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kekaki-cupcakes · 1 year ago

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Hello kekaki! Cloud you please write something for Jason with a stoic/shy body painter reader? I feel like he’d be a great model, cause he’s very patient and all. What do you think? No worries if u don’t feel like it, obvs!

I actually loved this idea and ended up putting heaps of headcanons and shit in it too because I love this kinda ask! [everyone usually just does simple stuff which is all g lol but this is so creative maybe its just cause im artsy haha] Anyway this is mixed in with an ask I got for a London Boy [Taylor Swift] type ask x Jason <3 <3 <3

There's still a trace of body paint--- Jason x Body paint artist!reader [London Boy-Taylor Swift]

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason tried not to laugh.

It was so hard though, because holy Hades the paintbrush was so cold and it was tickling his sides and he began chewing on his lip to stop himself from squirming away.

He sat as still as he could, which wasn’t hard, one thing Camp Jupiter got right was the whole soldier thing, and Jason could stand still for hours at a time without moving if he had to. And this way he was sitting on a cushioned stool watching your expression shift when you thought no one was watching you, or eating MnM’s, listening to whatever pop song came over the little radio by the open window.

The smell of strawberries wafted through with the warm summer air from the fields a few cabins over, and it made him hungry, but he wasn’t about to get up and ruin the carefully designed strokes all down his back and over his shoulders.

He didn’t even get to know what it was until the end, apparently, which was so mean of you, but then you’d stick your tongue out while you worked a little bit in concentration and he forgave you.

You looked up and made eye contact too quickly for Jason to play it off, and you took the tiny brush off his shoulder slowly, “what?”

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly, chewing the inside of his lip to stop his grin this time, and turned to the rest of the cabin. There was one set of bunks, but the rest of the beds were all retro hammocks hung between messy easels and tapestries and a few statues in progress.

There was a mini fridge with a salt lamp on top, and every windowsill had little trays of incense next to the mugs filled with paint brushes or lemonade. His view was skewed when you spun the stool around a little and took another brush from the table, this time with an inky dark blue.

Jason looked up at the roof to move his hair when the cold began to dot lightly where his neck met his shoulder. There was a big circle cut out of the white stone ceiling, replaced with glass that let the light in like a halo. It fit the whole scene though, you looked like an angel, even with the bit of melted MnM on your cheek.

“Hey,” he started, noticing the polaroid’s stuck to the wall around the mustard colored hammock belonging to you. “Can I ask..”

“Hm?” You asked, getting a sponge and dabbing at the scars shredding up the right of Jason’s lower back.

He wasn’t sure what your answer to the question would be, and if it was something bad, he didn’t want to make you upset, but he was curious. “How did you… how did you get here? When were you claimed?”

“Well, it wasn’t as dramatic as falling out of a burning chariot into the lake,” you muttered, wiping yellow paint from your hands onto your forehead without noticing. “My mum booked a flight to New York when I was ten, and then drove me to the borders of Camp.”

Jason looked down at his shoes, “your mortal mum?...She just left you?”

You shook your head quickly, “oh, no, it wasn’t like that. She told me I was a demigod when I was six. Didn’t want to keep secrets. Said she went out with a lady at Glastonbury that dropped me off a few months later with a bunch of flowers.”

“I lasted a lot longer than the flowers,” you chuckled quietly, “I knew I was coming here for ages, and I knew I was a son of Iris. We didn’t get a lot of monsters in England, I’ve been attacked more by going to Starbucks on the weekends here than living in Manchester for ten years.”

Jason didn’t like talking about his own mum, but the way you smiled talking about yours, he figured you didn’t mind. “Do you miss her?”

“A lot, but Iris messages aren’t exactly hard for me,” you said with a shrug, dipping the paintbrush into the little tub Jason was balancing on his thigh. “Besides, Iris pays for my mum to fly over every summer, cause she feels bad that she had a kid with someone so far away.”

“Really?”

You smiled again, and the little shiny crystals on your necklaces clicked against the beads, “she’s a pretty great mum, as far as godly parents go. She’s gonna pay for art school, as long as I show her everything I paint.”

Jason blinked. “Does that include me?”

“Surely you’ve met her, you’ve met all the gods, right?” You asked, eating an MnM and swishing the paintbrush around in a cup. Jason was pretty sure you’d just cleaned it with lemonade, but he didn’t say anything.

He blinked, watching the colorful stained glass of your earrings catch in the light, “Yeah, but that was before…”

Before he’d found you with Racheal using the blank stone wall of his cabin as a space for her next mural. He didn’t really care if Zeus got annoyed, because you had pink paint on your cheeks and you were using a pegasus called Clover to put all of the paint tubs on and Racheal was saying something stupid and you were laughing with your nose all crinkled up and if Zeus got annoyed by that, Jason would take the smiting himself.

Before he’d somehow ended up in the same activities together after he told Piper about you [who could convince Annabeth to do anything for her somehow, even without her mothers tongue].

Before he’d offered to sit still for hours at a time so that you could build a portfolio of paintings on his scarred skin. He’d had to ask instead of agree, because you weren’t exactly the outgoing type. Neither was Jason, so you could sit together for hours with only the sound of the tens of wind chimes outside the cabin and paint tubes being used to their last drop.

Before Jason found himself more invested in the process of the painting then the outcome.

He gulped, and mentally shook his head, “well, I hope the art school people don’t mind scars. You’d have to use someone else.”

“I don’t care if they do. I’d still paint you,” you said quietly, looking up from the dark blue sketchy strokes Jason could only just see without his glasses. Then you looked away, changing your paintbrush for the yellow one, “unless you didn’t want to.”

“I do.”

It was silent for a moment, and then you smiled, your lip piercing shining in the sun that streamed in, “okay.”

“I’m done,” you said a few minutes later, passing Jason the rest of the MnM’s once he could move without fear of ruining the paint. He watched as you pulled a mirror out from behind an easel depicting what looked like a robot bear with square teeth and red eyes.

Jason stared at the blues and golds with wide eyes. He didn’t want to blink, he didn’t want to not see it. He didn’t know how to put it into words. “...Wow.”

Wow didn’t seem like enough, but you grinned nonetheless with a shy shrug, “It’s a Van Gogh, well my version of it. Everyone likes Starry night, but I like Starry Night Over The Rhone a lot more, so…”

»»————-　★　————-««

“Is that her?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, the only one Jason had been able to ask the past ten minutes as you both sat at a park bench outside the movies, an old one near the markets that just played grainy reruns in its shabby chic theater. “If you ask one more-”

“No I think that’s Iris,” he whispered with wide eyes, “she’s staring at me.”

About to explain that the old lady with a basket of kittens and a black lace umbrella [it was sunny. She was probably a vampire] was not your mother, you turned to see the woman who was actually your mother, in her bell bottoms and matching top, hoop earrings made of tiny dreamcatchers casting colorful light everywhere.

You grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along into her cloud of floral perfume that hurt your nose when she brought you into a bearhug. “Hi mum.”

“Darling!” She shrieked, kissing your cheeks and holding your shoulders and she shook them violently, then snuck another hug while you were making sure your head was still attached to your shoulders, “oh, how I’ve missed you!”

“Missed you to mum,” you said, pulling away with a smile, and turned to Jason, who had the same expression big dogs get when they’re picked up. “Um, mum… this is Jason.”

“Yes, yes! I’ve heard all about you!”

“...He’s my boyfriend.”

