to had caught Giorno's curiosity too as he was also staring at Guido, eyebrows frowned.

Mista now knew for a fact that he was fucked.

"Open it."

**

Giorno Giovanna was once again the one who ended up breaking the silence - of course it had to be him. His voice was as calm as usual, it was as if he didn't know that everything that had happened up to that point was entirely his damn fault.

"I swear that I didn't know what was in there, Inspector."

Guido wanted to shot him a venomous glance but failed once he realized how intense Giorno's stare was on him.

Gosh - he almost blushed when he met those deep emerald eyes. What the hell? That guy was a criminal.

"Why do you have a gun with you? And why the fuck didn't the customs arrest you?"

The three of them had turned pale at the sight of the ancient pistol.

"Well... It's not really a gun," he felt obliged to justify himself. "It's more of an old family memento, you know?"

His argument didn't seem to win over his audience.

"I'm not even sure if it works for real. My bisnnono told my padre that he got it from his zio but we're kind of estranged from them now. But well, I guess it's still a very valuable family possession?"

Abbacchio was still glaring at him so he quickly added:

"And I have a permit for it. It's in the bag. I mean - that's where I put it this morning. But then this guy..."

He pointed at Giorno but stopped mid-track when he realized that the latter was smiling at him. What the hell was that for?

"I mean...," he tried his best to ignore his quickening pulse rate - what the hell? no matter how dazzling and cute that smile was he was still a con artist for fucks' sake - and continued. "Never mind, I'll go fetch it."

The policeman flinched but remembered that he had safely put the gun inside a drawer as soon as it was taken out the bag.

"Here, see?"

He didn't bother to look at the paper the brown-haired man was handing him and snatched it out of his hands to bury it in the same drawer as the gun.

"I'm still not giving it back to you today."

Mista nodded - well, that worked just fine for him.

At least he was sure that he wouldn't get arrested for possession of a prohibited weapon as soon as he'd get the hell out of this place.

"I'll see by myself if what you're saying is true," the Inspector was scowling at him with suspicion. If it was up to him, there was no doubt that he would've thrown them both in a cell long ago. "And I'll do a background check. Where do you come from?"

"Roma," Giorno stated matter-of-factly.

Why the hell did he have to butt in? They were not discussing his case, yet.

Abbacchio raised an eyebrow at that.

"And where precisely?"

Giorno shrugged and crossed his legs, the policeman took out his notebook and Guido grew even paler.

There it was.

"Rebibbia."

The two men immediately raised their heads and looked at him, eyes wide open.

"You were in jail?"

**

Guido Mista was a simple man. He liked to go out, listen to music and mess around with his friends.

But his life wasn't simple - he was a constant victim of bad luck.

For instance, if he hadn't met this Giovanna - if the thief had chosen another victim at the airport, then he wouldn't be here now, forced to explain what had went wrong in his life to complete strangers.

It seemed to him that he was always in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

That night, he had simply wanted to buy a bottle of Martini and had taken the wrong shortcut - he had instead got mixed up in a sorrowful event. Four assholes were assaulting a girl - all Roma must had heard her screams of terror, but Guido was the only one who had somehow managed to approach the crime scene. He didn't know any of them - and although he liked to fight from time to time, he was clearly no match for them. What he had intended to do was to call the Police but he hadn't been discreet enough. The abusers had then tried to silence him and he had ended up smashing his bottle onto their heads. It was thanks to the cutting glass of his Martini bottle that he was still alive and that the attackers and the victim had ended up in the hospital.

But one of them must have been somewhat relevant because Guido was the one who had been sentenced to four years of prison for assault. He had been released after only two months spent in jail when the victim had finally gathered enough courage the testify.

Mista had tried to be a good person in a rotten city. And it had not worked out for him.

That was why he had such high hopes and dreams for Napoli - the city where he had innocently spent the best vacations of his childhood.

But it was his first day here and he was already in trouble.

Guido scratched his cheek as he basically finished telling the story of his life. Well - he had now over-share for good, that was for sure.

How embarrassing.

The silence that followed his explanation was heavy.

To be fair - it was quite an astonishing story.

The two other men in the room probably didn't know what to answer yet so they remained silent. And skeptic.

