#I guess you could call them boring adults with boring adult pastimes and they like it that way

[canisalbus]

In both versions of them (canon and modern au), what would be Machete and Vasco's ideal date?

I think both of them prefer mostly quiet and chill experiences that don't involve a lot of loud and hectic crowds. They'd probably enjoy going to the movies, or theatre if they're feeling extra fancy. They like museums, galleries, antique markets and book fairs, and do a little bit of casual entry level hiking every now and then. Restaurants, bistros and cafes are a mixed bag, because on one hand eating out is such a classic low-stakes bonding activity, but Machete is a notoriously picky eater and doesn't like surprises when it comes to food.

[diteach]

hi! could u talk more about ur experience joining the Mormon community? I've been considering seeking out more about Mormonism and i'm interested in hearing about how your conversion happened!

I would LOVE to! Thanks for asking!!

I decided to be baptized after hearing President Nelson's talk during the April 2019 General Conference. He was telling the story of John, a police officer who had to deal with the fires that hit California back in 2018, and for personal reasons I felt very touched by the Prophet's words (If you'd like to read or listen to the talk look up "Come, Follow Me", President Russel M. Nelson).

I had been attending various church meetings and activities for three years prior to making that decision and, yes, in the end the Holy Spirit told me it was the right thing to do. I know it's a very basic Mormon thing to say, but it's true lol.

It should be noticed that the stages went from "inactive Catholic who is also culturally Catholic" -> "edgy teenage atheist" -> "tolerant but skeptic young adult" -> Mormon.

The first time I heard about the church was because of the English class the missionaries were offering (I'm from a non-English speaking country). Not that I needed to attend, but it was summer and I was bored out of my mind. It turned out to be a nice pastime and so I kept going. Then I decided to study the history of the church because of a school project, which led me to read A LOT of anti-Mormon material too. Eventually I got to meet the members of my ward and became close friends with some of them (I even found a best friend in there!!) so I would often be around Mormons and I ended up learning an incredible amount of things. In fact, I got to the point of knowing so many things about the church, its culture, the doctrines, and whatnot that, when I announced I was about to join, the members who knew me less were like "hold on whaT Do you MEAN she's NOT a member yet" lol.

Honestly, those three years kinda sucked. I also like to think they strengthened me, but boy were they a pain in the booty. One day I'd be like "the church is true and the book is blue!!! All is well aLL IS WELL WITHIN MY SOUL!!!!!!!! Jesus is SO dope!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and the next I'd be wearing a tinfoil hat explaining to people why I thought it was really just a big conspiracy where everyone pretended to be a member just to mess with me. Not saying I went through an identity crisis, as that would be a little dramatic, but that's what it felt like. I couldn't imagine myself not being hostile towards religion, especially a not-so-traditional one.

I was holding myself back because I was afraid of changing (changing for the better too, imagine not wanting to better yourself lmao what a big dumb dumb I was).

Just realized I have no clue how much you already know so here's a few things:

General Conference - it is uhhh, well, a conference that is held twice, in April and October, every year. It's one of the many ways our leaders address us. They share inspiring stories, uplifting messages, church updates so, like, many nice things. You can watch the conferences on YouTube and you can also check the #generalconference, #genconf, and #ldsconf tags here on Tumblr, if you'd like!

President Nelson - he leads the church here on earth under the guidance of Jesus Christ, who is the actual head of the church. We believe him (and every President) to be called of God and to hold the status of "Prophet, Seer, and Revelator". Also referred to as "living Prophet" as opposed to, you guessed it, the dead ones, or "modern Prophet" as opposed to the biblical ones and those mentioned in the Book of Mormon.

Ward - the congregation, basically.

If anyone reading this would like to get to know the church without necessarily diving immediately into gospel lessons with the missionaries, I highly recommend attending one of our many activities first! The English classes I mentioned (if available), go visit the family history center that's nearest to you and ask the consultant to show you how to start building your family tree, find out if the local ward is hosting a charity lunch/dinner/market and go take a look, there's a ton!!!

I know it's lacking a bit of depth, but I was desperately trying to keep it short and not overshare. If you would like to talk more, feel free to send more asks or to even come off anon and start a chat! ⊂(・ヮ・⊂)

[cheemerthelizard]

Crusader of Life (Kakyoin x Reader) Chapter 4

Okay so I’m gonna start putting a small summary of what’s going to happen in the chapters here instead of just rambling about random stuff. Probably.

The last couple of hours had been absolutely insane. After the plane had crashed into the ocean, and most people made it out alive, you ended up in Hong Kong, where yet another Stand user sent by Dio, named Polnareff, was ready to kill your group off. Just like Kakyoin, he had a flesh bud, and once you got rid of that, he also joined your group. Now, you were on a boat, on your way to Singapore.

Since there wasn’t much else to do, and nobody really needed you at the moment, you just let your thoughts wander. Thinking about nothing and everything, life, the universe, whatever you wanted to think about. It was nice having a time where you didn’t have to worry about a Stand user. Since Joseph was a good friend of the Speedwagon Foundation, they let you borrow a boat, which only had trusted employees on it. Eventually, you got bored of just sitting and thinking random thoughts of nothingness, and decided to use Ace of Pentacles. Making copies of living things was always a good pastime. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much living on this ship, other than the crew and your little group. Still, whatever you could find, you would duplicate. You summoned Ace, and looked for small bugs, rats, or some rotten food. Sadly, you came up with nothing.

“Well, Ace, what do you want to do?” you asked, and she answered by gazing at Kakyoin.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s a last resort thing,” you answered. “What if someone catches you looking at him? What if he catches you looking at him?” Still, Ace’s eyes didn’t break from Kakyoin’s face.

“Fine,” you mumbled, “but I’m going to be doing the sightseeing, got it?” Ace nodded, and disappeared. Honestly, out of all the things you could be doing, you felt like this was the one that would kill the most time. You could study that face for hours. His hair, so neat and red. His eyes, and their beautiful lavender color. His jawline, so sharp and strong. Just looking at him made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you couldn’t help but feel a smile creeping up on your face.

“What’cha lookin’ at?” Polnareff asked, and you jumped a bit.

“O-oh! Just looking at the waves,” you replied. Yes. Good cover.

“Hmm,” Polnareff said, scratching an imaginary beard. “Well, we’re right next to the side of the boat, and you seem to be looking in the opposite direction.”

“Wh-what?” you asked. Uh oh. He was onto you.

“In fact, I’d say that your eyes were following a certain teammate of ours. One with a green school uniform on.” Polnareff got a smug little smile stuck on his face. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, it seems that you were looking like you were in-“

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you begged, burying your face in your hands. “Yes, I’m in love. Please don’t tell Kakyoin. Avdol already knows, too.” You were blushing so hard, you were sure it was noticeable, even with your face covered up. Then, you felt an arm around your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry,” Polnareff laughed, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you,” you breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey! Let me go!” You and Polnareff heard an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the deck. It wasn’t an adult’s voice, so it couldn’t have been any of the crew members. Both of you ran across to see what all the commotion was about, and found a little boy, probably about 10 years old, being held by his arms.

“I thought there was only the crew on this ship,” Joseph said. “Why is this boy here?”

“He’s a stowaway,” the crew member replied. “He got on before we left for Singapore.”

“A stowaway, huh?”

“Hey! I said to let me go!” the boy snapped.

“Oh, I’m not letting you go,” the crew member laughed a little. “I’m gonna have to turn you into the navy police!”

The boy gasped. “N-navy?” He stepped back a little. “No! Please! I’m just going to visit my dad in Singapore. Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll make myself useful around here, I promise.”

“Hmmmm,” the crew member was having a fun time messing with the kid. “Nah. I think I’ll just turn you in,” he decided, and his words brought despair to the boy’s face. That look lasted a while, but as soon as the crew member had his back turned, the boy chomped on his arm, and dived out from the boat, into the sea. While the rest of the people on the boat looked to see the kid, Jotaro seemed unfazed.

“He probably jumped in because he’s a confident swimmer,” he said. “Just let him go.” Geez. Now you remembered why everyone at school called him cold.

“No, this is very bad!” The crew member started panicking. “These waters are shark-infested!”

Then, like a boy who had caught on to the game his friend was playing, a shark came through, and it looked ready to chomp up the kid in the water. It was almost too late when he noticed it.

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighed. He summoned Star Platinum, and headed out into the sea. It was probably very strange to the boy, seeing a shark just get punched out by some unknown force, but you were sure he’d be grateful nonetheless. Once the shark was no longer a problem, Jotaro grabbed the boy’s shirt and pulled him back to the boat. However, before he got back, he stopped, and pressed on the boy’s chest again. You couldn’t hear from the boat, but you could tell Jotaro was surprised about something. Then again, so were you, as soon as Jotaro took the hat off of the boy, to reveal long strands of wavy hair. Turns out the boy wasn’t a boy at all: he was actually a she.

Despite not being able to hear that far away, you could definitely tell that the girl was yelling at Jotaro, probably for touching her chest like that. Honestly, if someone touched you like that, you’d probably go off on them, too.

As Jotaro was swimming with the girl back to the boat, you saw another creature in the water. This one, however, didn’t look like a shark. In fact, it didn’t resemble anything you had seen before. There was only one conclusion: an enemy Stand.

“Jotaro!” you cried. “Enemy Stand! In the water! Get out! Now!”

Either Jotaro had heard you, or he noticed the Stand, but either way, he started paddling faster and faster, making sure the girl was in front of him. It was almost too late, but he was just in Hierophant’s range to be pulled out of the water in the nick of time, as the life raft was torn to shreds by the monster in the water.

Once Jotaro and the girl were safe, all of you were thinking the same thing: is this stowaway really a follower of Dio?

“There’s no way she could be the Stand user,” you whispered. “I mean, we had to go save her from the shark.”

“That could’ve been bait,” Polnareff whispered back.

The girl turned to your group. “Why are you glaring at me, huh? You wanna fight?” She pulled out a knife. “I can fight! One on one! Let’s go!”

“She really doesn’t look the part,” Joseph murmured.

“Anyone can obtain a Stand, even children,” Avdol spoke softly.

“Hey! I asked you a question!” That girl was very persistent. “My knife is telling me it wants the blood of it’s 340th victim.”

Kakyoin chuckled a little bit.

“What is it, punk?” She glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Punk?” Kakyoin laughed. “You know, I really don’t think she’s the user.”

“But if she isn’t, than who is?” That was the question everyone had on their minds.

“Ah, so here’s our little stowaway,” the captain walked onto the deck. “Hm. A little small, if you ask me. Well, I can’t take it easy on you, even if you’re a girl. If we take it easy, we’ll just get more and more stowaways.” He started twisting the girl’s arm.

“I’ve figured out who the Stand user is,” Jotaro said. “It’s the captain!”

“And how do you know, Jotaro?” Avdol asked. “If you just make random accusations, things will get more confusing.”

“Stand?” The captain scratched his head. “What’s that?”

“I know,” Jotaro replied, “because any Stand user who inhales even a little bit of cigarette smoke will have a vain pop up on their nose!”

At this, everyone, including the captain, checked their noses. You didn’t see anything on your nose. “You can’t be serious, Jotaro,” you said.

“Nope,” he shrugged, “I was lying. But looks like we found the idiot.”

Suddenly, the captain laughed. “Fine. You got me. I’m not the real captain. He’s already at the bottom of the ocean, sleeping with the fishes. I was going to pick you off, one by one, but I guess I’ll have to use plan B.” Without warning, he grabbed the girl, and held onto her with his Stand. “I might not be able to take on all five of you on land, but if I drag a hostage into the water with me, then I’ll have the upper hand.” He jumped off the deck, but before he reached the water, Jotaro had already gotten the girl out of the captain’s grasp, safe and sound, as well as made sure that he wasn’t coming back to shore anytime soon.

“Yeah, Jotaro!” you cheered. “Great job!”

“He sure talked up his powers,” Polnareff laughed.

“Hey, Jotaro,” Joseph said, “why aren’t you bringing the girl in?”

“I’m trying,” Jotaro’s voice sounded clenched as he bent over the railing, “but I can’t. I can’t even bring Star Platinum back.” Suddenly, he fell off, as if he was magnetized to the sea. Before he fell in, though, he threw the girl up, and Hierophant caught her. Then, before you knew it, Jotaro had fallen to the bottom of the sea.

Every last one of the people on board, including the crew members and the girl, were anxiously holding their breath, praying to whatever god they believed in that Jotaro would make it out alive. One minute. Two minutes. Three. He still wasn’t up. Maybe you should have duplicated him, before it was too late. Then again, those acorn barnacles stuck to him were technically a status condition, even if it was the work of a Stand, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. Of course, as you thought of something you could have done ahead of time that would prevent this horrible disaster, things just had to get worse. A whirlpool. The fake captain had created a whirlpool, and Jotaro was trapped in it. Kakyoin tried fishing him out of there, but the Stand’s scales were everywhere in there. It was impossible to get Jotaro out of there. Anxiety flew through you, and each second felt ten times as long. Then, out of the blue, you saw your friend pop up for just a second.

“I saw Jotaro!” Kakyoin cried. “He was completely limp!”

“Completely limp, you say?” Joseph asked. “This might be a good thing.”

“Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Joestar,” you said, “but how in the world could this be a good thing?! He’s limp! He might already be dead!”

“Well, us Joestars have a way of getting out of tricky situations like these,” Joseph replied. “And I think Jotaro has figured out how.”

“Oh, I hope you’re right, Mr. Joestar,” you muttered. “I really, truly, hope you’re right.”

Conveniently, once you got done with your tiny monolouge, the whirlpool had ended, and Jotaro had finally surfaced again.

“That’s my grandson for you!” Joseph laughed. “See, (Y/N)? Nothing to worry about. Now, come back up, and-“

Joseph didn’t get to finish what he was going to say, because an explosion happened somewhere on the boat. Then another one. And another one.

“Quickly! To the life boats!” Joseph cried, and nobody wasted any time doing what he said. You jumped from the deck just as an explosion happened behind you, pushing you right into the life boat. You landed with a faceplant, and heard an, “Ow!” from a familiar voice. That’s when you realized you had landed right on Kakyoin’s legs, very hard.

“Oh, Kakyoin! I’m so sorry!” You kept apologizing, and asking to pay him back somehow.

“I’m telling you, (Y/N), I’m fine,” Kakyoin laughed a little bit. “My legs will be fine.”

You thanked him for understanding, then looked for a place to sit on the life boat. Turns out, the only seat was right next to Kakyoin. Dang it. That girl, who’s name was Anne, had taken the only seat away from him. Avdol and Polnareff gave you smug smiles, and you made a hand slashing motion near your neck, telling them to cut it out, then pointing at Kakyoin, signifying he was right there. Both of them looked away, still smiling.

Great. Just what you needed on this trip. A tiny crush, and two guys who knew about it.

[artificialqueens]

Show me the Stars, Chapter One (Trixya) - Kite

A/N: It’s been a long ass time since I’ve posted to AQ, but here I am with a Trixya fic. Hope you guys enjoy it! Feel free to check out my concept art over on my tumblr @youre-a-kite. And if you’re feeling the space themed lesbian au vibe, check out my fic Artemis on Ao3, which features Branjie, Trixya and Scyvie in space.

Summary: Trixie is a tour guide in a planetarium who makes up the facts as she goes along, and Katya is an astrophysicist who takes the tour with the intention of calling her out, but doesn’t.

Trixie sighs as the gaggle of elementary kids start to screech when she dims the lights, plunging them into darkness. She waits for the teachers to regain control of the room, and nods politely whilst they apologise, but she knows it’s going to be a few minutes before the kids settle.

It’s the same story every day.

But on the plus side, it usually means she can shave five minutes off the end of her presentation. Ten minutes, if one of them needs the bathroom half way through.

“Good morning kids,” Trixie says, with as much enthusiasm as her slightly hungover self will allow. “My name is Trixie Mattel and I’ll be your tour guide today. Please remember that there is no eating or drinking in the planetarium. Now, raise your hand if you’ve ever seen a star.”

-x-

The door to the break room slams shut behind her.

“I swear to god, I’m quitting tomorrow,” she groans.

Pearl scoffs. “Bitch, you say that every day.”

“I know, but this time I mean it.”

This isn’t how Trixie pictured her life would work out when she moved to LA the moment she graduated college. Like every other hopeful out there, she was going to be a star. She thought she’d at least have a recurring role on a sitcom by now. But gradually, as her savings account has drained, acting classes had been switched for shifts at the makeup counter in the mall. The agent that she’d hired became a luxury that she was no longer able to afford. She’d taken a job at the planetarium because she figured it was the closest thing to acting that she could find, but, God, she fucking hates kids.

Her colleagues are the only thing about the job that she actually enjoys. She’d gotten the job through her roommate Kim and became friendly with the other pretty quickly. She’s never been one to shy away from social situations, especially not at work.

In the break room, anything goes.

Last week, their boss, Brooke, had pulled Trixie into the office to give her a lecture on ‘why we leave our personal lives at home’ when she realised that half of the tours started late one morning because her guides had been too busy grilling Trixie about the hickey on her neck from her Tinder date to keep an eye on the time. Honestly, that talk had gone in one ear and straight out of the other. She figured that it was pretty hypocritical, coming from the woman who’s almost definitely banging the chick who works in the gift shop.

“Trix’, you’ll like this,” Pearl tells her, beckoning her over. “When Violet was working the public telescopes last night, some old couple asked her to point them towards Ursa Major.”

Violet laughs loudly, “like I know where that fucker is.”

“What did you do?” Trixie smirks.

When their job amounts to little more than following a script and flicking the lights on and off at the right time, they all know how stressful it can be when they get asked a specific question.

Violet shrugs, “I just pointed upwards. What else was I supposed to do?”

-x-

After lunch, Trixie is leading the ‘Moons of the Solar System’ tour that is open to the public. On the one hand, the ratio of children to adults on these tours is always much lower, so that’s a positive, but on the other hand, members of the public come with their own set of problems.

There’s the entitled moms, who think that their kids should get to climb up on the displays. There’s the know it all dads, who like to jump in with a ‘well, actually’ every once in a while. There’s always a group of tourists who never listen to the ‘no flash photography’ instruction at the beginning. But every once in a while, there’s someone interesting or quirky or different, that makes her shifts just about bearable.

Pearl is collecting ticket stubs at the entrance to the planetarium dome, and gives Trixie a nod when the last members of the audience have filtered in. As she leaves, she closes the doors behind her and sets the lights so that they begin to dim.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gents. I’m Trixie Mattel and I’ll be your tour guide today. Please remember that there is no eating or drinking in the auditorium. Now, raise your hand if you’ve ever seen the moon.”

