#i was trekking across like damn wheres the end

[doctorharrisbonkersphd]

Meadowlands farm is huge?????

#stardew valley #sdv #stardew 1.6 #meadowlands #blah blah #i was trekking across like damn wheres the end #and the waterfall???? #so cute

[ervans]

Care for You (Mizu x F!reader)

warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, and violence, soft sex, fingering (r! receiving)

a/n: wow. it's been a minute since i've truly sat down and wrote something. i'm absolutely obsessed with BES and mizu, i haven't felt so passionate about something since TLOU. this is my adaptation of what seems to be the most cliche scenario in this fandom so far: reader finding an injured mizu. i'm a bit rusty when it comes to writing so any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated, follows and notes as well. i have more ideas for works surrounding mizu (including a brothel fic muahahaha) so keep your eyes peeled for my posts :))

The sound of your sandals shuffling against the ground and your heavy pants were the only noises that pierced the otherwise quiet night. The moon, stars, and faint glow of your home in the distance were your only source of light as you trekked up the hill where the soft orange hue was coming from. The walk up this specific hill usually caused you no trouble, having done it dozens of times; however, this time was a tad bit different. Why? The limp, unconscious body that was currently draped over your shoulder.

Earlier in the evening you had heard a commotion down at the lake below the hill your home rested on. It was normal for stragglers, crooks, and opium addicts to travel through this part of Japan and mixing those groups of people usually ended up in some sort of fight. You had paid no mind to the noise, continuing with your cleaning. It wasn’t until you realized you needed more water for your tea that you made your way down the hill. As you reached the shore and saw the mess in front of you your stomach lurched.

Four bodies laid lifeless in front of you on the sand. From what you could tell they all had various stab and slash wounds across their bodies. Fifteen feet away from the tattered bodies lay another smaller one clad in baggy black trousers and stockings, a dark blue haori, and white scarf around his neck with a brown straw hat, round glasses with an orange tinted lens, and a sword, the telltale sign of a samurai on the ground beside him.

 From where you stood you could see his chest still moving as he tried to shallowly breathe in oxygen from the air surrounding his struggling body. That brings you to where you are now, struggling up a damn hill trying to save this unknown samurai’s life. Was he responsible for the four bodies you had pushed into the lake? It didn’t matter to you; you weren’t one to judge in a world where it was kill or be killed.

You push the door to your house open and lay the injured stranger onto your mat near the fire. You start to boil water to disinfect whatever wounds he had and open a drawer to grab a needle and thread just in case stitches were needed. They very much were. You quickly realized the source of what seemed like never-ending blood on the top half of his body as you stripped the bloodstained clothing away. A gash about 4 inches long and deeper than you’d like it to be starting towards the base of his ribcage, skin around it starting to turn a yellowish color. It almost distracted you from the way the stranger was wearing chest wraps. Almost.

You frowned looking down at the shallow breathing of the samurai’s chest. Why would he need chest wraps? You thought, fingers brushing over the once white cloth now stained. Unless? You slowly started to undo the bindings, telling yourself you needed to anyways to properly clean the wound. As the cloth unraveled in your hands your small suspicion was confirmed. Two small breasts sat atop the chest of the slender samurai that laid before you, nipples hardening as they became exposed to the air. Your eyebrows raised, head tilting slightly to the side. A female samurai? How? Questions began to fill your mind as you started to clean the wound, gently washing it with the now hot water. It was unheard of for a woman to even touch a sword as it was said to make the blade impure. Where had this woman gotten her sword? Who did she get taught by? Clearly from the mess on the beach she knew her way around a fight.

You finished cleaning and stitching the larger wound and got to work on disinfecting the smaller cuts and scrapes on the upper half of her body. Once you were satisfied with your work, you began removing the woman’s trousers and stockings, revealing another deep gash running from the top of her knee down to her shin. Sighing you started the same process as her chest and prepared yourself for the unknown amount of time you would be caring for this mysterious female samurai.

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It took three days for the samurai to fully regain her consciousness. In those days you had changed the dressings on her wounds, forced broth and water down her throat for some form of sustenance, and carefully studied her whenever you found the chance to. You noticed small things others would easily miss. The way her face seemed like it was always in a permanent frown, her subtly toned muscles from what had to be from years of training, how her calloused hands would twitch in her sleep, stress being the cause of it you had concluded after watching her for a good hour whilst you sipped on your tea, and how insanely handsome she was. Wait what? Handsome? That thought scared you so much that you had refused to watch her for the remainder of the evening besides checking her wounds thoroughly before you went to bed. But you couldn’t ignore those thoughts that plagued your head as your touch lingered for more time than it should’ve.

You were sat cross-legged waiting for your tea to steep when you heard a thud from behind you. Quickly turning around to find what the source of the noise was, you were met with the samurai staring back at you, blue eyes shining in the dimly lit space. And oh, were they blue. You had never seen or known something could be as piercingly blue as the eyes that met yours.

“Who are you? Where am I?” The samurai demanded in a gravelly voice that sent a shiver up your spine. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer right away, mouth slightly agape with shock at the stranger who had, just minutes ago, been passed out. “I asked you a question, now answer it.” She said sternly after a beat of silence between the two of you.

You blinked, raising an eyebrow and rising to your feet. “Well that’s no way to talk to someone who saved your life now is it?”

The woman, stern frown never leaving her features, quickly looked around the room taking in her surroundings. She then looked down at herself, usual blue haori missing and replaced with a softer red one. You hadn’t wanted to leave her bare in the middle of your home and opted to dress her in one of yours while you worked on scrubbing the stains out of hers.

You saw her tentatively try to move, and the flash of pain the appeared on her face for just a second didn’t go unnoticed by you. She pursed her lips and looked back up at you. “Thank you for stitching me up, but I would rather not stay a hostage here any longer. I have more important places to be.”

Your eyes widen and you scoff. “Hostage? Are you fucking serious? By all means you can leave, makes my life ten times easier if you do.” You were lying, you quite enjoyed caring for the handsome samurai, but you would never admit that to her. At least not now. “Good luck walking on that knee by the way, I’m sure it won’t be any trouble for you though.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as the blue-eyed woman looked you up and down once more before attempting to get up. After a few minutes she was standing, hand against the top of the fireplace to keep her from falling over. You could see her chest rising and falling quickly from the struggle of just standing. She looked back over at you, still leaning with your arms crossed. “Where are my belongings?”

“On the table to your right.” You responded, eyes never leaving hers. You watched her glance over to the table. It was about five feet away; it should’ve been no problem for her to walk over and grab her things. Should’ve. It took her almost ten minutes to reach the edge of the table, her injured leg making it difficult to have a full range of motion. She opted to shuffle inch by inch over to the edge. By the time she got there she was out of breath, looking down at her hands placed on the wood in front of her. You hadn’t moved at all, the only change being your expression shifting from annoyance to amusement as you watched the fit samurai struggle.

After a moment she let out a shaky breath. You saw her knuckles tighten as if she was having an internal battle with herself. “Can you help me back to the mat?” She asked so quietly you almost missed it. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked over to where she stood, taking notice in the way her legs were shaking from lack of use over the past three days. She refused to look at you as you placed her arm over your shoulders and helped guide her back to the mat on the floor. “Thank you.” She muttered.

You looked at her, worry spreading across your features. “Of course. I’m here for anything you need. Consider me your personal caretaker.” You joked. “Although, a good caretaker should know her patients name.” Your words hung in the air for a moment before she responded.

“Mizu.”

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It had been three weeks since Mizu had introduced herself to you. She didn’t talk much about her personal life, which you respected, instead filling the silence between the two of you with your own stories from your childhood. In that time her leg wound had been healing considerably quick, mostly due to the bedrest you ordered her to stay on. The only time she was allowed to move her legs was when she needed to relieve herself or when you would do small stretches with her to keep her blood flow moving. After some time, she was able to get up and walk for short periods of time on her own. The only problem with her quick recovery in her leg was the fact that her chest wound had hardly any progress to it.

Since Mizu couldn’t walk for some time, she exerted all her energy to her upper half, much to your dismay. She would sit up on the mat doing stretches on her arms and shoulders, sometimes raising them so far up you were afraid a stitch was going to pop. It did.

Mizu had been practicing arm movements with her sword, stating that “If I want to achieve my goals, my skills must always be honed and sharp.” Bullshit you thought. She just wanted to aggravate you. How could you tell? The small smirk that would grace her lips whenever she went to pick up her sword, even after you told her it was dangerous, and she could hurt herself anymore. Alas, she was a stubborn woman and it’s how you ended up rushing inside from chopping wood after hearing a sharp yelp from inside your home.

She sat on her mat, one hand clutching the spot above her wound while the other reached for the needle and thread you always kept close by. Once you realized she was going to try to stitch herself back up you rushed over to snatch the needle from her hands and straddle her lap, careful of the wound on her knee. She looked startled for a moment before her whole face turned a deep shade of red once she realized the position you both were in. You had a faint blush as well as you plucked the thread from her hand as well.

“I’m not letting you stitch yourself. You’re going to make your injury worse.” You said looking down at her. She looked up at you with those damn blue eyes you could get lost in for ages, cheeks still red but an amused expression on her face.

“You don’t think I know how to stitch myself up?”

You laughed awkwardly. “Well, no. I just…you just…you just popped a stitch by doing something I told you not to do! How can I be sure you’ll do it correctly?!” Mizu laughed. A sound so beautiful you were sure it would play through your mind for months to come. “I guess you have a point. C’mon then doc, fix me up.” She smirked. You felt your face grow even hotter.

Still straddling her you pushed her robe off her shoulders revealing her chest wraps with blood from the reopened wound soaking through them. You gulped. To stitch her back up you’d have to remove her bindings. And this time she was awake. And would definitely take notice in the way your eyes would roam her chest. Sensing your hesitation, she smiled looking up at you. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen them before, obviously you have, or I wouldn’t have stitches here.” She was teasing you, you realized. “Here I’ll make it easier for you.” Her hand reached around to begin to undo her wraps. You sat there dumbfounded as they fell to the floor and her breasts were exposed to you once again.

“You just gonna stare sweetheart or are you gonna patch me up?” Mizu’s teasing question broke you out of your trance as you swallowed thickly and got to work on restitching her wound. You felt her piercing gaze on you the entire time and did your best to try and ignore the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Later that night after the excitement of the day you sat sipping on your tea while Mizu slept next to the fire. You couldn’t stop thinking about her. Those beautiful blue eyes, the way her lips turned up into a smirk whenever it seemed you were flustered, and the sound of her laugh plagued you. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

Suddenly Mizu woke with a gasp, shooting up from the mat. You turned to her startled as you took in her appearance. Eyes wide with fear, chest heaving up and down, and her hands gripping tightly onto her blanket. “Nightmare?” You asked softly as to not startle her even more than she was. She just nodded as she looked at you, eyes bright in the darkness.

You softly rose to your feet, padded over to where was sat up, and sat down next to her. Her eyes had never left your figure as you made your way to her. You looked down at the blanket, then back up to her asking a silent question.

Slowly she lifted the blanket up and laid back down, giving you room to scoot in next to her. You wrapped your arms around her and brought her closer to your chest in the most intimate position the both of you had ever been in. You had never slept as well as you did that night.

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It had been four days since Mizu’s nightmare, and every night since then you two had slept together, arms wrapped around each other. The dynamic between you had changed drastically, lingering touches and glances to each other becoming a new normal.

Tonight was no different to the past few. You lay facing Mizu while her back was turned to the fire, tracing circles into her rough and calloused hands. The silence was comfortable, but you chose to break it in that moment.

“When do you think you’ll leave?” A flash of hurt ran across Mizu’s face.

“I can leave whenever you want me to, I think I’m healed enough by now. Would you like me to leave tomorrow?” Your heart clenched at the sadness in her voice. You didn’t want that at all.

“No,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to leave me. Ever.” Her eyes softened, moving closer to you she brushed her nose against yours.

“Then I won’t.”

Your lips met her soft ones in a searing kiss, one that knocked the air right out of your lungs. You let out at soft noise as she titled her head, running her tongue across your bottom lip to deepen the kiss and ask for permission to enter. You parted your mouth for her, tongues running against each other as she rolled on top of you, straddling your hips. Her fingers ran down your sides and under your top, tips of them brushing the underside of your breasts as you pushed your chest up into her, silently asking for more.

She pulled away from the kiss, a trail of spit the only thing keeping you connected, and smiled. “I’m going to need you to tell me you want more. Tell me you want it and I’ll stay.”

You moaned at her words. “Yes! Mizu please I want it, I need you.” She leaned down to kiss you once those words left your lips, fingers moving up to circle and pinch your hardened nipples. You let out a gasp into Mizu’s mouth at the sensation and she smiled into you, moving her head to trail kisses down your face to your neck, sucking a purple mark just below your ear.

You raised your arms over your head as she stripped you of your top, eyes lingering on your now bare breasts. “Beautiful.” Was all she said. You let out a whimper at her words. She kissed down your shoulders to your breasts and licked a long stripe up your nipple, the sensation causing you to moan and buck your hips up into hers. As she continued her assault on your breasts, her hand traveled lower down your stomach and slipped her hand into your trousers to run a finger through your slick folds.

You were a moaning, withering mess below her at this point. Between her mouth on your tits and her finger slowly brushing against your clit, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “Please Mizu. I need you, please.” You begged, grinding your hips up into her hand hoping she got the message. She did. Slowly she pushed her middle finger into your wet heat, savoring the noise that left your lips as she did. Experimentally she curled her finger, finding that spongy spot at the front of your walls.

It wasn’t enough for you. “More, I need more.” You whimpered. Smiling against your breast, she pushed another finger in, thrusting at a quicker pace. You were close, she could tell by the way your pussy clenched around her digits. You just needed one last thing to push you over the edge. Removing her mouth from your nipple, she brought her forehead against yours admiring the way your mouth was slightly agape and the furrow between your brows.

“Open your eyes. You’re to look at me when you cum.”

At her words and her thumb suddenly circling your clit matching the pace at which she thrust, your eyes shot open meeting her icy blue ones, the last thread keeping you from falling snapping.

“‘m gonna cum Mizu, fuck m’ gonna fuckfuck-“ You were sent over the edge, cunt clenching and gushing around her fingers while your back arched off the mat, eyes never leaving hers as she guided and talked you through it.

As you caught your breath, chest heaving, she peppered soft kisses all over your face causing you to giggle breathlessly. She smiled down at you as you looked up at her still panting. “Give me a second, let me return the favor.” She leaned down capturing your lips once again as she removed her fingers from your core, wiping the slick on her pants and rolling to lay next to you. She pulled you into her chest and nuzzled her nose into your hair.

“You’ve taken care of me these last few weeks, let me take care of you. We have all the time in the world, I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

And Mizu always kept her promises.

#blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu smut

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: pregnancy, kids (you guys have a daughter together), fwb’s, angst with a bit of a hopeful ending, refers to you as ‘girl’ once

Friends with benefits Bakugou who never really got over his ego to fully commit to you. You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but when you fell pregnant, you thought that things would change. That the whole “no feelings” aspect would’ve been dropped, that he would’ve embraced you fully.

But he just…didn’t? If anything, he distanced himself away from you, became so formal like you were another coworker he would address. It was heartbreaking, going through your first pregnancy feeling so, so alone, but having to grin and bear it the whole way through.