Then, Giorno once again decided that it's been dramatic for enough time:

"I believe him."

That dear Giorno - finally someone who understood that he was just always incredibly out of luck. Mista could have almost cried with relief if he hadn't recalled that everything that was happening was because of him.

"How sweet of you Giovanna, but no one asked for your fucking opinion."

The brown-haired young man glared at the Inspector. Why was it so difficult to make him understand that he was the most honest and unlucky citizen?

"Just do your background check on me then. I told you the truth."

"I definitely will," Abbacchio lifted the tip of his pen. "In the mean time... I'll keep your id card as well as your passeport. Don't leave the city for now."

"I just told you that I'm literally moving here today. I don't plan on vanishing into thin air or anything."

"Well, one's never too careful."

Mista was pretty sure that it was meant as a cutting remark for the thief but Giorno remained utterly unbothered. He was playing with his expensive watchband instead.

"Well...," the policeman cleared his throat. "Moving on - let's talk about the case now."

Mista let himself fall back on the chair, hard. He couldn't believe it. Even after everything that had happened, the detective had his head screwed on right.

"I still really need to go. Can't you just..."

"Bullshit," Abbacchio scowled at him. "We could have been done by now if you hadn't boasted about your life. I've listened to your non-sense for over an hour."

"An hour?," Mista turned pale as Giorno reached out his arm to show him the dial of his wristwatch.

15:47.

Holy shit.

Forget about meeting up with Narancia - he needed to ensure he still had a job now.

"Okay," the dark-haired man rose to his feet. "That's enough. I can't miss the job interview on top on everything. I still have rights, no? I really need to go."

Abbacchio's scowl was no longer having any effect on him.

Fuck him.

"You can't - if you go now, Giovanna's going out too."

Giorno was looking at him with interest.

Well - fuck him too.

"I don't care - I'm dropping the charges, okay? It was a misunderstanding 'cause we have the same suitcase." The look of surprise on Giorno's face was for once genuine. "And if you care that much about the tourists' safety.. Just reinforce the damn airport's security. That’s not my problem!"

If one look could kill, Mista would have never had the further opportunity to settle in Napoli. But it seemed that Abbacchio, for once, couldn't think of a clap back.

It wasn't as if he could handcuff him to the desk and force him to sign the complaint. Unfortunately.

The policeman looked in considerable detail at the punk who was already standing up, smoothing the creases of his pants, and the supposed victim, glaring at him.

"A job interview you say? Who could be dumb enough to employ you?"

It was Abbacchio's turn to grow pale.

**

Il Libeccio Ristaurante.

Your traditional family restaurant located in the midst of downtown Napoli. When his friend (and hopefully future roomie) had told him about the opportunity, Mista had hurriedly tried to find out more on the internet. And the Libeccio was the kind of restaurant which only had four or five star reviews.

He had contacted two weeks ago the owner - a welcoming man, who hadn't paid any attention to his police record and had offered him an interview followed by a trial period.

Today at 2pm. So he'd had the time to brief him for dinner-the rush hour.

It was past four o'clock when Mista passed the doorstep of the restaurant, followed by the grumpy policeman who had furiously insisted on escorting him.

Everything was just fucking great.

They were welcomed by a dark-haired man wearing a chef's hat and apron - and fuck, Mista immediately recognized the voice he had spoken to over the phone.

Shit - he wasn't expecting to have to face him so soon.

"Hmm, hi," he bowed his head sheepishly. "I'm Guido, Narancia's friend. I'm sorry I know we were supposed to meet earlier but so many things happened. I...-"

The Inspector behind him grunted and Mista understood that he'd better not start telling the story of his life all over again.

The chef looked at him inquisitively for a moment before addressing the policeman:

"I wasn't expecting to see you this afternoon, Leone. How did you meet the newest member of my staff?"

A sigh of relief escaped from his lips when he heard the words of his superior. God bless this man.

"It’s a long story," Abbacchio sighed and loosened up the collar of his uniform before approaching Bruno Buccellati. "Why do you keep on hiring people with that much issues?"

"He's a family friend."

The grey-haired man rolled his eyes - there was no way that Ghirga troublesome kid was family, even though he had to admit his shenanigans were as absurd as sometimes hysterical.