She rattles through the opening section about Earth’s moons fairly quickly. It’s the most boring part of the script by far, since even young kids will already know this by now. With feigned enthusiasm, she asks her audience participation questions about solar and lunar eclipses. Once she’s finished, someone raises their hand to ask a question. She prays it’s something she knows the answer to.

“When’s the next lunar eclipse?”

Trixie shifts uncomfortably. The woman’s blue eyes are piercing, waiting for her to answer.

“Um, some time next month. You’ll have to check out our website for further details.”

The woman nods, seemingly satisfied. But she’s barely into her segment on Jupiter’s four largest moons when the woman speaks up again.

“Which space probe has travelled the furthest?”

She has to use all of her willpower to force herself not to roll her eyes. The Lord really is trying to test her today. Quickly, in her head, she rattles through all of the names of the space probes that she knows, trying to pick the one that sounds right.

“Um, Galileo,” Trixie guesses.

The woman smiles, but says nothing.

“And how far away is-“

Trixie has to cut her off.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave all questions until the end.”

The woman apologises, but it doesn’t make Trixie feel any less on edge.

The thing is, Trixie knows that he answers are wrong. She knows that she’s making up the majority of her script on the spot. And she knows that the parents here are lapping it up, planning to go home and brag to their book club friends about how their kids enjoy educational pastimes, because they’re just so damn gifted.

But this woman. Who’s teetering in skyscraper heels and watching her like a hawk. Who’s nodding along with the presentation, smirking softly to herself, like she knows something that everybody else doesn’t. Trixie is sure that this woman knows that everything she’s saying is bullshit.

Trixie sets up the projectors to play a short clip showing the names and sizes of some of the solar system’s biggest moons, then positions herself in the back corner of the room. Then, as if this woman isn’t odd enough already, she starts to look up at the dome. But she doesn’t look up like all the rest of the parents, with a semi-interested expression and frequent glances to her watch. She looks up in awe, like this is the greatest thing she’s ever seen in her life. Like nothing could bring her to look away, not even for a moment.

And it’s funny, because Trixie is as captivated by the woman as the woman is by the moons.

At the end of the presentation, Trixie is dreading the asking the audience for questions, because she knows whose hand is going to be the first in the air. So, she drags out the end of the show for as long as possible, praying that she overruns. When Pearl pokes her head through the door to give her the two minute warning for the start of Kim’s next group, she’s so relieved, she could kiss her.

“And that’s all we have time for today folks. Please exit via the gift shop on your right. Have a lovely day!”

She makes a beeline for the door, but of course, the woman follows her.

“Hold on, I didn’t get to ask my questions,” she smirks coyly.

Trixie sighs and gestures to the edge of the corridor so they can stand out of the way of the crowds.

“Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but-“

The woman holds up her hands in defence. “I’m not playing any games, I just wanted to know-“

“Save it,” Trixie cuts her off, and she really hopes she’s right because if not she’s just been very, very rude to a curious audience member. But then the woman grins and she knows she isn’t wrong. Trixie sighs. “Are you going to tell my boss?”

The woman shrugs and Trixie’s eyes widen.

“Look, I’m sorry if your kid didn’t enjoy the show or whatever. I’ll get you tickets to the next-“

“Ew, gross” the woman cuts her off by shaking her head, “I don’t have a kid.”

“Oh. Then why are you at a kids planetarium show?”

The woman laughs. Her teeth are perfectly straight and perfectly white, not that Trixie cares.

“My niece watched a show here last week, but the new facts that she learned turned out to be the biggest load of garbage I’ve ever heard.”

Trixie ought to be embarrassed, but really, she’s just annoyed. Why can’t this woman just leave a bad review on trip advisor like a normal person?

“Are you some kind of space expert or something?”

The woman takes a business card out of her purse and hands it over.

Prof. Yekaterina P Zamolodchikova. Astrophysics Department - UCLA.

“Jesus,” Trixie mumbles.

“No, Katya,” the woman replies, holding out her hand for Trixie to shake.

Trixie doesn’t shake her hand.

“Please don’t tell my boss, I really need this job.”

“Maybe if you really needed it, you’d be less terrible at it.”

Trixie shrugs. “That’s fair.”

Katya’s gaze sharpens. “What you’re doing isn’t right. Kids come here to learn and you’re just making shit up as you please.”

Trixie shifts on the balls of her feet. It would be easier to just let Brooke tear her a new asshole than have to put up with this. Maybe if she tells her before Katya has the chance, she’ll get to keep her job.

Trixie looks at her watch and sighs. “Okay, if you’re going to tell her will you at least tell her tomorrow, so that I get paid for the rest of the day.”

Katya looks Trixie up and down, then grins devilishly. “I’m not going to tell her.”

“You aren’t?”

“No.”

Trixie blinks rapidly, then stares at her, unaware of what they’re supposed to do now. Then, Katya gestures to the business card in her hand.

“See the address? I want you to meet me there at eight. I’m going to teach you what you need to know.”

Trixie narrows her eyes. “You’re a college professor and you want to teach third grade physics to a terrible planetarium tour guide…”

Katya shrugs. “Or I could tell your boss that you can’t do your job properly.”

“Fine. God damn it. Whatever. I’ll be there.”

Trixie had been warned of the unsavoury side of life before she moved to LA, but had never thought she would be blackmailed into being educated.

She looks down at the card in her hand, but when she looks back up, Katya is already walking away.

“How will I know where to find you?”

“You’ll know,” she calls back over her shoulder.

“This had better not be a trap so that you can kidnap and murder me,” Trixie shouts after her, earning her a few uncomfortable glances from nearby parents.

“No promises,” Katya tells her, then leaves the building.

[purplesurveys]

657

~A~ Is your birthday before August? Yep, and the month starts with A, too – my birthday’s in April. Are you an Aries? Close enough. I’m a Taurus. Would you consider yourself Artistic? Hell nah.

~B~ Are you a Brunette? I am not. Do you have Blue eyes? No I don’t. Hair and eye color questions get so tiring to answer, lmao. Your Best friend? I have two best friends.

~C~ What is your favorite Channel on TV? Mmm I don’t watch TV anymore but I think my favorite would be either TLC or E!, because I’m a sucker for dumb reality shows, lmao. Back when I still used cable religiously I’d normally tune in to Fox. Have you ever been to Chicago, IL? Nope but it’s one of my dream destinations for sure. Do you have a Crush on anyone? Yep. It’d be weird to be in a long-term relationship with someone I didn’t have a crush on haha.

~D~ Where is your Dad right now? As far as I know he’s stationed in Australia and is staying there until the end of his term. His ship normally has cruises around Japan, China, and South Korea but because of the coronavirus going around exactly in that region, his company has made everyone stay in Australia for the meantime. Are your parents Divorced? No. Even if they wanted to they couldn’t, because divorce is illegal here. Do you have your Driver's license? Yeah, I’ve had it for four years.

~E~ What did you last Eat? I’m eating chocnut at the moment :) I haven’t had it in a while but I had a sudden craving for it last weekend, so my mom bought a pack just for me.

How many piercings do you have in your Ears? Two, one in each earlobe.

Is it past Eleven o'clock am? Way past, it’s 7:17 PM.

~F~ Who was your First friend? My first friend was a girl named Kaye that I met in kinder. She has very common first and last names, so it’s been impossible to find her on social media and reconnect with her.

Who was your First Boyfriend/Girlfriend? Gabie.

Where was your last airplane Flight to? Flying back to Manila from Batanes.

~G~ Are you a Gemini? Nope, but you’ve mentioned the star signs before and after my real one, Taurus.

Have you ever been to Germany? I have not. But Germany is kinda close to my heart because Nacho was always studying to be fluent in German. When he passed we came up with an inside joke that he actually just moved to Germany to finally fulfill his dreams, and that joke became a source of comfort for us. 

How many of your Grandparents are still living? Three out of four.

~H~ Are you in High School? Nope. It’s been nearly four years since I graduated. :)

What is your favorite Holiday? My birthday, if it counts. If it doesn’t, Halloween. If that also doesn’t, I don’t have a favorite holiday I guess.

What do you Hear right now? Just my electric fan whirring. I don’t feel like having background noise at the moment.

~I~ What is your favorite flavor of Ice cream? Cookies and cream!

Have you ever been Ice skating? Yesssss it was one of my favorite pastimes as a kid. I never took lessons, I never learned a single trick, but I could glide for hours, and that was enjoyable enough for me. My parents used to drop me off at ice skating rinks while they did the groceries and went window shopping, because they knew I’d find those boring.

Can you play any Instruments? No. I can play simple tunes on the recorder but like almost everybody can use the recorder, so I don’t even count it anymore hah.

~J~ Does your name begin with J? It doesn’t...and my name is still pretty far down the alphabet.

Does your birthday fall in the months of January, June, or July? None of those months.

Do you know anyone who speaks Japanese? I probably do. UP is a very diverse community and I just know there’s a community out there with varying degrees of knowledge of Japanese dedicated to learning the language.

~K~ Do you regret your last Kiss? Not at all.

Do you have any Kids? I don’t.

Have you ever taken a Karate class? No but I used to be jealous of my kuya because he regularly took taekwondo as a kid. I thought it was super cool seeing his uniform and the color of his belt gradually changing.

~L~ Who was the last person to tell you 'I Love you'? My girlfriend.

Have you ever been to the Statue of Liberty? No.

When was the last time you went to a Library? Uhhhhh last week. For one of my classes, we had to go to the main library’s AVR to watch a documentary on Jose Rizal. 

~M~ What is your Middle name? Meh, I’m not saying that on her.

How old is your Mother? She’s 48, but is turning 49 later this year.

What is your favorite kind of Music? It varies. I have favorite artists, not genres, so my taste in the latter is really spread out.

~N~

What are the last 4 digits of your phone Number? Nope.

What does your Name mean? Last time I checked it means something like fame or bright or star.

Do you have any Nieces or Nephews? No, but I was already assigned to be a godson to my cousin when I was 15 which is close enough. About nieces or nephews though, I’m one of the oldest kids from our generation so if anything, my relatives are waiting on me and my other similarly-aged cousins to be the first ones to have kids haha.

~O~ Do you live on your Own? I don’t. I still live with my parents as do most Filipino kids/young adults do. I’m planning to move to my own place within a couple of years, though.

Are you the Oldest child? Yes I am.

Do you know anyone who lives in Oregon? I don’t think so.

~P~ What are your Parent's names? Edgardo and Abby. My dad goes by a certain nickname also but he hates it, so only family and close friends call him that.

Do you have any Pets? Yes, I have the cutest, sweetest, chubbiest dog on the floor beside me.

Do you have any Polish ancestry? I’m like 300% sure that I do not lmao.

~Q~ Have you ever been to Quebec? Nope.

A Quote you like: Just because I recently rewatched Titanic: “A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” said by Rose by the end of the film, when she talks about how she has never talked about Jack until that moment, not even to her granddaughter’s grandfather.

Do you ever eat at Quizno's? I have never eaten there and have only ever seen one branch here in Metro Manila, which has since been replaced with a Krispy Kreme as far as I know.

~R~ When was the last time you saw a Rainbow? A safe guess would be a few weeks ago.

Are you a Redhead? Nope.

What was the last book you Read? It was a book on communication theory that I needed to read for my community press elective.

~S~ When was the last time you Slept in someone else's bed? A month ago, I think? I have bad short-term memory lmao, but that’s my best guess.

Are you a Scorpio? Again, no.

Would you consider yourself a Shy person? I am at first but I can warm up pretty easily.

~T~ How many Tattoos do you have? Approximately zero.

Are you a Twin? No.

Do you like Techno? No.

~U~ Do you own an Umbrella? Not anymore. I used to keep buying new ones but I keep losing them, so I just stopped buying altogether and just relied on hoodies whenever it would rain.

Are you Under 21? Nope.

Have you ever been to Utah? I have nottttt.

~V~ Are you a Virgin? No.

Have you ever been to Vatican City? No.

Where did you last go on Vacation? Our last legit vacation would be the one in Batanes. We’ve had several out-of-town trips after that, but those were usually quick, weekend getaways.

~W~ How many Windows are in the room you're in? One, but there’s also a set of glass doors here.

What are you Wearing? Just an ordinary t-shirt and shorts.

Can you Whistle? Yes I can.

~X~ How many X-rays have you had in the last 2 years? Zero.

Are you on good terms with your last Ex? So good I’ve been dating her again in the last four years, lol.

Do you own an Xbox? We’ve never owned an Xbox. This family takes their Playstation love seriously.

~Y~ Who is the Youngest person living in the same household as you? My brother, who is currently 16.

Are you wearing anything Yellow? Nope.

Are you Younger then the last person you kissed? No. I’m older, but only barely.

~Z~ When was the last time you visit the Zoo? I’ve never been to a zoo. The closest thing to a zoo that I’ve been to was a safari, and that would be like 6-7 years ago.

How many Zippers are on the clothing you’re wearing? None.

What is your Zipcode? No thanks.

[shadowluverworks]

Remissionem - Chapter 1

Finally getting to post this! If you guys would rather read it on archive, fanfiction, deviantart, or inkbunny, you can find it under the username: Shadowluver1242

Special thanks to @galoots for reading through and editing this! Read the story below.

The Wound A Word Opens

           Scrooge McDuck: the richest duck in the world. He has more money than one could ever dream of, and he made it square. On top of being a businessman, the duck’s a world-renowned explorer. Solving mysteries and rewriting history is his pastime, and his family shares in the love of adventure...that is, all but one. Donald Duck is not as graceful as his uncle, not as smart as his twin, and much more prone to getting hurt than having fun. After losing Della to the call of the great unknown, his view of the “family business” soured even more. However, his three nephews, Della’s kids, have shown the same passion their mother and great uncle shared. After many deliberations with himself, he finally conceded in allowing the triplets to accompany the entrepreneur in his travels.

           There were, of course, strict rules to follow. Donald doesn’t just give the responsibility of his nephews’ lives to anyone. Even with his inhibitions, he relinquished his family to Scrooge McDuck. Heaven help the old miser if something were to happen to those three. Donald had already lost one family member too many, and he’s determined not to lose another.

           The sailor had made a personal vow of no more adventuring. Those days were long gone for him. He had never felt as much of a rush and received such enjoyment out of it as his kin did, which is why he’s currently relaxing on the hammock of his house boat. His family has another journey planned for today, but rather than worry about them returning safely, as he usually does, he attempts to keep his mind at bay with a nap. But fate never seems to be on Donald’s side, and at a loud shout of his name, he’s awakened by the thwack of his face meeting the boat’s wooden floor.

With a groan, he rubs his head as his eyes open sleepily. In front of his beak are spat-clad feet, and he doesn’t need to guess twice to know who’s interrupted his beauty sleep, “Scrooge?” He sits up with a scowl. He should ask why the old duck is on his boat, but then again, his boat is in Scrooge’s pool. Feeling rather agitated at the rude awakening, his mood is more combative than normal, “What do you want?!”

The Scottish duck pushes away the slight pain in his chest at the absence of ‘Uncle’ before his name. That’s been increasing in regularity ever since the events of the Sunchaser. Maybe his nephew had only been referring to him as that in front of his great nephews all this time? After his reputation had been dirtied in their eyes, Donald has been more frequently dropping the ‘Uncle’ and simply calling him ‘Scrooge’. He despises that.

But that’s not what he’s here for. Ever since the Shadow War and nearly losing his family for good, he’s been trying to rekindle the relationship long lost between him and his nephew. It’s been a rocky road at best, and the two of them have been known to lose their tempers at a drop of a hat. So today he chooses to keep the smile on his beak as he addresses the duck kneeling before him, “Came teh invite ye. Teh kids ‘n ah thought it might be fun teh have a sort of...” he waves a hand around, trying to come up with the words, “...family adventure.”

He can feel his fight or flight instinct kicking in. Scrooge is skilled at many things in life, talking to his own kin, however, was a skill he did not possess. Part of him wants to run and pretend he never asked while the other is still hopeful his nephew will accept his offer. Though the rather confused look that comes over Donald’s face as he stands up does nothing to soothe the old duck.

The sailor crosses his arms in front of his chest, “You know I don’t adventure anymore.” He looks his uncle up and down. The old man is good at hiding his feelings, but Donald has known him for years.

Scrooge was obviously nervous, “A-Ah knoo, but, well it’s just been a long time since ye’ve gone ‘n...ah jus-”

Donald holds up a hand to stop him, “I don’t adventure anymore because someone always gets hurt.”

His uncle blinks as he turns away to walk out onto the deck of his houseboat. He’s not surprised when he’s followed, “Thas’ nae troo! We’ve bin on several trips now ‘n everyone always comes back in one piece!”

Donald leans over the railing and looks over his shoulder at the other, “In one piece, yes, but I have to take care of the bumps and bruises!”

Dark turquoise eyes flick away at that. Sure, there are small injuries here and there, but no one had lost a limb or worse! You can’t live if you’re afraid to get hurt! In the past, Donald had been the one to sustain most of the injuries, and perhaps that is where the insecurities are coming from now. But the boys are skilled where their uncle is not. They take after their mother and himself. But then even Della had...

Scrooge frowns at the duck across him, “Thas’ part a teh fun! A bruise ‘r a scar lef’ behind tae remind ye of teh adventure when ye got it! Ye’ve got tae make memories while ye can, lad! Besides, those wee boys are much more capable than yer givin’ them credit fer.”

Donald’s eyes narrow and he straightens, glaring at the other, “I know they’re capable, why do you think I let them go with you?!” He can’t protect them from everything, they would never live!

His uncle’s brows furrow, bringing a hand to his chest, “Donald, ah knoo ye worry fer them, but ye can-” Scrooge cuts himself off, his eyes lower to the boat floor. He can’t finish that sentence because it’s not true.

But his nephew knew what he was about to say, and it only seems to stoke the sailor’s internal furnace, “I can what? Trust you?! I think you’ve made it very apparent that I can’t!” Scrooge’s eyes lift to glare at his kin. His instinct is to defend himself, but he keeps his beak shut for once, jaw clenching.

Donald continues in his fit, “The only reason I let the boys go adventuring with you is so they can get it out of their systems. So that maybe they’ll grow bored of it while they’re still young and can move on with their lives before something terrible happens! I know they’re already better at it than I was because they still actually want to go. They’re only ten years old, but I trust them and their decisions in this! Do you know how sad it is that I trust children more than I trust the adult in charge of them?!”

For a long time, Scrooge knew how Donald felt deep down, but hearing it so blatantly out of the young lad he raised, that all faith in him was lost, it stings. Like many times before, Scrooge abandons any hurt feelings in exchange for anger. His teeth grit as he takes a step forward, “At least when teh boys are with me, a successful businessman, they might learn a thing er two on how tae supply fer themselves once day instead a livin’ on a boat in their uncle’s swimmin’ pool and moochin’ off his hard-earned wages!” He wanted to take that back as soon as he said it. He knows more than anyone that even if Donald was lazy in nature, the duck had tried everything to hold on to a job to support his family. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, he would take any job if it meant providing a safe environment for the boys to grow up in.