He supported you though in every way that he could. He never missed an appointment, would trek to your house during late nights whenever you craved something. He even moved you in to his own apartment during your last trimester, but a couple months after your baby was born, you went back home. You never felt unwelcome, but you couldn’t pretend to be a happy family when he slept in the guest room every night.

So now, you coparent quite easily. At least, it seems easy to Bakugou, but really, it’s all a facade.

In all honesty? He thinks he’s a fuck up. An idiot. The stupidest, shittiest person who’s ever existed.

He thought what he was doing was enough, that the words he didn’t say carried across oceans, formulated into titles that he never verbalized. So when you told him you would be happy to coparent, his world felt upended suddenly, as he holds his tiny little baby girl in his arms.

Coparent? How could a couple coparent? Where did he go wrong? (He only slept in the guest room to give you and baby space, only moved you in late because you lived so far away and you were getting so big. He never said I love you because he was too embarrassed to say it out loud. He didn’t know he had to say it out loud to solidify it. He thought you just knew.)

So it’s why his heart breaks when he catches a glimpse of curly blond hair and red eyes in the grocery store. He tries to duck behind an aisle, but his baby would recognize him anywhere. (It’s true; you’ve sent many videos of her recognizing him on billboards and tv commercials and magazines.)

“Bakugou?” You call, ducking around the corner to catch a glimpse of him. He tries to act nonchalant like he’s looking at cans of soup, tries not to cringe at your formal name. He turns when you come into view, eyes drinking in your attire. His heart breaks a little when he recognizes the shirt you took in your second trimester, still has the pic you sent him of you grinning as you show off what you stole.

“Hey.” Bakugou greets gruffly, mouth pulled tight, but it cracks into a grin when his daughter starts squealing. She’s in the front part of the shopping cart, twisting her little chunky body to get out and get to him. She damn near screams when he sets his basket down to pick her up, rubbing his nose to hers.

“How ya doing, squirt?” He asks quietly, pecking at her chubby cheeks as she instantly starts babbling to him. He holds her close to his chest, eyes full of pure love for his baby girl, and it makes your heart squeeze so tight you think it might burst.

“This isn’t your neck of the woods.” You mutter, head tilting to the side as you take in your daughters excited face to see her father. Bakugou’s eyes snap to your own, letting his daughter play with his fingers in the meanwhile. He looks embarrassed, cheeks a dusty pink as he grumbles and looks away.

“I was just picking up some stuff to drop off for her. Was gonna text you and see if you were home,” he replies, and something tells you that it’s a lie. But you don’t pester him about it, just nod a few times, taking in the sight.

He looks so good like that, in his compression shirt and sweats, his hair mussed from your daughters incessant pulling. He’s grinning at her, but looks so bashful when he turns to you, like he’s thinking about things he knows he shouldn’t, like he has a boatload to say but can’t cough up.

And if you were a mind reader, you’d be so fucking right. He can’t help but reminisce on before you got pregnant, the nights spent with you. The day you told him you were having a girl, the tears you cried when you delivered her. He thinks, filled with so much guilt the entire time, that he wants another one. With you.

“‘S it okay if I walk my favorite girls home?” He asks you gruffly, nibbling on your daughters cheeks to hear her giggle again, uncaring of the drool she leaves on his hand. You feel your eyes widen at his term for you, face suddenly flushing. Favorite? You, his favorite?

Something tells you that you shouldn’t fall down the rabbit hole that is Bakugou Katsuki and his suppressed emotions and shitty ego. But there’s another something that tells you to trust it this time, to let things happen organically and without expectation. So you do.

“I’m sure she would love to show her daddy the new toy her grandma just brought her.” You tell him, giggling when he rolls his eyes at the mention of his mother. But he walks with you the entire time you finish up your grocery order, holding your daughter the whole time and pays for your groceries despite repeatedly telling him that he doesn’t have to.

He pushes her in the stroller stored underneath the shopping cart on the way home, making small conversation. And when you’re halfway home, does he reach for your hand. Only to cross the cross walk though, he tells himself, only for your protection. But he doesn’t let go until you’re in your own place, and even then, he’s close by the entire time. He helps you put away groceries, remembers where everything is like he lives here.

And for some reason, the familiarity makes your heart ache a little more than you would like it to.

#full of sadness tonight srry #but I’m obsessed with this idea actually #I wanna expand on it even more in a fic #I don’t like to write angst for him but this idea is just :( #he’s so shitty at communicating his feelings and you hate assuming things #so many things are just left unsaid for so long that you just force yourself to get over it and move on #and he’s so confused and so angry that you could leave him like that #but he never had you in the first place now did he? #ohh it makes me wanna sob #obviously in the end you get back together and have 98 more kids 🙄 #but the journey along the way is RUFF #okay I’m done writing my wrist hurts lol #bakugou treats! 🍬 #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #dad bkg

[thief-of-eggs]

could you do some snowjanus headcanons for their life together had they both decided to runaway together after the whole mayfield situation. (i love this ship so much and your writing is just chef’s kiss.)

ok ok i don’t have time to format this into a fic rn BUT i’m so glad you asked this because i literally love the idea of them running off together, SO-

- While Mayfair’s body is still cooling, Coriolanus formulates his plan. There’s nothing left for him here, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s found out. Hurriedly, Coryo explains to Sejanus he’d recently discovered that someone had told the Captain of Sejanus’s treasonous plans, which means he’s just as damned as Coryo. Sejanus is quick to agree to run- he too has nothing left for him here after all, and clearly he can’t make much of a difference, based on how things went with Billy Taupe. He’s still shaky from their night, but Sejanus still thanks Coriolanus for watching out for him, for protecting him and keeping him safe. Coryo feels guilt gnaw at his chest, but reasons that at least he’s making it right. Even if he’s throwing everything away to make it that way.

- Coryo finds Lucy Gray in the crowds of the tavern, and pulls her aside. He offers her two options- either she come along too, or he writes a confession, leaving the gun with his fingerprints for the peacekeepers to find. He was already condemned, and so is Sejanus, but at least they can save her. Tearfully she agrees, thanking him for taking care of her, and turning to Sejanus to make him promise to take care of Coryo from now on too.

- They leave under the cover of the moon, after Coryo plants the gun close to Mayfair’s body, after he writes a damning letter to Tigris and leaves it in his things at the base. They quickly gather a few belongs and leave when their fellow peacekeepers are sleeping.

- Out in the forrest, they quickly fall into the brawns/brains dynamic. Sejanus is the one trekking onward, the one helping carry their things when Coryo tires. Meanwhile, Coryo is the one mapping out their course, is the one deciding when to rest and when to hunt, is the one watching the skies for hints of rain.

- They don’t talk about their relationship at first. And things start slowly between them anyway. Through them sharing body heat as they curl up together under the stars, Coriolanus grumbling the whole time, but then melting when Sejanus wraps his big warm arms around him. He tries to fight it, but he always ends up the little spoon.

- Sejanus kisses him first. It’s as they’re halfway across the mountains, after they’ve been sitting in front of the fire for a little while, chatting freely about life back home. They’re both more unguarded than ever, and Coriolanus shares a bit about his family’s burdens- and then Sejanus is saying how he’d always suspected Coriolanus was hiding something, and Coryo says he’s always hiding something, but he’s trying to stop that now. And then Sejanus is gazing at him, and Coryo is looking back, and when Sejanus kisses him, it’s tentative and questioning- but Coryo doesn’t push him away.

- They don’t know where they’re headed, but they keep on going. Unknowingly, they’re headed in the direction of district 13- but it’s a while before they begin to recognize that. It’s slow going on foot, and Coryo is certainly not built for life in the wild- but Sejanus thrives. It’s like he was made to be in the trees, made to wander the earthen floors. His smile is so much more dazzling out here under the brilliant sun, his laughter so much louder without the confines of the captial to hold it in.

- They start to kiss more frequently. All the time really. They walk side by side, hand in hand. When Coryo tires, he leans his body into Sejanus’s as they walk, and Sejanus will turn his head to plant a kiss onto Coriolanus’s head.

- The night that Coriolanus confesses to Sejanus about the jabberjay is a cold one. They’re settled just beyond the mountains, with the cover of trees surrounding their little campfire. Coriolanus watches the flames as he confesses it all, leaving no detail out, beginning with his tarnished family name, and ending with his desperation to save himself from the noose. He won’t look at Sejanus, too afraid that he’ll find the warmth in his friend’s eyes washed away. When he’s done, it’s silent. For a long while they sit in the weight of his words, until finally- Sejanus takes his hand.

“We all do things we aren’t proud of to survive,” Sejanus murmurs. And Coriolanus feels a single tear roll down his cheeks. Sejanus doesn’t know how true his words are.

- Their trust is rebuilt slowly. Sejanus, so kind and forgiving and understanding, doesn’t hold Coriolanus’s actions against him. But there’s certainly a wedge driven between them now, one that takes a while to be chipped fully away. But once it is- once Coriolanus has proven himself time and time again that his loyalties lie with Sejanus now- through throwing himself between Sejanus and a bear, through staying up with him all night after he’s been poisoned by a bad bit of fruit, by repeatedly offering up their only food so that Sejanus can keep his energy going- after all of it, their relationship begins to bloom. With no secrets holding them back, their feelings are free to grow wild.

- The first time they have sex is in the middle of a rain storm, under the cover of a fallen tree that they arrange into a temporary shelter. It’s messy and muddy and Coriolanus is shivering by the end of it- but his heart is warm in a way he can’t begin to explain, his chest so full once they’re done, when Sejanus holds him tight in his arms, when he kisses the top of his head and whispers how he hopes to never lose Coriolanus

- The day that they reach the border of district 13 is a clear one. They see the rubble clearly before them- and Coriolanus warns Sejanus that they not get any closer, but Sejanus treks onward anyway, noting that the rubble isn’t nearly as drastic as the propaganda he’d been shown back in 2.

- They’re greeted fairly soon by armed guards. Confused and tired, Sejanus and Coriolanus willingly go with them, following them into the depths of district 13’s base. Nothing makes sense to either of them anymore- hadn’t there been no one left here? But no- the base is teeming with life, though certainly not enough of it to fill the many halls.

- Theyre questioned, and questioned again. After deeming that they’re no threat to 13, and after deciding that there’s no where else for them to go, they’re given a mini history lesson on district 13, explaining everything from the end of the war till now.

- Sejanus and Coryo talk that night, in a guest room that they’re given to share. They talk and talk and talk, and eventually, they both agree. There’s no where else for their weary legs to take them, no where else for them to push onward to.

- They agree to stay, and district 13, still shaky in their numbers from the war, eagerly accepts them, desperate for their insight on the capitol, and any information they might hold to help bring them down one day.

- It takes Coriolanus a while to fully see the capital as the enemy. It’s a process of unlearning on his part, a process of seeing the bad that he’d been surrounded with his entire life, and accepting it for what it is. Sejanus helps him adjust, helps him work through his confusion and his frustration. District 13 never pushes them, always patient with the two of them on how much they’re willing to share.

- They’re both entered into their military program, though Coriolanus is soon transferred to their weapons team. After a while, Sejanus is promoted to medic, where he begins to study medicines and diseases. District 13 becomes an unlikely home for them both, a place where both of their talents are encouraged and fostered.

- They stay in the same dorm, having received the same benefits as that of a married couple. Each night they fall asleep in eachothers arms, each morn they wake to soft kisses and gentle touches.

- Sejanus tells him he loves him frequently. Coriolanus doesn’t say it back for a long while, but Sejanus doesn’t hold him to it. Eventually, though, he does- in the softest moments between them, in the most passionate, in the most tender. That is when Coriolanus feels he has the freedom to speak his mind, and that is when he utters the three heavy but blissful words back- “I love you.”

- Years later, Lucy Gray and the Covey find their way to them, having unintentionally followed the same path through the mountains. They bring life and music to the rigid district 13, and Sejanus and Coriolanus weep when they first see them.

- Eventually, after years of serving and living in district 13, after proving their loyalty again and again- they’re entrusted with the care of a newborn girl, who’s father had been lost in a small round of flu, and who’s mother had died in childbirth. They name her Rose- in honor of Coriolanus’s mother, in honor of the one good thing he can hold dead from his family legacy. She takes on the last name Plinth, the same name that Coriolanus himself takes on. The final shedding of his family’s legacy.

- The three of them are a happy unit, with auntie Lucy Gray playing a large role in her upbringing. She’s taught to love music and color, to be compassionate to all around her, to fight for what she believes in, and to always tell the truth.

- Years and years later, Sejanus notes that he and Coriolanus don’t have an anniversary, seeing as they’d never officially gotten married at all. They talk to the officials in 13, and soon plan a modest wedding, with Rose as the flower girl and Lucy Gray as their main performer.

- The words “I love you” finally come freely to Coriolanus, just as they’ve always come freely to Sejanus. He doesn’t feel the need to protect himself anymore, doesn’t feel the need to be on constant surveillance, constant watch. He can allow himself to curl up int Sejanus’s arms, can allow himself to feel everything for the man he’d so clearly been in love with for a long while, back since he’d first laid eyes on him-

The boy with the bag of gum drops from so long ago, new to the districts, and in desperate need of a friend. Now Coriolanus’s faithful husband, his loyal protector, and the loving father of his daughter.

#snowjanus #snowjanus headcannons #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x sejanus #sejanus plinth #coriolanus/sejanus #coriolanus snow #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #ballad of songbirds and snakes movie #thg #thg series #the hunger games #suzanne collins #snowplinth #plinthsnow

[quinncupine]

I'll Be There For You

I'm finding all these dusty ficlets in my broom closet. Time to air them out! Anyway, if you get scared, Izuku never seems to be far to give some comfort and peace of mind.

Character Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Word Count: 600

QUINN'S MASTERLIST

The phone rang twice before he managed to fish it out of his pocket. The familiar ringtone gave you away before he could even read the name that flashed brightly across the screen.

"Hey, Y/N," Izuku answered, fitting the phone between his cheek and shoulder. "Everything okay? It's kind of late."

"Oh, is it?" You sounded a bit frazzled on the other end. "Sorry. You're probably still at work, huh? I'll just call back when you're not -"

"Y/N," Izuku stopped you lightly. "Are you okay?"

"Um… yeah? Yeah, I'm fine."

Clearly, something was bothering you. That much he could tell.

"I'm not busy," he adjusted the phone and gripped the villain he had pinned to the ground with Blackwhip tighter. "Talk to me."

"Well, it's just…" You humphed and let out a breathy sigh. "It's gonna sound stupid, but I thought I heard a noise."

"What kind of noise?" He frowned as the villain yelled a slur of curses at him as he struggled to escape his iron grip. "Like a bang or more of a buzz?"

"No," you hesitated before continuing. "More like a door opening and closing."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Well, no. I've tried to figure out where it came from. The doorbell didn't show anyone at the door, but I swear I heard it. Well, pretty sure… maybe sure?"

A few officers came over to assist Izuku, and once the villain was secure, they carted him off. He watched them leave but quickly focused back on the conversation.

"I'll head over." He said, already making his way towards your apartment.

"No, I'm fine. I don't want to inconvenience you. Besides, aren't you on patrol right now?"

"You're never an inconvenience, you know that, right?" He easily leaped onto the nearest roof and started his trek. "Besides, your place is in my route."

"You're on the B block tonight. That's all the way across the city."

"Not when the villain I'm pursuing makes his way all the way to E block."

"I'm fine, Izuku. I probably just spooked myself over nothing. You don't need to worry."