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #Jason grace #jasongrace #Jason Grace x reader #jason grace x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x male reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #fanfiction

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ashlingiswriting · 1 year ago

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do i know you? chapter eight

[ chapter eight — 6.4k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ] "well, now you know what to get me for christmas." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn warning: drugs, insects

the next day, you wake to your customary darkness. outside your window light snow whispers against your window and thick clouds beyond promise there’s more where that came from. you pull a mini pizza from the freezer, crack an egg on top and put it in the toaster oven, call that protein. boil some water in your smallest pot. pull out your favorite chipped blue mug.

the dream did come last night, but its dread was dulled by early waking. you’re grateful for that. this is about as good as it gets, you think: tea on the way, a thick stillness enveloping your apartment, the city outside preparing to sleep while you keep watch.

but wait, the phone.

you go into your room and kneel by the bed.

michael’s small box is half-empty now that you’ve put his shirt in the wash, so the nokia is easy to find. when you flip it open, he’s there, waiting for you—one unread text—and in the sleepy silence, a bubble of incredulous unreality balloons and then bursts. it’s not michael.

they all blur into each other like drops of blood in water: you’re crushed to find that he’s still gone, relieved he’s still gone, guilty you were relieved, relieved that richie’s texted—no, happy—no, that’s embarrassing, but you can’t help it. it’s happiness and it’s something else. happiness is the warmth by your side and something else is the radiator.

the message turns out to be a single emoji, the one with the pink tongue sticking out. definitely richie. with no idea what that’s supposed to mean, you try to think of something equally silly. failing that, you pull up wikipedia on the phone and generate random wikipedia articles until you finally come across a fragment that strikes you as too beautiful to pass up. you weren’t looking for beautiful, but what the hell, it’s charmed you. copy, paste, and send.

> it was announced on january 30, 2023, that she will be writing an original poem dedicated to nasa's europa clipper. the europa clipper will launch in 2024, and by 2030, will be orbiting jupiter. limón's poem will be engraved into the craft.

not expecting an immediate reply, you replace the lid on the box and slide it back under your bed, only to hear the vibration of the phone against the wooden floorboards.

reading what he’s written makes you smile. proper punctuation and all, mimicking you. can’t tell if it’s meant to be snide or if he’s just matching what he thinks is your mood. you’ll take it either way.

> must be a bad motherfucker, that limon.

> must be.

> is she your favorite poet or something?

you feel a dissonant twinge of pride and shame. you once had a favorite poet, but that was a long time ago.

> i haven’t decided yet. are you getting better?

> i haven’t decided yet. i had three grape popsicles in bed for my breakfast, it’s kind of hard to argue with that.

> malingerer.

> i’m actually polish.

and so on.

when he finally says goodbye so he can go back to sleep, you’re still laughing a little to yourself, and you’ve been kneeling there beside the bed for so long that your knees ache.

in the days that follow, richie texts you at exactly the time he’d usually visit. you stand outside like he’s still there, have a couple cigarettes, and enjoy the nonsense even as your fingertips go numb in the cold. once, he sends a picture of a meme so italian that you don’t get it. you obviously weren’t meant to get it, either, so you respond by sending him the middle finger emoji, which he, nonsensically, hearts.

if he needs help, he’ll ask for it, you think. you hope. he seems to be on the mend. anyways, you no longer feel that fear except in dreams, and you stop wondering when he’s gonna text and start expecting it, and then, less than a week later, he shows up. you know this because he texts, where are you?

you open the window and stick your head out into an eddy of snow. sure, you’re glad to see him, but: it’s too fucking cold for this!

he waves.

man was feverish for literally days and here he is in mid december with a hoodie under his leather coat but no scarf, absolute idiot, and so you close the window, go down to meet him, and break the rule. standing there, holding the door open, you say, c’mon.

he’s surprisingly perceptive. he walks over, but he doesn’t cross the threshold, just pauses in front of you.

i don’t think we can smoke in there, he says.

we can’t, you say, moving back one more step, making even more room for him. or at least i can’t. i don't want to get evicted. my landlady will do it too.

yeah? he says, not moving. you're scared of her?

you shrug. you've moved back as far as you can, you're letting all the cold air in, and there's nothing you can do except say please.

you say, she's like four foot tall and a hundred years old, man. women that tiny that survive that long? you should be scared of them.

as if that was the final straw—though how could it be?—richie walks inside. without skipping a beat and for no reason you can figure out, richie walks inside.

learn my ways, sweetheart, he says, touching his chest and giving you his very best look of ridiculous condescension. old women love me.

as you close the door behind him, you fend off a stray, ridiculous burst of giddiness. it's just the lobby, pale linoleum floors and a single artificial plant by the elevators, but it feels radically different from the concrete outside. no cigarettes, no excuses. he’s only there for one reason.

old women do not love you, you say.

they do!

tina loves you. the rest of them, i don't know.

he snorts. you really don't want to be standing face to face with him for however long you’ve got him, so you lean on the wall instead, and he settles by your side the same way he always does.

when he looks over at you, there’s a hint of sly mischief in his eyes that makes you say, what?

wait for it, he says, and when you open your mouth, he holds up a finger.

you roll your eyes, but you hold your tongue with no idea what this is about, undisguised curiosity, and a readiness to be delighted.

you hear that? he finally says.

wind, maybe, or the distant rattle of a train? nothing special. you shake your head no.

that, richie says, is the sound of the sky not falling.

knowing he noticed, that’s the worst thing about being told that everything is gonna be okay. it’s also the best thing. you shove him with a bony, solid elbow. i should’ve let you freeze.

he catches himself before he can topple, his smile gone goofy and so pleased. fuckin drama queen.

full han solo style, block of ice.

it was carbonite, not ice. how do you not know star wars?

course i know star wars, you lie. how do you live in chicago and not own a hat?

i have hats. i just also have a car.

uh-huh. if he wants to trade accusations, you’ve got a doozy you’ve saved up till you could turn it on him in person. i noticed the other day that your place isn’t exactly in a location that makes my place ‘on the way home’ from the beef.

he’s caught, not sorry. grins. you noticed that, did you.

yeah, i might not be from around here, but i still know north from south, all that shit.

well okay, sherlock. you wanna charge me with a crime? the challenge in his eyes says it all; he knows you’re not unhappy to find he lied.

you still need to get a hat, you say.

well, now you know what to get me for christmas.

you’re getting jack shit.

you already know what you’re getting him for christmas.

kraft’s mac and cheese is a christmas tradition in a two-person slice of your family, and you’re one half of that slice, so mac and cheese is the first thing you think of when richie tells you he’ll be there for christmas eve.

after that, it’s on to donna’s on christmas day. then i’m gonna kidnap carmy for some ice fishing, he says.

you ever been ice fishing before? you say.

he splutters. do i not strike you as a, uh, an experienced-ass f—

no.

—fisherman and woodsman, and like—

nope.

—man of the… he gives up. whatever?

do you have a float suit?

richie exhales smoke and fixes you with a look, annoyed but curious.

i’m carmen fucking sandiego, you say, by way of explanation. of course you’ve been ice fishing, you’ve been all over the world.

sure you are, he says. he waves a dismissive hand. my buddy’s got all the stuff, we’ll be fine. it’s whatever, i just gotta get carmy out of the city so the only things he ends up killing are fish.

his first christmas since. you don’t have to finish the sentence.

yup, richie says.

it’s richie’s first christmas since, too, but there’s no call to say that.

lapsing into a companionable silence and shrinking a little closer to the building as the wind picks up, you decide that you’re definitely gonna make him kraft mac and cheese for christmas eve. he wouldn’t take it as a letdown, he'd laugh at the single spinach leaf on top. he’d get it.

on christmas eve, ten minutes before you’re expecting richie to show up, you get a text message.