The chief turned to Mista and smiled warmly, as if he exactly knew how much of a tyrant Abbacchio was to anyone but him.

"Please don't mind what Leone had said. Napoli can really be impressive so I understand it took you time to find the place. Shall we start by a tour of the kitchen?"

"Yeah! Uhh, I mean, yes please. And thank you so much for disregarding how I was late and stuff."

Bruno nodded and motioned for Mista to follow him, but as they were leaving the entrance, the Inspector grumbled something about "fishy tourist" and the chef turned to face him.

"You seem awfully tensed today tresore mio. I'll help you relax."

Guido tensed as it suddenly came down to him that the reason why the police officer had been so adamant in following him there wasn't for the restaurant in itself.

And that was just an innuendo, wasn't it?

"I'm still on duty you know that."

Abbacchio's voice was gruff, but he still took place at the nearest table.

"I'm not offering you a drink, but some dessert. And why don't you take care of Guido's suitcase? Put it in the locker-room. "

**

Mista couldn't believe how lucky he was.

He was getting on very well with his boss (that man was a saint), the staff was welcoming and no one had commented on his sweater that definitely didn't respect the dress-code. God - they had even offered him the most delicious brushetta he had ever eaten when his stomach had growled in hunger and embarrassment.

Mista was now officially on trial until the end of the week - and it already felt like his future was so much brighter.

Luck seemed to be finally turning in his favor.

Once the tour was over and after he had taken the time to run water over his face and put on the waiter's uniform, the brown haired man was surprised to see that Abbacchio was still in the restaurant, savoring his pannacotta.

The doorbell suddenly rang and Guido almost fainted when he saw who had just appeared.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Giovanna?" the policeman roared.

His exact thoughts.

**

18:24.

The waiter sent a hesitant look to the client who was reading the menu with attention. He still couldn't believe what was happening - just why was he here? Why was fate so keen on playing pranks on him? The blond man suddenly closed the card, ready to order. He swept the room with his emerald eyes until they landed on Guido.

And Giorno then had to audacity to wave.

There was no way he was going to serve that thief. Someone else would have to.

Mista promptly looked away in annoyance and went in search of a coworker to dump Giorno to. He might be the newbie there, the other waiters seemed cool enough to help. Unfortunately for Guido, the first person he came across was Buccellati coming back from the outside with a box of free vegetables.

"Need a hand chef?"

Bruno shook his hand gently. "No, thank you I'll be fine. Why don't you go attend to that customer instead? It seems like he's been waiting."

Shit. There was no way he could refuse. Mista had just managed to convince him to take him for a trial period - he couldn't let him down.

"Uh, sure," he screeched his cheek. "I'll go right now."

And there he was - serving the damn crook with whom he had spent half of the afternoon in the commissary.

"I'm glad you got the job." Giorno smiled at him, he almost looked sincere.

But Guido now knew better.

"It's not thanks no you. Why are you here?"

The blond man seemed surprised by the question.

"I was starving, I had an exhausting day.."

Mista clenched his fist and Giorno took notice of that.

"Fine, I was starving and I wanted to piss Abbacchio off."

The waiter was about to comment on how he was seriously pissing him off too when the thief motioned discreetly in the direction where his boss was standing. Buccellati was watching from afar his exchange with Giorno - and he was frowning. Crap.

There was no way he could let this saint man down, no matter how much it was costing him to serve the blonde.

It was some sort of divine test.

"So...,", he took his notebook out. "What would you like to order, sir?"

Giorno smirked but - thanks god - he didn't try to push his luck. He ordered a Caesar salad and the waiter returned to the kitchen with the promise of being back very soon.

**

The charming thief thanked him politely when he put the plate on the table, but if he was expecting Guido to wish him buon appetito, he was wrong.

"Don't you even think about stealing something."

It was a serious warning, he really needed the job but the blond rolled his eyes to heaven:

"Well what would you like me to steal? The knife? The chili sauce?"

Mista instantly removed the red bottle and put it in his uniform's pocket.

"And what if I want some hot sauce now?", Giorno's voice sounded annoyed and offended.

But how could you blame Mista for being careful?