"And you don't need to worry because I'm here." He chuckled on the other end, and you heard a thud from the fire escape.

"That was quick." You glanced at the window where his green curly hair poked through.

"What can I say? I can be fast when I want to be."

Hanging up the phone, you made your way over to the window. "You really didn't need to come. Just talking to you calmed me down."

"Glad to hear it, but I also just wanted to see you. Is that a crime?"

"A damn good one." You leaned through and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you for checking on me."

He kissed you back and only pulled away when his comms unit rang. With a sigh, he pressed his ear.

"Deku here."

While he listened, he sighed a little and gave you a sheepish look. "Wish I could stay longer, but duty calls. Let me take a quick look around before I go."

"Be my guest." Moving to the side, he crawled through the window and did a quick but thorough inspection of the place.

"All clear." He finally met you back in the living room with a smile. "I can come back once my shift is over."

You grinned and looped your arms around his neck. "I'd like that." You tugged him in for a heavy kiss before finally leaning back and giggling when he followed you for more. "But right now, someone else needs my hero."

#izuku midoriya #pro hero deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #fluff #deku #my hero academia #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #Izuku will always come when called #best boy

[wehaveimagineshere]

In Act 3 if you make the deal with Raphael, Gale says "I can't believe you signed that contract. We'll discuss this. Later." Would you please do something NSFW with this as a prompt because it has me feeling things lol

You didn't specify an admin, so I - Ren - will be writing this as a scenario (: You also did not specify reader gender and pronouns, so they'll default to AFAB and she/her.

I tried finding this dialogue but had no luck! I can see why it would make you feel things cause just imagining it myself has me going 👀

~*~*~

The door clicks shut and you inhale slowly, turning your head so you can see Gale. Arms crossed, face as furious as you've ever seen it, you know you're in for the biggest tongue lashing of your life.

"Before you say anything--" you try, but he cuts you off.

"I can't believe you signed that contract! What were you thinking?"

"I--"

"I did not trek halfway across Faerûn to watch you throw your life away to a godsdamn demon. Have you not paid any attention to Wyll? To what he's had to go through?"

You turn to him fully. "Gale--"

"Don't 'Gale' me! I thought you were smarter than this! I thought--"

"Do you have any better ideas?!" you snap, throwing up your hands. "Do you? Do any of you? This gods forsaken Elder Brian is causing the entire city to shake and you think we can just win through friendship and hope?"

"I did not say that--"

"No, but you act like it! Mystra isn't coming to save us, Gale! She wants you to blow yourself up and I hate to say it, but she's the only god that has even deigned to look in our direction!" Throwing your arms wide, you give an aggravated laugh. "Raphael has given us something, a way to kill the damn thing!"

"I would rather die than see you struggle like Wyll!"

"And I would rather get played by a demon than see you turned squid!"

"Do you have any idea what Raphael can do with the crown?"

"I know what won't happen, Gale. Us turning brain eater!" You step forward. "I am trying to not only see to the end of this conflict in one piece, but to see a future beyond it! What Raphael does with the crown in Avernus doesn't matter when he can help secure a life after this!" Gesturing between you, you add, "A life for us!"

The anger pressing against the room pops at that statement. Gale's shoulders slump, pinched expression turning to something soft before he rubs a hand over his face, running fingers through his hair. You exhale heavily, feeling pressure behind your eyes but determined to not let the tears fall.

This was stupid. All of this was stupid.

Crossing to the small desk in the corner of the room, Gale presses his palms against the rough wood and exhales heavily. "It is such a dangerous game, isn't it?" His voice is quiet, reserved. "We put one foot just one centimeter to the left and we all fall to our doom."

"I just want us alive, Gale." You swallow down the tightening of your throat, the tears stinging your eyes. "I never wanted to have the fate of an old, dangerous crown in my hands. I don't have the capacity to see the consequences of what could happen hundreds of years from now. But I know if I don't do something right now, we're dead. More than dead."

"I know." His eyes are locked onto the grooves of the table. "I know."

Slowly, you move to stand behind him. Slowly, you lay a hand between his shoulder blades. "We know where Raphael keeps all his things. Including that contract."

You feel his chest expand with an inhale. "You want to steal your contract?"

"And tear it up. The object I bartered for is in there too."

Straightening, he turns to you, a range of emotions dancing in his eyes. "You are absolutely crazy. I mean, I know you've been for a while now, but..."

Looping your arms around his neck and pressing your body against his, you say softly against his lips, "Anything for our future, Gale."

A sound you've never heard before leaves his throat as he crushes his lips to yours, fingertips digging into your hips and roughly pushing them against his own. You respond in kind, nipping his bottom lip as you grind gently, smiling when you feel him through his clothing.

"You scare me, you know," he breathes, breath tickling your throat as he nips down your skin. "You're wild, and unpredictable." His teeth find your collarbone, sending a shiver straight down your spine, raising the heat between your legs. "I never know if you're a fool or playing a game of chess even I can't make heads or tails of."

His palms find your ass and squeeze, dragging a surprised yelp from you. Silencing your sound with his lips, he uses his grip to situate yourself perfectly as he grinds hard, up and down right against that nerve that makes you see stars.

Your hands slip under his robe, finding skin as you cling to him, already losing control as you meet his thrusts. Your pants are too much and too little, you want them off now but love the teasing, that delicious build in your stomach. Gale has never been so forceful, so demanding, and you tuck an internal sloppy note into your brain to rile him up more often.

His hands finally tug on the rim of your pants and you're quick to help, tossing them to the side as he hefts you onto the table, one hand up your shirt with fingers teasing a nipple as another frees his himself.

No playing this time around as he bites your bottom lip hard, sheathing himself in one quick thrust. Wrapping your legs around him, you urge him in deeper as he starts moving, a punishing pace that sends your heart skyrocketing, your moans loud as he claims you, the frustration from earlier riding his every movement.

You meet his pace just as fiercely, fingers tangling in his hair as he hits that spot again and again, not giving you time to breathe as the pleasure becomes nigh unbearable. You're close, so so close, just as he pauses, all movement coming to a halt.

You whimper, moving your hips for that last bit of friction needed to drive you over the edge, but his fingers dig in hard on your hips, keeping you in place. "Gale." His name is at once foreign and familiar in your lust hazed brain, focus solely on how right he feels even paused within you.

"Promise me," he pants, placing his forehead against yours, shifting ever so slightly to make you gasp. To beg. "You'll stop doing stupid things that scare me."

"I promise, I promise." You'd say anything to get him moving again, and he knows this.

"I have your word?"

"Yes," you plead. "Yes."

"Say it."

"You have my wo--"

He swallows your lies as he buries himself deep, swallows your gasp as he finally allows your release, holds you together as you shatter beneath him.

He rides out your orgasm. Slow, gentle thrusts as you piece yourself back together. As you realize that he hasn't followed you yet into ecstasy.

As you realize it's going to be a long night.

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 gale #gale x reader #gale/reader #bg3 gale/reader #bg3 gale x reader #smut

[hollandroos]

Hotch fluff where reader spoils him?

Thank you for your request!

Send me requests here

You look around the room nervously hoping you hadn't forgotten anything. Despite your worries, the view infant of you was exactly as you had envisioned it.

An old tablecloth lay across the dinning table with a candle burning at each end. Both nearly burnt to the bottom. His favourite dinner waited patiently to be enjoyed by the two of you. (slightly burnt but still edible. Only just.) And little gifts - small tokens of your love were scattered between rose petals.

And there you stood in one of your boyfriends old shirts and beat up sweats. Super romantic.

It was your long term partners birthday and of course, he had been on a case. But just as the clock hit eleven thirty seven pm, your phone chimed, a thoughtful text from the man himself to let you know he was tirelessly trekking up the steps of your shared apartment.

Ready to see his lover.

Despite the mans busy day, you'd be damned if he thought you weren't going to do at least a little something for his birthday.

The door to your apartment opens carefully - he probably thought you were snuggled up in bed by now, not waiting with a sleepy grin and hooded eyes. Evidence of your efforts to make the last twenty minutes of his birthday special.

"What is this?" Aaron asks carefully, placing his briefcase down. His suit jacket comes off next and Aaron feels a wave of relaxation wash over him.

Your presence often did that to him.

"Your birthday dinner. You really thought I wouldn't do anything?"

"I had an idea you'd do something but this is - this is incredible. You know you didn't have to honey? I'd be happy with leftovers."

"It's your birthday, Aaron. And you deserve a little more than just leftovers."

Especially after you just spent the better part of your birthday weekend saving countless lives.

Aaron presses his lips to your forehead, holding them there for a quick second before taking your hands into his larger, courser ones.

"You're the best. What did I do to deserve you?"

"I mean the chickens a tad burnt and the vegetables taste kind of plane but you know by now I'm not the best cook in the world, and I hope you like the gifts too. Jack picked them out with me so some are a bit silly but in a good way, you know? and-"

"Honey." Aarons lips curl up into a knowing smile.

"-the table cloth is still stained from when my parents came over so I flipped it over but that made it look worse-"

"Honey." Hatch finds himself repeating again, the words falling so effortlessly from his lips. You stop talking. "It's perfect, you've spoilt me."

It was obvious from the way his cheeks turned a gentle shade of pink, and how his eyes noticeably softened as he looked around the room that he wasn't used to this type of treatment. It made your heart swell.

"You deserve all of it - and a properly cooked dinner, but it seems like charred chicken will have to suffice."

He thought he smelt something burning but chose not to mention it. He always said that it's the thought that counts.

"As long as I'm eating it with you, it's perfect."

#Aaron hotchner #Aaron hotchner imagine #Aaron hotchner imagines #Aaron hotchner fanfic #Aaron hotchner fanfiction #Aaron hotchner fluff #Aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner x reader insert #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

[forgeofthenine]

would you write something for zevlor where him and his refugees make it to baldurs gate where they are not welcomed very nicely (word spread from elturel) and the daughter/niece of one of the dukes of the council of four steps in and gives them a warm welcome <3 congratulations on third place! it mustve been a great experience <3

Hi, here's just a lil fic. This was a cute idea for a fic and definitely gave me some things to think about while writing it. Thank you for the congratulations too :)

I would like to warn people that the reader in this is referred to as 'my lady' and a grand niece, but not otherwise gendered.

A Wyrms Crossing welcome

The rush of cold sea air meets your face as soon as you left the Elf Song, chilled wind rolling off the ocean and into the city in waves. Your fingers come to press against your temple as you step down the cobbled street, a headache having settled as soon as you stepped foot in that damned room. Hours of useless flaming fist questions didn't help. The crowds are bustling around you, children hawking papers and grifters putting on false magic shows that you easily ignore.

There's much on your mind, and yet you don't have the energy for any of it. The sun is too bright and the noises surrounding you too loud to let you focus. Thoughts swarm in your head as you let your feet lead you well away from a tavern you'd be happy never seeing again. It's only when you raise your head to gaze at Gortashs steel watchers that you realise you've trekked all the way across the city to a checkpoint, flooded with people and giant metal monstrosities.

A swarm of tieflings all stand at attention at the gates, just over a half dozen when you count the children too. There's one in particular that's stands out amongst them, arguing with the checkpoint guard despite the shaking in his hands. Shaking, that constant tremor, it's reminds you of her. Pushing the thought from your head you step forwards, the clack of your heels ringing out against the cobblestone streets. The guard turns from the tiefling then, dropping into a small bow at the mere sight of your approach, a polite "My lady" leaving his lips.

"At ease, guard. Might I find out why a half dozen tieflings are standing here debating with you?" Your eyebrow arches, trying to read the light nervousness on the guards face. He looks between you and the refugees for a moment, likely not seeing how the one he was arguing with perked up at your presence.

"The crossing is closed, my Lady. We aren't to let anyone through on Duke Gortashs orders, especially not without the assent of the steel watch-" He stops his pitiful explanation at a wave of your hand, watching intently as you now look to the refugees. They have deep, tired eyes, the lot of them are covered in bandages and rags for clothes. You wouldn't be surprised if they were all skin and bone under the dirty cloth.

"Never mind the watch, or the closed checkpoint." Your voice is clear as you turn back to the guard. "If Gortash has issue then he can take it up with me. The tieflings have permission to enter the city, by the authority of the Stelmane family." They all perk up when you mention 'permission', looking hopefull as you order the gate open for them. The guards give another bow before, reluctantly, opening the gate for the motley group.

The metal gives its own low groan of resistance before the gates finally swing open, revealing the packed dingy streets of Wyrms Crossing. Turning back to the group of refugees, you give them a small smile, waving them forwards and further into the city. "There's another checkpoint at the end of the crossing, I'll warn them to let you through."

You hear the chorus of assorted thank yous as the tieflings move further into the city, all of them smiling now that hope is back within reach. Soon, only the seeming leader of them hangs back with you, watching as the others excitedly sprawl across the streets. He clears his throat, looks down at his subtly shaking hands, and then turns back to you. "Thank you, on behalf of all of us. I quite honestly was wondering if this was where our journey would end."

The man's voice is low, gravely, and it sets a shiver running down your spine. Looking into his eyes again, suddenly he doesn't remind you so much of your great Aunt. Honestly, most of your thoughts don't matter anymore. "It's only the right thing to do, the group has children, and you look worse for wear." You motion to his shaking hands as he chuckles, obviously aware of the fact he looks quite hard done by. "Let me escort you into the city, I know some people who might be able to help with that." The offer is sweet, but said with a light tone of authority in your voice.

He bows his head lightly, responding in that same steady voice that instantly captures your attention. "It'd be a pleasure, my lady." He smiles, hesitating a moment before politely offering an arm. "And in the future I will do what I can to repay this kindness." He finishes, his arm firm around yours as you link them together, the light tremour still felt in his hand.

You know it will all draw attention, the grand niece of Duke Stelmane waltzing through the city with a tiefling refugee, but despite not knowing his name he's still the first person to make you feel alive since your aunt's death.

#bri answers #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader #baldurs gate 3 zevlor #bg3 zevlor #zevlor x reader #zevlor x you

[bleachbleachbleach]

[Bleach 080]

Things I Love Thinking in Circles About

How big, area-wise, the Seireitei is

What regular Gotei work looks like when we're not looking

What did the early bird VCs do the entire time they were sitting around in Conference Room 2 waiting for people to show up?

--

1. How big, area-wise, the Seireitei is

According to Yoruichi, walking from one gate to the next would take 10 days, which initially makes the Seireitei seem really damn big. The city of Ann Arbor, Michigan has a population of 120,000 people. If we're meant to believe that there are 6000 shinigami (citation: Ooetsu?), I find it difficult to believe that the Seireitei's population would be much larger than 120k, if that. (Personally, I proceed as though it's a lot less than that.) Like the Seireitei, Ann Arbor is also circular, ringed not by a Seireimon but a necklace of Interstates, but it's only like 10 miles across. It really wouldn't take that long to walk 1/4 of the way around its rim.

You'd have to walk around a quarter of the entire country of Spain for it to take 10 days:

Obviously Google is not taking into account tired feet or needing to like, sleep, with this estimate, but STILL. The Seireitei is not the size of SPAIN.

A) Let's say it would really take 10 days. This gate-to-gate trek might need to take terrain into account (which Google sometimes does and often doesn't lol). The area Ichigo et al ended up in seemed pretty civ where the gate matches up with Junrinan, but maybe a shade north and the terrain is much more difficult!