> need u

it’s the wrong phone, though. it’s your work phone, and after everything those fuckers have done, they can’t possibly be calling you in on christmas eve. not now. your butter’s already cut, your colander’s in the sink, and you’re stirring the pot of boiling macaroni with a couple takeout chopsticks. they can’t—

the phone starts ringing. you pick up.

fuck off, you say.

no wait!

the voice is familiar; it’s kevin, a man so stupid that he once introduced himself to you out of anxious friendliness even though you’ve always made very clear that you don’t want to know anybody’s names. kevin must have you on speakerphone, because in the background, you can hear the telltale sounds of somebody else cursing in a continuous wretched stream. that piques your curiosity.

thirty seconds, you say. keep it clean. meaning, don’t give me names.

kevin says, we were doing a thing and some stuff happened.

that’s no use. he kept it a little too clean. you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose between two fingers. you were doing a thing on christmas eve?

we thought…look, can you just come? aren’t you on call? isn’t this your job?

you tell me, you say. it’s been radio silence on my phone for three weeks and i haven’t gotten paid for almost a month now.

oh.

yeah, you say, knowing damn well that it’s not kevin’s fault, but more than happy to take this out on somebody. they fucking ghosted me.

sorry to hear that, man, he says awkwardly.

a thought occurs to you. likelihood of the carusos being involved in some shitbrained christmas eve scheme pulled by kevin? nil.

was this even a sanctioned thing? you say. like, did—

you know what, it’s fine, kevin says hurriedly. it’s basically a flesh wound.

the guy in the background howls, i got shot in the fucking foot!

shut up, howie, kevin hisses. you hang up.

there’s no reason for you to get involved. no orders, no blackmail, and probably no money; plus, your timer is counting down the last minute of macaroni boiling and richie will be on his way soon.

you pocket your phone, walk back to the stove, and resume stirring.

no reason for you to get involved. your timer rings out, so you dump out the pasta, put it back in the pot with the butter, add some water and the cheesy powder, stir with an eye for sauce thickness, wait for it to settle you. it doesn’t.

the thing is, there are so many small tricky bones in the foot, and you haven’t had a real surgery challenge in ages. ever since your bosses ghosted you, you’ve just been staying in your apartment, in limbo, seeing nobody except richie and occasionally a cashier. sleeping and waking neither on your old strict schedule nor on a normal daylight one. doing nothing, worth basically nothing.

so yeah, you text kevin.

> send me the address

then, as quick as you can so you don’t have time to overthink it, you text richie.

> work emergency, i have to cancel. sorry.

the response is immediate.

> text me when you get home.

you realize that you’re still stirring, and you turn off the stove. although you give him a couple minutes, richie doesn’t add anything. no joke to put spikes on the soft gesture, no expression of disappointment to make you feel guilty for canceling this late. nothing. text me when you get home, that’s all.

if you were that generous, you’d text back don’t stay up, let him get some extra sleep in preparation for tomorrow’s christmas hell. but you don’t. you want to think of him waiting for his phone to chime, staying awake for you, thinking of you, even worrying. so you react with a thumbs up to his message.

the next time your phone goes ping, it’s kevin sending you the address, and you head for the door.

you’re sitting on a coffee table beside the old sofa that holds your resting patient. lying on the coffee table beside you are half a dozen grape skittles, the remainder of your christmas eve meal. there’s literally baggies of cocaine sitting on the kitchen table, the tv is playing charlie and the chocolate factory, and everyone involved in this—including yourself—is so stupid that you’re all definitely going to jail. but you’re having one of your good nights.

only drugs compare to the state of pure focus that surgery grants you, and even though it’s always in shit circumstances done for shit people, you can’t help but feel like a serious machine doing all this ad hoc emergency shit. this has to be how athletes feel, after a game. it’s physical: your vision feels clearer, your hands are steady, your body’s slouched comfortable and sated. it was decent work you did, given the lack of fucking everything. you’re pretty sure howie won’t even have that bad of a limp.

kevin finishes counting your pay and hands it over. you begin to count it again, too—twenty, forty, sixty—and then look up at him.

what? he says.

you haul yourself up and walk over to the kitchen table, ignoring the cocaine in favor of the scale, on which you place a twenty. it comes up as 0.94 grams when it should be a single 1.0. so you throw your earnings in the sink, get out your lighter, and set it on fire.

the fire alarm! kevin rushes over to turn the tap on and put it out.

you can hear howie calling from the couch, what’s burning?

kev just tried to cheat me.

i did not, kevin says miserably, it was a misunderstanding.

he pulls his own wallet out of his back pocket and starts to count the money, but you take it from his hands, sit at the kitchen table, and begin counting money yourself, weighing each bill as you go. once you’ve taken a hundred and fifty, you stand up and call over to howie, night.

yo, howie says. is my, like. what are the chances they gotta amputate?

that gets you a little, despite everything. howie spent the past few hours thinking he was gonna lose an entire foot, and he was stubbornly proud enough that he almost made it without admitting the fear to anyone. in a way, you gotta give it to him. admiration’s too grand a word, but it’s something like that.

chances are super low, you say. as long as you follow instructions, keep an eye out for infection, and don’t get hooked on pills, you’re gonna be fine.

for a second, there’s silence. then: thanks, babygirl.

for that, you take another forty dollars from kevin’s wallet and point them at him. asshole tax, you say.

as soon as you’re out of the house, you can hear kevin locking the door behind you. then he says, goodnight!

i shoulda robbed you, you say. then you start down the sidewalk. it’s bitter cold and you’re not a hundred percent sure you’re headed in the right direction, but just then you feel invincible.

fuckin jagoffs, say to yourself.

on the train home, the peace and quiet is interrupted by a herd of college girls, twentysomethings all decked out in tinsel necklaces, clearly on their way to a different party, and hitting all the wrong notes in deck the halls.

most days, you’d hate this, but in your current state of satisfaction with yourself and the world in general, their effortless enjoyment doesn’t seem to completely shut you out. they’re so young, and one of them is sitting in another’s lap while a third drapes herself over her shoulder. they smell like spiced rum, they make it hard to be a bitter old crone.

one of the carolers makes direct eye contact with you, and instead of having the decency to keep herself to herself, she extends her hand to you and sings even louder, fa-la-la-la-ing like she’s god’s gift. for a second, you let yourself mouth along, fa-la-la-ing, but then she says, come on, i know you can do better than that! and nope, nope. fuck it.

you try to look away, she yells another, come on! and you give her the death glare. surprisingly, she keeps beckoning to you—they’re stubborn, kids these days—but eventually you win the way you knew you would.

she looks away and whispers in the ear of the lap-sitter. that girl, the tiniest of them all, gives you a look that could sear meat. you could break her in half with one hand tied behind her back, she really has the build of a hummingbird, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping her.

you roll your eyes, lean back with exaggerated deliberation, and get out your phone.