Scrooge’s outburst was out of line, but he can’t take it back. Especially not with the hurt expression that quickly flashes across his nephew’s face. Though it’s instantly hid behind anger once again, as their family is known to do. Donald’s fists shake at his side, but he doesn’t blow his top. Instead his voice lowers to a mock calm, “Really? Alright. Why don’t I just see how much they’re learning, then?” With that, he gives his uncle a shoulder shove out of his way and marches off the boat, shouting, “I’ll get Launchpad to move the boat back to the marina after!” over his shoulder. The old coot wanted a family trip? He’ll get a family trip.

As the sailor enters the mansion to most likely cut through and get to the front yard where Launchpad and the children were waiting, the rich avian allows his face to fall in shame. This is not the way to repair the bond with his kin and he knows it. He hadn’t meant a word he said; Scrooge didn’t want Donald to leave, quite the opposite actually. He scolds himself for letting his anger once again take control of his tongue. This adventure is no longer sounding as fun as it did a few minutes ago.

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

           Donald mostly ignores what exactly the treasure they’re after is. Most likely something gold and cursed if he knows his uncle. It had been several hours since their argument this morning and they both had time to cool down, but neither made a move to apologize. They mostly avoided one another.

The Duck’s and McDuck’s are good at arguing, not so much at having heart to hearts; a trait that Donald has attempted to break in his nephews. From a young age he made sure to talk out any disagreements with the boys, whether between they and him, or among the triplets themselves. Kids can hold onto grudges, but Huey, Dewey, and Louie had always been inspiring at resolving their fights before it ruined any relationships.

           Scrooge had not been raised that way. He had, in a sense, raised himself since the age of 13, and, knowing nothing about being a parent, had raised Donald and Della from a young age as well. Della had always been better at talking about her feelings, but it wasn’t the same for Donald, at least not with his uncle. He’s learned a lot raising her sons, but the way the relationship was severed between his uncle and he is something not easily mended.

Donald sighs, his glance once again settles on the old duck. They had pushed their anger away for the children, not wanting to bring any negative feelings to the adventure. Webby and the triplets crowd around Scrooge’s seat next to Launchpad in the cockpit of the Sunchaser. He’s explaining the history of the location and what they’ll be looking for, but the sailor isn’t listening. His mind is years away in the distant past when he and his twin had the same wide and excited eyes the ducklings now have. Where had the time gone?

When they arrive several hours later at the ancient Mayan Ruins in Central America, the crew managing to escape a water landing by a feather’s length, his uncle takes the lead through the deep jungle while he brings up the rear himself, leaving Launchpad and the plane behind. They have yet to truly enter the temple ahead, but small native structures could be seen rising and falling through the thicket. The trees above them grow together so close in their canopy, only small rivers of light can be seen cascading through the leaves and lighting the world around them.

The dirt path they’ve taken eventually turns to a stone one. So battered is the path, that the stepping-stones are often broken or missing in places. Small green flora has managed to take root, and they rise up a few inches out of the small cracks of earth the pathway gives way to.

The group hikes for a few miles before the trail leads them to a small mountain, or rather large hill depending on how you look at it, gradually rising them higher out of the undergrowth. Huey occupies himself with identifying different plants, animals, and insects they pass along the way, while also keeping a sharp eye out for any poisonous ones. Webby next to him is jabbering about the native culture and history of the ruins around them.

Louie trails behind, just in front of Donald. He wipes the sweat off his brow as his bangs cling to his face; he should have packed a t-shirt. The humidity is suffocating, as if you can take a handful of the air itself, and the heat draining. You can practically feel yourself becoming dehydrated. He doesn’t know how the others can manage so well.

Dewey stays closely behind his great uncle, wanting more than anything to swing through the trees on vines and cut his way through the vegetation. Scrooge had strictly advised against such acts however, insisting he would lead the way on this expedition, and that everyone was to stay behind him. The kids have noticed his behavior is a bit off today, but don’t bring it up.

           The old duck grits his teeth. Curse the arthritis in his hips. The pain in his legs had started this morning after his and Donald’s argument, and had seemed to only get worse the farther he traveled. He’d hoped moving would bring some relief, however it only increases the closer they get to the temple. It was almost as if his experienced body is giving him a warning. But that’s ridiculous; surely, it’s just one of the many days when his age is making itself known to him. Nevertheless, he’s being extra cautious today just to be safe, especially with his nephew keeping a close eye on him.

He’s sure he’s slowing the group down with his sluggish pace. He hates the fact his cane is proving to be more and more necessary. Most days he has no symptoms whatsoever, and finds little use for it, but then there are days like today when he doesn’t know if he can remain upright without the extra support. Scrooge shakes his head to focus on the task at hand; he can’t let himself be distracted, that’s when someone can get hurt, and that’s not going to happen today.

The group has reached a rather open area, making him take pause. To their right, more jungle reaching up and over their heads as the hill continues upward. To their left, an unnaturally clear view from the trees that shows how high they’ve already climbed. A gravel-like hillside drops abruptly to jungle nearly a hundred feet below. Off in the distance you can barely make out the bright light of the sun reflecting off the metal wings of the Sunchaser in a small clearing near the lake. More jungle filled mountains continue for as far as the eye can see.

Ahead of them, the path leads to a stone door with a rather threatening face carved into it, a trademark symbol of the natives that used to inhabit this land. The door is attached to the beginnings of the temple; however, hundreds of years have made the living forest become one with it, and most of the structure is covered under vegetation. It looks as if it was built into the mountain itself. The entrance lays about a hundred yards yet ahead of them. The senior duck’s eyes narrow; something isn’t right. Everything is too perfectly cleared away.

           Donald hasn’t been watching exactly where he’s walking. The sounds of the forest have distracted and brought him back to adventures of old he’d shared with his family. Looking to his right, his attention is further distracted by a blue morpho fluttering about before silently landing on a native flower blooming on one of the many trees. He hasn’t noticed his uncle and the kids pause at the clearing, that is until he collides with his elder.

The old duck is pushed a few feet ahead and nearly collapses with a wince when the stone he steps on suddenly lowers underneath his weight. The switch seems to have activated a centuries’ old booby trap, as massive boulders are swiftly released up in the hillside to their right and swing on their ropes tied to the tree tops above them. Four stones in total, each twice the height of Scrooge, sweep along the path in front of them, swinging back and forth and threatening to push them over the edge.

           The experienced avian sends a glare behind him, hands on his knees as the sudden movement sent a wave of pain through his body. A pink flush blooms across the younger duck’s face as he gives a grin and a shrug accompanied by a small giggle in embarrassment.

Louie rolls his eyes, “Great! Now what?”

His older brother garbed in blue smiles at him, “Aw, come on! It’s not so bad! We’ve had worse death traps than this!” As if to prove his point, he runs ahead of the group towards the first swinging rock. Pausing to watch its movements, he waits until it just passes in front of him before running quickly to the next safe spot between the first and second boulders. He turns around to his family with a triumphant grin, “See? Not so hard!”

           The other three children and their elder move to follow him, leaving his uncle behind. Donald takes a few steps forward to where Scrooge stood but a moment before, watching his family wait for the rock to swing ahead of them. He holds his breath to keep himself from yelling out as his anxieties surface.

Now that he was focused enough to observe the awkward landscape before him, the layout makes sense as the death trap revealed itself. The boulders are supposed to crush any potential robbers and send them flying through the sudden break in the tree line down to their demises on the jungle floor, or at least that’s the idea. Donald can only picture tiny duck bodies soaring through that very air and meeting an unfortunate ending, but his family runs past the stone, and quickly joins Dewey on the other side. He releases the air in relief. This is why he doesn’t go on these trips, they are far too stressful for him now with the children along.

           As he attempts to calm his racing heart before his family goes to the next stone, a distinct snapping makes him whip his head up to the jungle hillside next him. It sounds as if young saplings are breaking. The sound catches his uncle’s attention as well, making him pause as the kids continue onward. Scrooge’s fingers grip tightly to the cane he leans on, the pain has come to an all-time high; something is definitely wrong. Donald’s eyes widen as his body is rapidly dwarfed in comparison to the fifth massive boulder hurdling down the hillside towards him. The overgrown jungle must have temporarily kept the stone at bay before crumbling under the weight.

           Time seems to slow down, and yet it all happens too quick for anyone to process. Instead of feeling the rough surface of the boulder making contact with his face, Donald feels two distinct hands push his limp body a good five feet away. The duck grunts as he bounces and slides across the rough surface before quickly turning his head back. He stares unblinkingly as a nauseating thud enters his ears, a body flying lifelessly through the air to his left and down to the hillside. Rocks slide along with the figure as it rolls along the rock face before falling down the drop-off into the trees, snapping branches and vines under its weight. Birds flee the scene up into the sky and other wildlife run to hide from the sudden noise before the form finally lands on the ground out of all their view.