B) Let's say it really would not take 10 days. Yoruichi might have been exaggerating, because she doesn't want to walk to another damn gate and also it's not as though there aren't also shinigami waiting at...the other gates... So she nips that in the bud and directs her party's attentions elsewhere.

Or maybe she knows that even this close to the Seireitei, in Rukongai time gonna wime, and space-time are not going to exist in a constant relationship with each other.

C) Let's say Matsumoto's "half-day" comment probably isn't about geography, either. Half a day would make the Seireitei approximately the size of like, Indianapolis? (population 882k, area 368 sq. miles/950 sq. km) if we were basing it purely on area. But also, shunpou?? So I really feel like the "length of time it would take people to arrive"half day" comment is less a function of physical distance and more about the fact that they're all busy and have tasks they'd need to extricate themselves from before they started walking/running/sauntering/gamboling over.

Which leads me to--

2. What regular Gotei work looks like when we're not looking

I think we've seen enough evidence that the way the Gotei has built itself does not lend itself well to rapid response. Their response to the ryoka invasion was not particularly rapid, nor organized. Their response to AIZEN'S MURDER was nearly non-existent. Winter War prep was also kind of rough, and I guess TYBW 1 was kind of a surprise attack, but I think my point still stands that it's just not their forte. I think part of this is because the Gotei is legitimately just kind of bad at being functional; we all know this. They all know this. I think the other part is that rapid response is very, very hard.

Given that they are heavenly court guards, you'd think rapid response to potential threats would be more of a priority, but you could say that about a lot of real-life things that, in reality, do not work that way (and perhaps cannot, in the absence of radical reinvention). To use a near universal example, see Exhibit C: COVID responses lol. Even outside of that very particular example, I'm part of a direct action organization and even though it's relatively small and its politics are activist-minded, rapid response is still very, very hard.

I just love thinking about, okay, where are the Gotei bottlenecks, what's the red tape, where's the sludge in the workings, where to the capacities fall through, what jobs haven't been invented that they really need, what jobs exist that really shouldn't, how much is logistical, how much is political, how much is cultural, how much is personal? *this is my bulletproof kiiiiiiink*

If it's going to take 4-12 hours to get all the officers in one place, it makes me think that yes, the alarms are going off, but it's a rapid response priority only for those who were assigned to quadrant 6 or whatever. Yes, this meeting call went out, but the threat is not yet at a level where you need to drop everything and haul ass. It's serious, but not more serious than the rippling consequences of ignoring the essential tasks you were already engaged in that are really going to fuck things up in domino-like ways if you don't do them right now.

For Ichigo et al, rescuing Rukia is Priority #1. For the Gotei, the ryoka invasion is this major world event that slammed on top of their already-full calendars of other shit they're supposed to do today. Big meeting? That's great, but it's going to have to wait or else a whole deployment's going to ship out late, the payroll office is going to close before those forms get signed, and Z isn't going to have the Y report that's required in order to start the X project.

3. What did the early bird VCs do the entire time they were sitting around in Conference Room 2 waiting for people to show up?

The meeting was called to address Ichimaru's behavior in dealing (or not dealing) with the ryoka, so we can assume it was called relatively quickly after Yamamoto got wind of that. Renji just took Rukia to Fancy Prison, but it doesn't seem like there's yet been dissemination of an official report, because he doesn't actually know if Ichigo got killed by Ichimaru or not. But the meeting is still going on when the ryoka invade successfully via The Sky.

In the interim, Ichigo et al hung out with the denizens of Junrinan, met Ganju, walked out to bumfuck to find Kuukaku's house, got introduced to the cannon and the cannonballs, practiced with the cannonballs, ate dinner, gained proficiency with the cannonballs, and blasted themselves through the sky.

Which makes it seem like the VCs who got there early literally did have to wait around for half a day before everyone showed up. Keep in mind THEIR MEETING DID NOT EVEN HAVE AN AGENDA. They were just supposed to stage in Conference Room 2!

So what did they do? Did they bring any work with them? Did they shoot the shit for six hours? Play games? Nap?

...Orgy?

(Orgy.)

#matsumoto rangiku #shinigamiology #bleach headcanons #bleach manga #bleach カラー #bleach reread 2021 #no brain just bleach

[myaoiboy]

Death Stranding gender talk you say? Count me in.

Oh, I'm so glad someone asked about MPreg: A Hideo Kojima Game :3c

I'm going to put a quick CW in here for a medical-setting image of an umbilical cord. It's pretty mild, but I think doing side-by-side images will be helpful for illustrating what I'm talking about. Also, big spoilers for anyone that hasn't finished the game, obviously

Literally everything in Death Stranding is so very tied to parenthood and especially the pregnancy and birth parts. Yes it's technically a metaphor for the creative process but also it's, uh, incredibly visceral. So I'm gonna start here with Sam, but damn everyone in this game has some gender going on.

Can we talk about how Bridget chose the same name for both her other half/fictional daughter AND for her adopted son? I feel like not enough people mention the fact that "Amelie's" "real" name is Samantha America Strand, and everyone just calls her Amelie. Maybe because it's fucking weird to have two kids named Sam and Samantha?

The fact is too, that the two Sams aren't the only ones with gender-ambiguous names in the game...we don't know Lou's gender until the very end! The use of gender-ambiguous names for the only two main characters that you as the player can actually interact with feels hella meaningful.

In fact, the game intentionally lets us think that Lou/BB is a boy for most of the game! Cliff refers to his BB as "him" in one of the first cutscenes we see of him, very early on. The game also lets us believe, for some time at least, that there's a chance that the memories are BB/Lou's, and that Lou is Cliff's baby. We don't know this isn't true until near the end of the game! Why didn't any of the characters point out this contradiction before then? I'm not sure, at least not yet. Very open to thoughts on this. It doesn't feel like the MO of the game to have a gender reveal at the end for shock value.

Anyways, let's get in on point one obvious: like I already said, this is an mpreg game. There's...there's no way around it. A dudes carry a fetus attached to them by an umbilical cord (which they make VERY viscerally look like a real umbilical cord btw, between the color/texture/the additional cable along the outside).

I feel like "haha it's the mpreg game" has probably been done to death but I love it so much specifically because of the implications that it makes and the puns that it plays on.

Sam is a delivery man. He's called "The Great Deliverer" or "The Man Who Delivers." And the last scene of the game, the last line before we flash-back for the postgame, is...?

Literally childbirth! It's...delivery. It's Sam delivering his own child, after making a trek by foot across the continental US carrying a difficult pregnancy. "The Man Who Delivers" is a double entendre throughout the game, just like "strand" is ('strand' like rope or hair, 'strand' as in a portion of a larger network, 'strand' as in stranding, like the beach, etc).

So like, what the fuck, right? Why do we have Mpreg: Hiking Simulator? What the HELL is going on in there?

So. America, right?

If there's anything Kojima really loves to talk about, it's America. American identity, imperialism, national myth, etc. Death Stranding is just the most recent and blatant of these. And, of course, one of the most popular American Myths are the story of the founding fathers, right up there with manifest destiny.

So we have this game where Sam is both literally becoming a father after carrying a surrogate pregnancy, and also metaphorically becoming a father by re-founding America. In that way we can see, through his experience of pregnancy, the trials of (re-)founding America.

Okay, great, cool, Sam is a male mom, wonderful, so glad that technology has progressed to this point, we stan. Maybe we don't stan the use of American nationalism as a tool so much but look at the healthy baby glow <3.

But I also want to contrast this with the only other BB we really see in the game. Yeah, baby, it's Higgs time!!! And I am going to make a comparison that is going to seem batshit insane. Bear with me:

I was skeptical myself when I first saw this comparison, but I've been converted into a believer for a few reasons.

The visual. While imo it wouldn't be enough on its own to make a case, I have to admit that his hood is similar to some popular depictions of Mary

Higgs is literally a male prophet of a goddess of extinction. He essentially considers himself her messenger,

While Sam gets his BB from another person, and it's also a live fetus, Higgs gets his from Amelie, as how god gives mary jesus immaculately

Much like Amelie's reveal that her "soul is a lie," the "baby" that she gives higgs is a twisted effigy. He carries his god(dess)'s physical form, but as she is a goddess of extinction with no remaining soul of her own, it will never grow.

i'm willing to believe higgs is a virgin, for the bit.

Okay okay I gotta stop for now because it's 1 AM but like, consider it, mayhaps.

#anyways i love the mpreg game i love extinction goddess i love evil little egyptaboo higgs i love autistic king sam porter bridges strand #death stranding #sam porter bridges #samantha america strand #amelie death stranding #bridget strand #Lou Bridges #lets talk about mpreg #higgs monaghan #my analyses #analysis or something

[timottea]

where yn is a famous singer and one day practicing songs on the piano with timothée they end up having relations and very hot moments. Thankk uuu

hey hey!! i love the piano idea so much and i can only hope you're still around to read, i hope you like it 💗

cw: allusions to sex and oral, minor cuts and scrapes from painful high heels

the piano

steady and assuring, timothée leads you straight from the ceremony into a fast car outside the venue, opening your door, sliding in after you and immediately prying the heels from your feet.

“honey, what are you doing?” you furrow your eyebrows as his fingers deftly unfasten the straps. his tongue is between his teeth as he concentrates; those green eyes glance up at you through dark lashes at your bewildered voice.

“what do you think i’m doing, sweetness?” he says it so kindly as he gathers the shoes and puts them beside him, you almost tear up in the backseat. timothée rests your aching feet in his lap, cold fingers smoothing over your delicate skin and soothing the scratches along your heels and ankles.

you hiss softly at the contact. he places a kiss to your shin, whispering an apology into your skin.

“but what about the party?” you worry.

“forget the party,” timothée insists. “i can see you’re in pain, honey, you have a terrible poker face.”

caught, you thread a hand through his hair, stroking through each curl carefully.

“i love you,” is all you can muster, your heart swelling with affection. he really knows you, inside and out, and so you clambour closer to him in the backseat, your lips finding his as you pour blinding emotion into the kiss. hungry for him, your lips dance along his profile, sucking purple and red along the subtle scruff of his jaw.

“fuck, babe,” timothée groans when you tangle a hand in his shirt, keeping him close.

arriving at the hotel with your lips attached to his neck, timothée sees no reason to break the contact.

he simply lifts you out of the car.

“i can walk, baby!” you shriek, attempting to wriggle out of his hold and giggling when he tightens his grip around your waist.

“no way,” he bites his lip; stubborn as a mule. “the least i can do is carry you when i’m the reason your feet are all cut up.”

“i’m sorry, are you stella mccartney?” you laugh, “i don’t recall you designing my heels tonight.”

timothée laughs, a joyous sound that has you pressing kisses to every inch of skin you can reach.

“i’m the reason we were even out in the first place,” he says, immediately flushing red. “not – not that i’m trying to brag or anythi—”

“suuuure, you big movie star,” you snicker, kissing the red of his ears affectionately as he places you on your feet in the hotel lobby.

you glare at the heels where they dangle from timothée’s fingers, plotting their demise as they swing by their flimsy straps, taunting you as they sparkle.

“never again,” you murmur into his shoulder, hands wrapped around his bicep as he slowly guides you through the ornate lobby. “timmy, this floor is fucking freezing!”

timothée’s lower lip juts out in sympathy, looking down at your poor bare feet against the cold tiles. “i’m pretty sure i know a way to warm you up.”

you look up at him, registering the scintillating lust in his green eyes as he twirls your heels in one hand. heat rushes up your neck to your cheeks and pools in your stomach, making you dizzy.

“take me upstairs,” you murmur, nails digging into his jacket as you drag him past several empty antechambers in pursuit of the elevator.

he chuckles, kissing your head as he holds the final door for you. you pass through it, stumbling to a stop when you see the predicament ahead: an out-of-service elevator; a trek up five flights of stairs. timothée bumps into you at your sudden halt, eyebrows furrowed until he also notes the tape across the elevator doors.

“damn it,” he curses, breath hot against your ear. you squirm, leaning back against him only to feel something against your ass.

“gorgeous, can’t you wait?” you tease, one hand reaching back to palm over his groin.

“shit, yn, if you don’t stop…” timothée whines impatiently, hands around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer, aching for more.

spinning in his arms, you grin up at him, your crazy hand now tracing the seam of his zipper and driving him an inch away from insanity.

timothée’s head falls back and you study the mesmerizing column of his throat, the sudden urge to paint it with a bruising kiss making you shiver.

he lifts your chin, lips slamming against yours.

stupidly, irrationally, and rather impressively without breaking the kiss, you stab at the broken elevator call button, because if you stand here for one more second without timothée’s lips and hands and face and—

“c’mere,” timothée gasps, pulling you suddenly from the elevator and into a deserted room.

in the dim light, beside a shiny black piano, he’s on you again, all clashing teeth and bitten lips. his body is on fire as you moan into his mouth, the sound ricocheting beautifully around the room. when his tongue finds that spot on your neck, his dark curls tickling your jaw, you’ve no choice but to cling to his shoulders as your knees buckle.

“god, timothée,” you purr, putty in his hands as he makes your pleasure sing, holding you fast against the piano.

scratching down his back, you’re appalled to find his jacket is still on. “off – get off!”

startled, timothée rips himself from you, a gaping chasm where his body was once flush against yours. he stumbles, one hand flying down to the ivory keys to steady himself in a harsh cacophony.

“you okay? what’s wrong?” he rushes out, voice deep. he clears his throat, irises blown wide as he scans your face for the problem.

“your jacket— get it off!” you growl, and timmy would be lying if his dick didn’t jump at your authority. you claw it off him, tossing it aside and pulling him closer by his shirt, which, seconds later, joins his jacket on the floor.

timothée laughs against your mouth, roaming hands sweeping up your sides and scrabbling at the zip of your dress. he tugs it sharply, a sudden tearing echoing through the room.

wide eyed, you pull back to meet his, amusement flitting over his features.

“it’s not funny!” you giggle, one hand holding your dress together. “i started tonight in a full outfit and now i’m practically naked.”

timothée wiggles his eyebrows and you want to kiss that boyish smile right off.

“i’m sure stella won’t mind,” he grins cheekily, his hands parting the slit in your dress. “you’re giving her tons of exposure.”

you feel his smirk against your lips as you kiss him, pushing your chest against his. he lifts you onto the top of the piano and you shiver against the cold wood, his strong hands running up the goosebumps on your thighs as he kicks the stool out of his way.

your feet grace the keys, tapping out a lithe melody to harmonize against your moans as timothée sinks himself lower, licking his lips as your pitch rises.

“okay, darling, let’s warm you up, sing for me,” he murmurs, his voice like velvet as he spreads your legs out an octave or two.

#timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet fic #timothee chalamet x y/n #timothee chalamet fanfic #timothee x y/n #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet blurb #timothee x you

[lokisgoodgirl]

Hello love 💕 my sincerest apologies if your requests aren’t open.

It’s 2am and idk why but my brain just needs a fic where y/n is a pinning mess over Loki. Like she just has a massive crush on him. I’m so sorry this is so vague, maybe I’m just projecting here lol. The team teasing her about it, Loki being and oblivious dork, cute soft ending, soft Loki.

I just wanna feel soft, actually if anyone out there has any good fluffy recs I’ll take them as well, I need some softness in my life 💗

Much love and gratitude

Fluff Drabble Marathon II A link to my Fluff Library is HERE Warnings: Some mild language. Some mild angst. Pining. (w/c 750) A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE [18+] A/N - Hope this makes you feel a bit better my darling.