"Spicy food is bad for the health so just eat your damn salad!"

Hell, in that moment Mista would have loved for Abbacchio to have stayed - the latter would not have let the thief out of his sight and Mista could have peacefully attend to the other table. But the Inspector had reluctantly agreed to return to the police station once Buccellati had intervened, not appreciating the fact that he was visibly trying to scare off one of his customers.

God - why did they have to make so painfully obvious who wore the pants in their relationship?

Anyway, all he had to do now was to ensure nothing would go wrong again because of Giorno.

Therefore, he had to place the other clients as far as he could from the thief's table.

**

Giorno only noticed the fact that he was being isolated when the third couple was sent off to the other corner of the room. Despite their plea to be near the window.

He stared icily at the waiter who grinned at him in return.

**

Guido was loving this job - he knew he was real good at it. It wasn't his first time as a waiter, and his performance (as the tips were demonstrating) had always pleased his employers. He was quick, remembered easily what today's special was and what was on the menu - and he was a smooth talker.

The old grannies, the hipsters, the teenagers who enjoyed music and tv shows, the impressionable timid girls - hell, even those who needed help on their first date: the brown-haired man knew how to get on anyone's good side very quickly.

The pretty brunette let out a chuckle as Guido wished her to enjoy her meal, bella.

It would be a lie to pretend that his looks weren't helping him with his work. Or with girls. And boys.

Mista shot a quick look at the blond thief.

Giorno huffed and glared at him.

**

The Libeccio wasn't that big so the thief ended up having company anyway. Mista was about to ask the two girls of the table near if they had decided what to order when he overheard their conversation.

"I hadn't seen him since High School but wow, Giogio looks as cool as ever."

'Giogio'? What a cute nickname. He was certain the blond man hated it with passion.

But 'cool'?

Mista took the time to recall the long eyelashes, the faint fragrance of lavender and the slender silhouette of the crook.

Nah - he wasn't cool, but more like really pretty.

The waiter felt his cheeks reddened when Giorno raised a delicate eyebrow at him. Shit, he had been caught staring.

He cleared his throat and walked to the blond's, faking sudden mistrust.

"Do you really need the little spoon for your salad?"

Giorno Giovanna might be absolutely charming, he was still a sneaky thief. God knew what he was planning to do next.

And there was no way Mista would fall for that act.

"I will need it for my dessert," said Giogio. "Because I'll take a scoop of chocolate ice-cream."

Guido took out the note-book to take his order but the pickpocket cut him off:

"Once I'll be done with my salad."

And he sure was taking his sweet, sweet time.

**

Giorno ended up paying for his meal twenty minutes after. He used his card and took a small minty candy from the box on the counter. Mista cleared his throat and politely opened and hold the door for him. In the end, the blond had nothing funny - he guessed that he was truly hungry after all.

And then, he felt it.

A very light touch on his back-pocket.

He fucking knew it: that guy was a restless criminal.

He wasn't going to fall for it a second time. "You!," he roared as he realized that... His phone was still in there.

"It was delicious, thank you," Giorno was now whispering. "I left a tip under the napkin."

The blond man winked at him and then he was gone.

**

Mista didn't rush immediately to the now vacant seat of the blond, no. It would have make him way too happy.

He managed to wait for two minutes before clearing his table and discovering...

A ten-euro bill, and nothing more.

He checked around the table, but that was it. Nothing else.

And the little spoon was still there.

Well - it wasn't as if he was really expecting to find his phone number.

**

It was way past midnight when Mista finally managed to throw himself on Narancia's sofa bed - he sighed happily. It had been a long day, filled with unexpected twists and emotions but he had made it - he was in Napoli. He had a job, Narancia was way too happy to have someone to share domestic chores with and he was even already starting to make new friends.

His team had invited him for a drink at the end of his shift and Guido had gladly accepted a few rounds of tequila.

His phone vibrated and Guido smiled and stretched out his arm. It must be Buccellati, his new boss, who he had found out earlier could be a real mama bear and had asked him to send a message once he'd get home safely.

But it certainly wasn't him.

What the hell?

Mista quickly opened the conversation he didn't know even exist between him and a certain "Giorno G."