           Then all is quiet. The branches shake back and forth, before stilling once again. The forgotten fifth stone swings unaffected, as if it didn’t happen. Donald makes eye contact with his family ahead who stare in equal horror back at him. It feels like hours pass as they process what had just happened, all staring back at each other as the once life filled jungle is dead silent. Finally, it seems to hit them all at once, as they stare in the direction the body flew before crying out in shock, “SCROOGE!”

~~~~~~~~~~

           Donald never remembers running so fast. After the kids made it safely past the swinging boulders, the five of them run down the hillside as quick as their legs can carry them. Huey’s shaking voice tries to determine if someone can survive such an ordeal. Louie’s sobbing, repeatedly screaming, “He’s dead, he’s dead!” Dewey remains silent as the scene replays in his head over and over, tears stinging at his eyes.

Webby is the only one who seems to keep it together as she makes the group stop on the path to catch their breath; they’re all hyperventilating. She grabs Louie by the shoulders and gives him a good shake, “Louie! He’s not dead! We’re gonna find him and we’re gonna get him home!” The boy sniffs in response but says no more.

Donald can see the girl trembling. He’s the adult, he’s supposed to be calming the children down and making a plan to help their uncle! But at the moment, he feels like he might vomit. The sound of Scrooge’s body crumpling under the weight of the boulder still stuck in his head. He no longer feels like an adult, he’s a scared child. He simply exists alongside the kids.

Webby forces Huey to stop his dead-end rambling and focus with a smack across the face. The red garbed boy seems a bit hurt by the action, but he pushes his feelings away for the time being, and determination enters his eyes. Together they track the trajectory to locate where their uncle’s body could have landed. Finally pinpointing the most probable location, the group runs once again. Leaving the path, they venture into the deep thicket. Dewey leads the group, moving branches and leaves nearly as big as him out of the way for his followers. He’s not sure what else he can do, he’s not as smart as his older brother and Webby. But he can at least clear a path for them. It’s a while before anyone says anything, the only sounds to be heard are the twigs breaking under their webbed feet, and the still quiet sniffs of the youngest triplet.

They spot something up ahead. Donald feels himself run faster, ahead of his fellow ducklings. There’s a small clearing where broken branches lay scattered across the ground. One limb, still attached but hanging, swings back and forth melodically. The sun shines through a small break in the trees from its missing appendages down to the forest floor. All Donald can see is red.

A broken and crumpled body lays entangled with vines and branches. The family pauses in shock, taking in the scene before them. Their uncle’s body is motionless, his clothes in shreds. His top hat and spectacles landed relatively close together a few yards away in the tall undergrowth; his cane a few yards on the other side of him, hooked on a low branch. His feathers, once as white as freshly fallen snow, now a dirtied mix between brown and red. So much red. Donald’s heart sinks.

[cuteeiji]

abscond

summary: Their ultimatums were empty promises. Relief wasn’t coming no matter what he did. [an interpretations of events preceding @the-wonder-duo blog] pairing: slight bakudeku word count: 3121 warnings: torture, body horror, explicit language.

He can’t get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

Probably because of the gash on his temple, blood streaking down his face and onto his lips. His head hangs low, chin pressed to the taper of his sternum. Blood smears there, too. He’s getting sick of all the red coating his skin, drying cold and dark.

Katsuki would like to say he doesn’t know where things went wrong, but it was probably when he and Deku decided to split up. He had just peered into the abandoned warehouse, taking a tentative step across the threshold when he heard a branch snap behind him. He turned around to a sharp crack and a white-hot pain slamming into his head.

He had woken up here, gauntlets stripped from his arms and thoughtfully replaced with shackles.

Katsuki shudders, the movement sending a jolt of pain down his spine. They keep it cold in the basement, and they stripped him down to his pants—he assumes it’s an added precaution; hindering his abilities as much as possible.

Not that they needed it anymore.

Unbidden, his eyes flick down to the burnt, bloody edges of his wrists, empty air filling the space where his hands would be. A few meters away, they sit on a table, almost unassuming with how casually they were placed. From here, he can see the scar on his thumb from when he slashed it open with a kitchen knife. The chewed nails. The slightly bent pinky finger. He had broken it when he was seventeen. Didn’t bother to get it fixed.

Bile rises in his throat, and he leans over to spit it onto the damp floor.

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth soured, “fuck fuck fuck.”

He’s going to die here. Not yet, not now, or else they wouldn’t have cauterized his wounds—but they don’t want his quirk. They don’t want his allegiance. They’re waiting for information to spill from his lips, and then they’ll kill him.

He heaves out a humorless laugh. Those bastards have another thing coming if they think he’s going to tell them anything. All he has to do is hold out for as long as he can. Make sure they stay in place.

Deku would find them soon enough, regardless of whether he’s alive or not.

Deku.

Katsuki closes his eyes, feeling the nausea rear its head again. Deku would have to work alone now, or find another teammate. The thought bothers him more than it should—Deku working with someone else. He quickly stores that feeling away, alongside the other pile of emotions involving Deku that he doesn’t want to unpackage.

Besides, Deku would have a hard time finding someone better than him to work with. They were the best team out there. 

When—if—he dies, the Wonder Duo would die with him. 

Despite himself, he indulges in his dark train of thought and imagines his funeral. His old classmates would be there, his teachers, his parents. His mother would be so pissed that he’d gotten himself killed. His father would cry. He was a quiet crier; he hid his face in his hands so no one could see the tears fall or hear the little hitches in his breath. And of course Deku would cry too—loudly, unreserved, shoulders trembling with his sobs.

Katsuki grits his teeth. He fucking hated it when the nerd cried, and it was even worse when it was because of some stupid shit he did. Like dying.

Deku didn’t deal well with losing people. He had hugged him after All Might had passed. His fingers had curled into his clothes, face pressed heavily into the crook of his neck, and Katsuki had felt him exhale shakily, as if that embrace was the only thing letting him breathe. He had allowed himself to melt and hold him for a few minutes, stroking his hair, feeling the crook of his chin nudge his collarbone, hot tears dropping onto his skin.

Who would Deku hug when Katsuki was gone?

Light spills down the stairs as the door slams open. He starts, groaning as he scrapes the stump of his wrist against the ground.

“Wakey wakey,” says the rat-faced bastard from above him, probably fully aware that he wasn’t sleeping. He was the one that seemed to like it the most when Katsuki screamed, his beady little eyes lighting up with glee and a wicked smile curling on his face. His favorite pastime seemed to be pressing his fingers against the cuts on his skin, digging in until the scab broke and blood ran fresh. Either that or cutting him open like a piece of meat.

“Fuck off, you sadistic piece of shit,” Katsuki mutters, turning his head away.

“Aw,” he says, and Katsuki can hear the pout in his voice. The stairs creak as he descends. “You’re too mean, Kacchan.”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he snarls, even though he knows its useless. They had done this little dance a thousand times, and it usually ended with a ragged knife slicing over Katsuki’s skin, the man’s hot breath in his ear, whispering “do you like that, Kacchan?” again and again until Katsuki finally fell into the relief of unconsciousness.

He swallows the vomit that pools into his mouth. Don’t let them see you be afraid. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t say anything. Hold out for Deku. Hold out for Deku.

He’s lost track of the time that he’s been in here, but it had to have been at least a couple days. He can feel his head pound from dehydration. Hunger was a thing that he had lost a while ago. His wrists feel like they’ve been burning for centuries, but he knows it had only been a few hours since they had pinned his arm to the table and—

He clenches his teeth. Don’t let them get to you.

It was a hopeless litany. He had repeated it to himself time and time again, even as he screamed in agony, begging for them, Deku, anyone to help him. Ratface would laugh at his breathless pleas and keep on carving.

Most of the bastards that had taken him were all business. It was a simple equation for them: They would stop as soon as he gave them what he wanted. Ratface was the lone exception; Katsuki had a feeling that he wouldn’t halt the fun just because the rest of them did. Funnily enough, it made it easier for him not to break. Their ultimatums were empty promises. Relief wasn’t coming no matter what he did.

Ratface, as if to reaffirm his depressing realization, grips his shoulder, nails ramming into his still-weeping wounds. Katsuki stiffens, breath hissing through his teeth.

“Did that hurt, Kacchan?” He asked, face the picture of innocence. “I’m sorry.” He presses harder.

“Fuck you,” Katsuki groans, pulling his knees to his chest. Fear, hot and trembling, rolls down his body. He feels it burn on his soles, alongside the jagged rims of his wrists, the back of his neck. He shivers, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Hm,” Ratface says. He can hear the hush of moving fabric as the man stands up. “I guess we should get the boring part outta the way first.”

He turns to the closet across the room. “So, Kacchan,” he says casually, walking over and opening it. “Spill your guts or I’ll do it for you.”

“I told you, don’t call me that,” he says unsteadily. Something feels off, like every atom in his body is vibrating, like he’s being unmade and roughly pieced back together again. He retches a little, and distantly, he can hear Ratface laugh.

“I can do whatever I want, Kacchan,” He says, rummaging through the closet. “Ain’t nothing you can do to stop me.”

“Die, scum,” Katsuki mutters, skidding his feet against the ground in a poor attempt to kick dirt at the man.

He sees a flash of light and heat skittering around his ankles, and he stops breathing.

Ratface is still looking for the tool he wants. It’s part of the act—the anticipation, the edginess building up until he was bursting at the seams with fear. That’s when he always liked to start cutting.

For once, Katsuki is grateful for his deliberate sluggishness in choosing a weapon. He kicks out again, and there it is: the unmistakable sparks of his quirk, bursting from his soles like little fireworks.

He remembers Deku reading up on quirk mutation, his face lighting up talking about the epigenetic implications regarding how they could be expressed.

“There are only fifty two cases of quirk mutation in adults in the entire world,” Deku had said excitedly, pointing at the article. He had snorted, called him a nerd. Read the entire thing later that night.

Katsuki scrapes his heels against the floor, pinpricks of light dancing across his skin. “Guess I’m lucky number fifty three, huh?” He whispers, low enough for the rat-faced bastard not to hear him.

“Kacchan,” he calls from across the room, “I think I found the perfect thing for today.”

Katsuki looks up and feels the blood drain from his face.

Ratface is holding a chainsaw.

“Get the hell away from me,” he says, scooting until his back is pressed flat against the wall.

Ratface strolls over, swinging the chainsaw at his ankles. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he croons. “We’ve had so much fun these past three days.”

Katsuki’s pulse hammers against his throat, a cold sweat trickling down his cheek. The man draws closer, his smile getting wider at the naked fear on his face.

He feels like Deku, thought after thought pinballing into his skull. Would his feet even be effective at this point? All he had done was make harmless little sparks. Should he attack? Should he wait until Ratface was gone to try and escape? What was he going to do to him? Would the damage he took today hinder him?

He looks up at the man standing over him, face contorted with a terrible glee.

“I’ve been waiting for this since you got here, Kacchan,” He whispers, turning the motor on, and Katsuki’s mind goes blank.

He screams, kicking out at him, and the room lights up in a glorious blaze as his soles detonate. Ratface flies back, hitting the wall with a sickening crack. The chainsaw lands beside him, still whirring.

He hears footsteps upstairs, voices murmuring. What was that?

Panicked, he looks at the shackles cuffed around his ankles. He can’t move in these, not fast enough to escape. He’d have to break them.

He nudges his heel against the metal band encircling his left leg, and closes his eyes as he lets an explosion off against it. It burns, agonizing pain shooting up his leg, but the adrenaline pumping through his veins numbs it almost as quickly as it came.

He lurches up, legs unsteady.

Go. Run.

He glances at his severed hands, lying neatly on the table.

No time. Go.

He turns away and stumbles up the stairs, chest heaving. The door opens, and the bright light is almost blinding. A figure stands at the top, gun drawn and aimed between his eyes.

Fight. Run.

Katsuki ducks just as he shoots, blasting himself up by his feet and slamming his head into the man’s stomach. He doesn’t pause to see him land, sprinting through the cabin. He hears guns being cocked and he jumps, firing explosions in the direction of the noise.

There’s yelling, and he feels hands on him, and he shrieks out a curse, letting his feet discharge and carry him through a window, glass shattering around him. He lands on soft grass, every single cut on his body screaming.

Hurry, run!

Panting, he rolls onto his knees, his feet scrambling under him. Distantly, he hears them yelling.

“He’s getting away!”

“Follow him, for fuck’s sake!”

Katsuki runs. They’d taken him to a forest, somewhere secluded, no doubt. It doesn’t surprise him—they would’ve gagged him if they were worried about someone hearing him scream.

He doesn’t feel the brambles tearing at his skin, or the graze of the underbrush on his feet. The wind streaks through his hair, against his eyes, and he feels cold tears trickle down his cheeks. If he pretended hard enough, he could be in the woods training with Deku, watching the breeze play with his hair as he ran, eyes wide, an exhilarated smile on his face.

“Catch me if you can, Kacchan.”

Katsuki runs faster.

Eventually, dirt and plant gives way to road. He could’ve collapsed in relief, but his legs keep carrying him on, bloody and bruised, pounding against the asphalt to the time of his heartbeat. It’s not until he sees a light in the distance that he starts to sprint in earnest, breath coming ragged and hopeful.

It’s a house. A neighborhood. He stumbles to the nearest door and bangs his head against it, sliding down until his knees hit the concrete porch.

The door opens, warm light shining out into the darkness.

“Hel—oh my God, sir, are you alright?”

“Deku,” he says, dazed, glancing up at the horrified-looking woman. “I…I need Deku.”

The woman drops to her knees, taking his face in her hands. “Oh my God—honey, come here—You’re Ground Zero, right? We’re going to get you help. We’ll get you to a hospital, okay?”

The lady has nice eyes. Freckles. Deku.

“Jesus Christ, what happened to his hands?” Someone else asks. A man. Katsuki stiffens, but he doesn’t sound like the others. No malice. He sounds like his dad, almost.

“Deku…” he says again.

“Mr. Zero, we’ll make sure that he gets to you,” the lady says. He hears someone dialing, talking, using his name.

“Need…’Zuku,” he pleas, vision going blurry. “S’probably been lookin’ for me. Need ta tell’m I’m okay. No cryin’ allowed.”

“He’ll be here soon,” the lady says consolingly, stroking his hair. He collapses against her shoulder, feeling his consciousness slip away from him. “He’ll meet you at the hospital. The ambulance is on it’s way.”

“Hate it when he cries,” he mumbles softly, and lets himself fall into a deep and comforting darkness.

He wakes up to the smell of antiseptic and a monotonous, clinical beeping.

Hospital, he thinks hazily, and glances down. Deku is slumped over his lap, head perched on his folded arms. His eyes are red-rimmed and dark, eyelashes fluttering in an uneasy rest.

Katsuki feels a jolt of guilt. It looks like he hadn’t slept in days. He reaches out to touch Deku’s face, or stroke his hair, or something— and stops short.

He stares at the heavily bandaged stump for a moment, and lets it drop to his side silently. He drags his gaze back up to the ceiling, ignoring the blurry fragments of memory stirring in his mind.

“Deku,” he says, voice raspy, and he feels the mass on his lap jump.

“Oh my God, Kacchan, are you awake?” He asks frantically, leaning over him.

“What does it look like, shitnerd?” He replies, but there’s no heat in his voice.

He can see tears well up in Deku’s eyes, and he groans. “No, stop that, shitty Deku.”

“I—I’m just so glad you’re okay,” Deku says shakily, tears dripping down his face. “I thought—When I saw you laying so still—��

“It’d take more than a couple of thugs to kill me,” Katsuki says, but he looks away as the words leave his lips.

“Kacchan,” Deku says, so gently it hurts, “It’s okay to be upset by what happened.”

“Does it look like I’m not?” he says, laughing hollowly. “My goddamn hands got chopped off. They cut me up and laughed at me. I woke up every day wondering if I was gonna die.”

His voice drops. “God…I was so scared, Deku.”

“Me too,” Deku admits. “I was—I was so, so worried. One moment you were there and the next… I couldn’t find you. And there was blood spattered on the ground. God, Kacchan, I thought you’d been—” He cuts himself off. “How did…how did you escape?”

Katsuki sits up, and Deku’s hands immediately come to steady him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s better if I just show you,” he grunts, swinging his legs off the hospital bed.

“Kacchan, you should wait for a…doctor…” Deku trails off, staring wide-eyed at his feet, little sparks fizzling out like fireworks along his heels. “Oh my God.”

“You mentioned quirk mutations a few weeks ago, right?” Katsuki says, kicking off a reasonably-sized explosion in the air. “And how they usually show up when the user is in distress?”

“Oh…oh God, Kacchan,” Deku whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Katsuki lies. He can tell by the look on Deku’s face that he doesn’t believe it. “At least I’m not totally useless. Can probably find some prosthetics that’ll let me keep working. Incorporate my legs more. Sorta like your shoot style.”

“No,” Deku says.

Katsuki glares at him. “What do you mean, dumbass? Don’t wanna work with an amputee?”

“God, no, that’s not—of course I’d work with you,” Deku says, looking horrified. “We’re a team no matter what. What I meant is that…I might have a way to get your hands back.”

“Wait,” Katsuki says, squinting at him. “You don’t mean…”

Deku nods, and takes a step closer. His knees bump against his shins. “Yeah. We’d have to keep it pretty private. You know what could happen—the repercussions that would ensue if it got out to the public.”

He nods grimly. “How long… how long would it take?”

Deku’s mouth flattens. “I don’t know. A couple weeks, maybe a month?”

Katsuki inhales, the air rattling in his lungs. He looks down at the empty space beyond his wrists, imagines it being there forever. His stomach turns, and he exhales. “God. Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki says, leaning his forehead against Deku’s. Maybe it’s the morphine, maybe it’s all the shit that he’d gone through, but he’s craving contact that wasn’t the sharp cut of a knife, the ache of hammers beating against his bones, of fingers around his throat.

Deku delivers, his hands cupping his face, smoothing over the scar under his eye. It’s moments like this—when Deku’s looking at him like he’s something precious—that Katsuki wonders if he also feels the buzz under his skin when they touch, feels the swelling in his heart and the fluttering in his stomach. He never allows himself to wonder for long, but just this once, he pretends, lets himself be selfish.

“We’re in this together,” Deku says softly, but Katsuki can see the heat in his eyes. His determination. His resolve. “For better or for worse.”

“Yeah,” he echoes. “For better or for worse.”

And maybe, for now, that’s all he needs.

[xurkitips]

On Writing Child Characters

So someone in a Discord chat I’m in asked for some advice on how they could get more in character when writing a young child. 

A lot of media tends to depict children as either really obnoxious, or basically just small, slightly less mature adults, and neither is really completely right. While there’s really no specifically right way to write a child character, I have some things I always keep in mind whenever I sprinkle children in my own written works that I feel may be helpful to other people.

How did they grown up? 

Just like with any character, considering their home life, family, and friends will tell you a lot about how they may act and where their behavior comes from. A child from a loving/open home that nurtures their personality and allows them to grow will probably be more outgoing. A child raised by strict, cold, or even abusive parents may opt for being quieter, shy, more dependent on their parents. The behavior of the parents or guardian will definitely reflect in the child’s personality, as children look to their parents as role models.

Did they have a lot of childhood playmates? Pets? Or did they have to resort to things like movies/TV and books to make up for feeling alone or for having few friends? Friends or pets from childhood may bring happy memories and further promote their growth, while the lack thereof might promote a more distant or lonely personality, or even a child who is obnoxious in an attempt to draw attention to themself.

What makes them happy? 

Legit, every single kid has Their Thing, no matter how old they are. They are ALWAYS happy to talk about it, play pretend with it, draw, write, etc. Some kids are more shy about showing it if they've been dismissed by a friend or family member, but others are open with it to the point where everyone knows it. 

I personally have a cousin, who's twelve, and she talks on and on about Minecraft. She’s a budding artist who draws pictures of the game's animals/characters, often adding her own personal touches to them. My other cousin originally loved angry birds, but has now he's moved onto the Detroit Lions. He collects merchandise, catches every game, and knows every scrap of sports terminology to the point where when he talks about it, it sounds like another language.

What do they dislike?

Everyone has something they seriously cannot stand, whether it's a fear or just "Ew, Brussels sprouts!" While an adult would say, "I don't like that," kids tend to be more expressive and vocal about their distastes. Depending on the kid’s personality, they'll react differently and it’s something I think it's important to consider.

One might stomp or yell or scream and run away, another will be polite about it or very matter-of-fact in how much they don’t like it. Others may brag about how terrible or gross something is, or hide the thing they hate.

Please Don't Do The "What's Sex?" Joke Thing 

I really wish people would stop doing this. 