> i’m home.

you want somebody of your own, you want richie’s reply. but none comes.

he’s not waiting for you outside your apartment building, either, so there goes that mad hope.

when you get inside your apartment, you kneel to untie your boots and spot a flicker of movement on the floor. it’s a black ant scurrying towards your countertop. with a rising sense of horror, you straighten up and see a swarm of ants, dozens and dozens, maybe a hundred busily moving little black dots, crawling to and from the pot of macaroni and cheese on your stove. your stomach turns, and if you’d had a real dinner, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from throwing it up. as it is, you just gag. it feels like a violation, an invasion, and you’re more outraged about these fucking ants in your apartment—your fucking apartment—than you ever were about getting not paid or cheated or maybe even blackmailed.

you go into the kitchenette and get the ant spray out from under the sink, then you stand back and spray everything in sight. the whole fucking counter, even though, yes, you cook your food on that, and the stove, and the floor for good measure. fuck them all.

you should’ve known better than to leave food uncovered in this apartment. you’ve lived here for three years and this always fucking happens. you’d think the novelty would’ve worn off, but nope. it’s still as disgusting as it was the first time you woke up to see last night’s plate covered in black.

today, the spray isn’t working fast enough for you, so you get out a trash bag, put the pot in it, and head out for the dumpster.

out there in the cold, waiting for the ant spray to do its work inside the trash bag, you remember that you left your lighter in kevin’s house. you tip your head back and look up at the sky. it’s so thickly smothered in clouds, there’s barely a glow of moon.

yeah, you say.

after a while, you untie the bag, shake the dead ants off your pot, and throw the bag away. you’d stomp on the ants for spite, but that would necessitate looking at them, and you’ve had more than enough of that. you just head back for home.

you almost make it to the front door, and then you smell it, the smoke.

well? richie says from around the corner. he must have heard your footsteps. you coming or what?

you walk the last few steps and there, just around the corner, there he is. he has the navy hood pulled up over his head, both his hands shoved deep in his pockets, a cigarette between both lips. he looks at your pot with interest.

after a second, you say, you’re late.

something tickles the inside of your wrist and you flinch. one last ant has crawled up the handle of the pot and onto your arm; you drop the pot in the snow and shake the ant off you. it lands by richie, and he stomps it dead matter-of-factly.

it takes everything you’ve got not to start swearing like howie with a shot foot.

merry christmas? richie says after a second.

merry fuckin christmas. you reach out and take the cigarette from his lips. long drag. you needed that.

settling beside him so both of you can look out into the night, you hand the cigarette back. and that’s how it is for a while, sharing. the wind thins out, the streetlight across the way reflects in the glass of another apartment building's door.

when your body’s finally calmed down, you look over at him. i got you something.

aw, you didn’t have to, he say, a little curious and not particularly surprised. he probably thinks it’s a joke.

you hold your right hand palm up, and he takes his right hand out of its warm jacket pocket to mirror the gesture. then you reach into your hoodie and unclasp his gift from your neck.

the chain is gold. thick, but not so thick that it comes across comical. incongruous with you and with him, the weight of it and the shine, how new it is. when you lay it in his hand, it looks like a golden snake, intricate and flawless.

after a second, he gives you his cigarette like he can’t both smoke and think about it. then he speaks.

this is fake, yeah, he says.

hundred percent fake.

actually, it’s regifted. it was originally one of your boss’s christmas bonus gifts, and given that you pawned all the other christmas bonus gifts to pay rent, you’re pretty sure that the chain is solid gold. it’s for the best that he doesn’t know it, though.

as you watch, he puts it on, fumbling a little with the clasp. looks at it for a second, tucks it back inside his coat. there goes the last

yeah? you say, after a second.

yeah. think i like this sugar baby shit. keep ‘em coming, he says.

you laugh, real, so relieved that he didn’t take it weird, so relieved that you got lucky tonight and he got it the way he sometimes can, acceptance without explanation.

he lets you laugh, and then he says, mine’s better, though.

diamonds?

it’s back at my place, he says. i can drive?

you want that so bad, and you didn't even think to want it just seconds before.

yeah, you say, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out right beside the dead ant, unbothered.

you want to take the pot up?

you shrug, crouch down, and cover it with some snow; you’re not gonna leave him down here waiting for you, and you’re not gonna take him up to the horrorshow of dead ants either.

it’s still pretty obvious, richie says.

it’s christmas eve, who’s gonna bother digging in dirty snow to steal a pot?

this is chicago.

this is idle argument as companionship and you know that, but you're impatient. are you taking me home or what? yes, you can hear the double entendre. no, you don't fucking care.

there’s a slight pause before richie says, car’s this way.

in the car, there’s crumbs but not much mess; a coupon for personal pizzas in the cupholder, and that’s it. he must have cleaned.

when he starts the engine, you say, wait, and make an elaborate show of putting on your seatbelt. then you say, okay, now i’m ready.

fuck you, he says, and he’s still smiling when he starts to drive.

the radio is playing carols dimly in the background, and you don’t hate it.

you doing anything for christmas day? richie says.

i’m working christmas, you lie.

seriously? tell your boss he’s fucking barbaric.

would if you could; you’ve already tried to say as much in your many texts, but it is what it is.

yeah, you say. bunch of fuckin jackoffs, right?

jagoffs, he says, over-enunciating, frustration immediate. he really is too easy and he knows it. you’re—

jackoffs, that’s what i said, that’s what you told me—

if you can’t do it right, don’t do it at all. he has to drive with his right hand so he can make chopping motions for emphasis with his left hand, because of course he does.

you say, jackoffs.

you’re killing me.

and yet you go on surviving. you relent. got everything you need for ice fishing?

richie scoffs in disgust. yeah, but now carmy is trying to bail on me.

if he’s not gonna say, typical, then neither are you.

he wants to work on the twenty-sixth, he says.

oof.

yeah. like a full planning session, go over the rest of the rollout schedule with the entire staff and like… he rubs his forehead. i don’t know. like we haven’t even gone to christmas yet and he’s already, fucking. i don’t know!

i mean.

he glances over at you briefly.

carmy wants to make the staff come in on the twenty-sixth just to go over the renovation schedule again?

he’s out of his fucking mind.

you already know what you want to say, but you have to double-check it in your own head to make sure you’re not overstepping. you don’t actually know these people.

but also, fuck it.

you know, you say, you could tell him if he acts like this, syd’s gonna quit again.

he whistles. julie with the big guns.

how i’m built, you say.

yeah, i noticed, he says affectionately. it’s okay. i’ll figure it out.

i know you will. it’s kindness, and you mean it, and you don’t take it back.

thanks, he says.

you lean your forehead against the cold glass of the car door and watch chicago going by, all gold and black and white.

after a few minutes, he parks the car in an underground garage.

you ready for this? this is gonna rock your world, he says.

diamonds and rubies? you say, unbuckling your seat belt.

you’re gonna be fuckin crying.

diamonds and rubies and pearls?

at the door to his apartment, he says, close your eyes, hold out your hands, and wait here, so you do. when the door opens, you can smell whatever it was he made for his christmas eve dinner with eva. it smells like everything christmas eve should be, rich and homey. you could wait here for, say, half an hour. you could stretch this moment out. you wouldn’t mind.

okay, richie says. here.

when the gift touches your palm, you instinctively pull back. richie swears and catches it.

it’s hot! you say as you open your eyes.

it’s soup, he says. you want it cold?

you look down. yeah, that’s definitely french onion soup, with a big white and brown patch of melted cheese and toast on top. it’s an echo of what you made him when he was sick. it’s him showing off his work in comparison to your two-ingredient version. it’s unfortunately perfect. there’s no way he knew that you haven’t had anything for dinner except skittles.

it smells like home.

here. you hand the bowl back to richie, but only so you can take off your coat and your shoes.

there’s only one hook on the back of his door, so you hang your coat overtop his. as you move through his apartment, you take stock: the walls are still orange, but things are a little tidier and there are new drawings magnet-pinned to the fridge. eva’s going through a cat era, clearly. the kitchen lamp is as warm as before, and the cactus by the window has a small red ribbon on it, probably a nod to christmas.