How...?

Guido realized that he had sent (or rather that someone had sent for him) a picture to this number earlier. He almost chocked when he saw the selfie of the blond man taken in (he recognized the curtains) the restaurant.

When exactly had he managed to do that?

The waiter had kept him under close surveillance all the time.

The message he had just received was another photo - it was a very familiar bottle of chili sauce.

His phone vibrated again but this time it was a text:

"I knew you wouldn't notice."

Guido opened up his new contact info and saw that the thief had even taken the time to sent another selfie as his profile picture.

He replied to Giorno without thinking:

"why, just why??"

Giovanna almost immediately texted back.

"You seem like a lot of fun to be around."

"you fucking tried to rob me?!!!"

"You're too easy to fool Guido."

Well, he was right about that.

"Thanks for not pressing charges, I really appreciate it."

Mista paused for a moment and wondered whereas he was really texting a thief. And why he was doing that.

What the hell was happening to him?

"well, you returned my stuff and the situation was messy enough"

"and i still nailed the interview so"

"I'm glad you got the job."

"you already said it"

"I mean it."

Embarrassed, the waiter took another sip of beer. He and Narancia had also wanted to celebrate their newfound roomie situation once he'd gotten home.

"The chef is really good. I might go visit the restaurant again."

"you should, you're a good tipper"

"And you're okay as a waiter."

Mista giggled at that.

"u know i'm the best"

"I wonder what makes you think so."

Guido knew for a fact that he was drunk - there was no way he would ever text that to a thief if he was sober.

No way.

"well i always know what's on the menu"

"and next time, it'll be me-n-u"

Despite his state of drunkenness, Mista still cringed hard (very hard) at his joke.

And the fact that Giorno was taking what felt like hours to answer was making it even worse.

"Ahahah."

...

Well - maybe the blond was drunk too.

Or maybe (just maybe) he somehow enjoyed his pathetic attempt at flirting?

Mista nearly chocked on his drink - god, no.

There was no way he was really trying to flirt with that crook.

"There's something I'm wondering."

"?"

"The gun really doesn't work?"

"i dunno, i never actually try to put bullets on"

"why? are you into gangster and stuff"

"Ahah, I was just curious."

He still didn’t answer Mista’s question.

"wait, i should be the one worrying"

"Why do you say that?"

Mista hesitated one last moment before sending the message.

Fuck it - he had the excuse of being drunk.

"'cause you have to be on the fbi's most wanted list, it's illegal to look this gopd"

"good*"

"Thank you Guido."

The waiter raised an eyebrow, baffled.

Okay, it wasn't really the kind of response he was expecting.

"You're quite handsome yourself."

Mista started giggling again. Louder this time, because Narancia actually came out of his room to see if he was okay.

Of course not.

He was shamelessly flirting with the guy who had stolen his fucking bag at the airport twelve years ago.

"ya know, you r definitly on top of my to do list too"

The euphoria subsisted almost as soon as he sent the message.

What the fuck was he saying?

"uhhh"

Giorno was now taking his time to answer - it was a classic Mista move: ruining everything by being too much, straight away.

"sry, too soon?"

"No, it's fine. I just didn't know what to say."

Guido let out a sigh.

"sorry im a bit drunk"

"and often awkward"

Thinking about how much he had overshared in the police station was making him want to down another bottle.

"You're not. I think you're funny."

Oh caro, precioso Giorno - that guy really had to be send from heaven.

"I think I'll definitely go back to the restaurant now."

Guido found himself grinning like a moron at his phone.

Shit - he had to think of a witty come-back.

"well as long as u dont try to steal from me again i guess its ok"

"Aside from your heart? Nothing more, I swear."

...

"Gosh, sorry I'm so bad at it..."

Guido was at loss of words.

He couldn't wait to try all of his thief-themed pick up lines on him.