I see this a lot in writing and roleplay, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. If you’ve never seen it or aren’t sure what I mean, I’m talking the moment where the eight year old walks in on their parents, who are talking about sexual innuendos, and asks what they’re talking about. 99% of younger children genuinely don't care or just think the names of bits are funny ("Haha you said boobies" "Haha butts"). 

Think back to your own childhood. There's a reason all those adult jokes in movies and TV soared over our heads when we were younger. We didn't understand them nor care and just kept going. We pick up on them heavily as adults, as we’re more familiar with them and more, but we simply don’t focus on them in our younger years since we ignore the confusing line for what we found funny. It's adult stuff and boring and what we like/want to do matters more than that. 

What makes them laugh?

If anyone else has been around kids extensively, you’ve probably noticed that they bond so easily to you if you do things that they find funny (or exciting, fun, or cool. It's not difficult to make friends with kids if you respect them, but I digress). 

A lot of simple, quick-witted or blunt jokes from come off as absolutely hysterical, and will stick like glue. Some things I personally found exceptionally funny were slapstick, silly things you wouldn’t expect to happen in the situation, and toilet jokes (because haha poop).

It's pretty easy to make kids laugh, all in all. They might recite a joke they found funny to many, many other people because it makes them laugh so much. They may try to surf off the hilarity of the joke and make a similar, but ultimately failure copy as the process of why it’s funny is often lost. Kids tend to be not very good at making their own jokes from scratch, or at least they aren’t often funny in the way they meant them to be. 

(That said I want this one to hang immortalized on my wall.)

If a child has been abused or treated badly, they may not recognize it as such 

There's a surprising amount of people (myself included, unfortunately) who only just realized as they became adults that how they grew up was not normal, and that how their caretaker or friend or family member treated them wasn't okay. 

Children growing up typically look to their parents for guidance on how the world works. Normally this is fine. But when you were born and raised in a more hostile environment, you straight up don't realize that your situation is not the way other kids live. You normalize it because, well, you don't know better by no fault of your own. 

It feels like a pretty common thing on the Tumbles to see abused children in roleplay or writing immediately going, "My parent is abusive and I hate them," and perhaps in some cases that happens. But it seems to be more common for children to be willing to forgive their family because they're family. As they age it might become vastly different as they process what's happened to them. 

However, the younger they are, the higher the likelihood that they don't want to leave the people they grew up with. It's a familiar environment and they love their family despite everything. That, and new people, places, and things can be scary to a younger child.

How do they express themself and their passion? 

Looping back to likes and dislikes again: 

Kids are often way, WAY more expressive than any adult. Usually because they've been allowed to roam free with their imaginations and their freedom of expression. They love a wide variety of things, but they express them in often more vibrant ways. 

For example, when asked why they like dragons, an adult might respond, "They're elegant, scary, metaphorical, the designs are beautiful, etc." 

A kid who loves dragons might pretend to be one, making sound effects while they stomp around flapping their arms. When asked why they like dragons, they might say, "They blow fire and they eat people and they're green and this one time i was watching The Hobbit and Smaug was like--" 

A high energy kid may love sports or running, might be a bed jumper or love to play pretend. A quiet kid may love reading or writing and be great at reciting facts about what they read. 

(Kids seem to love reciting facts in general, honestly. It’s fun to show off knowledge.)

One who likes bugs or frogs might collect them in containers to play with, or gross out their friends with a surprise frog in their hands because they think it's hilarious. One who loves singing may be into musicals/plays and performing arts, and may straight up sing or hum whenever they please.

Kids are so morbid 

Listen, I know everyone loves to be like, "Kids are so pure and must be protected," but when I was growing up there were at least three different Barney murder songs (among other horrible rhymes and tunes) that would cycle through out ears and out our mouths. Haha, Barney is for babies and he gets dead.

Honestly it was hilarious. It’s still hilarious.

My guess is that kids are curious about things we think of as "unsavory" topics; death, violence, gross-out stuff, war, predatory animals hunting down their prey, natural disasters, all that good stuff. 

Adults often try to not bring up these particular topics, whether because it’s sensitive, heavy, or they don’t know how to answer it. Which...only makes the taste of forbidden knowledge that much sweeter. You're not supposed to talk about it, so of course they're all gonna talk about it when the adults aren't watching.

Late night Llamas With Hats. Haha, he got stabbed 37 times in the chest.

Kids are spontaneous and goofy 

One of the things about "lol randoom XD tacos" humor that draws in the younger crowd is that you don't expect what's coming next. The protagonist shouldn’t be stepping on ducks. The situation doesn’t call for a musical number, but there it is.

It's always good to consider how playful and silly your child character is, especially if they're on the younger side, since that tends to be when most kids are filled with that boundless energy to do things. They’re are louder than they intend to be, love games and play pretend (which I mention a lot but I've never met a kid who didn't love pretending to be giant monsters or superheroes. My cousins loved Horrible Water Zombies: The Revenge). 

Me personally, I used to keep notebooks and draw really weird things. When I was thirteen I had a character whose favorite pastimes were, and I quote, “smashing watermelons on the mayor’s house and falling off cliffs.”

One of my cousins will literally walk up to me and say the most off the wall things. On one occasion, he just walked up, looked at me, then squatted while making some weird mumbling noise. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me, "Bulgarian Spit-Squats," and did that for like twenty minutes straight.

Acceptance and learning with kids 

I think a lot of people write children off as "dumb kids" but they will take a surprising amount in their stride and learn ridiculously quick.

True, children can also be cruel if they don't know any different. Like all people can succumb to mob mentality, not know to pull their punches, or know what words or actions have serious consequences. Most kids politely told right from wrong or talked to with respect instead of being just yelled at do change their behavior. Often quicker and easier than adults do.

When spoken to calmly and patiently and a good explanation of disability, disfigurement, why someone looks or acts the way they do, or why they have this tool or that tool to get around, kids will just accept it for what it is. And after learning about it, they might even start fact parroting, telling others what they've learned or telling them off when an adult says something bad. 

"No, Mom. It's because they have [disability] and that's why they [thing]."

I've heard lots of stories of kids doing this when told someone is gay or trans too, where they're quick to tell off adults who get nasty with those topics or correct them on someone's pronouns. Society has yet to imprint on them that these things are bad.

What do they want to be when they grow up? 

Lots of kids are excited to grow up and do the cool job they really really like. Doctor and policeman and firefighter seem to be the "common" responses since those are obligatory "helps people" and "exciting hero". 

But a child with a passion for something specific may be like, "I wanna be a marine biologist," "I want to be a painter," "I want to be like the guy on TV who talks about wildlife." It's also not uncommon to hear about a really specific or little known job that they've spent hours reading about. Oftentimes when sharing this info with adults they share it proudly and with enthusiasm, because at that point kids don't realize the misery of jobs they can't wait to walk in the footsteps of their heroes who are doing these cool things. 

There's also the kids who answer that with, "I'm gonna be a dinosaur," which sounds like a joke to us, but most of them truly believe if they work harder at pretending to be a dinosaur, they can achieve that. Later on those kids end up discouraged by learning that’s not possible. 

(I’m still disappointed.)

[cheemers-writing-archive]

Crusader of Life: Chapter 4

The last couple of hours had been absolutely insane. After the plane had crashed into the ocean, and most people made it out alive, you ended up in Hong Kong, where yet another Stand user sent by Dio, named Polnareff, was ready to kill your group off. Just like Kakyoin, he had a flesh bud, and once you got rid of that, he also joined your group. Now, you were on a boat, on your way to Singapore.

Since there wasn’t much else to do, and nobody really needed you at the moment, you just let your thoughts wander. Thinking about nothing and everything, life, the universe, whatever you wanted to think about. It was nice having a time where you didn’t have to worry about a Stand user. Since Joseph was a good friend of the Speedwagon Foundation, they let you borrow a boat, which only had trusted employees on it. Eventually, you got bored of just sitting and thinking random thoughts of nothingness, and decided to use Ace of Pentacles. Making copies of living things was always a good pastime. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much living on this ship, other than the crew and your little group. Still, whatever you could find, you would duplicate. You summoned Ace, and looked for small bugs, rats, or some rotten food. Sadly, you came up with nothing.

“Well, Ace, what do you want to do?” you asked, and she answered by gazing at Kakyoin.

“Oh, come on, you know that’s a last resort thing,” you answered. “What if someone catches you looking at him? What if he catches you looking at him?” Still, Ace’s eyes didn’t break from Kakyoin’s face.

“Fine,” you mumbled, “but I’m going to be doing the sightseeing, got it?” Ace nodded, and disappeared. Honestly, out of all the things you could be doing, you felt like this was the one that would kill the most time. You could study that face for hours. His hair, so neat and red. His eyes, and their beautiful lavender color. His jawline, so sharp and strong. Just looking at him made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you couldn’t help but feel a smile creeping up on your face.

“What’cha lookin’ at?” Polnareff asked, and you jumped a bit.

“O-oh! Just looking at the waves,” you replied. Yes. Good cover.

“Hmm,” Polnareff said, scratching an imaginary beard. “Well, we’re right next to the side of the boat, and you seem to be looking in the opposite direction.”

“Wh-what?” you asked. Uh oh. He was onto you.

“In fact, I’d say that your eyes were following a certain teammate of ours. One with a green school uniform on.” Polnareff got a smug little smile stuck on his face. “In fact, if I didn’t know any better, it seems that you were looking like you were in-“

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you begged, burying your face in your hands. “Yes, I’m in love. Please don’t tell Kakyoin. Avdol already knows, too.” You were blushing so hard, you were sure it was noticeable, even with your face covered up. Then, you felt an arm around your shoulder.

“Don’t you worry,” Polnareff laughed, “your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you,” you breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey! Let me go!” You and Polnareff heard an unfamiliar voice from the other side of the deck. It wasn’t an adult’s voice, so it couldn’t have been any of the crew members. Both of you ran across to see what all the commotion was about, and found a little boy, probably about 10 years old, being held by his arms.

“I thought there was only the crew on this ship,” Joseph said. “Why is this boy here?”

“He’s a stowaway,” the crew member replied. “He got on before we left for Singapore.”

“A stowaway, huh?”

“Hey! I said to let me go!” the boy snapped.

“Oh, I’m not letting you go,” the crew member laughed a little. “I’m gonna have to turn you into the navy police!”

The boy gasped. “N-navy?” He stepped back a little. “No! Please! I’m just going to visit my dad in Singapore. Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll make myself useful around here, I promise.”

“Hmmmm,” the crew member was having a fun time messing with the kid. “Nah. I think I’ll just turn you in,” he decided, and his words brought despair to the boy’s face. That look lasted a while, but as soon as the crew member had his back turned, the boy chomped on his arm, and dived out from the boat, into the sea. While the rest of the people on the boat looked to see the kid, Jotaro seemed unfazed.

“He probably jumped in because he’s a confident swimmer,” he said. “Just let him go.” Geez. Now you remembered why everyone at school called him cold.

“No, this is very bad!” The crew member started panicking. “These waters are shark-infested!”

Then, like a boy who had caught on to the game his friend was playing, a shark came through, and it looked ready to chomp up the kid in the water. It was almost too late when he noticed it.

“Good grief,” Jotaro sighed. He summoned Star Platinum, and headed out into the sea. It was probably very strange to the boy, seeing a shark just get punched out by some unknown force, but you were sure he’d be grateful nonetheless. Once the shark was no longer a problem, Jotaro grabbed the boy’s shirt and pulled him back to the boat. However, before he got back, he stopped, and pressed on the boy’s chest again. You couldn’t hear from the boat, but you could tell Jotaro was surprised about something. Then again, so were you, as soon as Jotaro took the hat off of the boy, to reveal long strands of wavy hair. Turns out the boy wasn’t a boy at all: he was actually a she.

Despite not being able to hear that far away, you could definitely tell that the girl was yelling at Jotaro, probably for touching her chest like that. Honestly, if someone touched you like that, you’d probably go off on them, too.

As Jotaro was swimming with the girl back to the boat, you saw another creature in the water. This one, however, didn’t look like a shark. In fact, it didn’t resemble anything you had seen before. There was only one conclusion: an enemy Stand.

“Jotaro!” you cried. “Enemy Stand! In the water! Get out! Now!”

Either Jotaro had heard you, or he noticed the Stand, but either way, he started paddling faster and faster, making sure the girl was in front of him. It was almost too late, but he was just in Hierophant’s range to be pulled out of the water in the nick of time, as the life raft was torn to shreds by the monster in the water.

Once Jotaro and the girl were safe, all of you were thinking the same thing: is this stowaway really a follower of Dio?

“There’s no way she could be the Stand user,” you whispered. “I mean, we had to go save her from the shark.”

“That could’ve been bait,” Polnareff whispered back.

The girl turned to your group. “Why are you glaring at me, huh? You wanna fight?” She pulled out a knife. “I can fight! One on one! Let’s go!”

“She really doesn’t look the part,” Joseph murmured.

“Anyone can obtain a Stand, even children,” Avdol spoke softly.

“Hey! I asked you a question!” That girl was very persistent. “My knife is telling me it wants the blood of it’s 340th victim.”

Kakyoin chuckled a little bit.

“What is it, punk?” She glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Punk?” Kakyoin laughed. “You know, I really don’t think she’s the user.”

“But if she isn’t, than who is?” That was the question everyone had on their minds.

“Ah, so here’s our little stowaway,” the captain walked onto the deck. “Hm. A little small, if you ask me. Well, I can’t take it easy on you, even if you’re a girl. If we take it easy, we’ll just get more and more stowaways.” He started twisting the girl’s arm.

“I’ve figured out who the Stand user is,” Jotaro said. “It’s the captain!”

“And how do you know, Jotaro?” Avdol asked. “If you just make random accusations, things will get more confusing.”

“Stand?” The captain scratched his head. “What’s that?”

“I know,” Jotaro replied, “because any Stand user who inhales even a little bit of cigarette smoke will have a vain pop up on their nose!”

At this, everyone, including the captain, checked their noses. You didn’t see anything on your nose. “You can’t be serious, Jotaro,” you said.

“Nope,” he shrugged, “I was lying. But looks like we found the idiot.”

Suddenly, the captain laughed. “Fine. You got me. I’m not the real captain. He’s already at the bottom of the ocean, sleeping with the fishes. I was going to pick you off, one by one, but I guess I’ll have to use plan B.” Without warning, he grabbed the girl, and held onto her with his Stand. “I might not be able to take on all five of you on land, but if I drag a hostage into the water with me, then I’ll have the upper hand.” He jumped off the deck, but before he reached the water, Jotaro had already gotten the girl out of the captain’s grasp, safe and sound, as well as made sure that he wasn’t coming back to shore anytime soon.

“Yeah, Jotaro!” you cheered. “Great job!”

“He sure talked up his powers,” Polnareff laughed.

“Hey, Jotaro,” Joseph said, “why aren’t you bringing the girl in?”

“I’m trying,” Jotaro’s voice sounded clenched as he bent over the railing, “but I can’t. I can’t even bring Star Platinum back.” Suddenly, he fell off, as if he was magnetized to the sea. Before he fell in, though, he threw the girl up, and Hierophant caught her. Then, before you knew it, Jotaro had fallen to the bottom of the sea.

Every last one of the people on board, including the crew members and the girl, were anxiously holding their breath, praying to whatever god they believed in that Jotaro would make it out alive. One minute. Two minutes. Three. He still wasn’t up. Maybe you should have duplicated him, before it was too late. Then again, those acorn barnacles stuck to him were technically a status condition, even if it was the work of a Stand, so it wouldn’t have made a difference. Of course, as you thought of something you could have done ahead of time that would prevent this horrible disaster, things just had to get worse. A whirlpool. The fake captain had created a whirlpool, and Jotaro was trapped in it. Kakyoin tried fishing him out of there, but the Stand’s scales were everywhere in there. It was impossible to get Jotaro out of there. Anxiety flew through you, and each second felt ten times as long. Then, out of the blue, you saw your friend pop up for just a second.

“I saw Jotaro!” Kakyoin cried. “He was completely limp!”

“Completely limp, you say?” Joseph asked. “This might be a good thing.”

“Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Joestar,” you said, “but how in the world could this be a good thing?! He’s limp! He might already be dead!”

“Well, us Joestars have a way of getting out of tricky situations like these,” Joseph replied. “And I think Jotaro has figured out how.”

“Oh, I hope you’re right, Mr. Joestar,” you muttered. “I really, truly, hope you’re right.”

Conveniently, once you got done with your tiny monolouge, the whirlpool had ended, and Jotaro had finally surfaced again.

“That’s my grandson for you!” Joseph laughed. “See, (Y/N)? Nothing to worry about. Now, come back up, and-“

Joseph didn’t get to finish what he was going to say, because an explosion happened somewhere on the boat. Then another one. And another one.

“Quickly! To the life boats!” Joseph cried, and nobody wasted any time doing what he said. You jumped from the deck just as an explosion happened behind you, pushing you right into the life boat. You landed with a faceplant, and heard an, “Ow!” from a familiar voice. That’s when you realized you had landed right on Kakyoin’s legs, very hard.

“Oh, Kakyoin! I’m so sorry!” You kept apologizing, and asking to pay him back somehow.

“I’m telling you, (Y/N), I’m fine,” Kakyoin laughed a little bit. “My legs will be fine.”

You thanked him for understanding, then looked for a place to sit on the life boat. Turns out, the only seat was right next to Kakyoin. Dang it. That girl, who’s name was Anne, had taken the only seat away from him. Avdol and Polnareff gave you smug smiles, and you made a hand slashing motion near your neck, telling them to cut it out, then pointing at Kakyoin, signifying he was right there. Both of them looked away, still smiling.

Great. Just what you needed on this trip. A tiny crush, and two guys who knew about it.

[lukeysgirl]

The Note Tree ❋ L.H. Pt.1

Part O N E 

Summary: A cherry blossom tree, residing at the farthest part of the schools courtyard. Nobody dwelled there, and you didn’t care much for it. Until you kept hearing one song played over and over, with lyrics changed to touch at your curiosity. They knew you were listening, and one day you gave in and made your way to the pink tree. Waiting for you, a series of notes tied to a single strand of string. 

Word Count: 3.5k (on the dot)

AN: Hi guys, I’m alive and back! So here’s a new series (meaning requests are closed). This one is an original idea of mine, so this should be exciting. Anyhow, the regular rule stands at 100 notes for next parts. But my updates will be coming more slowly as I genuinely wanna develop this story so please be patient and I hope you enjoy. Lemme know if ya’ll enjoy, how it feels n what not. 

Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I M A G I N E 

Monday

“…So class, what could be a potential motif that is continuously being brought up in…” Tuning out…. Tuning out… Tuning out…

Click! Tuning out complete.

Sun poured itself into the left side of the classroom, it’s warmth licking all the students by the window (one being yourself). The professor with the typical monotonous voice pondered out loud to the minds who couldn’t shed a single drop of care. The fern chalkboard was ornate with several literature terms, part of an assignment that you didn’t bother to know just yet. Standard wooden desks with cheap metallic chairs were forced in rows, pure uncertainty in the germ quantity or the origin of zombie drawings scratched into the desks. 

On your desk resided your hands, clammy and still. Below your hands was a black, spiral notebook. To your right sat a mechanical pencil, red with size 0.5 lead. Next to that was a Bic pen you found in another classroom. Surely, it wasn’t yours, but you were too tempted to leave it alone. 

There it is again, you thought. Guitar boy is back. Every day in your English Literature class, there was this mysterious singer who sung nearby. He was never in sight from the classroom, impossible to find him even when you changed angles. As much as you wished to ignore it, it was impossible. 

After all, this voice picked on you every time. 

The same tune would be played, using the same chords every single week day. He has yet to make a mistake. It was an average 4-chord beat, who could mess that up? The voice type was a baritenor, the intriguing combination of tenor and baritone. He always sniffles right before beginning his tune. 

“Go to the pink tree, 

eat before three. 

Take my notes before the wind, 

don’t let my words go unpinned. 

Hung by a single thread,

don’t let my words go unread, 

Bic Pen Taker”

And there he goes. The guitar playing slowly fades away, all pairs of eyes still diverted to the front of the classroom. They had known this routine, too, and no longer thought anything of it. Even the teacher, Mr. Murphy, self-concluded that this was some sort of brief music session. It barely lasted a minute, and completely dissolved right after the tune. 