you sit down at the kitchen table on one of the foldable stools, and richie sets your spoon and bowl in front of you. there’s a half-empty bottle of coors on the countertop behind you, and you take a sip of that. he sits down on the chair to your left, so he’s in your peripheral. he’s next to you.

you can feel it coming.

um, you say.

he glances over, and you can feel that too. what’s up.

don’t be a dick, okay. you say it very low and very flat, not even angry, because angry wouldn’t cut it.

the pause is too long, but at least he finally says, okay.

you pick up your spoon and take the first sip.

the bit of melted cheese hits first, warm and gooey and salty then the sweet savory richness of the broth, and yeah, okay. it’s happening. your eyes are wet.

you can feel him not saying anything about it, but before it can build up to torture, his phone rings.

sorry, he says, getting up. it’s tiff.

he must know from the ringtone alone, but you’re not even mad at it, you’re relieved. saved by the bell, another bit of good luck. maybe christmas is real.

uh-huh, you can hear him saying. yeah. that’s— he laughs, and you know from that laugh alone it’s something about eva. yeah, put her on. a beat, then. hey, honey. no. no, she’s right. listen, santa won’t come if you spy on him. the guy likes his privacy, okay? he’s not in it for the applause, he’s not in it for the publicity. pause. well, that’s what the cookies are for. i am being serious, that’s what they’re for. okay. who—okay. he snorts. okay, you got me. don’t tell your mother, though, okay? she really enjoys it. pause. it’s up to you. okay, i gotta go. i love you. hey. i love you.

that’s more than enough time for you to wipe your eyes on your sleeve, get all fucked up again listening to him, and wipe your eyes a second time. by the time richie sits back down, you’re basically normal.

that sounded like some saga, you say.

this jewish kid at school told all the christians that santa wasn’t real, he explains. and now she’s going around busting all the lying adults one by one.

you laugh.

they’re starting young, he says. when i was in school, they always used to make us wait until at least sixth grade before we could go around busting myths.

you’re jewish?

he shrugs. kinda sorta.

you see the opportunity to make another joke about him being zero percent italian, and you ignore it. did eva like the doll? you say instead.

yeah. i mean, it was a huge hassle, it’s so expensive i had to go halves with tiff, and i nearly had a heart attack when eva said something about kirsten cause i thought i’d got the wrong one— he starts eating again, eating soup and talking, and you don't hate it. which by the way, swedes? have the most boring american history of them all, i don’t know why they’d make a doll about that, but anyways, yeah. she loved it. he reaches across you and takes his beer back so he can drink the last dregs of it. ever since the divorce, we don’t even call it christmas eve, we just call it christmas one and christmas two. as is tradition.

he says the last three words kind of weird.

as is tradition? you repeat.

tiff and i, we don’t have a bunch of traditions from our parents, so it’s like. we make up a lot of stuff and then we say ‘as is tradition.’ cause it’s not.

i mean, you got two generations involved, so that counts.

eh, he says, drawing it out dubiously.

i got two-generations traditions, you say.

you didn’t intend to talk about your family, you weren’t thinking about that at all, you were just thinking about richie. but now you gotta sit in the silence as he decides whether or not follow up about your parents.

finally, richie says, you got a kid? he’s doing his best to be cool about it, but his voice goes up a little crazy on the last word.

no, i mean—you’re laughing. i meant me and my dad.

oh, he says, maybe a bit relieved, definitely a bit something, you can’t quite place it. oh.

i used to make us mac and cheese for christmas. with a leaf on top, like lettuce or spinach or something. cause, you know, that makes it salad.

that’s cool, he says flatly. after a second, he adds, less flat, i don’t have any traditions with my dad. i mean, he’s dead, but like before then, we never. so i think that’s cool.

you hate his dad. it’s a split-second decision, but you feel pretty confident about it.

two generations is all you need, you say. and you got eva. so it’s a tradition.

heard, he says.

when you glance over, you see the chain catching the light, gold over his dark shirt. he looks at you. you both keep eating.

eventually, you finish off two bowls of soup and a hot chocolate too, courtesy of eva’s swiss miss unicorn package. you feel a bit subdued by the ordeal of being human, but relaxed.

best christmas ever, you say.

really? richie says, like he believes it and feels bad for you.

god no, do you think i came out a dickens?

what the fuck is a dickens?

you’re illiterate, it’s okay. you look at him. you know that your eyes are a little red, but thankfully you can also see, reflected in his eyes, that he knows you're all right.

thank you, richie, you say. it’s all wrong, you shouldn’t be saying his name and you shouldn’t be saying thank you either, it’s thanks or nothing, but something about the formality feels a little heavier and therefore suited to the day. it’s getting late.

i’ll drive you? he says, and there’s a little extra question in it that you can’t bring yourself to consider.

you shake your head and get up from the table heavily, feeling a thousand years old. i’m good.

he gets up, follows you, stands there with his hands in shoved his pockets as you crouch to put on your shoes.

i wasn’t suggesting a sleepover, he says.

no, of course not, you say, and you congratulate yourself on not making it sound bitter.

unless, richie says.

you look up at him.

i have so many condoms, he says, deadpan. just. so fucking many. some of them are citrus flavored.

there he goes, saved it.

it’s not just tonight, is it? it’s not just tonight, it’s not just luck, it’s not just christmas; somehow, richie’s become…he’s figured it out, how to be with you. when to show up and when to let you go. not always, but more than enough, and he just. he wakes up and he struggles and he breaks shit and he irritates you and he calls eva and he watches youtube and he goes to bed and he wakes up and he struggles and he learns and you love him.

what a fucking time to find out. you look down and begin tying your shoes again.

you got pineapple flavor? you say.

in what world is pineapple citrus? richie says.

well, tough luck. you back up and turn around to put on your coat. for me, it’s pineapple condoms or nothing.

you’re a real high-maintenance fuck.

you laugh. michael used to like that about you, just how easy you were, or how easy you made yourself. buddy, you got no idea.

it’s been such a long day for both of you, apart and together. of course you’re getting messy, of course it’s time to go. you zip up your coat, run your hand through your hair.

let me drive you, he says again.

you wave him off. no, i need to walk. clear my head.

it’s december in chicago, fuckin pitch black—

i’ll be fine.

it’s christmas eve, are you really gonna punish me for a fucking joke? he says, and you look up, startled; you didn’t know he was upset. in retrospect, you were just focusing on avoiding his eyes, so what did you expect?

i’m not punishing you for anything, you were great. richie. you look at him straight on and steady, so he understands. a little gentle, as gentle as you feel you can get away with. you truly have to go, and there’s no resentment in it. i just need to clear my head. i’ll be fine, i’m always fine.

you never… richie trails off, eyes you, decides against finishing the sentence. you’re stubborn.

always. you give him a small smile. thanks for the soup.

goodnight.

that should be the end, but it feels unfinished. his blue eyes are alive to the possibilities when you reach out, but you just touch the chain with a fingertip where it rests over his collarbone. his right hand moves a little and you draw back, your other hand on the doorknob at once, already leaving.

two days later, the cops issue a warrant for your arrest.

[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #do i know you?#the bear imagine #diky #guess who's still at it? ME!!! guess who's not giving up? ME!!!!!!

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comtessezouboff · 1 year ago

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La Galerie des Cotelles Set

A retexture by La Comtesse Zouboff — Original Mesh by @thejim07

At the very moment when Louis XIV wrote the first version of 《Manière de montre les jardins de Versailles》, he expressed his desire to recreate his words as images.

In 1688, he comissioned an outstanding set of 24 paintings describing the different groves in gardens with mythological allegories to be placed in the galerie at the Trianon de Marbre.