#GioMis #giorno x mista #giorno giovanna #mista x giono #giorno x guido #guido x giorno #giorno giovanna x mista #giomis fanfiction #silly me #i'm sorry for bullying you pesci #yes its my headcanon that narancia is a fan of earth wind and fire #fight me

[etraytin]

Quarantine, Day 121

July 10

Grocery day again, this time less about groceries and more about all the other stuff we need or that I wanted to stock up on. Turns out it is still not possible to get sanitizer or disinfecting wipes by pickup, but I did get the brand of toilet paper I wanted and although I had to show my license for it, my cough syrup as well. Even generic cough syrup is quite expensive when you aren't buying it off the clearance rack at the end of cold season! (Cold season never ended this year, nor are clearance racks in the store nearly so much of a thing people are scouring, so that's a bummer.) Hopefully this will be the last groceries we need this month, since we will be spending the last part of the month at my folks' place, celebrating my sister's wedding as carefully as possible. 

The trip's only about ten days away now (feels like we just got home, sheesh!) so we're starting to think about logistics and packing and precautions. We've got lots of masks and sanitizer, and we're doing our best to stay out of trouble before we go. Today I got an email from my sister and her fiance detailing precautions they will be taking and that they'd like for us to take, including a COVID test for everyone who will be attending, if possible. There are a couple of places around here that will do it for anybody without an appointment or a referral, though I feel kind of bad doing it with no symptoms. At the same time, apparently it's a good sign if only 5% of tested people have COVID, so maybe we'll be helping? I dunno. 

I do know that I definitely don't want to pass coronavirus to my parents because my mom is still touting hydroxychloroquine even after all the tests say it does more harm than good. Apparently her chiropractor friends have assured her that the reasons the tests failed was because HCQ was not paired with zinc, which fights colds and is also apparently the key to making HCQ work. I wanted to ask if this was real science or science like the time we had to put collodial silver on our cuts and rugburns for a few months because her friends said it was science magic, but I did not. I also did not inquire if this was the same chiropractor friend who did not get to hold my baby anymore after he started swinging the infant Kiddo around to give him an "adjustment" without so much as fucking asking,  because I know that it was. Anyway, she says that if she gets sick she's going to make my dad insist that instead of being put on a vent she should be treated with hydroxychloroquine and zinc, and my pleas that she really ought to let her doctor who went to actual medical school make medical decisions if she gets sick fell on deaf ears. Add that and my mother in law's difficulty in relying on medical advice to the fact that my father will not stay off the goddamned roof and I have to wonder if something happens at 65 or so that makes every person completely insane about taking care of their health. Maybe when I'm 64 and a half I will give a healthcare power of attorney to the kiddo, just in case. 

The only other big thing that happened today was our lease renewal. We decided to stay in our apartment another year because I hate moving more than poison and this place has treated us okay so far. They did not raise our rent, which is nice because it was already very high, and pretty much everything is staying the same. Here's hoping that next year we will be able to use the pool, playground, exercise room and all the other amenities we are paying for! We didn't even get to go in the leasing office; instead they brought the lease out to our car and we signed it there. This will be year three in this unit, and three is a good year because it means amortization starts working in our favor when it comes to stains on the carpet. See, the basic rule for apartment carpet is that it has an assumed life of five years before normal wear and tear wears it out. So if you are in an apartment one year and the carpet is messed up when you move out, you are liable for 80% of the replacement cost of new carpet, assuming your carpet was new when you moved in. After three years, you're more than halfway through the lifespan of your carpet already, so it's a matter of diminishing returns for the leasing company to go after you for any stains when you move out. This is not a calculus that always works with private landlords, but it's pretty reliable with leasing companies and apartment complexes. And yes, I've done a lot of haggling over spills on carpets in our sixteen years of apartment rentals, why do you ask? 

News in the world and in politics remains terrible and infuriating, but the kittens are continuing to make progress and Barry hardly hissed at me at all today! What a good boy! I also signed us up for a Spotify family account after I realized that it is possible to get Spotify Kids with a family account and thereby allow the kiddo to listen to more than just podcasts or the Hamilton soundtrack over and over. Totally worth it! I still think it's kind of stupid that an iPhone where the owner is listed as under 12 cannot download regular Spotify at all, even with the parental control password, but this is a good workaround and gives me lots of music to listen to as well. The more entertainment, the better! 

#quarantine #rent #not the musical though #i wonder how long it will take for quarantine the musical to come out off-broadway #i guess theaters will have to open first #but i bet at least a dozen people are already writing it #feral kittens