The Crush

A crush. The name was apt, considering it weighed on your mind every damn minute of the day. The way he moved so effortlessly. So gracefully. The flat line under his chin which drew to the start of his elegant neck. How those taunt muscles on either side of his jaw popped momentarily when he smiled smugly before he said something clever. You wouldn’t be surprised if you had counted every strand of his dark hair twice over, the way it hung around his sharp cheekbones or brushed wildly back from his perfect face. Those dazzling eyes that held all the secrets of the universe, and you wanted to know every single one.

You would give anything...anything, to hear him whisper tales of swirling galaxies and ancient rituals under the sheets of his bed as you snuggled blissfully against his bare skin.

A few days ago, a small team of you had been trekking to a safe house through a remote canyon path, a mix of waist deep water and high rocks. The wetsuit covering his form had clung to his godly body in ways that made your brain want to explode. He walked in front of you, turning every so often when you lost balance on the rocks, extending his hand and letting it curl around your waist to steady you. Those broad shoulders, his muscles rippling under the black neoprene. The way it clung to his ass. It was a wonder you hadn’t hit your head and drowned. He had hovered around you the whole way, shadowing your movements on particularly dangerous sections of slippery rock, making you laugh as you fought against the freezing water. Making you fall more dangerously in love with him with every kindness. You watched as he ambled across the common room, reclining gracefully on the sofa and conjuring a book without a second glance. You would give anything to feel his arms wind around your body, holding you close to him as tightly as he could. To feel his fingers trace lightly up your arm, making your skin tingle. He was perfection. The others didn’t understand. The ones that knew. Every so often Wanda would make a side-ways comment when she caught you staring, and every time you would curse the red wine that made you spill your secret one regretful night through tears of frustration. They didn’t understand. How could they?

Loki’s eyes met yours across the room, a smile gracing his lips as he gave a small wave. You waved back, feeling your cheeks heat as you quickly looked away. Your heart pounded, seeing movement approaching out the corner of your eye. Did you have make-up on? You couldn’t remember. What did it matter? He didn’t care- “Good morning, darling” he said brightly, leaning on the counter across from you. You smiled widely. Too widely? Shit. “Hi.” you quipped, crossing your legs. “Is your knee improving?” he said, concern lacing his tone. You nodded, the bruise stinging from where you had stupidly crossed it with your other leg. You had stumbled pretty badly in the canyon, despite your protector’s efforts. Loki looked at you questioningly, raising his palm in a ‘come hither’ motion. “Let me have a look”, he murmured. You shuffled the leg of your sweatpants upward, trying desperately to remember the last time you shaved your legs. He knelt to the ground below the barstool on which you sat, clasping your bare calf gently in his hands.

“Ouch” he mumbled, brushing his fingertips over the purple bruise. You couldn’t breathe. He traced the lines of your muscles, skimming the grooves of your knee with a softness that made your stomach churn. You willed your mind to record the moment, blood thundering through your veins as he ran his large palms over the skin. “Now, don’t tell anyone…” he whispered, waving his fingers over your knee as a green glow encased it. The bruise shrank and disappeared, a low warmth spreading through your leg as his magic soothed your pain. He winked as your mouth fell open. “I didn’t know you could do that…” you gasped, genuine surprise making you forget your nerves. “I’m full of surprises, Y/N” he murmured in his velvet tones, looking up at you from the floor with something new in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “But it’s our little secret, technically I’m not supposed to…” He ran his hands down your exposed calf. In a moment that you would later question if you had hallucinated, he leant forward, placing a gentle kiss on your freshly healed knee. “Good as new” he whispered against your skin. This crush was definitely not going away.

Fluff Tags (Reduced) @lokischambermaid @lady-rose-moon @loopsisloops @xorpsbane @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @nightshadelm @michelleleewise @mochie85 @theaudacitytowrite @holdmytesseract @sititran @mcufan72 @yelkmelk @awkward-and-indecisive @holymultiplefandomsbatman @muddyorbs @gigglingtigger @demoiseller @chantsdemarins @evelyn-kingsley @lollywritesstuff @wheredafandomat @thedistractedagglomeration

#loki fluff #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fluff #loki fanfiction #lokisgoodgirl #loki angst #loki x reader fluff

[themattress]

The Top 5 Carmen Sandiego Adaptations

And by adaptations, I strictly mean mediums in which you as a player serve no function, you are only here to observe. Therefore not the computer games, nor the board games, nor the choose-your-own-adventure style books. Just the shows, chapter books, and comic books.

Honorable(?) Mention: The DC Comics Series.

This only lasted four issues before being cancelled, and honestly? I can see why. I like the idea behind this series, which is compositing the various versions of Carmen Sandiego into one (the older games, the newer games, the PBS gameshow...had it continued we may have gotten stuff from the syndicated animated series.) The problem is that there is way too much going on in almost every panel. It's the equivalent of an obnoxious children's show that thinks constant movement and loud noises is the only way to keep its young viewer's attention. Beyond that, the main character Evan and his sidekick Bazooka Mel aren't that interesting or likeable, and Carmen herself barely shows up or does anything. It was a nice try, but it failed.

5: Where in Time is Carmen Sandiego?

This PBS gameshow was the successor to Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego, lasting for two seasons and a total of 115 episodes across 1996 and 1997. For comparisons sake, its predecessor lasted for five seasons across five years, with a total of 295 episodes. And that kind of says it all. I like things about this show - having people play historical figures and interact with the contestants is fun, the villains, also depicted by real-life actors, are a good balance of wacky and intimidating especially with the creepy effects around them and their willingness to attack the contestants directly, and much like its predecessor the final solo challenge is always exciting to watch. The problem is that it just doesn't feel like Carmen Sandiego. ACME is suddenly this hard sci-fi oriented group feeling more like the Federation from Star Trek than a detective agency, Carmen is a cackling supervillain out to make people miserable rather than a classy master thief, and while Lynne Thigpin's Chief is as delightful as ever, she and Kevin Shinick just lack the chemistry she had with Greg Lee....heck, Shinick himself is a major step down from Lee in just about every way. I think he was funnier in the Robot Chicken sketch about the show than he ever was on the show itself! I feel as though if this show was its own thing, totally removed from Carmen Sandiego, it would work better.

4: Carmen Sandiego

The recent Netflix series has a wonderful two-part pilot, "Becoming Carmen Sandiego", that shows exactly how this incarnation is going to differ from previous ones - namely with Carmen being an anti-hero going against V.I.L.E with the help of "Player" rather than the leader of V.I.L.E who "Player" is trying to catch - and with a lot of interesting possibilities on the horizon, particularly with its somewhat darker tone and reinventions of characters from several separate past continuities. And it's all downhill from there! OK, that's a bit harsh, but as I've noted recently the show really did squander its potential more and more with each passing season, culminating in a finale that made it crushingly clear that the developers did just seek to keep Carmen an anti-hero the whole way rather than go through the villain origin story that was logically being set up. It never felt like it truly knew what it wanted to be, and almost every character and plotline ended up suffering as a result. It's got great visual style and superb voice-acting, and I appreciate the attention it brought back to the otherwise dead property, but I wouldn't recommend it to anyone as a first experience with Carmen Sandiego.

3: The Carmen Sandiego Mysteries

This series of juvenile chapter books had a total of six installments: two representing World, two representing USA, and two representing Time. And it's a shame that's all we got, because these were pretty damn good! Maya and Ben are likable leads, Carmen is a competent and even somewhat threatening villain while still maintaining her own personal code of ethics, and it does what a good adaptation should in keeping the feel and style of the computer games while also making allowances for the medium shift. I especially like "Take the Mummy and Run", which includes some legit emotional drama and a non-Carmen villain.

2: Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?

Pretty similar to the Carmen Sandiego Mysteries books in that it features a young boy/girl duo of detectives hunting down a similarly characterized Carmen. But this being a syndicated animated TV show rather than a book series, it lasted longer - 40 episodes total, and even got its own spinoff computer game Carmen Sandiego: Junior Detective Edition. There's also more of an action-y feel to it despite the network censors preventing anything overtly violent from happening, siblings Zack and Ivy are even more charismatic protagonists than Ben and Maya, and the great Rita Moreno just is Carmen; her alluring voice probably sticks out in most people's memory when thinking about the character. I do question why an AI Chief was used rather than a human one, as that just feels weird, but thanks to Rodger Bumpass' voicework he gets a lot of laughs so I can let it slide. The one thing that drags this show down is the educational aspect, as it manifests in a lot of ham-fisted monologuing from characters that grinds the pacing of each episode to a halt every time. Guys, you're in a 22-minute TV episode, not Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors! You're kind of pressed for time here! It's the one thing I think the Netflix show actually did better, as while there were still lines here and there serving as educational the series usually focused on showing rather than telling as should be expected of the animation medium. However...this theme song goes way harder than it needs to, so maybe that balances things out. And speaking of stellar theme songs....

1: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

This legendary PBS gameshow simply IS Carmen Sandiego distilled into a compact form easily transmitted via airwaves. It's got the thrill of the chase while learning more about the world down perfectly, it's got the old-school detective vibe and the quirky humor, and it's got a stellar cast of characters - not only is this the first time Carmen herself displayed any real personality, but we've got a truly memorable Rogues Gallery of V.I.L.E operatives serving her. And even if the different kid contestants opposing them each episode do nothing for you, we still have Lynne Thigpen as THE Chief of ACME, Greg Lee as one of the funniest and most energetic gameshow hosts you could ask for, and of course - ROCKAPELLA! It's easy to see why this show endured for as long as it did and while it's still fondly looked upon even now.

#Carmen Sandiego #Opinion #Analysis #Comparison #This has been a PSA

[shabre-legacy]

Taris Part One

Once again, Aric finds himself stuck waiting. If they had a full squad, then he’d have something to do. But it’s just him and his annoyance as his CO handles the responsibility he was used to. This time though, it was a meeting with the governor while he’d gathered the gear they’d need to trek through the disgusting swamp that is Taris. It was a good thing he kept track of their gear on the ship. Otherwise it would have filled up time and he’d have something to do other then demonstrate his competence again.

He hefts the new rifle he was able to pick up on Coruscant and double checks it before propping it carefully next to him and leaning back and closes his eyes. It really was a nice rifle. It wasn’t the long sniper rifle he liked to use when he could. This one was better suited to the mixed combat distances he ended up using. There were definitely perks to being in Havoc.

A bright, deep chuckle fills the air around him as one of the many people wandering about moves closer and leans against the wall next to him. “Wasn’t expecting to run into you here too. Good to see ya.” The voice is familiar enough to cause him to open his eyes again.

The tanned skin and dark locs are familiar. He’s good with faces, he’s a soldier, he has to be. That kid Riggs. How the kriff?!… “Are you following us?”

Riggs seems to think his question a joke and grins. “Nah, got easier ways to talk to people then following to a swamp like this.” The man wrinkles his nose as he glances around them. “The Captain’s got business here; as her hired gun, where she goes, I go.”

“You’re awfully comfortable calling yourself that.” He’s always had a distaste for mercenaries. A greedy, selfish, self-interested lot in his opinion.

Riggs just shrugs. “Couldn’t do my job if I wasn’t”

Aric shrugs and turns back to staring at the market area across the small road. Corso is quiet a moment before he speaks again. “That yours? Looks new.” Riggs was gesturing at the rifle.

Aric lifts it, “picked it up on Coruscant. Nice thing about Havoc. Much bigger budget for good gear.”

Riggs hums. “That’s a nice one” he rattles off the rifle’s stats like he’d memorized the catalog. “You’ve got good taste.”

Aric can’t help but feel a little proud at the compliment. He knows his rifles. “It’ll do. I prefer my sniper rifle, but the efficacy range is a bit long for some missions.”

Riggs nods “Could I see it?”

Aric should have predicted that one. He lifts his prize off its holster and holds it out to be looked at. It’s not new, a gift from the Deadeyes when he was promoted. But it was still a damn good blaster.

Riggs lets out a low whistle. “Now that’s a work of art right there!” His eyes skip over the weapon and Aric notes the attention he’s paying to each detail. This man may not have served in the Army, but he knows his blasters from experience, not just theory.

“The newer models give this rifle a bad rep, but this gen. They’re some of the best you can get, even including the black market stuff.”

Jorgan nods “I know some of the guys update frequently, but I go more for reliability than flashiness.”

“Psh the newer ones aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. The material they use to make it lighter has a tendency to bubble, messing with your aim. They’re just too showy. Something like this. This is craftsmanship, solid, reliable, efficient. This will last you a while… whatever that looks like in Special Forces.”

The sound of a nearby door opening has Corso looking up and pushing away from the wall as the Mirialan he was with before walks out of the warehouse. Corso gives him one last grin as he goes to walk away. “She’s a real beauty Jorgan.” He lifts a hand before turning and jogging over to his boss.

#swtor #corso riggs #aric jorgan #Aric/Corso #my writing #fanfics

[love-kurdt]

This is Me Trying (Mike's Version) (byler): 2

word count: 10,471

warnings for this chapter: maaaajooorrrr depression!!! brief sexual content, homophobia, underage drinking, panic attacks, driving under the influence, near-death experiences, suicidal ideation. this is semi-autobiographical so pls be kind <3

in short: if you are emotionally or mentally vulnerable, please dni.

My eyes danced across the ceiling of Carter’s bedroom where, surprisingly, no one had come in and tried to kick me out. I detested popcorn ceilings. They were so… textured. Texture should not belong on ceilings. Maybe it was a good thing that things didn’t end up going any further with Carter, because then, I would’ve been staring up at a goddamn popcorn ceiling while Will Byers’ doppelgänger had his way with me.

I laid on my back with my skinny legs hanging off the edge of the bed, and folded my hands together over my stomach as I got lost in the travesty that was the popcorn ceiling. I tried to imagine that the endless expanse of polystyrene was actually just extremely puffy clouds, a bowl of cooked white rice, or freshly fallen snow that had recently been compacted together by a winter boot. My eyes trailed to the junction between the ceiling and the wall, which was adorned with a string of multicolored lights. I liked those kinds of lights, even if they kind of reminded me of the ones Joyce used to communicate with Will in the Upside Down. Over the years, slowly but surely, one of Vecna’s various torture mechanisms became simply Christmas lights again.

Fuck, Christmas break was coming up soon. I needed to get Nancy and Holly gifts before making the trek back to Hawkins. I hoped I'd have enough room in my car for everything, since I wouldn’t be returning after break. The realization hit me out of nowhere; since I no longer had a school to attend, I'd never have an academic “break” ever again. The last one I'd participated in was Thanksgiving, and I'd wanted to have one last memory of my parents being proud of me before I became the full-fledged failure of the family. It was evident, from the way Dad had made multiple homophobic remarks aimed directly at me from across the dinner table, that I'd already failed. I chose to keep my mouth shut about potentially dropping out, at the risk of making things even worse. Now that my college career was officially over, though, “Christmas break” would be just “Christmas” from here on out.

I wondered if Will would be back in town for Hanukkah. I hoped so. The holiday season would be different this year. I would get the fuck over myself and leave the house. I would repair my purposefully neglected friendships. And I'd finally get the chance to see Will again, face to face. Though chances were slim, maybe Will would hear me out. Maybe Will’s hatred for me had faded a little bit. I still couldn’t quite comprehend the complexity of what exactly happened within the past year, and how what I'd already assumed to be pretty damn bad became even worse, considering how well the new year started off.