The ornamentation of the gallery linking Trianon to Trianon-sous-bois was entrusted to three painters between 1688 and 1689: Jean Cotelle painted twenty-one of the twenty-four canvases hung in this room, Etienne Allegrain two others, and Jean-Baptiste Martin.

This gallery, decorated around 1690, bears the name of the author of most of the paintings which appear there and which represent views of the groves of Versailles and Trianon, embellished with mythological figures.

This set remained in place until the First Empire. Napoleon I considered replacing them with paintings to his glory. The works will return to their original location in 1913 after being restored to 《La Colection Royale》 by Louis Philippe and can be seen there to this day.

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This set contains 24 paintings with the original frame swatches, fully recolourable. They are:

View of the Amphitheater of the Grove of the Théâtre d'Eau with the Toilette of Psyche.

View of the Bassin du Dragon and the Gutter of the Neptune Fountain with Apollo Slaying the Serpent Python.

View of the Colonnade Grove with Apollo Served by the Nymphs.

View of the Entrance of the Labyrinth Grove with Nymphs and Cupid Catching Birds in their Nets.

View of the Fountain of the Fifty-Two Jets, or Plat-Fond at the Trianon with Mars and Venus.

View of the Grove of l'Encelade with Jupiter Slaying Enceladus the Giant with the Feast of Lycaon.

View of the Grove of L'Étoile or la Montagne d'Eau with Diana Saving Arethusa from Alpheus.

View of the Grove of the Arc de Triomphe Towards the Fountain of La France Triomphante with Nymphs Chaining Captives.

View of the Grove of the Arc de Triomphe with Venus and Adonis on a Chariot Driven by Cupid.

View of the Grove of the Baths of Apollo or des Dômes with Diana and her Nymphs.

View of the Grove of the Labyrinth Showing the Fountain of the Fight of the Animals and the Two Fountains of the Fox and the Crane with Diana and the Nymphs.

View of the Grove of the Salle de Bal with Armide Crowning Renaud.

View of the Grove of the Théâtre d'Eau with the Toilette of Psyche.

View of the Marais or Chêne-Vert Grove with Nymphs Playing Various Games.

View of the Neptune Fountain, the Bassin du Dragon and the Allée d'Eau with the Judgement of Paris.

View of the Orangerie and the Palace from the Pièce d'Eau des Suisses with the Abduction of Helen of Troy.

View of the Orangerie of Versailles and the Pièce d'Eau des Suisses with Vertumnus and Pomona.

View of the Parterre d'Eau with the Apotheosis of Venus.

View of the Parterres of the Trianon de Marbre with Zephyrus and Sleeping Flora

View of the Trois-Fontaines Grove with Garden Loves.

View of the Trois-Fontaines Grove with Venus and the Nymphs.

View of the Feast or Council Room Grove in the Palace of Versailles.

View of the Grove of the Miroir d'Eau Fountain and the Île-Royale in the Palace of Versailles.

Perspective view of the Grove of the Galerie des Antiques.

Found under decor > paintings for 1.850§

(you can just search for "Cotelle" using the catalog search mod to find the entire ser much easier!)

Retextured from:"The virgin of the Rosary" found here

Disclaimer!

All of the paintings shown here aren't as blurry as in the screenshots and its colors are more vibrant in-game!

Cc shown here:

Walls, door and bench by @thejim07

Floor by @martassimsbookcc

Windows by @missyzim

Chandelier and garland by @hydrangeachainsaw

Pediment by Mutske (TSR)

Consoles by ShinoKCR (TSR)

Drive

(Sims3Pack | Package)

(Useful tags below)

@joojconverts @ts3history @ts3historicalccfinds @deniisu-sims @katsujiiccfinds @gifappels-stuff

-------------------------------------------------------

#the sims 3 #ts3 #s3cc #sims 3 #sims 3 cc #sims 3 download #sims 3 decor #sims 3 paintings #baroque #trianon #louis xiv #palace of versailles #wall decor

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year ago

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Branched Paths

Part of MegaSound Week 2023 - Hosted on Tumblr by @mega-wave-superior Prompt: Day 4 - Solidarity/Solitude

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Megatron/Soundwave

Characters: Soundwave

Summary: In which Soundwave reflects on Megatron’s absence.

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Fic under cut. See AO3 for complete notes.

The mottled yellow-green volcanic world of Io, backlit by the light of Jupiter’s thick, gaseous atmosphere made for lovely viewing as Soundwave stood at one of the windows in his quarters.

The day’s labors of mediating disputes and trying to increase resident morale could finally be put aside; Soundwave could appreciate the true value of a few hours of respite.

Even at the cost of being nearly alone with his own thoughts.

Sanctuary Station, orbiting slowly in Io’s gravity well, was just that… a sanctuary, free from the prejudices of their homeworld. Or at least it was in theory.

Soundwave knew that Galvatron didn’t truly believe in the core of their cause; he had merely seen an army to leverage for further conquest in the vacuum caused by Megatron’s departure. At least Galvatron had given Soundwave, with the help of Earth’s humans, much latitude to make a home for the Decepticons who were finished with all of it.

Thankfully Galvatron was rarely here, Soundwave thought, leaning his hands against the wall on either side of the reinforced glass. That Golden Age relic’s brand of loud domination wasn’t right; it wasn’t the same. He was a hollow substitute for the real thing, for the visionary he replaced.

Ravage’s reports from the Lost Light were few and far between, no sign of changed minds. No sign of remembering what they had promised each other in the dark on so many nights, hunkered down in some besieged base or tucked away into a secure corner of the Nemesis with their cables intimately entwined. No sign of repayment for Soundwave’s unerring devotion over millions of years.

But Ravage didn’t know.

Soundwave had never shared the secret and Megatron likely never would either. Ravage would become… disappointed in them both, he was sure.

The sounds of Rumble and Frenzy breaking glass in the hallway barely made it into Soundwave’s quarters, momentarily disrupting his thoughts. He ought to invest in better soundproofing.

This peace, even if it was fragile and hinged on the conditional generosity of understandably mistrustful organic aliens, was the start of what they had wanted all along. It wasn’t ideal, but the Decepticons had always been skilled at the art of “making do.”

Megatron should have been here, with him, helping him herd their soldiers into the future, into the beginnings of everything they had ever wanted.

The promise of no longer hiding their sparks in the shadows behind professionalism and the chain of command.

One of Io’s volcanoes began to smoke, indicative of an impending eruption. The lack of a thick, obscuring atmosphere meant much of the surface geological activity was visible to the optics, even from orbit. The moon’s thin blanket of sulfur dioxide gas left nothing to the imagination.

While Soundwave’s spark had not yet forgotten Megatron’s defection, his betrayal, the righteous hurt did nothing to alleviate the lonely chill without his presence.

He knew that, if the opportunity arose, he would welcome Megatron back with his arms wide open.

#fic #megasound #soundwave #drabble #maccadam #idw1 #megasoundweek #megasound2023

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windowanddoorsouthflorida · 2 months ago

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Looking for Premium Quality Custom Windows in Jupiter? Visit Window Professionals Today

More - https://www.windowprofessionals.com/jupiter-showroom/

#Luxury Windows and Doors Jupiter #Impact Windows and Doors Jupiter #Vinyl Windows Jupiter #Replacement Windows Jupiter

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window-replacement-group · 11 months ago

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Your Guide to Top-Tier Impact Windows & Doors for Florida Homes

Living in Florida means embracing stunning sunsets, vibrant coral reefs, and the occasional tropical storm. While the beauty is undeniable, hurricane season brings a different kind of excitement — one that requires preparation and resilience. For Florida homeowners, impact windows and doors aren’t just an upgrade; they’re an investment in peace of mind and property protection.