You paid no mind to it as well, refusing to interrupt your course of life. But, surely, your best friends wouldn’t dare let it leave your life. 

“‘Bic Pen Taker?’“ Savannah exclaimed, slamming her petite hand down onto the circular lunch table. She was a lovely thing when her mouth was shut. Perfect blonde locks danced down to the middle of her spine, loose curls at the end. She was very pale, very slim, and extremely preppy when it came to her clothing. Usually skirts and dresses with 3-inch heels to make her feel like an adult. “Y/N, you cannot ignore this!” 

“It really is big to pretend like it’s nothing,” Odessa, poking at the rim of her forest-green glasses. She was the loveliest shade of hot chocolate, her skin smooth and noticeable. Curvy one, she is, with braids that went down to her bum. Surely, your eyes diverted down to her curves, but what can you do? You concluded yourself to be a ‘bi-curious fuck’ when you first saw Halsey. Anyway, Odessa, or Des, was shorter than the rest of the group, but that just made her more endearing. 

“‘Eat before three?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Alexis began, holding up a pink post-it note up to her face. Probably the cutest brunette, Lexi had freckles decorated all over her nose and cheeks. You were always tempted to take a Sharpie and create constellations. With a button nose and a kind smile, Alexis was definitely someone who stole peoples’ focus every time. 

“Don’t waste your time attempting to decipher it,” you groaned, resting your head in your arms as you looked down at the grey lunch table below you. It was cool, giving you a pleasant sensation. It was very in contrast from the muggy feeling provided by the crowded lunch room. “It’s a stupid song.” 

“It’s not stupid!” Savannah hissed, holding up her own post-it with the lyrics. “This is a secret admirer, Y/N! Straight-out-the-movies secret admirer!” 

“And I give a shit because?” You murmured, looking distantly at the entrance door where students pooled inside the room. Odessa shoved you playfully, sticking the note on the table before resting her elbows on the table. She hangs her head upon her fists, her cheeks pooling up her face as she studied the note. 

“Because he won’t stop pestering you indirectly until you do what he asks,” Alexis pipes. Shit. Good point. “It’ll never end if you keep putting it off.” 

“You’re right,” you respond calmly, closing your eyes to allow your weary body to refuel. Exhaustion always taunted you at school, but once you were home, some odd energy gets released and you’re wide awake until 2 in the morning. “Still don’t care enough.” 

“This has been going on since the beginning of the year, and it’s only been 2 months, Y/N,” Alexis points out, having you still shrug off her good points. 

“If we made sense of the song, you’d surely care then, wouldn’t you?” Odessa mumbled, turning over to you. You opened your eyes once more, slivers of your eyes being revealed to your friend group. They all stared with some odd frustration that you couldn’t really comprehend. 

“Ya’ll are acting like this song is complex,” you mumbled, having them stare back at their notes worth of the lyrics. You loved these girls dearly, but their brilliance put together and averaged out would be ‘meh.’ 

“So what does it mean?” Savannah hummed, tossing her post-it over to you. It hovered and indirectly glided to you, one of its corners hitting your elbow. Groggily, you forced yourself to sit up. You used one hand to weave your fingers into your hair to fix it up a bit. “The only part we got to is the ‘pink tree,’ which is that cherry tree in the courtyard.” 

“Oh wow, I’m so proud,” you sarcastically spewed, having Savannah roll her eyes as you picked up the thin sheet of paper. You held the paper, one hand holding it between your middle, index, and thumb as the other tapped at one of the pointy corners. “Yes, the ‘pink tree’ in this case would be the cherry tree that nobody gives a shit about.” 

“Why don’t people go there again?” Odessa asked, genuine wander sliding off her tongue. 

“Because it’s far as fuck,” Alexis breathed as the girls resumed to stare at you. The pairs of blue, brown, and green eyes frightened you as you kept yours diverted to the paper. 

“‘Eat before three...’ that’s probably another way of saying go there after lunch or before we get out of class,” you said with a shrug. It was your best guess, honestly. That line was just a bit tricky. “‘Take my notes before the wind, don’t let my words go unpinned.’“ 

“So you do care!” Savannah exclaimed, slamming her hands upon the table once more. Odessa’s milk carton jumped a bit as Alexis’ leaning position had been ruined by the sudden vibration. “You know the tune!” 

“That’s because it’s sung literally every day,” you groaned. “It was just like the ‘Call Me Maybe’ apocalypse where nobody could shut up about it.” Odessa snorted from your remark as you resumed with your analysis. “Anyways, that means that this kid would want me to go and read those notes and let them not be wasted.” 

“Cuuute,” Alexis moaned, having you shrug in complete oblivion to her definition of ‘cute.’ 

Sigh. “And then it’s ‘hung by a single thread,’ so string probably tied around a branch,” you said monotonously. “And again, he doesn’t want his words to be wasted so he wants me to read them. And then the ‘Bic Pen Taker,’ so obviously he knows that pen wasn’t mine.” 

“So he’s got his eye on ya,” Alexis teased, her smirk trying to indicate some sort of romantic reference. 

“More like he’s stalking me,” you groaned, tossing the paper back to Savannah as you rest your head once more into your arms. “No offense, but I don’t really like stalkers.” 

“He’s not stalking you,” Savannah tries to mellow the situation, but that definitely won’t do. Guitar dude is definitely stalking if he watched you while you were alone in a classroom stealing a pen. Creepy if you asked anybody. “He’s just interested but doesn’t know how to approach?” 

“Does that make him shy or what?” You mumbled, extremely bored with the conversation. 

“That makes you aloof,” Odessa brings up, having you frown at the chocolate girl beside you. 

“I’m not unfriendly,” you began with a touch of attitude. “I just don’t dedicate enough energy to make any more friends than I have to. If I don’t have to do it, I won’t.” 

“You’re colder than Antarctica, Y/N,” Alexis pouts, having you roll your eyes as you slowly closed them. You enjoyed napping, it was one of your favorite pastimes. It was overall easier, and required approximately no energy. But, as much as you wanted to sink into the bliss that is slumber, you were still in school with others far more... bombastic than yourself. 

“Oh shit, they’ve got pizza today!” Exclaimed the typically loud and annoying Michael Clifford. Eyebrow pierced, dyed blue hair, and immensely pale Michael had broken you from your attempts of a nap. You open your eyes in annoyance, seeing as the regular quad entered the cafeteria. 

Michael Clifford, the energy of the group. Calum Hood, Mr. I’m So Suave Because I Serenade Girls With My Guitar. And then Ashton Irwin, probably the friendliest person in heart and looks. Although they weren’t fawned over by all the girls like in the movies, they definitely weren’t ignored. Being the only legit band of the school, they were fairly known to get booked into the popular peoples’ parties and become the lives of the party. But it seems like they lacked something today. 

“Ash!” Alexis called the boys over, having you sink your head deeper into your arms until your nose touched the cold table. Fuck obligated interaction. It’s not that you hate people or anything. You just don’t want to spend so much energy on them. Odessa rubbed your back as you groaned quietly. 

“Hey Alex,” Ashton came, greeting her with his usual kind voice and lovely eyes. You tilted your head slightly to see, seeing one simple pleasure that was Ashton’s dimples when he smiled. “Savannah, Des. Hey, Y/N.” Of course he says your name in a separate sentence.

“Hey boys,” Savannah said, seeing as she smiled when Michael came over. It was rather strange with these 6. It was immensely obvious that Lex liked Ash, Sav liked Mike, and Des liked Cal. And vice versa, of course. But it’s the usual yucky high school love story where they all have to face complications before their happy ever after. Also, you hated the last member of the boys’ group. 

He was energy consuming, for sure. 

“Ladies,” Calum cooed, revealing a cheeky smile as Des leaned her cheek against her fist to ogle the Maori boy before her. You looked away, snapping your neck to face the other way to not see this gross love connections these 6 were having. You looked distantly through the cloudy windows, seeing the other students outside at the courtyard where more tables resided. You subconscious tried to find the cherry tree, but it was immensely far and there were too many oak trees in the way. 

“When do you wanna work on our English project, Lex?” Ashton asked, having those two discuss about whatever the hell project they’re doing. You could hear the other four discuss about some performance they’re having at some venue that you couldn’t even care less about. Along with their conversation, several others came into play as extremely loud background sound. 

“Hey, Y/N!” Michael called your name, having you sigh before sitting up and turning back to the rest of the group. All pairs of eyes were now on you, having you blink twice before staring up at the pale boy. “What’re you doing here?” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, pure confusion erupting in your mind. “I’m in school, trying to enjoy my lunch break.” Calum was quick to go and give Michael a slap behind his head, having him rub it while glaring at Calum. 

“He’s being stupid, as usual,” Calum suggested, having you barely smirk as Michael hissed at the Maori boy. “He just means that we always see you asleep or being lazy when you’re in school, so it’s odd to see you here.” 

“It’s not that I’m lazy,” you began with a shrug. You rubbed under your eye, cautious not to ruin the light makeup on your eyelids. “I just conserve my energy is all. Speaking of which, where’s the other one?” 

“Oh, you mean Luke?” Ashton asked, having you nod in confirmation. The other girls looked at him as well, just as curious about the missing blonde. “Lunch detention.” 

“What did cool boy Luke Hemmings do this time?” Savannah giggled, mocking the position that boy somehow held. But, of course he held the cool boy title. Blonde, blue eyes, devilishly handsome and lead singer of his band. Can we get any more cliche than this? 

“He drew a dick on the chalkboard over there for Ms. Lee’s class,” Calum said quickly, having you analyze his face as he spoke. Such a quick response. “Since it’s anatomy anyways, he claimed it’s for ‘educational purposes.’” 

“I see.” The conversation derailed quickly to the boy’s performance coming up this weekend. 

“Here’s the invites,” Michael began, smiling contently as he handed out the small flyers. There was a coffee stain in the right hand corner of each, having you roll your eyes at the boy. “All the info you might ask for is on there, trust me.” Savannah giggled, the two locking eyes quickly. 

“Oi, what are those notes you got there?” Calum began, pointing at the girls holding the lyrics in their spare hands. They were quick to press it against their chests with their faces losing it’s calm color. 

“Nothing,” you spoke for all 3, having the boys look strangely at all of you before headed off for their food. As they did, a few girls walked up to them and joined their stroll over for the pizza Michael long desires. Once they were no long in sight, the girls sighed in relief and put the notes back down. 

“That... was close,” Savannah said calmly. 

“Why the hell are you hiding them?” You asked all the girls. “Wouldn’t you think that they could help us decipher it? Being musicians and shit.” 

“Nah, we’re doing this ourselves,” Des began with a wide smile. “I want us to solve it. I’m trying to be an accomplished bitch, you know.” 

“Mm, I see,” you hummed before residing your head in your arms again. “Still not gonna go.” 

“Then I’ll go!” Des offered. “I have a free period after lunch so I can definitely check it out and share the note with ya’ll.” The other girls nodded in excitement, having you shrug simply at her choice. The girls had a few more discussions with you attentively listening, wasting the minutes before lunch had sadly reached an end. 

“...Okay class, take your seats, please.” Ms. Lee’s voice struggled over the sound of the students shuffling and finding their seats. You were always the first one in the room, already seated with your required materials out. You picked at your nails, enjoying the brief moment of being alone at your seat before the annoyance came. 

“I’m here, Ms. Lee!” And there is the nuisance. 

Luke Hemmings announced his arrival, stirring the class with laughter as he grinned giddily at your teacher. She kept her face stern, amused by his stupidity. He was leaning against the door frame, one arm straight up and holding the frame with the other resting on his hip. He stood with one leg, the other bent slightly in front of it. The usual skinny black jeans, a Nirvana shirt, and completely black converse, Luke looked of a punkrock try hard. 

“I see,” Ms. Lee murmured, agitation evident on her face as Luke strutted over to the seat beside yours. You clapped your hands together, shutting your eyes to pray briefly as the blonde boy adjusted himself on the wooden stool. You then began to wonder why the teacher hadn’t used his lunch detention as leverage for a clever remark. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Luke greeted, having you look over to see both hands weaved and under his chin as he stared at you. As annoyed as you got from seeing his face, you couldn’t help but adore his eyes. They were this ocean color, the one where the sky is perfectly blue and the sun was licking the beach. 

“Luke.” You turned away, no longer bothering to stare as you prepared for the lecture that proceeded. Luke always sighed in disappointment, always having you glance to see his eyes dim. You didn’t understand why, seeing as you two hardly knew each other and you had incredible doubt that Luke actually gave a shit about you. 

After the lecture, Ms. Lee had begun to pass out the tests. The assignment was already up and ready, having you the only student to jot suffice notes and begin a sketch of what you were to do. As you doodled, you notice Ms. Lee place Luke’s graded test. He grabbed it, holding it up as he smirked. 

“Yikes,” he uttered, having you shake your head at how careless he was. A 62 percent. That’s one of many reasons that you found Luke so infuriating. He didn’t care a single cent about his grades, taking them as a joke almost all the time. “Looky!” He turned around and showed it to the students behind you two, having them laugh with him as he passed it around. 

“You’re such a dope, Luke!” One of his friends said with a chuckle, having Luke laugh even more. Others laughed at him, fueling his idiotic antics and ways. Even though you didn’t care at all for Luke, you suddenly found yourself annoyed at his carelessness. 

“Luke, cut it out,” you said simply, having his group of friends silence themselves as he turned over to you. You felt his eyes, refusing to lock yours with them as you continued your sketch. “You need this class-- quit being such a dolt.” 

“Woah,” Luke said with awe, having goosebumps rise on your arms from his breathless word. You didn’t know what to think, with the way his clean, hoarse voice uttered the word in pure disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d care about it, Y/N, let alone anything I do.” 

“Correction: I don’t care,” you pointed, getting over your momentary mental ogle from his voice. “I just don’t want you expressing your stupidity around me.” Luke blinked, having you indirectly stare as he leaned closer to you. You leaned away, somewhat revolted by his antics. “What?” 

“I have an idea,” Luke began, having you already try to tune him out. “How about the 3.8-GPA student tutor me about anatomy?” 

“No,” you immediately shot him down. 

“C’mon now!” Luke kept trying, leaning closer to you as you found yourself flustered from his sudden closeness. “We can get real in-depth about the body... talking intimately about my anatomy and--” 

Suddenly, the dismissal bell rang. 

“In your damn dreams, Hemmings,” you announced, slamming your notebook close as you poured your items into your backpack and fled the room. Luke was wise not to call you back or chase you, having relief wash over you as you exit the school. 

You managed to catch up with Savannah and Alexis, listening to their heavy projects and paper homework. And you agreed: homework is a serious no-no. But how else could you retain your intelligence? It was the only thing you actually put energy into anyways. 

“Sav, Alex, Y/N!” Suddenly, Des’s voice called to all of you, having you halt and turn around to see the girl hurry to you guys. Cliques all around walked past as Des stopped running and gave herself a moment to breathe. “Goddamn... ya’ll walk damn fast, Jesus...” She panted, standing up straight with her chest heaving. 

“You alright?” Alexis asked, concern painting all of your faces as you stared at the short girl. Des nodded, waving it off as she adjusted her bookbag. “What is it? Everything okay?” 

“No...” She said breathlessly. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” Savannah allowed pure concern to roll off her tongue as you three stared at Des’s surprised face. She then turned to you, having you blink a few times until you listened to the words that left her plump lips. 

“I went to the tree,” Des said simply, weaving her fingers together, somewhat nervously. “But the notes weren’t there.” 

aha please do lemme know whatcha think right here, thank you x

[tessatechaitea]

Nightwing #10

I don't think I've ever read any Blüdhaven stories but I'm already angry that I have to learn the ALT code for the u with an umlaut.

After learning about Blüdhaven from Preboot Superman, Dick Grayson decides it's the place for him! He's heard that what happens in Blüdhaven stays in Blüdhaven (probably because what happens is usually murder and what stays is the corpse thrown into a concrete foundation being laid) and that totally sounds like the Dick Grayson way. Because lately, the Dick Grayson way has been more like the James Bond way. He wants to get back to familiar territory and the best way to do that is to move to someplace completely foreign to him. Dick decides to get a job volunteering with a program that helps teens stay out of trouble. He nails the interview and, later, probably the boss.

Are there sexual harassment policies in place for trying to fuck volunteers to an organization? It's okay to bang them if you're not paying them, right?!

Dick Grayson is going to get so much püssy in Blüdhaven. Another person Dick will be working with at Don't Let Teenagers Become Violent And Steal My Things Headquarters is a guy named James Nice. That's suspicious! You don't get a name like Nice without being a cold-hearted dildo puncher. I should know because my last name is...um...it's just Tess, actually. Never mind. Forget I said anything. Although, seriously, with all the links to my old websites and my Twitter account and the name Grunion Guy and my Xbox Live Handle and who knows what other things (like probably mentioning my name directly in an early review when I was drunk or something), it wouldn't take much effort for a stalker to figure out who I am. So why haven't I been stalked yet? So disappointing. After Dick leaves, James and Shawn are all, "We should wear our supervillain costumes to the meeting tonight to show that we're in control of our supervillain tendencies! It'll help the teenage supervillains we're helping to understand that they can also avoid being violent and stealing other people's things. Maybe we can even convince them that they're superheroes instead of superzeroes! That's such a great slogan that it's probably already been copyrighted and now our organization is going to be sued and we'll all go back to our lives of crime. I guess that's not all bad seeing as how we live in Blühaven, Crime Capital of places with umlauts in their name." Dick goes home to learn that normal life is too boring to live for a ward of Bruce Wayne's who was raised in a traveling circus to be a Talon and slept with a dwarf throughout his teen years. So he'll probably be out fighting crime before you can type the ALT code for a u with an umlaut over it. Meanwhile, the Blüdhaven mayor is having a meeting with his staff to ensure that Blüdhaven doesn't become too family friendly in it's new campaign to lure families to the strip.

Nice bit of writing, Tim Seeley, to cover the fact that you don't know what "on fleek" means! Or that you just didn't care enough to look it up because it's fucking stupid. Slang doesn't prove that you're cool and in the know. Slang only means you're an unimaginative chump who wants to fit in so badly that you'll say stupid shit like "fleek" to describe whatever the hell is fleeky.

Being an older person, the only reason to use young people slang is to annoy the fuck out of them. But just because it's the only reason, it doesn't mean it's not a good reason. Making teenagers cringe is a healthy adult pastime, especially when they think they're the cool ones for recognizing a cringe-worthy moment. Oh, we know everything we do that makes you cringe, young people. It's the only reason we do any of it. Searching my site, I used "on fleek" once when I mentioned how I have never said it. Besides, it was almost certainly uncool to say by the time I even learned about it! That's another part of the fun of using youthful slang. By the time adults know about it, it's been abandoned by the youth. We all know it but the youth think we still somehow think the slang is still en vogue. Super cringe points! Marvel comics might have a case for suing DC Comics since Mayor Madrigal is basically Perry White. I mean J. Jonah Jameson! That last paragraph (which was only a sentence) is for people who think I'm stupid and unsubtle. It's both proof that I am to people who think that and proof that I am not because there's a whole underbelly of criticism against fangenders and their Marvel vs DC war in that sentence. Paragraph! Thankfully, some crime gets committed near Dick's new place, so he dons his costume and exits the window of his apartment in his Nightwing kit. So I guess he doesn't give a shit about his secret identity, does he? People are going to notice shit like that! And some of those people are going to be curious enough to figure out which window that apartment belongs to. And some of those people are going to earn big money selling the information to mob bosses. The crime was committed by a talking ape who Dick quickly takes down for the Blüdhaven police. The ape is Gorilla Grimm from Gorilla City. I don't mean to sound racist in so many fucking ways I can't even fathom it but how does Dick recognize one Gorilla from Gorilla City over another? I would have sworn this was Grodd except that Grodd would never wear a wife-beater and a trucker's cap. Oh, maybe that's how he recognized him! To be fair to myself and my totally racist question which I didn't mean to be racist in suggesting that apes are equivalent to black people and the possible truth but probable stereotype that white people can't identify one black person from another because I really did just mean that I wouldn't be able to tell one gorilla from another, I probably wouldn't recognize Dick Grayson from one comic book artist to another without a bevy of clues that have nothing to do with his looks. I'm sure if Gorilla Grodd and Gorilla Grimm were real gorillas, I'd totally be able to tell the difference. Unless I'm Gorilla Face Blind. I might be! I haven't met enough gorillas to know for sure. Poor Gorilla Grimm. Your parents don't give you that name if they think you're going to amount to anything. His hopes and aspirations were probably stillborn thanks to the name. Thanks a lot, Ma and Pa Gorilla! Fucking dicks. Nightwing just got done thinking how nice it was to get back to Black and White crimefighting instead of trying to navigate a gray world where somebody, somewhere, is constantly finding a reason to criticize you when Gorilla Grimm begins talking.