As soon as I had arrived back at my dorm in January, I diligently thumbtacked the post-it detailing Will’s phone number on the wall above my headboard. I wasn’t normally someone who believed in karma, omens, manifestation, or any of that hippie crap (because I was obviously a realist and a pessimist by nature), but I truly believed that seeing Joyce at Melvald’s was fate in its finest form. Forgetting my school supplies (along with my reluctance to just go back home and grab what I needed from my room) resulted in essentially coming out to Will’s mother. And that was one step closer to getting Will back. Now, all I had to do was call that number.

The post-it stayed on my wall for three months. Elvis hadn’t mentioned or questioned it; we weren’t official, anyway, so I was free to see whoever I wanted. Except I didn’t just want to see Will. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Will. If only I could pick up the goddamn phone.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to call; I wanted nothing more than to hear Will’s voice enveloped in grainy audio. I longed for the day I'd get to say Will’s name out loud instead of just writing it. But I was waiting for the right time to do it. I couldn’t call in the morning, because Will had insisted for years that, in the words of his stepfather, “Mornings are for coffee and contemplation,” and refused to be disturbed before 9am. I couldn’t call in the afternoon, because Will would most definitely be in class, or at work if he had a job, or hanging out somewhere with his new friends, and I didn’t want to impose upon that. And I couldn’t call in the evening, because what if the conversation went south? I didn’t want Will to go to sleep angry or upset, especially at me.

In reality, no time was a good time. I knew that confrontation was inexorable, and whether it came across as offensive or not was dependent upon how the conversation began. I, ever the strategist, prepared myself for a multitude of scenarios, from worst to best case; it turned out that predicting all possible outcomes during a supernatural war would help me immensely in this process. Ultimately, I chose to pick up the phone and call Will on the least problematic occasion I could think of: the date was March 22nd, 1990– also known as Will’s 19th birthday.

I had parked myself in the middle of my mattress, sitting criss cross on top of my navy blue comforter. I'd pulled my phone, monstrous, pale yellow, and with a spiral cord, off of my bedside table and into my lap. It wasn’t the most comfortable of positions to be in, and my back was slightly killing me (hunching over a notebook for hours on end all day probably didn’t help either), but it was the optimal setup for either an hours-long phone call or for slamming the handset back in place and hanging up as soon as the other end of the line picked up. But I knew I wouldn’t ever hang up. Never on Will.

I drew my eyes up the headboard of my bed and onto the wall until they met the post-it, in all its glory. I inhaled so hard I thought my lungs would spontaneously combust from the pressure in my chest. I feared my heart would stop the second the dial tone emerged from within the earpiece. I knew I had to do this now, or I never would. I'd already procrastinated doing this for too long. I gulped, my finger hovering over the rotary dial, and tried my luck.

The ringback tone went through once, twice, and–

One of the Christmas lights in the otherwise dark room flickered, causing my body to snap up to attention. I rose to defend myself from any monsters in my vicinity, ready to fight the– woah, I stood up way too fast. I was, apparently, still quite intoxicated. I sat back down on the bed, eyes still glued to the string of bright, colorful lights lining the perimeter of Charlie’s… Christopher’s room? Whatever. It started with C. After a few minutes of engaging in a staring contest with a fucking lightbulb, I let my shoulders go lax. Tension that I hadn’t realized had built up released from my neck as I rested my head on my palms. I wasn’t in danger, not anymore. Well, at least, not in the paranormal realm of things. The only monster I'd have to fight was myself. 

More specifically, the raging… situation that had yet to go down in my obscenely tight shorts. Cadence had done a number on me, even though it only lasted for approximately zero-point-five seconds. I shut my eyes tightly, not sure of what to do. I could wait longer, and run the risk of being caught with a very obvious boner by someone if they entered the room unannounced… or I could make a run for it and try not to be sidetracked by anyone I knew.

I opened the bedroom door a crack and peeked through, and thankfully, it didn’t look like the escape would be too arduous. I rushed out of the room, pushing through the multitude of bodies in search of the exit. The room was extremely hot, likely due to everyone’s combined body heat and the space heaters stationed in the corner of every room, which made it difficult to breathe. I hadn’t been much of a fan of the cold ever since Will and I got stuck in the Upside Down during the Vecnapocalypse. We’d ended up staying there for longer than initially anticipated; having almost kissed at one point, I freaked out and ran away, stupidly tripping on a vine and causing an entire side-battle in the Upside Down, nearly ruining the Party’s chance to defeat Vecna. So, no, I wasn’t much of a fan of the cold, but right now, I needed to escape the sensation of molten lava that crept up and slowly wrapped around my throat. My eyes caught a glimpse of the front door, and relief flooded through my veins.

But that feeling was short lived, because a vine curled around my wrist before I could take another step. I whipped around to see that the vine was actually a hand, and noticed that I vaguely recognized the hand’s owner, who was a girl from my Quantitative Literacy class. “Hey, Mike!” she smiled. She had black hair, light brown eyes, and a septum piercing. She looked badass. Bitchin’, as El would say. However, her bright teal eyeshadow, even in the dark, served as both a boner killer and the source for my impending migraine. So it was a blessing and a curse, really.

I tried to remember the girl’s name, but didn’t want to disappoint her when I'd admitted to not knowing it, so I uttered a painfully generic, “Hey! How are you doing’? Good to see you!” and gave her a rather light, impersonal hug. She appeared to be satisfied enough with my greeting. She pulled me down by my shoulder so she could talk in my ear without everyone hearing over the music.

“My friend over there saw you earlier and was wondering if you were single,” she said, pointing over to a group of two guys and two girls who were all huddled on the sectional couch. I raised a quizzical eyebrow. This conversation could go one of two ways. I hoped I wouldn’t have to make it awkward, but then again, I knew I probably wouldn’t ever see her again after that night. So that made me feel a little better in that respect.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “Uh… which one?”

“Shoot, I should have led with that!” she laughed. I laughed along, but my voice felt hollow. Luckily, she didn’t pick up on it. “The one with the blue hair! Her name is Chelsea.”

I looked over at the group, and made eye contact with the girl with the blue hair. I watched as she blushed and looked away. She was shy. She looked sweet. Damn it, Mike, now you’re gonna break yet another heart. What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be normal?

“She’s pretty interested, you know,” the Girl With No Name said, unknowingly twisting the knife that rested permanently in my stomach. The lava curling around my throat became even hotter, burning through my skin.

“Yeah, totally, uh… that’s so cool!” I remarked passively. And yeah, it was cool, in theory… but hopelessly incompatible in practice. I glanced at the door, then back at the girl before telling her, “I hate to break it to you, but I’m straight as a circle.”

“Wait, what?” 

“I’m gay, like, really gay.” I blurted, probably loud enough for the entire room to hear. I heard someone whistle, and a few others cheered me on, but I wanted to burst into flames. The girl stared at me, stunned at my sudden outburst, seemingly at a loss for words. I felt myself choking on air. I needed to get out of there, and quickly. 

“Okaygottagoseeya!” I forced out in a single breath, not leaving any time for a response from anyone before I bolted through the crowd and out the door, successfully fleeing the scene. Grass met the soles of my Chuck Taylors as I continued to run across the campus quad, my breathing quick, ragged, and uneven. The frigid December weather did nothing to soothe the burning sensation throughout my body, which by now felt like it was burning from the inside out. My feet loudly slapped the pavement below me, and I was proud that I hadn’t slowed down or stopped yet. If one good thing were to come out of my time at the University of Indianapolis, it was my improved stamina from all the sex. Well, that’s fucking sad… and kind of hilarious, I thought.

I sprinted a few blocks, not caring to look for any oncoming cars. If I got hit, cool. Awesome. I'd thank the driver as I bled out in the street. But no one came to take me out of my misery. So I kept running, and running, and running. My long legs screamed as my practically nonexistent muscles struggled to carry me. The prickly, thin air I breathed in through my mouth reminded me of the sensation when I'd chewed a piece of mint gum and drank water right after. It was so fucking cold, but I was so fucking hot. Like, there was sweat dripping down my face. Or were those tears? Was I seriously fucking crying again?

Up until last year, I had never been the type of person to openly cry. I wasn’t raised to share my feelings or emotions. That was part of the reason as to why I had been so uncomfortable with the prospect of going to therapy. I never opened up to anyone, because I hated the feeling of defenselessness, and even more so despised the idea of being seen as weak. I prided myself on being the “fearless leader” of the Party. For fuck’s sake, I'd been the one to stare Vecna down as I thrust a sword straight into his heart. I'd proven my strength as a leader time and time again. But what would happen when Mike Wheeler let his guard down?

It turned out that I didn’t have to let my guard down; Will broke it for me. Will’s departure broke the dam of emotional repression that I had worked so hard for years to maintain. I suddenly became unable to stop myself from crying. I'd always silently envied Will for being able to express his emotions so freely, but now that I could do so as well, albeit uncontrollably, I didn’t envy Will at all. I wasn’t sure how Will had done it for all those years; the migraines, the exhaustion, the dehydration… It was awful. And I felt even worse when I recalled all the times when I was the reason for making Will cry.

I had also gotten accustomed to panic attacks. I had my first one on the day Will left. My mom came into my room to check on me. I’d looked up at her with scared, red-rimmed eyes, and my shoulders violently shook as I hyperventilated. My mom swiftly jumped into action, meeting me where I was at, grounding me, and helping me come back to earth. She’d held me in her arms as I sobbed, comforted me, and didn’t pry. But… she knew. I could never express enough gratitude towards my mom for what she did for me that day. Little did I know, though, that it only got worse from there. The second one happened after The Phone Call™, which led to my initial downward spiral. The third one happened in Warren Blakeley’s car after I'd been drugged and assaulted at that one party. And the fourth one… ‘twas a-brewin’.

I found my car despite my impaired vision, nearly ripped the driver’s side door off its hinges with how roughly I opened it, and slammed it shut behind me. I collapsed my entire body weight against the steering wheel before letting out the loudest, most guttural scream that I hadn’t even been aware I was capable of. I reached my hands up into my scalp, pulling fistfuls of hair with my hands as my surroundings melted away. I genuinely felt like I was going to die. Everything I'd said, done, and experienced within the past year and a half had been slowly building up inside me, and this was me finally cracking under the pressure.

Dear Will, I hate you. Dear Will, you broke me. Dear Will, I crave you. Dear Will, why? Why, why, why– Dear Will, fuck you. Dear Will, go to hell. Dear Will, I’m sorry. Dear Will, I miss you. Dear Will, I love you. Dear Will—

I turned my keys in the ignition, and the engine came roaring to life. I lifted my head up to the rear view mirror, rubbed my eyes a few times, and took a look at my reflection. The person staring back at me looked absolutely horrendous. I looked as if I hadn’t fully slept through the night since 1983. And that wasn’t far from the truth; I could count on a single hand how many a good night’s sleep I'd had since the day Will was first taken by the demogorgon, and all of those times, Will was there, by my side.

I shifted gears and turned my headlights on, pulling out of my spot and drifting out into the street. I knew what I was doing was a bad idea. Driving drunk was, first of all, illegal, and secondly, dangerous to not just myself, but to others. But I couldn’t give less of a shit; I'd figured out what I needed to do. I slowed down to a stop at the red light of the intersection where I'd have to take a left to go home.

“When you’re… different, sometimes you feel like a mistake. But you make [me] feel like [I’m] not a mistake at all. Like [I’m] better for being different. And that gives [me] the courage to fight on. If [I] was mean to you, or [I] seemed like [I] was pushing you away, it’s because [I’m] scared of losing you, like you’re scared of losing [me]. And if [I] was going to lose you, I think [I’d] rather just get it over with quick. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”

The light turned green, but I didn’t turn left. I tapped my fingertips against the center console, drove straight ahead, past the light, and turned on my right hand signal.

I swerved onto I-65.

“Hello?” a familiar voice answered. I felt my breath hitch. His voice was deeper than I remembered. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty, if that were even possible.

“Will! Hi!” I exclaimed, sounding far too enthusiastic for my own good. I waited for a reply, but could only hear Will breathing on the other end of the line. I went to speak again, but Will beat me to the punch.

“… Mike?” Will said my name in a tone that I could only label as nostalgic dread. Oh god, I shouldn’t have called him. I shouldn’t have called him, but I did, and Will was on the phone, and had just said my name for the first time in a year.

I reclined onto my comforter so I was lying on my back with my knees bent, wrapping the cord around my finger a few times as I spoke. “Yeah, um… I was just calling to wish you a happy birthday, and to tell you that I miss you.” Well, that was vague, Wheeler. You can do better than– “And love you. So much.” …that. Fuck. Too far.

I heard Will gasp, then try to cover it up by clearing his throat a few times before responding. “How’d you get my number?”

Friends don’t lie, so I told him. “Your mom gave it to me over Christmas break.”

Will exhaled. I’d always savored that sound, and would have been content if that was the last sound I'd ever hear. But… that specific exhale didn’t convey contentment; this one was laced with light exasperation. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

I begged to differ. She most definitely should have done that, and I would be eternally grateful that she did. In the eleventh hour, where all hope appeared to have been lost in the most abysmal Christmas break to ever exist, Joyce Byers saved my life. She’d given me a reason to keep on going.

“And you probably shouldn’t call me again.”

The color drained out of my face. My stomach churned with anxiety that seemed to exponentially increase by the second, and I suddenly felt the urge to throw up. This was the worst case scenario, but I didn’t think much of it. It was only a hypothetical, it wasn’t supposed to actually happen! Will was pushing me away. Again. But why?

“What have I ever done to you, Will?” I heard myself ask, my voice small. I felt like a kid again. At the end of the day, I was still a kid. I’d had to grow up too fast, a powerful disquiet having annihilated a majority of my childhood. I’d been so uncertain of where I’d end up after the war was over. And the one time I was sure of myself, sure of my feelings, and sure that Will Byers was my heart, I– 

“Enough. You’ve done enough,” Will’s voice, followed by the sound of the dial tone made my blood run cold. I set the handset back into its cradle, and continued to lay there on my twin-sized mattress, the rest of my body completely frozen. I felt my facial features involuntarily crumpling in upon themselves as the grief consumed me.

This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. I rarely prayed; I only did in life-threatening situations, where the probable end result was dying. But right now, I prayed the hardest I’d ever prayed in my entire life. Please, God, help me wake up. Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, whoever the hell you are, if you even exist at all… if this is real life, please kill me. I can’t live like this. After a minute or so, I opened my eyes. Nothing. I huffed a quiet laugh to myself; it was so typical of me to place responsibility on others, let alone God, to deal with my problems. I'd have to face this alone. I was always alone. And I fucking hated it.

I hated that I would never have Will in the way I wanted him, no, the way I needed him. I hated that I could never seem to get the closure that I believed I deserved. I hated that Will wouldn’t just be honest with me! You’ve done enough. What the fuck did “enough” even mean? Had I done something else? Did I do something other than that one time in August? Something during my first semester, or over Christmas break, that I couldn’t remember due to my steadily consistent, months-long intoxication? I couldn’t think of a single thing, which made me even angrier. 