What are Impact Doors and Windows and Why Do They Matter in Florida?

Imagine windows and doors can withstand winds exceeding 200 mph and projectiles hurled by hurricanes. That’s the power of impact windows and doors. Constructed with laminated glass and reinforced frames, they’re built to deflect debris, resist shattering, and stay intact even in the face of extreme weather.

Beyond hurricane protection, impact windows and doors offer a multitude of benefits:

Enhanced security: The sturdy construction deters break-ins and provides an extra layer of protection against intruders.

Noise reduction: The thicker glass effectively blocks out unwanted noise, creating a more peaceful haven within your home.

Energy efficiency: Many impact windows come with specialized coatings or laminated glass that helps regulate temperature, reducing energy bills and reliance on air conditioning.

Increased home value: Properties with impact windows and doors are often more attractive to potential buyers, boosting resale value.

With any significant investment, concerns might arise. Here are some common misconceptions about impact windows and doors and why they shouldn’t deter you:

Myth: Impact windows are unattractive and block natural light. Fact: Modern impact windows come in various styles and finishes, seamlessly blending with your home’s aesthetic. Their clear, laminated glass allows ample natural light to flow in.

Myth: They’re difficult to open and close. Fact: Today’s impact windows operate smoothly and easily, just like traditional windows.

Myth: They’re too expensive. Fact: While the initial cost is higher than regular windows, the long-term benefits in terms of storm protection, energy savings, and security can outweigh the initial investment. Consider it an investment in your home’s safety and value.

Keeping Your Guard Up: Inspecting Impact Windows and Doors for Damage

Even the most robust windows need occasional TLC. Regularly inspecting your impact windows and doors for damage is crucial to ensure their functionality and protection. Here’s what to look for:

Cracks or chips in the glass: While impact-resistant, even these windows can suffer damage from severe impacts.

Loose or damaged frames: Check for gaps or cracks around the frame, especially after a storm.

Deterioration of weatherstripping: Worn-out seals can compromise energy efficiency and allow water infiltration.

Hardware issues: Ensure locks, handles, and hinges are functioning smoothly and securely.

If you notice any damage, schedule a professional inspection and repair immediately. Remember, timely maintenance keeps your impact windows and doors performing at their peak.

Eco-Conscious Comfort: The Environmental Benefits of Impact Windows and Doors

Beyond safeguarding your home, impact windows and doors contribute to a greener future. Here’s how:

Reduced energy consumption: Their insulating properties help maintain consistent temperatures, lowering reliance on HVAC systems and reducing energy bills.

Enhanced hurricane resilience: By minimizing storm damage, you’ll prevent debris from polluting waterways and landfills.

Durable and long-lasting: Impact windows have a lifespan considerably longer than regular windows, reducing manufacturing waste and resource consumption associated with frequent replacements.

Investing in impact windows and doors is a conscious choice, benefiting both your home and the environment.

Style Meets Strength: Popular Window and Door Styles for Florida Homes

With the need for protection comes the desire for aesthetics. Thankfully, a variety of stylish impact window and door options cater to diverse Florida home styles:

Coastal Chic: Opt for hurricane-rated French doors leading out to your patio, embracing the indoor-outdoor living Florida is known for.

Modern Minimalism: Sleek aluminum frame windows with expansive views complement the clean lines of contemporary architecture.

Mediterranean Flair: Arched impact windows and wrought iron door accents add a touch of Old World charm to your Spanish-inspired home.

Traditional Elegance: Classic double-hung impact windows with white frames maintain the timeless beauty of your historic bungalow.

#impact windows #impact doors #hurricane proof windows #florida windows & doors #impact windows and doors #hurricane proof windows and doors #window and door replacement #florida homes #united states of america #jupiter #boca raton #palm beach

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idontknowreallywhy · 2 years ago

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Best Jupidad Moments #1 Nevermoor - Ch 3 - The First Meeting

Figured I’d start to collate some of these in an attempt to analyse what it is that makes this the most beautiful father/daughter dynamic in fiction.

Herewith my ramblings (you have been warned…)

He stood with his feet wide apart and hands stuffed into trouser pockets, leaning casually against the doorframe as if he had spent half his life standing in that spot and couldn’t think of a place he felt more at home. As if he himself owned Crow Manor and the Crows were merely his dinner guests.

His eyes locked on to Morrigan’s. He grinned. ‘Hello, you.’

There’s something about how he says “you” here, rather than saying her name. It’s so familiar, so personal and it straightaway elevates her to the most important person in the room - he doesn’t NEED to say her name, it is obvious she is why he is there. It’s all about her now (whereas 5 mins ago even her ‘last meal’ was painfully NOT about her at all).

And he grins, probably nobody has ever looked at her and seemed happy before and I get the impression that people usually avoid looking at her at all (ref the fact she isn’t allowed to make eye contact). I feel this must be part of why she so quickly trusts him because he’s the first person ever to give her the impression her existence is a positive thing.

‘Mourn the death of your daughter?’ echoed Jupiter. He took two deliberate steps towards Corvus and paused, his eyes glittering. The hairs on Morrigan’s arms stood up. Jupiter’s voice dropped an entire octave, and he spoke with a cold, quiet anger that was terrible to behold. ‘Can you possibly mean the daughter standing right in front of you? The one who is demonstrably, superbly, brilliantly alive?’

Immediate shift to the other heart melting facet to our Jupidad - the protectiveness. We find out later he’s been watching her for a while and I really get a sense at this point that he is SO APPALLED with how callously she’s been treated her whole life.

Whereas Corvus appears unbothered by how his words impact his daughter, Jupiter is the opposite - despite the fact he isn’t speaking to her directly he picks his words for her benefit - “superbly” “brilliantly”. Bet she’s never heard them said about her before. He’s also underlining how superb and brilliant life itself is, hopefully giving her the courage to answer the next question…

Morrigan,’ said Jupiter, in a voice very different from the one he’d just used with her father. ‘Don’t you want to live?’

Morrigan flinched. What sort of a question was that? ‘It doesn’t matter what I want.’

‘It does,’ he insisted. ‘It matters so very, very much. Right now it’s the only thing that matters.’

He absolutely shifts tone when speaking to her - this isn’t a guy who loses the plot or can’t control his temper when he gets angry. He puts the very justifiable anger away and immediately replaces it with compassion.

He also doesn’t dismiss her feelings - he understands why she thinks the way she does but he doesn’t let her stay in that mindset. He doesn’t just tell her what to do, he doesn’t say “don’t be daft, we’ve got to run” but instead takes the time to help her realise she has the right to decide her own fate, because despite what she’s been told for 11 years what she thinks DOES matter.

And then he waits to hear the words from her, despite the Hunt closing in outside (who he knows will likely kill him too if he opposes them, he must be at least a little scared for himself as well as her).

I think that Jupiter is already chipping away at the abuse and lies that have defined Morrigan’s life and he’s only been in the room 10 mins.

The windows began to rattle. There was a faint smell of burning. ‘What’s that?’ She squeezed his hand automatically. ‘What’s happening?’ Jupiter leaned down to whisper in her ear. ‘Do you trust me?’ She answered without thinking. ‘Yes.’ ‘You sure?’ ‘Positive.’ ‘All right.’ He looked her in the eye.