Profile much, Nightwing? Am I off the hook for comparing a gorilla to a black person now that Tim Seeley has done it? Not that I did it at all! But I wrote something that suggested that if you were of a mind to read it that way, due to the gray world we live in and the penchant for finding offense wherever a person can to feel more righteous than the next person. Because I totally didn't mean the comparison! Just because I noticed that something I wrote could be read that way and then brought it out in the open to say that it wasn't meant that way doesn't mean I meant it that way! Also, I'm sure Tim Seeley didn't mean it that way either. I'm just trying to deflect the mob to somebody else!

I once made the accidental racism comment before in a Twat Lobo commentary that I noticed afterward and called myself out on. But not that it was accidentally racist, what I said. Just that it could have been seen that way! I reprint it here for good times:

Now I want to write a comic book called General Calamity and Wanton Violence. It would be set in the old west and be full of gore and good-intentioned racist microaggressions. You know the kind! Like when some white gunslinger has his ass saved by a Chinese fella and the gunslinger says, "You ain't so bad, fer a chinerman." And the Chinese Gunslinger smiles graciously while planning on whether he's going to piss or shit in the white gunslinger's stew later. You know! A fun comic book! Oh shit! I just had an Asian-American Doll moment! I didn't mean for the comic book to sound like it was a white guy named General Calamity and a Chinese guy named "Wonton" Violence! Man, my cynicism almost failed me but I caught it just in time! Although, fuck me, it's a good idea! "So, you're name is Wonton Violence, hunh?" "No, it is 'Wanton' Violence,' you ignorant cocksucker!" Of course, Wanton Violence delivers his line over a smoking pistol and the corpse of the ignorant cocksucker.

I still believe that would make a good television series. Probably an independent series or somewhere like Netflix where the studio doesn't try to exert their control on every little bit of the production until they've turned it into something the broadest audience can like. And by "broadest" of course I mean "stupidest." The Blüdhaven SWAT team take Gorilla Grimm off of Nightwing's hands because Gorilla Grimm is a suspect in a nearby murder. See, the murder victim was torn apart and had all their bones broken. Totally something a damn filthy ape would do, right?! But since Gorilla Grimm told Nightwing to his face he was innocent, Nightwing begins to suspect that maybe Blüdhaven might be a little gray after all! Like maybe they're cleaning up the city a little too enthusiastically to ensure tourists flock to their casinos. Like maybe Blüdhaven isn't so different from Gotham at all. The SWAT Team doesn't arrest Nightwing in the way law enforcement likes to arrest superheroes but he does give Nightwing a firm slap on the wrist and a warning. I suppose if I arrived at one of the stores whose floor I clean and found a jerk in a costume doing the work for free, I might be a little bit annoyed too. Gorilla Grimm tells Nightwing to talk to Shawn Tsang about how he didn't do it. Nightwing will probably do that but it's not like he can interfere with an arrest being made, even if he thinks the arrest is wrong. That's up to the courts to decide (even though they'll get it wrong too because our justice system is terrible and biased toward law enforcement because they need to keep them happy so that they'll work with them on real cases and not just the cases where the cops are all, "Put this bad person away because we said so or we're not helping you ever again, District Attorney"). If Nightwing were to interfere, he'd be no better than that criminal Tim Drake. The Blüdhaven Tourism Board learns that Nightwing is working in Blüdhaven. Time to pay him to be the face of tourism! "Come to Blüdhaven for the hookers, blow, and casinos! Stay to catch a glimpse of Nightwing's ass!" Nightwing heads back to talk to Shawn Tsang about Gorilla Grimm when he discovers that she's actually the supervillain known as Defacer. I don't know what her super power is. Spray painting? Anyway, it's just what Dick didn't want. He just got done trusting a villain who turned out to be an actual villain. Now he's falling right back into the same theme! Why can't people just be good and bad?! What is with all of this shit about good people doing bad things for good reasons or bad people doing good things but in terrible ways?! Knock it off and just be good or bad, stupid people of the world! The Ranking! No change. It's only a rating of No Change because Nightwing is ranked at #3 and I'm not yet ready to say it's better than The Flintstones. Maybe in some ways it is, depending on what you want out of a comic book. That's the problem having mainstream superhero titles on a ranking list that also includes modern versions of old Hanna-Barbera cartoons. But I really fucking enjoy everything about The Flintstones. Maybe if I were gay and I wanted to fuck Dick Grayson, this would be better than The Flintstones. But I'm not gay and I want to fuck Betty Rubble, so there you have it. Although, you should be reading this comic book! That's just a fact. I mean, it's an opinion but it's my opinion so it might as well be a fact. Oh, I should also mention Marcus To's art is fantastic. I don't want him getting all butt-hurt again because of my intense hyperbolic criticisms that are simply meant to be funny in that way it's funny when an old person is shit on by society and they have no recourse but to scream and rant and bleed out of the eyes. So, you know, good work, Marcus! Now maybe your sycophantic followers won't harass me for criticizing your stupid Justice League International cover! I still stand by my assessment of the cover even if the inside art was so good you could wank to it!

[glovenose82-blog]

Better Call Saul Rediscovers The Lost Art Of Letter Writing

In what appears to be early morning light, Jimmy -- in his good old University of American Samoa sweatshirt, with a hoodie over it -- reaches into the trunk of a car and pulls out a couple of gym bags, saying he thinks he has everything, but that if he forgot something, he'll "figure it out on the way." Kim, also dressed for leisure, stands next to the car, fiddling with her keys and not quite meeting Jimmy's eye as she checks, "You're back on Thursday." "Thursday, yeah," Jimmy confirms, seeming surprised and relieved that she's addressing him at all. "Unless we break down in Amarillo," he adds with a smile she does not return, instead making a Kimface and nodding. When he comes around to where she's standing, she quickly moves to close the trunk, but Jimmy proceeds nonetheless: "Kim, I want you to know, I don't take this for granted. It means a lot." Clearly, the answer Jimmy's hoping for -- if not expecting -- is something along the lines of "Don't mention it" or "You'd do the same for me" or "It's a small thing to ask of someone who loves you"...

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...but Kim just nods again, icy, and says, "I'll see you Thursday," not seeming to look forward to it very much. Jimmy sets his jaw and -- seeing that he's not going to be sent on this journey through Amarillo with so much as a handshake, never mind a kiss goodbye -- leaves her to whatever responsible adult activity she might get up to while he's not around. I'm barely either of those things so I can only guess what that might be. ...Oil change???

Kim has dropped Jimmy at the Albuquerque Transit Center, and when we see him next, he's on a bus bound for Houston, sitting in a window seat. Next to him, one of his gym bags is open and positively bristling with the spoils of Kim's "Something Stupid" shopping spree. I would have 100% understood had its purpose been to bring some artificial sense of order to her own messy life -- Ask Me About My Stack Of Coil-Bound Sketchbooks And Boxes Of Reserve Uniball Vision Pens -- but no: what Kim has in mind is evidently going to require Jimmy to write a LOT of personal correspondence. He writes postcards. He writes cards. He writes in different pens and pencils. He arranges his fingers around his various writing implements in awkward positions to disguise his handwriting. He licks envelope after envelope. He flexes his hand to try to relieve cramps. When the bus picks up more passengers at some unidentified southwest outpost, an older guy stops at Jimmy's aisle and asks if he may take the seat on which Jimmy has set up his mobile office; Jimmy says sure, and starts to gather up his stuff, but warns, "I had a pile of cheese chili fries back at Stuckey's -- with onions on top. The last guy who sat here didn't last five miles but, you know, you're welcome to it." Jimmy's fellow passenger decides to move on and minimize his methane exposure, though regardless of which seat he ends up in, he is still on a mobile interstate fart canister. We eventually see that Jimmy has switched to the opposite side of the bus for the Shreveport-bound leg, the lone passenger still awake after dark, licking envelopes under the faint light above his seat. He gulps down a 5-Hour Energy. And when a new day dawns, we see that Jimmy is just one of many bus passengers scratching away at their correspondence. What a wild coincidence that Jimmy's ended up on a conveyance with so many other practitioners of this old-fashioned pastime!!! Jynetta, a teen in messy twin buns and a butterfly necklace, comes up the aisle to hand Jimmy a pile of note cards, out of their envelopes for him to review; he compliments her choice to put hearts over all her "i"s, and pays her a sawbuck for the ten cards she wrote, offering her the chance to do some postcards for 50 cents apiece, which she cheerfully accepts. OHHHHH, it's NOT a coincidence AT ALL. Bubba pops up from behind Jimmy with a smaller stack and receives with equanimity Jimmy's fearless feedback about coming across too angry: "Make it that you're-- You're sad that you even have to write the letter. 'I couldn't believe people could be so heartless until I heard about you' -- 'kay?" Bubba's with it, taking both a Lincoln for the five notes he wrote, and another batch of blanks. Jimmy then taps Chastity, a young woman across the aisle; unfortunately, she ignored Jimmy's direction to be respectful and doesn't get paid for a card filled with swears, which he regretfully tears up in front of her. An editor's job is tough, you guys.

Finally, Jimmy disembarks the bus at his final destination and walks into the post office in Coushatta, Louisiana, 71019. He's back out less than a minute later, sitting on a bench outside, ignoring the sweet pooch who wants to be his friend, and waiting for whatever's next -- which, for us, is the opening credits, in which a tie changes from garish lavenders to garish blues while being inspected by a passing tarantula. Even the tarantula doesn't want it.

Over to El Michoacano. Having apparently exhausted his sick days, Nacho's back at work -- and, in fact, is sitting in for Hector and watching over Domingo's shoulder as he takes dealer payments. Domingo also has to take dealer excuses: this dude, Blingy, casually says he's a little short due to a "dumbass festival over at the fairground -- Indian shit," which was lousy with rent-a-cops: "We're going to make it right next time." "You're goddamn right you are," says Domingo, eyes hard. "Fo' sho'!" chirps Blingy. "Next week." Domingo snaps the elastic band around the bills, dismissing Blingy, but Nacho would still like a word, and calls Blingy back when he's halfway to the door. In a show of shocking impertinence, Blingy lightly tells Nacho he has to go, but Nacho repeats the non-request, and Blingy comes over to the side of the table, asking what's up. Nacho just stares at him for a while and then blinks pointedly, at which Blingy leans down...whereupon Nacho yanks the giant hoop earring out of his right ear -- doing him a favour, honestly, because while I gather, with such a name, he feels he has a reputation to live up to, that shit is gaudy as hell. Domingo steals a tiny peek behind him as Blingy groans as quietly as he can, and Nacho calmly pulls out a wad of napkins; when Nacho moves the dispenser over to him, Blingy respectfully pulls a bunch to clean up the mess he rudely made spilling all his blood on Nacho's table. "What you owe, you owe with interest," murmurs Nacho. Blingy nods and scurries out. Domingo's clearly fucked up about this, but since he doesn't want any of his body jewellery removed so abruptly, he manages to kiss a little ass anyway, turning around to tell Nacho, "You had to do that, man! Guy's not going to learn otherwise." "Mmhmm," Nacho agrees. "So why didn't you do it." Domingo, looking terrified, gives this performance review one quick nod and, fortunately, has another dealer coming in to distract him.

After a long day of intimidating human parasites, Nacho drives his hot rod home -- and WHAT a home! My man lives in a very stylish Brutalist bungalow. Before he enters, we see who's waiting for him: a blonde, lying on a love seat and scratching at a glass pipe; and a brunette, lounging on an adjacent couch, picking her big toenail with one hand and flipping through channels with the other. She's just landed on a home shopping channel when Nacho opens the door and they both sit up to greet him, which is when we see the enormous piece of automotive pop art over the brunette's head.

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I am not so much with the art and thought it could possibly be a real Roy Lichtenstein but, uh, no, it is clip art from Shutterstock. Anyway, both these women seem to be Nacho's girlfriend based on their greetings -- one calls him "babe" and is surprised he's home so early; the other offers to make him dinner -- but he has nothing to say to either of them, instead tossing them each a little sachet of drugs, to grateful grins. The brunette asks if he's going to smoke with them, but he doesn't answer that either, and we watch through the wall of glass as he goes through the house to his bedroom, past several other large-scale paintings. I don't recognize them and there isn't exactly a Shazam for art, so I can't tell you if these are actually significant pieces, but I think the point is that Nacho has chosen to spend his money on gracious living...and on red leather furniture for his drug-enthusiast lady friends. In the bedroom, Nacho locks the door, takes off his jacket, and sets his gun and an envelope of cash on his nightstand; when he strips off his shirt and his tank top rides up, we see the gunshot wound on his side has healed up nicely. Then, just to give you an idea of the kind of living well that should, on its own, be Nacho's best revenge, he crosses through his walk-in closet to ANOTHER CLOSET containing built-in shelves he is NOT EVEN USING; and a safe, which he opens. He's putting his things away when he knocks a clear plastic envelope onto the floor, and we see it contains a phony Manitoba driver's license with his picture on it. (I knew Michael Mando was Canadian so I thought this might be a cute nod to his birthplace, but no, he was born in Quebec City.) Pensively, Nacho picks up the sleeve and pulls out both "his" own ID and one behind it, for his dad, before clenching his jaw, flaring his nostrils, and locking them away again. I'll say this for making Manitoba part of your fake backstory: no one's going to fact-check the details you come up with because nooooooobody cares.

Then we're with Ziegler's crew as they get their promised R&R at, what else, a strip club. There, Kai (who else) is the first we see enjoying the attentions of one of its curvaceous performers. While the ladies work, Ziegler is sitting at a dark bar away from the action, looking very Lutheran, or possibly just bored; Mike stands with his back to some glass bricks, surveying the scene; apparently satisfied that the crew guys aren't embarrassing themselves or him, he comes over to Ziegler and exchanges some words we can't hear over the pounding music. Ziegler gets up, and after Mike stops at a bouncer and briefly confers with him as well, Mike leads the way to the door...

...and when we see them next, Mike and Ziegler have repaired to a much quieter pub and are chatting over beers. Ziegler volunteers that his father was also an engineer: "Learned the work by doing the work. Hands like knots of a tree." Mike smiles fondly. Ziegler points to something behind the bar and tells Mike his father built it. Surprised, Mike frowns: "The Sydney Opera House." "Those concrete arches -- impossible in 1957. Six years it took to solve the problem. Six. And years more to pour correctly. To that, my father gave ten years of life." The bartender comes by to take an order from a thirtysomething mop-haired dude, whose name we'll soon learn is Terry. The bartender remembers that his first drink was a stout and asks if he wants another one, but Terry says he wants to try the "hee fee wee sin." Ziegler can't stop himself from correcting Terry's pronunciation of "Hefeweizen" (more like "HAY-feh-VIE-zen," in case you don't want to be schooled by a real-ass German the next time you try to order one), and Terry amiably apologizes for mangling it, asking Ziegler to repeat it.

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Mike doesn't look thrilled that Ziegler's engaging in this potentially memorable exchange, but also can't exactly put a stop to it without making it even more memorable than it already could be for Terry, and when Ziegler pays for Terry's beer and Terry goes on his way, Mike evidently decides to let it go without comment, and Ziegler returns to the subject they were discussing before Terry interrupted: "The Opera. It's for the ages. For my father, it was his achievement: the creation that will endure." Ziegler taps the glass with his nails to put a button on the conversation and asks Mike what his "papa" did. Mike snorts, "My dad? Ohhhh, left behind a cold water flat and a stack of bills, that's about all." "Not true!" gasps Ziegler. "He also left behind you, Michael! You are his legacy." This old-man friendship is extremely endearing, which therefore also makes it extremely worrisome for me personally given the many ways it could yet go wrong. For now: Mike laughs ruefully at Ziegler's sentimental framing of the elder Ehrmantraut's legacy before asking whether Ziegler ever thought about having kids. Ziegler looks down at his hands: "Once, maybe. My Margarethe, she's enough for me. She's my heart. This is the longest I've ever been away from her. Twenty-six years, never this long away from home." "To home," says Mike, tilting his glass at Ziegler's for a clink of agreement. They both sip, and before Ziegler can ask about MIKE's fatherhood, if he was going to, the bouncer from the strip club is at the door calling for Mike, who checks to make sure Ziegler will be okay at the chill bar without him before going to investigate...

...and finding out that of course Kai could not be trusted to stay out of trouble, has been escorted outside for touching a performer during a private dance, and is belligerently trying to argue that they can't kick him out because he paid for the dance AND to stagger past the bouncers restraining him to get back inside. The lead bouncer threatens to call the cops, at which Mike steps out of the shadows, telling the bouncer he doesn't need to do that, already getting his cash out. The bouncer, reasonably, wants to know who Mike is; Mike calmly tells him, "I'm the guy who's telling you this one's had too much and I'm here to get him out of your hair." The lead bouncer asks about Kai's buddies, and after Mike gets him to admit that they're behaving themselves, he hands over a couple of bills to secure their right to continue hanging out while Mike takes "this idiot" home. Kai then starts arguing with Mike, because he may be sexy but he is not very wise. "You are done," Mike tells him firmly. Kai sort of wavers like he's considering lunging at Mike, but when Mike urges him to try it, Kai summons the last of his wits and decides against it. After one of the secondary bouncers has dragged Kai off toward Mike's car, Mike deeply sighs, apologizes to the lead bouncer, and asks after the dancer; the lead bouncer says she's fine. Mike peels off some more cash "for her trouble": "All good?" The lead bouncer says, "We're cool." HE will never be as cool as Mike, but I don't blame him for trying to put them in the same category.

At the chill bar, Ziegler evidently got bored and is now sitting with Terry and his buddy, sketching schematics on the back of a coaster as he explains -- minus salient details, naturally -- the engineering challenges inherent in his current project. When Mike returns to retrieve Ziegler, he can't quite believe the loose-lipped spectacle he became in Mike's absence, but keeps cool by merely putting a hand on Ziegler's shoulder, almost imperceptibly pocketing the coaster, and telling him, "Time to go." Ziegler -- toasty from the beer, and enjoying having an audience to lecture avuncularly -- wants Mike to join them. Mike pointedly replies, "Your wife's calling?," and Ziegler is too drunk to get it at first, marveling, "My WIFE???" "...Yeah," says Mike. Ziegler locks in then and gets up, thanking his new young friends for their "hospitility."

Outside, Mike backs out of his parking space while Ziegler and Kai sit silently, careful not to do anything to make Dad more mad at them.

As Stereolab's extremely apropos "Tempter" plays on her headphones ("Midway between happiness and sadness boiling but not overflowing / fails to only make a better come back, more powerful and poignant and falls again / Destructive lust for life erected, on the verge pricked up like a picket / fearing to respond to the tempting but malevolent call of the other side"), Kim works intensely on Huell's file; the music's up so high that she doesn't hear Jimmy until he's leaning in to her face to get her attention. When she pulls off her headphones, he tells her he's going to the nail salon to "finish setting up"; she tells him that's a good idea and that she'll see him later, trying to forestall further conversation by putting her headphones back on immediately. Jimmy makes it almost to the door before turning back to see if she wants him to bring dinner home, but Kim is pretty clearly making a point to need as little as possible from him right now, saying she'll just "scrounge" but that he should do what he wants. He hesitantly lets her dismiss him.

At the shop, Mrs. Nguyen is on her way out for the night when she hears Jimmy sighing in his office and goes in to see what's up. Jimmy's surrounded by dozens of phones, all plugged into chargers, as he says he has to be there a bit longer but that he'll lock up when he leaves, if that's okay. "Wife mad at you?" she guesses. "She's not my wife," says Jimmy hoarsely, halfway between a haughty chuckle and a sob, but then admits, "I don't know." "Yeah, she's mad at you," says Mrs. Nguyen knowingly. She sidles back out into the hall and returns with a bottle of vodka, pouring him a generous belt: "Go on." Jimmy has just taken a bracing sip when Mrs. Nguyen delivers her happy not-wife, happy life advice: "You take her to dinner. Nice place, with a waiter. Cloth napkin. You bring flowers. You say 'sorry.' Then, say 'sorry' again. Whatever she says, you say 'sorry.'" It's a sexist cliché, but like...it also probably works about 90% of the time. Straight men should be more sorry in general, in my opinion, and white men? PLEASE. "I think we might be past that," murmurs Jimmy. Mrs. Nguyen doesn't bother telling him to say "sorry" even more, instead saying, "I'll leave the bottle." I feel like you can either be sorry or drunk, so this might be a high-level sabotage on Mrs. Nguyen's part. When she's gone, Jimmy carefully sticks a label on a phone and sets it on his desk. How many dang phones does one disbarred lawyer need?!