I wished I could just… fall out of love with Will, or something. Maybe I could fall out of love with him. What was the worst that could happen if I picked up the handset again, and dialed the number written on that cursed post-it? What if I said to Will, “Actually, I don’t love you. That was just me being crazy”? Crazy together, that’s what would happen. I'd be reminded of the young boy who recognized his more-than-platonic love for Will; a version of myself that I could never get back; a boy who would call me out for lying to both Will and myself, because friends don’t lie. It wouldn’t be a lie to say that Will had hurt me badly enough to justify a grudge. At least I thought so. Then again, I hated grudges, and the person I became when I held them. Scratch that, I hated the person I'd become, period. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

I'd started at the University of Indianapolis entirely heartbroken, but on the other hand, I'd finally discovered my identity as a young gay man. I met some new people, and fucked a lot more of them. But parties have to end sometime. I would lay in bed, covered in the sweat and cum of a random guy asleep next to me, and would get weirdly emotional when my mind would, as always, drift to Will. I’d sometimes close my eyes and pretend the guy was Will, and I'd fall for my own brain’s tricks, if only for a minute. After that minute was up, and I'd remember that Will hated my guts… I would drink. A lot. I was the life of the party… with a side of alcoholism. My temper got worse, my fuse got shorter, and my overall outlook on life became so cynical that I sometimes even contemplated dying, and not the kind of dying involving bones snapping and eyes exploding. But I'd never followed through with anything in my entire life, so I knew I wouldn’t be able to kill myself even if I wanted to.

The tears that previously poured out of my eyes like waterfalls had dried up, their presence remaining evident in the stiffness on the surface of my cheeks. I hiccuped, the sharp intake of air causing me to develop a cramp under my ribcage. I grimaced in pain, sitting up and lowering my feet to the linoleum floor. I shuffled to my wardrobe and opened it, sifting through some oversized sweatshirts, a windbreaker, and Will’s godforsaken yellow sweater before I found what I was looking for. It was over. This was it. I'd had my chance, and I lost Will for the third time in my life. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the cap, and raised it to my lips. Fuck Will Byers. Fuck everything.

The sun had traveled up and down across the horizon a few times following The Phone Call™ when I'd startled awake to a shrill ringing in my ears. I checked my alarm clock to see the time, and I rolled my eyes. I extended my arm out to grab the phone without having to move the rest of my body. “Bitch, I swear to God, you better be either pregnant or broken up with by Nathan, because it is two o’clock in the goddamn–”

“Mike. It’s El.”

I sat up then, my eyes wide with conviction. “El? Jeez, I’m so sorry for that incredibly blunt greeting. My friend Alex tends to call me around this time with all her latest life crises, so… I just kind of assumed.”

El hummed in understanding. “It’s okay. Let’s hope your friend Alex doesn’t actually get pregnant or broken up with, though.”

“Yeah, that would not be good,” I agreed with a laugh, leaning back onto my pillows and staring at the ceiling. I'd missed the sound of El Hopper’s voice. It had been way too long. “So, uh, what’s up?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to tell me,” El replied, and my reminiscing came to a full stop. Of course Will had called El. They were siblings who told each other everything. Even back when they were kids, especially after Joyce and Hopper finally got married, Will and El were joined at the hip.

“What happened?” she asked me, and I scoffed, lifting my free hand to run it through my hair, regretting it immediately when my fingers got caught in one of the many knots, since I hadn’t washed my hair in nearly a week.

“Wouldn’t it be counterproductive for you to hear the same story twice?”

“I want to hear it from your perspective,” El told me, and I clenched my jaw.

“Okay. Fine. Where do I start?”

“From the beginning would be great.”

So I told her. I started at the beginning, all the way back to when Will and El had just moved back to Hawkins in April of 1986. I told her about how Will and I hadn’t spoken for the whole six months that he’d been in California. I told her about how I had, in fact, written letters to Will; I'd just never sent them. I told her about the distance that Will carefully maintained between the two of them throughout the entire duration of the Vecnapocalypse, up until when we’d almost kissed in the Upside Down. I told her about how Will–

“And then a few days ago I called him to wish him a happy birthday and… El, I genuinely think he hates me. He hung up on me and… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. I can't undo the past, and I can't get him out of my head.”

El remained silent for a few seconds, and I feared that our call might have been disconnected and I'd been talking to no one. But then, I heard the faint sound of El breathing, so I continued, “If any of this gets back to Will–”

“Why do you think I called you, Mike?” El cut me off, and I sat there in silence, unable to reply. “I called because I care, and because I want the best for both you and Will. Not just Will. I think you did the right thing letting him know you’re still there if he wants you to be.” Well that was… unexpected. And really kind, considering that this was the first time we’d spoken since she moved to Nashville. I truly had no idea why El still gave a shit about me after everything. I'd been a shitty boyfriend and a shitty friend, and these reasons alone were appropriate grounds to cut me out of her life. But El stuck around.

“Oh,” I whispered. “Thanks.”

“I just…” she trailed off. Oh no. What now?

“Just what?” I pressed, and I heard El sigh. Greeeaaaaat.

“I just think you shouldn’t have called so soon.”

“So soon?” I repeated, horrified. “El, it’s been seven months since I last spoke to him! When do you think should I have done it?” Should I have waited until we were out of school for the summer? Should I have waited until we were both out of college? Should I have waited until Will had forgotten about me?

“You should have let him call you,” El said to me, her voice strangely calm. “Or not called him on his birthday of all days. I don’t know, I’m just throwing ideas out there.” Yeah, no shit. I reached over to my bedside table again to pick up the bottle of whiskey, which still had about half left, and took a gigantic gulp, instantly regretting it when it scorched my esophagus.

“I don’t see how the fuck this is helping, Eleven,” I spluttered, wiping my mouth roughly with my sweatshirt sleeve. Sometimes, I wished El’s powers extended beyond telekinesis and telepathy, and, like, contained the key solution to all of my problems. That would be ideal. But no, she had to be all vague and mysterious and just throw ideas out there.

“Okay, well, if you want to be that way, then fine,” El’s tone turned cold. “I highly recommend you consider hashing it out in person.” She had no idea what she was talking about. The Will she had spoken to must have been a figment of her imagination, because Will had made it abundantly clear that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. As far as I was concerned, I'd never see Will again. But then El spoke once more. “I hope you and Will can eventually get your heads out of your asses and admit that you still love each other.”

With that, the line clicked, and I was alone with my thoughts. Or rather, one lone phrase, as the rest of my mind faded to nothingness: You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. You still love each other. Those words played on a loop in my mind as I finished off my bottle of whiskey. From that moment on, “sobriety” and “Mike Wheeler'' would not appear in the same sentence, not until—

Woaaaahhhh! Livin’ on a prayer!!! The key change of the Bon Jovi song woke me back up with a start. This had already happened a few times, but thankfully, the loud rock music on Will’s mixtape would startle me awake each time I nodded off behind the wheel.

I concluded that I couldn’t blink anymore. Though my eyes were incredibly dry, due to lukewarm air blasting through the vents and directly hitting my corneas, blinking would cause my heart rate to lower and the rest of the world to move in slow motion. If only for a few seconds of my life, I'd trade out the mental torment, the anger, and the loneliness for tranquility, quiet, and warmth… then my eyelids would droop closed.

I pressed my foot a little harder on the gas pedal, trying not to get distracted by the corn fields that seemed to sway to the music with me. Hopefully I would get my third wind sooner than later (my second one was fleeting, and died out as soon as it began). The sun was coming up, which was definitely going to help keep me awake. The song ended, followed by a few seconds of suspended quiet between songs before a familiar guitar riff met my ears.

“Oh, fuuuuck me. Goddamnit,” I indignantly announced to the universe, gripping my fingers tighter on the steering wheel. The voice of Joe Strummer began to shout alongside the wailing electric guitar. Now, I was very awake. My mind became a film reel, playing back memories I thought I'd blocked out a long time ago.

Darling you’ve got to let me know / Should I stay or should I go? 

Once everyone had been debriefed on what was happening in Hawkins, Will and Jonathan immediately went to work on making customized mixtapes for everyone. I sat on my father’s La-Z-Boy in the living room and watched in awe as the brothers put their minds together and churned out each tape as if it were second nature. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Will’s extensive musical knowledge, for one, as well as the strong sibling bond they shared. Having grown up surrounded by sisters, I often felt like the odd one out. My parents shamelessly and openly favored my sisters over me, which further excluded me, whether it was intentional or not, on their part. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like if they ever found out I was gay. That would be a disaster.

If you say that you are mine / I’ll be here till the end of time.

While Will and Jonathan were out getting more cassettes, I got a hold of and sifted through everyone’s handwritten lists. I had no idea Dustin enjoyed metal music so much; most of his list consisted of songs by Black Sabbath and Metallica. It wasn’t much of a surprise to me, considering how much of an impact Eddie Munson had made on the two of them. I still couldn’t believe he was gone. Part of me refused to accept it. Eddie could still be alive. He was just in the Upside Down somewhere. We could still save him. There was still time. There had to be time. My subconscious must have known I'd needed a distraction from the subject of Eddie— not dying— yes, dying, because I found Will’s list. To me, this list was a small glimpse into Will’s mind, so I decided to memorize it. I'd do anything to get closer to Will, even if it meant racking my brain in the process.

“You like my mix?” Will’s deep vocal timbre demanded my attention, and I swiveled my upper body around to see Will leaning over my shoulder, his hands planted on either side of me on the back edge of the chair. When did he get back home? That didn’t matter, because Will’s arms looked amazing in my blue and yellow striped shirt, stretching the short sleeves in all the right places. Was that a vein on his bicep? I gulped loudly, becoming flustered at our very close proximity. God, I needed to get ahold of myself. Pining over my best friend like this was not—

“I can make you a copy if you want,” Will said, and my eyes lit up in surprise. Will would really do that for me? I realized then that I hadn’t said any actual words during this entire interaction, and borderline blushed at the thought of Will rendering me speechless, but I needed to talk. Now.

“Really?” I asked, and Will nodded. “That would be amazing! Thank you!”

“Of course. I’ll have that ready for you in about an hour,” Will smiled, pulling out of my space, but not removing his hand from the recliner. I took this moment to shift in my spot to face Will, placing my hand atop my friend’s before he could walk away. Will turned back in my direction, eyes frantic yet welcoming. 

“You’ve always had the best music taste of the Party. I’ve missed it,” I had a sentimental streak, what could I say?

“You have?” Will squeaked out, seeming surprised at my confession. 

“Uh, of course! Why wouldn’t I have missed it?” I asked, and Will shrugged.

“I dunno, just… you’ve always liked synth pop stuff more than punk rock. Like, your first song on your list is ‘Smalltown Boy’ by Bronski Beat… which I’m not entirely shocked by? But I always thought you liked that kind of stuff over my taste.”

“Well, you thought wrong, Byers, because your music has always been my favorite to listen to,” I quipped, my voice infected by my ever-growing grin. “You taste top tier.”

Wait, did I just… What did I just say? I said, quote, “You taste top tier.” As in Will Byers, as a person… tasted top tier. What if… My mind meandered into treacherous territory as I wondered what Will tasted like– NO! Not now! I was just about ready to pass away right then and there. I could just imagine my headstone; Here Lies Michael James Wheeler. Cause of Death: Inability to Formulate a Fucking Sentence.

“Oh, do I, now?” Will raised an eyebrow, a smirk lifting a corner of his gorgeous mouth. I nearly fell off the chair. Could my egregious mistake have given me a little bit of leverage in the flirtation department? Will seemed to think so.

I played it off casually with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Cool,” Will remarked, placing his other hand over both of ours, sandwiching my hand between Will’s palms. So Will liked being (accidentally) flirted with. Note to self, I thought, fuck up more often.

I smiled so big that my mouth nearly fell off my face. “Cool.”

So you gotta let me know / Should I stay or should I go?

It was the summer of 1989, and all was well. Hawkins was no longer nationally renowned as an extra-terrestrial hybrid between earth and hell, but simply as a small town in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was the summer of 1989, and I was lying on the basement couch with my legs hanging off the edge. My eyes were closed, and I wore my headphones which were attached to my Walkman, playing Will’s mixtape on repeat, just as I had from the second it fell into my hands back in 1986. I felt the thumps of the opening and closing of the basement door, followed by light footsteps treading down the stairs. I cracked a singular eye open, but opened them both fully when I registered that it was Will who was entering my space.

“Mike, we’ve gotta talk.”

It's always tease, tease, tease / You're happy when I'm on my knees 

“Okay, what’s up? Are you–” I sat up, pulling my headphones fully off my head and resting them around my neck. Then I saw the look on Will’s face. He looked livid.

One day it's fine, and next it's black / So if you want me off your back / Well, come on and let me know / Should I stay, or should I go?

“What the fuck are these?” Will spat. My eyes widened at what Will held in his hands. How did he–

“SHOULD I STAY OR SHOULD I GO NOW!!!” I cried out, cranking the window down with my free hand and letting the wind rush through my long, black hair. My sobs broke into a maniacal, rueful laugh as my hair violently whipped into my eyes. I lifted my left hand and extended it out the driver’s side window, feeling my fingers being forced apart and back together by the rippling sea of oxygen and carbon. Rock bottom felt like the top of the world.

“IF I GO THERE WILL BE TROUB-ALLLLLLL,” I yelled through the thick strands, spluttering a bit as some pieces made their way into my mouth. I tugged them away, but to no avail, as the wind obviously had a mind of its own, but I continued on with my tirade of near-incoherent screeching, face full of loose curls. “AMIFF I SHTAY ISHWILLBEE DUBALLLL!”

The road took a slight bend, and I obliged to the demands of the pavement. The sun was bright enough that it burned into my retinas. I pushed my hair out of my face once more to view the scenery, only to be met with a pair of bright yellow headlights belonging to a tractor trailer. Only now did I perceive the loud noise of the truck’s horn; my car radio had been blocking it out. I also noticed that I was in the opposite lane, and about to collide head-on with the trailer if I didn’t move fast enough,

With enough adrenaline to fuel a thousand demodogs, I swerved to the right and dodged the truck with only seconds to spare. I took a moment to process the fact that I could have died. I knew my hands held the steering wheel, and my foot was still on the gas, but the rest of me was thoroughly detached from reality. “Should I Stay or Should I Go” blared on through the speakers, but I could only feel the vibrations rumbling from the floor of the car. I could have died, but I didn’t. But I felt my heart stop, and it felt simultaneously comforting and cataclysmic..

I knew that I couldn’t continue on, not like this. As if the road could read my mind, a small lookout area appeared within my vicinity, and I took this as a sign to pull over onto the shoulder to regroup. I parked my car, turned the music down, and clasped my hands in my lap, waiting a few more seconds before turning the car off, unbuckling my seatbelt and opening the door.

The actual sun had begun to rise. The air was crisp, and the wind chill slightly nudged it into even colder temperatures, sending a shiver down my spine. I hastily cowered back into the lingering warmth of the vehicle, searching the passenger side for… there it was. I pulled a crimson colored University of Indianapolis sweatshirt from behind me and shoved it over my shoulders, zipping it up. I did a double take at what the block-style letters spelled out, rolling my eyes and laughing bitterly to myself at the sheer irony. I continued to laugh as I opened the car door once more, heading towards the lookout.

I stood at the top of a steep cliff, guarded by a rusty guard rail that looked like it would fall apart with the next gust of wind that hit it. The trees below me were bare, their branches contorting every which way, slicing the air around them like an army of spears. Beyond the line of trees I could see the miles-wide stretch of farmland, and the miniscule house that sat on the corner of the property, chimney smoking. In an atmosphere as peaceful as this one, I stood idly at the edge of the lookout, thinking about how this would be a beautiful place to die. If I were to lift just one leg over the rail…

Mike, don't do it! I don't need my baby teeth, twelve year old Dustin’s voice echoed from the back burner of my mind. Seriously, don't do it, man! Of course my thoughts traveled back to that time at the quarry. How could I ever forget? Even as a child, I'd been completely wrecked without Will. If this memory proved anything, it proved that history repeats itself.

Dentist's office opens in five, young Troy’s voice began, and I glanced down. This time, I wouldn’t be able to turn back. Four… This time, El wouldn’t be able to save me. Three… This time, no one would be there to grieve for me. Two…

“What are you doing, Mike? Is this a joke?”

“No, Will, I’m in love with you.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. You don’t mean it.”

“But I did mean it!!!” I screamed into the silence, startling a flock of birds below. I lifted my hands up to my face, covering my bloodshot eyes. I heaved out a low growl, raising my voice until it hit the top of my range, cracking with an agonizing shriek. “I meant all of it! I love you! I always have! Fuck, Will, why couldn’t you just see that?!”

I let out a quiet sob, but no tears followed; I'd cried the rest of them out over the course of the past few hours. My throat felt like it had been rubbed with coarse sandpaper. I took a step back from the ledge and kicked a few of the rocks at my feet, watching them fall. I decided I didn’t want to die that day; not by alcohol poisoning, not by tractor trailer wreck, and not by jumping off a cliff. The only way I could die was if I did all I possibly could to get Will back. I turned my back on the trees, briskly walking back to my car.

I’m gonna make sure you, William Jacob Byers, know that I meant every single word.

About half an hour later, I walked into the convenience mart of a gas station. My hangover headache was beginning to form, and my intermittent yawning had become more and more frequent, so I figured some coffee would solve both of those problems. I stopped at the entrance, looking down at the stack of newspapers to my right. I recalled myself making a mental note back at the frat party to check my horoscope, so I leaned down to pick one up, searching for Aries when I found the page.

December 15th, 1990: Do expect some appreciation for the efforts you've put into recent days, dear Aries. However, do not get your hopes too high, because your actions may not lean towards gratification if you expect too much.

Well, Chicago Sun Times, it’s a little late for that, I thought, tossing the paper back onto the pile and walking to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water, and then to the coffee station. I filled a cup and dumped about seven packets worth of sugar into it before capping it off and heading to the register.

The clerk behind the counter, an older man, looked like he'd been having the best goddamn morning of his life. He beamed from ear to ear, and I could feel the positivity radiating off of this man from a mile away. When I got closer, I noticed a singular studded earring on his right earlobe.

“Hi, how’s it going?” The man smiled at me, crows feet forming in the outer corners of his eyes. I tried to mirror the expression, but failed miserably.

“It’s going,” I sighed, setting the water and coffee down on the counter and watching the clerk type in the prices on the register.

“Looks like it. You look rough, kid,” the man sympathized, pulling the money I slid onto the counter towards him and counting the bills. I shifted from foot to foot, anxiously waiting for the cashier to hand me my change so I could get out of there.

“Wanna talk about it?” he quirked an eyebrow, and I stopped my fidgeting. I looked up at the clerk, took a deep breath, and–

“Yeah. God, you don’t know the half of it. So I’m gay, right? And, like, that’s cool. And I’m in love with this friend of mine who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s… he was my best friend. For years. And we went through this major thing that nearly killed us, but somehow it didn’t, and that was great, because then I was able to tell him how I felt. Right? Wrong. So, like, he moved to fucking Chicago without any kind of warning, or maybe, I don’t know, a Hey Mike, you hurt me because you said or did A, B, and C, and this is why I’m leaving. Something that could represent ‘the end’ to me. Because I’m not that great at picking up on when to quit beating a dead whore– horse. Horse. Jesus. I’m not beating any whores, I promise. But anyway, I went to U of Indy, and that was fan-fucking-tastic, because I was finally okay with who I am. I’m pretty good at the gay thing, and other guys seemed to really dick– uh, dig that. And by that, I mean, well… you can put two and two together, right? Right. Okay. So, even when I was with all these guys, I always thought about Will. All the time. He’s a part of me, you know? I couldn’t imagine life without him. So when I called him up on his birthday in March, which was about seven months into the not-talking-to-each-other thing, which I never signed up for in the first place, he basically told me to fuck off and never speak to him again. And then I realized I had to live without him, so I kind of spiraled, and now I can’t fucking sleep without drinking, and I can’t function without some form of physical touch from another man, but I’m never fucking fulfilled because it’s not Will who’s doing the physical touch, and I fucking love him, and I need him more than he needs me, and now I’m fucking driving to Chicago to find him and… Oh my god, I literally just poured my heart out to a stranger. I’m still kind of loopy. I’m so sorry.”

“That you did. I’m happy to listen, though,” the cashier merely chuckled, waving his hand in friendly dismissal. “You’ve really been put through the wringer, kiddo.”

“Well… thank you,” I softly smiled as I took my change from the counter, and shoved it into my pocket before turning around in preparation to leave.

“Best of luck in your travels! Go get your man!” the clerk called after me, and I laughed as the glass door slowly fell shut behind me.

Pulling onto the campus of the American Academy of Art was not something I had expected to be on my Sunday agenda, but here I was, pulling into a visitor parking spot next to the Admissions office building. I got out of my car, slamming the door, and smoothing my jeans over my thighs, feeling slightly self conscious about how they’d been crumpled up in a ball in my back seat after my most recent midnight excursion with Wyatt Bowman. Although, if I were being honest, anything was better than those denim cutoffs. Especially considering the mission I was currently on. Speaking of.

At first glance, this was not a traditional campus. There was not a single quad to be seen. There were no outdated buildings or directories, let alone any form of indication of a college campus, aside from the little rectangular flags with the school’s logo that hung from every other lamppost lining the sidewalks. All of the academic buildings were dispersed amidst other buildings belonging to different businesses and companies within a specific limit of blocks, which would make it much more difficult for me to figure out where the hell Will could even be within this organized chaos. I figured it would make the most sense to head into the Admissions office building first, so I could at least get a map.

The interior of the building was bright, with students’ art framed along the walls. I walked over to the nearest painting in the room, pausing to admire the work. There was a Monet-inspired landscape closest to the door, and a cubist portrayal of a still life stationed beside it. I could see why Will chose this school. They cultivated the talents of their students and turned them into true artists. Nothing could have prepared me for the next piece that caught my eye.

It was me. Fuck, it was me; large in scale, vibrant, and full of life. I held my breath and stared back at the incredibly detailed, realistic portrait. I knew I didn’t need to look at the label that was tacked to the bottom of the painting to know whose work it was, but I couldn’t help myself. My eyes dragged downward and nearly passed away when I read the title: William Byers (b. 1971), “The Heart” (1989). Oil on Canvas. My chest swelled with pride, but quickly deflated at the looming, deafening voice in my head that routinely reminded me of what I'd lost. But that’s where everything stopped making sense.

The label stated that Will had painted “The Heart” in 1989, the same year that Will left me without turning back. He’d begun attending the American Academy of Art in September of that same year, leaving only three and a half or so months of the semester to complete the painting. So why would Will, after he completely erased me out of his life, still refer to me as the heart? And which heart was Will referring to? His own, or the one he’d shattered? I hadn’t realized I'd zoned out, so when a middle aged lady appeared next to me, I nearly leapt out of my skin. Her outfit, a floor length dress paired with a shawl, made her look quite ominous out of the corner of my eye.

“This is one of my favorites,” the woman stated.

“Yeah… mine, too,” I hummed, unmoving. 

“Have we met?” she began, but didn’t give me a chance to reply. “Perhaps you’re one of my lecture students, I can never quite put a name to a face. But I must say, you look quite familiar,” she told me, turning back to the painting with her arms crossed over her chest, deep in thought.

“Probably because I’m the guy in the painting, heh.”

“Oh gosh, silly me!” the woman exclaimed, flushing red as she put a palm to her forehead. “I didn’t even make the connection! So I assume you’re close with the artist, then?”

“Yeah, I know…” I began, then cut myself off with a grimace. “Knew him.”

“How nice!” Luckily, she didn’t pick up on my vacant expression. Instead, she continued on, “If you’d like, I can connect you with some students if you’re interested in touring the school.”

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am, that’s alright. I was just wondering if I could have a map if there’s one available?” I asked, and she nodded, turning on her heel to open a drawer of the front desk.

“Of course! And no need to call me ma’am, Miriam works just fine.”

“Well, thank you very much, Miriam,” I smiled at her as she handed me two pieces of color-coded, glossy paper; a campus map, and a map of Chicago.

“You’re very welcome, Mike. And when you see him, tell Will that I ordered those brushes he needed.” I didn’t recall ever telling her my name, or mentioning Will in our short conversation, but I became hyper aware of the fact that Miriam likely knew something I didn’t. Will had evidently told her about me. Apparently it wasn’t too slanderous, though, so I felt cautiously optimistic.

“Um… I… okay,” I rushed out, backing out the door as politely as I possibly could. “Thanks! Bye!” As soon as I was out of the Admissions office building, I ran down the street. I was so close to finding Will. Now, all I had to do was find the dorms.

I looked down at the map in my hands, then up, trying to find the building number, then back down again to confirm if I was even on the right street. The map said the boys’ dorms should be there, but all I could see was a brick wall in front of me. I was just about to rip all my hair out before I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I turned to see two girls looking up at me, concern etched on their faces. One of the girls wore a ski hat over her blonde hair, paired with a pink windbreaker, while the other girl donned a sherpa denim jacket and a beanie that still allowed her to show off her impressively long box braids that cascaded down to her hips.

“Hey man, are you okay?” Sherpa Girl asked. My gaze traveled down to notice our intertwined hands and I blinked, looking back at the two girls and nodding. At least I was amongst friends. I gripped onto the map in my hands for dear life, hoping they’d just leave me be so I could be disorientated in peace.

“Yeah, fine. I’m fine,” I shook my head, forcing out a smile. “Thank you though.”

That didn’t seem to cut it for Sherpa Girl, because she shared a knowing look with Windbreaker Girl. “Do you think he looks fine, babe?” she looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t think he looks fine.”

“No,” Windbreaker replied to her girlfriend, “He most definitely does not. Also, he shook his head ‘no’ while saying he was fine, so… busted.”

“Okay, what of it?” I waved my hands around in the air in frustration, pacing in a small circle before returning to face the two girls. “I’m just walking around this… very complicated campus.”

Windbreaker let out a giggle at that, leaning into Sherpa’s shoulder to muffle her laughter, which melted my heart a little bit.

“You’re obviously lost, dude,” Sherpa pressed. “At least tell us what you’re looking for, maybe we can help you.”

I let out an exhale of defeat, awkwardly shoving my hands in my sweatshirt pockets. “Any chance you know of a guy named Will Byers?”

Sherpa’s worryful expression shifted as she exclaimed, “Oh yeah, Will? He’s the cleric in our D&D club!” My brain short-circuited at the weight that sentence held.

“…He still plays D&D?”

That was when Windbreaker Girl’s eyes widened in recognition. “Wait… are you Mike?” I felt like I was being charged with a crime, but I nodded anyway. “Thee Mike? As in Mike Wheeler?” she asked again, and I couldn’t refrain from feeling a bit embarrassed by the implication that her vocal inflections gave off.

“Unfortunately,” I muttered, but was completely caught off guard when Sherpa did a little jump in place, her face splitting into a wide grin. Wait a minute. They didn’t despise me? I was so confused.

“No. No, this is great!” Sherpa elaborated, letting go of Windbreaker’s hand in order to reach into her purse. Huh? “I’ll give you his address.” Oh.

“He lives off campus with our friend Kate, but she’s usually at work all day on Sundays,” Windbreaker explained while Sherpa found a fancy, expensive-looking art pen and scribbled the address onto a grocery receipt. She handed it to me. I read it, then had to read it one more time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. 7 Maple Street, Chicago, IL.

I gulped loudly, peeling my eyes away from the piece of receipt paper. I nodded in thanks, as no words seemed to come out of my mouth when I attempted to speak.

“My name’s Ivy, by the way, and this is my girl Hannah,” Sherpa– Ivy– said, wrapping an arm around Windbreaker– Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her into her side as they walked past and away from me. “Tell Will we said ‘you’re welcome’!” I heard her call back to me. I wouldn’t even try to decode what the fuck that meant.

I eventually found my car after wandering around aimlessly for a few more minutes than I'd have liked to admit, and landed in the driver’s seat with a thud. I pulled the map of Chicago out of my pocket and dug in my middle console for a pen, locating Maple Street in seconds. It was about a fifteen minute drive away. Okay. I could do this.

As I drove, I thought about what to say. How could I even begin to explain why I was there, on Will’s doorstep? How could I justify my batshit insane motive? I got drunk for a year and moaned out your name while hooking up with a guy named Carter? I was driving under the influence and decided to come to Chicago instead of going home? I almost killed myself on multiple occasions on the way here, but made it out alive just to tell you that I love you? I groaned. I didn’t want to be a stuttering mess, so I figured I'd at least try to plan out my… speech. But I had never really been much of a planner in respect to my social life. Give me a few monsters, and I'd be golden. But my crumbling social life was far from an apocalypse, and Will was no monster. I'd just have to wing it.

Will’s house was pretty. It was a small Cape Cod style, yellow with blue shutters. It had a small plot of grass in front, with a few stairs leading up to the doorway. The doorway that I stood in, lifting my knuckles to the door.

I knocked.

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[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

Star Trek Prodigy Season 2 Speculation

I just gotta move from the assumption that we're gonna see it somewhere somehow after the new year bc its too damn good to just be forgotten. Am still crossing my fingers for 3 seasons and a movie.

Spoilers and speculation related to the Season 2 First Look clip here. Things I am really hoping play out in season 2.

1. Long haired Janeway

This one I full on admit is just personal preference. I love when she has it in buns and twists and would look so distinguished with that grey streak through it. But also it'd be interesting if she looked more like Hologram Janeway. Theyre very different. HJ was built to mentor whereas Kathryns focus is going to be on her mission. In the opening clip the kids are expecting her and instead meet the Doctor. I am wondering then if she'll spend part of the season at a distance - grappling with some uncertainties (It would be interesting if she and Dal have that in common.)

2. An adult mentor for each Prodigy character.

It seems like the kids are pretty spread out across the starfleet divisions. Rok in Sciences, Zero in Medical (I think). Dal in Command, Jankom in Engineering. Murf presumably in security or following Rok around. So it'd be cool if each of them had a mentor in their division. Janeway & Dal seems like the main mentor relationship being established. Maybe Zero and the Doctor are another. Could we have Jankom working with B'Elanna? Is an older jaded future Gwen going to cause the civil war timeline and get to interact with Chakotay (maybe? maybeee? please please please). Who would we get mentoring Rok (I'd like it to be Janeway i mean she was a scientist first but could have a new character too. maybe the redhead science officer from supernova.)

3. Dal learning how to be Starfleet

In the First Look he seems to be the most hesitant about this opportunity. is he nervous to live up to Janeways expectations? has he had a bad time in SF so far? whats happened to him in the time between S1 and S2 finales (it seems like at least a little time has passed).

4. Where are the other Vah Nau Kat?

100 of them entered the wormhole and we've only seen 2 so thats 98 other potential antagonists? 👀👀👀 where'd they end up?

#star trek prodigy #star trek prodigy spoilers #prodigy spoilers #star trek: prodigy #prodigy #speculation #prodigy season 2