The next day, Kim is ponytailed for battle as she stalks through the courthouse halls, trailed by three young associates, and heads straight to Suzanne's office. Opening the door just a little, Kim pokes her head in to see if Suzanne's ready for her, since she's early; Suzanne checks her watch and waves her in, which is when Kim throws the door open and reveals her whole squad: Gary, Stef, and Pat. After a sidelong glare at Kim, Suzanne rises from her seat to shake everyone's hands, and then plops down to find out what form of baloney Kim's about to serve her. First, Kim responds to Suzanne's proffer: time served, three to six months' probation, and a plea to simple battery -- a misdemeanor, as Suzanne notes, before recapping that Kim's trying to go from eighteen months of jail time for Huell to zero: "Sorry, I can't do that." Kim accepts that, and turns to Gary for Act II: a motion for continuance, since they need more time to prepare their defense. The officer didn't canvass for additional witnesses, but businesses around the site of the incident have security cameras, and Huell's legal team will need to subpoena the tapes. Instead of addressing Gary, Suzanne rudely turns to Kim to ask if she doesn't think that's "a little much." Kim coolly says they doubt a judge will. Stef takes over to say they just want the most information they can get -- to wit, they're filing a motion for the cop's personnel file. "Good luck with that," sniffs Suzanne, once again to Kim...

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...who is not rattled by Suzanne's attitude, like, at all. Pat adds that if the cop has a history of run-ins with anyone Huell ever knew, basically, they want to know. "You're thinking of pursuing civil litigation," Suzanne snits at Kim. "We are in conversation with the ACLU, assessing the possibility that Mr. Babineaux's civil rights may have been violated."

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Suzanne looks like she almost respects it as she curtly says, "Okay. Is that all?" Kim gives her a brief Kimface before saying, with some portent, "For now." Suzanne gathers up all the motions, saying she'll deal with these issues and then set a trial date. And since she feels that's all they have to talk about, Kim and her crew pack up and prepare to leave -- but, of course, Suzanne would like a private word with Kim first. "You're throwing three $400-an-hour associates at a pro bono case?" "I never said this was pro bono," says Kim. Suzanne is completely gobsmacked and literally throws up her hands as she asks Kim what the plan is, here: "Because shock and awe isn't going to cut it. Bring every fancy associate you got, file all the motions you want, and at the end of all this, your client is still going away." "Okay," says Kim serenely. "I guess we'll see." Kim strides out with her usual perfect posture, betraying nothing...right up until she gets to the outer door of Suzanne's office; as she crosses the camera, we barely hear her take one slightly unsteady breath. Look, USPS. You've let us ALL down at one point or another in our lives. Do not fuck over Kim right now.

"Morning" "dawns" for Ziegler and his crew, who stagger through the warehouse to the truck seeming a bit more sluggish than usual but, generally, in good spirits. Ziegler's bringing up the rear as Mike stands between him and the truck for A Bit Of A Chat, which Ziegler doesn't seem to see coming, cheerfully telling Mike that "everyone seems much improved." Mike just stands there regarding Ziegler, who finally asks whether something's wrong. Respectfully waiting until the last of Ziegler's guys has boarded the truck, Mike reaches into his pocket and hands Ziegler the coaster he'd sketched on the night before. "This?" sputters Ziegler. "Don't be concerned. I said nothing! Men at a bar, talking to make talk, and look -- no details, no scale at all. Could be a skyscraper. Could be box for shoes." Not sure how many shoe boxes need load-bearing walls, but then I never bought any by McQueen. Ziegler smiles, endearingly but also naïvely, and when Mike just stands there continuing to gaze at him, Ziegler's face falls a little and he insists, "I said nothing about the construction that would not be true for thousands of others. By now they have forgotten me entirely." "They forgot," Mike repeats. "The German national in the middle of Albuquerque, talking about pouring hundreds of tons of concrete in a secret underground location." Well, sure, anything sounds bad if you describe it accurately. Ziegler, chastened, admits, "Yeah, you're right." He apologizes, saying he had too much to drink and "may have said" more than he should have. Mike takes a step into Ziegler's personal space to make his point emphatically and clearly: "The man we're working for is very serious. Think about the precautions we take to keep everything that goes on here quiet. Think about how much money you're making. Think about what happens if something goes wrong. Do you understand what I am saying to you." Ziegler gives Mike a long look and gravely replies, "I do understand. And I'm sorry to cause any problem." Instead of adding, "Please don't tell the man I'm working for that he should kill me," Ziegler holds up the coaster and promises, "You have my word, nothing like this will happen again." Keeping his eyes locked on Ziegler's, Mike snatches the coaster away and puts it back in his pocket, taking a long beat before telling Ziegler, "Okay. Let's get you to work." They might need to grab Ziegler some coveralls that haven't been very recently pissed in first.

Judge Munsinger's already at a 10 when he yanks open the door to his chambers and demands of Suzanne, standing there with Kim, "Are you prosecuting Santa Claus?" Suzanne has no idea what he's talking about, and follows him inside as he yelps, "It looks like Miracle On 34th Street in here." Indeed, his desk is covered with four plastic bags and two USPS bins filled with multi-coloured envelopes -- and, per Munsinger, this is just today's haul: "All addressed to me, all from some backwater in Louisiana?!" He pulls one from the top of the pile: "'Get your hands off our hero,' they say. 'Mercy for Huell Babineaux,' they say. What, like I'm sending him to the electric chair?" He asks whether Kim "started this particular ball rolling"; aghast, she says she certainly did not instruct residents of Coushatta, Louisiana to start writing letters to him. Technically correct, the best kind of correct! "That being said," Kim adds, "it's clear Mr. Babineaux has touched the lives of many people in his hometown." Since she is not an idiot, Suzanne can smell the bullshit, and furiously works her jaw as Kim goes on to say she knows that Coushattans are planning to send a contingent "to show their support during the trial." "You're talking about a bunch of yahoos packing my court?!" sputters Munsinger. Suzanne tries to suggest that they can just ignore all this and proceed with whatever trial strategy she had before she found out about the mail bombs, to which Kim says Suzanne shouldn't be surprised by the outpouring given that she knows Huell's history as well as she does. Munsinger announces that he doesn't want to get one more letter from "some swamp-dwelling do-gooder." (Jealous of wetlands much, New Mexico?) Suzanne thanks the judge for bringing the matter to her attention, and asks if she may take some of the mail. Munsinger presses a bag on her in addition to the bin she already had her eye on, and sends counsel off with a final warning: "I have looked at this case. It does not merit a circus. Now, you two WORK IT OUT." Kim primly says they've tried. "Try. Again," orders Munsinger.

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Suzanne stares daggers at Kim, and though we don't see Kim's face in reaction, we may reasonably assume she DGAF.

Then we're in Suzanne's outer office as she starts yelling instructions to everyone around; she basically wants every available piece of data on Huell that exists in police and court records: "I want to figure out why a pickpocket has people this overheated." She opens a card on the top of the file and reads: "'Huell Babineaux is wrongfully accused. He's a good man. He'd never do nothing like the things you say he's done. He's a kind man and a good friend to everyone.' Jesus, they do make him sound like Santa Claus." One of her office underlings, Ben, hands her a card with a phone number on it, which she dials on speakerphone. It goes through to the voicemail of a rumbly Cajun gentleman who ends with "Have a blessed day," and she leaves a brief message. Various hands continue opening mail, and when Suzanne comes up with another phone number, she dials it and gets through to an Eloise Lockhard, who says everyone in Coushatta knows Huell, a pillar of Eloise's church. Suzanne asks which church that is, and when Eloise says it's Free Will Baptist on Bogan Lane, Ben quickly Googles, and as Suzanne's asking whether there's a particular reason Huell is so beloved by the congregation, Ben brings his laptop over to show her the church's homepage, which has been taken over by a fundraising call to action on Huell's behalf. When Eloise asks Suzanne to repeat who she is...

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...we see that Jimmy's assembled his whole film crew for this project, and that Make-Up Girl is posing as Eloise, asking Suzanne to explain exactly what her role is in Huell's trial. Suzanne reluctantly admits that she's prosecuting him. "You're the one persecuting our Huell?" gasps "Eloise." "How could you? To go after someone so sweet and kind, with all those lies? Well, I'd tell you what I really think of you--" Cut to Jimmy, who directs her by silently folding his hands in prayer. "Eloise" resumes: "But Jesus is listening, so I'll just say, SHAME ON YOU!" She hangs up before Suzanne can defend herself, which gives Jimmy a chance to offer some feedback, calling Make-Up Girl's performance "not too shabby!" "I've been taking improv classes," she shyly replies. Oh, Make-Up Girl. If it's future income you have in mind, you'd be better off at beauty school.

Back at the office, Suzanne still has the church's homepage up, and decides to try to call its pastor, Blaise Hansford. This time Jimmy grabs the phone that's ringing and realizes it's the church; frantically, he motions for Sound Guy to cue up a CD labeled "Organ Music" before he picks up. Now, what happens next really cannot be properly conveyed in print, but both Jimmy and Bob Odenkirk are clearly enjoying the chance to bust out their Cajun accent in the service of bamboozling a prosecutor. Jimmy does some business with the organ music, claiming he's going to step out in the vestibule, and settles in for a nice chat. Suzanne tries again not to be too specific about her role in Huell's proceeding as she says she wants to know more about him. Jimmy says Huell is a lovely person, inside and out, and that while he might say the same about any of his parishioners, Huell is special, with "a heart as big as Lake Ponchartrain." Camera Guy shakes his head at this egregiously corny turn of phrase and indicates the whiteboard behind him, where Jimmy's high-level direction includes "Keep It Simple, Stupid," but Jimmy, of course, already knows all the rules well enough to break them and waves him off. Suzanne asks what Huell did to earn so much devotion from his brothers and sisters at Free Will Baptist, and "Pastor Hansford" takes the long way to tell her that Huell saved a bunch of elderly parishioners when a fire broke out during their Bible study by physically carrying each of them out of the building. When Suzanne asks what happened to the church, "Pastor Hansford" assures her that it's fine, and motions to Camera Guy, who does something on his laptop; Suzanne then hears a notification ding and turns to see the counter on Huell's fundraiser as more donations are added to the total. "Pastor Hansford" wraps it up: "Now, y'all sound like a real nice lady, and I know you're only doing your job, but I want you to understand something: I think you got the wrong end of the stick, here! Huell Babineaux is very important to us! Now, he-- He-- He would never hurt a police officer! I believe it's just a misunderstanding, and I-- I believe he might've been helping his friend, and that's the Huell that I know." "Pastor Blaise" then invents a distraction, telling Clarence the organist to put some robes away because they're for Communion...

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...which is, I guess, when Sound Guy realizes Jimmy hasn't spent enough time in services to learn what various churchy words mean. Suzanne and "Pastor Hansford" are about to end the call when he asks whether there's a date for Huell's trial. She says there isn't, so he asks her to contact him when there is: "We got a couple of charter buses. Gonna bring the whole congregation up to y'all in Albuquerque." Suzanne wilts in resignation. Jimmy hangs up. The crew is in awe. Suzanne realizes she's fucked.

Jimmy then takes a moment to regard the desk full of silent phones. "Is it over?" asks Make-Up Girl. Jimmy tells them he's going to take the church phone with him in case Suzanne calls back. If any others ring, they should pick up every third caller, and talk no longer than thirty seconds per call. Camera Guy tries to weasel out of staying, but Jimmy, already literally half out the door, says they're paid for the day, so they'll stay until he tells them to go.

Jimmy, peering through the glass in the door, finds Kim in a courtroom, conferring with opposing counsel. We can only see her from the back, but Suzanne's body language -- hands on hips; chest in high dudgeon -- is tense and angry, whereas Kim leans back casually against the judge's bench, arms spread wide. Suzanne then tents her fingers on her table and hangs her head in defeat.

Jimmy's down the hall tapping his sneaker when Kim emerges from the courtroom and looks both ways before spotting him. Without speaking, she strides purposefully past the bench he's sitting on and into the stairwell, Jimmy following close behind. When they're alone and Kim's basically slammed the door, Jimmy seems to think things must have taken a turn after he stopped watching and anxiously asks, "Well?"

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In response, Kim takes a breath, then chucks her briefcase onto the floor, shoves Jimmy against the wall, and kisses him voraciously. Let this be a lesson to us all: doing crimes makes you sexy.

Then the camera's panning up slowly from the foot of Kim and Jimmy's bed as we hear her suggest, "Do it one more time?" "Are you sure you can take it?" Jimmy flirts back. "I can if you can," she replies. "All right, you asked for it," Jimmy sing-songs...and then breaks into his Pastor Hansford character: "Hello dere! Look in your heart, chère, and find forgiveness! Let us take you on a trip down Naaaaaawlins way, where dey put a little extra roux in de gumbo!" Kim giggles that it's like she's in the bayou, to which "Pastor Hansford" replies that he's got crawdads in his pants. Kim cracks up, and then settles with her chin on Jimmy's chest, telling him the phones were genius. Jimmy says the phones were "a touch": "This was all you, start to finish. Bank shot off the judge. Four months probation, time served, is like watching Roy Hobbs smash out stadium lights." Kim modestly says that Suzanne overplayed her hand, then looks over Jimmy's shoulder at the clock radio and realizes she has to start getting ready for work. First, though, she asks what he's up to today; he tells her he's going to check out another office by the courthouse. Kim says she thought he'd found one, but he evasively says it was too big for him. Jimmy asks if she'll be working late, and she says she will, since she has work to catch up on post-Huell. Kim then decides she's dawdled enough and gets out of bed, turning on the shower. Jimmy remains in bed, looking thoughtfully at the space Kim's left next to him.

I really wish we'd gone from this scene back to the nail salon, Jimmy's camera crew having slept there after he forgot to release them because he was too busy fuckin', but no: we're in a conference room at Kim's office. Paige is droning on about boring bank shit while the camera stays on Kim and the quiet smile that plays across her lips as, obviously, she daydreams about the fun she had keeping Huell out of jail. When Paige gets to the end of her monologue, Kim blandly offers, "Sounds good," before resuming paying actual attention, saying they should talk about the Wyoming branch Mesa Verde wants to open in six months. Kevin passive-aggressively clears his throat, forcing Kim to ask if he has something else he'd like to discuss. He claims not to want to slow things down, particularly not with something he knows Paige doesn't want him to raise. Paige and Kim exchange a brief look before Kim's like, spit it out, so Kevin says that the Tucumcari branch is doing great, and it's probably because the design of the building is so distinctive, so even though Paige has already said it's impossible, wouldn't it be great if they could do something like that with the Lubbock branch? "I reminded Kevin that Tucumcari has a much larger footprint than the current Lubbock design, and that design is the one we've been hanging our estimates on," says Paige tightly, clearly afraid Kim is going to go back to her old ways of trying to impress Kevin by...working herself nearly to death. Kevin, of course, is hoping the opposite, and presses his point despite Paige's concerns. But no longer is Kim getting her adrenaline fix by doing anything in the financial sector, so she barely pauses before telling Kevin she's sorry, but that she agrees with Paige that starting over now would put them behind schedule. Kevin accepts Kim's judgment and admits that Paige was right this time. On to Wyoming! Kim is SUPER-PSYCHED jk she is about to slip into a coma.

Back in her office, Kim reaches into the top drawer of her desk, produces the souvenir Zafiro Añejo bottle topper, and contemplates it. Is she so pragmatic? Or would she rather do more sexy crimes???

Then we're under the laundry, where Mike is giving Gus a progress report, starting with the accident that happened in "Something Stupid" and how long it's going to delay the project -- less than a week, it sounds like. However, there's a gigantic rock where the elevator shaft is supposed to go, which will require blasting, adding another week on top of that. To summarize: "Best estimate, we're a little past the halfway point, way behind schedule. But the work is solid." Gus stares for a while, then asks about Ziegler. Mike takes a loud breath and says, "I gave him the come-to-Jesus. He screwed up, he knows it. Said it won't happen again." "And what do you say?" asks Gus. "I've got eyes on him," Mike replies, before adding the judgment that I am guessing he will be forced to regret and retract by the end of the season: "But yeah, he's good." "Good," Gus nods. ZIEGLER FOR GOD'S SAKE PLEASE DO NOT LET MIKE DOWN.

Then the camera's behind a hole with irregular edges as something drips past on the other side. Presently, Jimmy's squatting down to inspect it and asking, "Is that water?" The bungalow in "Something Stupid" was no great shakes, but now he's in an even less charming space: a long rectangle with grubby tile, fallen drop ceiling panels, and glass walls on two sides, several panes of which seem to have been waiting a while to be replaced. But back to the water damage: the realtor showing the property claims, "The landlord will kick in for small repairs like that," adding, "They already took care of the rodent problem." I'm going to go ahead and say this guy's not counting on closing a deal today? Jimmy, of course, isn't thrilled to hear there ever was a rodent problem, but the realtor shrugs that Jimmy specified "small and near court," both of which requirements this dump satisfies: "And it's in your price range." As he urges Jimmy to "use [his] imagination," Kim appears outside and knocks on the door; Jimmy excuses himself.

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Okay, don't think less of me but I kind of like it from the outside??? Obviously, it could use some cosmetic updates, but the '70s Space Age-iness of it is pleasing to me. Anyway, Kim's leaning against a piece of pressed wood in place of a glass pane and smoking when Jimmy comes out, and asks him, "Is this your new office?" Jimmy, embarrassed, says it's a contender, and asks what she's doing there. "I was driving, saw your Esteem in the parking lot," says Kim. Ah, Jimmy's esteem. Look somewhere dodgy and you're sure to find it! Jimmy removes the cigarette from Kim's mouth to take a drag himself, and asks her what's up. "Nothing," says Kim, surveying the landscape. "Just driving around, thinking about things." Jimmy guesses at what that means, and starts doing a version of what Mrs. Nguyen had recommended: "I know what's on your mind. The thing that we did, I mean, it was nuts. And I dumped it in your lap. Ex parte communication, contempt of court, we're talking about a couple hundred counts of mail fraud -- I could've wrecked you at Schweikart, I could've boned me too. I mean, I'm this close to being reinstated. I mean, come on!" Kim doesn't answer, nodding as she keeps her eyes on the horizon. Jimmy hands her back the cigarette, telling her, "Don't worry. No one's going to know about it. Be like it never happened. And also, I agree, we are totally done with all that. Over and out, no more." Kim blinks, exhales her latest drag, then fixes her eyes on Jimmy's to let him know he guessed wrong, telling him, "Let's do it again."

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Jimmy is shocked, but Kim is steady. That's the last time Jimmy takes Huell's advice about lawyers. Or ladies. Or...lady lawyers.

As Nacho comes in to start his day at El Michoacano, he's surprised to hear loud music playing inside, and shoots a look at Domingo, already seated at his table...

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...and looking like he shat his pants. Nacho takes a long time silently looking from Domingo to the kitchen, where the radio is blasting, before finally heading back there, sliding a hand back to his weapon just in case. The chef is absently singing along to the music, and Nacho stands in the doorway waiting for him to turn around and notice him -- which, soon, he does, greeting him with a huge smile: "You're here! Right on time." (Throughout the conversation, they switch from Spanish to English and back again, without any significance for either choice that I can discern.) The chef finishes preparing a plate for Nacho, promising he's going to love it: "I made this just for you! Never in your life have you tasted something so delicious, it's true. Wait, wait -- you're gonna die." Okay, on the page that looks bad, but other than, you know, where he is, there's no menace to this guy: he just seems really easygoing and friendly. Also, not for nothing, hot. Still, Nacho makes a pissface and declines the proffered plate. The chef leans his face in, takes a big sniff, and, grinning, encourages Nacho, "Smell it! You can't say no, are you crazy?" Nacho doesn't move or speak, so the chef backs off, pleasantly: "Very well. You're not hungry. That's your problem." He sets the plate down, telling Nacho it's a special recipe: "A family secret." Nacho, having come further into the kitchen by now, guesses, "The Salamanca family." The chef excitedly turns around to confirm it: "I am Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo. And you must be Varga, no? They told me you were smart. And look, here you are, and you are." He chuckles as he returns to his pans. Trying to sound unconcerned, Nacho asks what Lalo's doing there. Casually, Lalo replies, "I'm just here to lend a helping hand, you know, make sure the business is running in order. I got a good head for numbers."

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I'd give him a good head for numbers, wait did I type that out loud. "Don't even worry," Lalo assures Nacho. "It's going to be like I'm not even here." With that, Lalo takes his plate out to the floor; as the day's first dealer enters, Lalo calls over his shoulder, "Come on, Varga, let's go!," before settling into the seat right next to Domingo, patting him warmly on the back and, presumably, giving him the delicious dish Nacho declined.

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Maybe Nacho should go to Winnipeg. I guarantee no Salamanca would follow him there, nor would literally anybody else.

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Source: http://previously.tv/better-call-saul/better-call-saul-rediscovers-the-lost-art-of-letter-writing/