And so she trusts him implicitly. She squeezes his hand like a little girl might her Daddy’s when she needs reassurance. If he hadn’t already demonstrated that he has her best interests firmly at heart it would have been weird that she does this so soon, but it isn’t because he has.

Again, he looks her in the eye.

#nevermoor #jupidad #jupiter north #morrigan crow

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thevindicativevordan · 11 months ago

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Comics this week?

Anonymous asked: Comics this week ? Especially Ultimate Spider-Man.

Anonymous asked: What did you think about Ultimate Spider-Man?

Ultimate Spider-Man #1 - Dare I say it: Amazing. Spider-Man is back to being the best/hottest book on the market. Like the original USM we go an entire first issue without Peter even wearing the costume, but every bit of set-up here felt like it was expanding the kind of possibilities for where Hickman could go. Peter and MJ both sound and feel right in a way the 616 version do not anymore. MJ being a business owner and the real bread winner of the family raises an interesting possibility in a world where corporations run everything. How far could she possibly climb? Enough to attract the Council's attention? I called Ben living in this universe while May died, but I did not see Ben and Jonah being the best buddy duo of 2024. Love their dynamic and I really hope neither of the two die any time soon. I like what I see of Ben, he's the same principled guy as always, but he's got a bit of a chip on his shoulder here that explains why Peter usually does too. Normally we just don't get to see that because he only exists to die. Can't talk about the kids too much yet, although I want that scene of May holding the ball with the spider to be foreshadowing her own future as Spider-Girl.

Spider-Man has always been an interesting hybrid of the Superman/Batman archetypes, but 6160 Peter I think leans more towards the Superman side. Besides the obvious similarity of Peter being an investigative reporter, here being a hero is what he wants, he's seemingly motivated not by guilt like 616 Peter, but out of a sense of altruism and also a desire for more from his life. Oh and his first big foe is a bald guy who controls NYC via money. Guess the "reveal" regarding the variant covers is that Peter's StarkTech suit (can't believe Hickman went there and did it in a way I don't hate) is that it can shift in appearance between the different suits at will. I cannot wait to see the Peter and Harry dynamic play out, sure looks like we will see their friendship form from joining forces as Spider-Man and Green Goblin, only to fall apart as Harry falls more and more into madness. Now I really want to see him married to Gwen, but it seems like he's a bachelor. Perhaps Gwen is a cop in this universe and she might still enter the fray.

Responsibility is the ubiquitous theme of Spider-Man, but here it's presented in a different light. Peter had a heroic destiny taken from him, and he accepts it back willingly despite the costs it's sure to inflict. Hickman seems to be tackling the idea that the rich and powerful have robbed us of the glorious future we were supposed to have, and now the question is if there are enough good people who feel responsible for the collective good left in the world to take that future back. Certainly a relevant topic, one that puts a new spin on Marvel being "the world outside your window".

Action Comics #1061 - Timms levelled up on art and gave us one hell of a fight sequence. Poor Jupiter is down one moon. Good issue, Bizarro tapping into magic to recreate his home via replacing Superman's is an interesting premise. Aaron's got a good handle on Clark's voice and the voices of his supporting cast, think this Marvel Star writing Superman will go down easier than the last one did.

Green Lantern # 7 - Found out where the other Lanterns are and that "death" scene for Kilowag is a total fakeout with no body. Bringing Hal to Sinestro and trying to talk things out was a doomed endeavor, no way was that confrontation ending without violence.

Blade #7 - Kind of a filler issue, Hill's been uneven lately here which is disappointing because he started strong.

#ultimate spider man #weekly reviews

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daisy-mooon · 1 year ago

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Isn't True

Whumptober 2023, Day 2: "They don't care about you."

"They don't care about you." Nero says, in a tone that's somewhere between honest and comforting, with something poisonous hidden underneath. Meg feels paralysed, the rage from her tantrum subdued and killed like her feelings are nothing more than a wild beast that needs to be slaughtered.

What he's saying isn't true. They do care about her. The people at Camp Half-Blood. Camp Jupiter. The Waystation. Her home cares about her. Apollo cares about her.

"I know this is hard, Meg." His hand drifts to her shoulder and holds it. It's not hard or forceful or hurtful, but comforting. "But the people around you can lie. You mustn't blame yourself for falling for manipulation. Especially Apollo's."

It's not true. Apollo does care for her. He's like… he's like her brother. She echoes this. It sounds empty and defeated.

"Meg." Nero sighs. It makes her skin crawl. "You may see Apollo as a brother. But it's unlikely that he sees you as a sister. He already has one - remember Artemis?" His voice hesitates as I'd he doesn't know what he's going to say. He does. She hates him. "I suspect...that Apollo is using you as a replacement for his twin, until he returns to godhood."

Meg wants to scream, wants to slap him, wants to run away and hide and never look at him again. The memory of Apollo curled up in Artemis'- Diana's arms haunts her. She's not- she knows she's more than a replacement-

"Yes, I would die to save Meg McCaffrey." She remembered him saying, through the spiral of deathly haze she'd been subjected too in the Dark Oracle. He had said that. Not too her, as a reassurance, but too the spirit, as an admission. Forget any sibling like relationship, he cared about her, he did-

"Oh Meg." Nero starts to stroke along her back. "You poor, poor child."

She sniffs, and tries to hold on to what should be on what is the truth. Apollo cares about her. He'll enact their plan, do it with Lu and a burst of godly rage, and then save her. He has too.

The sunlight doesn't fully come through the windows. She tries to focus on that watery, half hidden star, and not on the beast sitting beside her.

#whumptober2023 #no.2 #“they don't care about you”#abuse tw #child abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #the trials of apollo #pjo #toa #pjo hoo toa #meg mccaffrey #nero pjo #nero toa #ao3 #archive of our own

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shortnasties · 9 months ago

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2867. I Don't Care, Really, I Don't

This is called "I Don't Care, Really, I Don't." Curiosity sleeps well.

Everyone knows Bob has replaced his wife with one of those lifelike dolls. Bob's wife, Margie, absconded to Mexico with a handsome stock trader. What Bob has done is, yes, unnatural, but also can you blame him?

Shhh, here he is now...

"Whatcha talking about?" says Bob.

"I wasn't talking."

"Yes you was. I seen you talking just now," says Bob. "You was talking about me, wasn't you?"

"I wasn't talking at all, Bob."

"Don't give me that at all Bob bullshit," says Bob. "You was talking about my new situation."

"Bob—"

"Fuck off with the Bob!" says Bob. "Fuck it straight to Mars and Jupiter's tits. I don't care, really, I don't. Nobody'll understand what a man feels like he has to do. Nobody should have to understand."

Bob meanders back to his yard, stopping once to wave up at an empty window.

#prose #fiction #story #who knows #other stuff #i don't know #bob #doll #i don't care #intrusion #narration #neighbors #everybody knows #stacy leigh art

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king-of-better · 2 years ago

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Number.44: Prologue to the End

10 years ago, Jupiter-X, which was brought back by Jupiros-1, exploded, and all subsequent missions were lost in space. THE POWER has dissipated from the brother's bodies now.

The producer of anime series GaGaGachi is Zonderised by Arm.

Hana tells Mamoru she saw him in purification form, questions if he is an alien, and runs away. Isamu and Ai take Mamoru on a Hot Springs vacation.

EI-74 hijacks all broadcasts, transmitting GaGaGachi worldwide. This enables Arm and Paggliacio to open an ES Window undetected by all but the J-Ark crew, who sneak after them.

GGG realise there must be something up, but can't reach Mamoru.

Ayame, angry about her wrestling not being on, drags Hana to the TV centre, where the Zonder appears and grabs Hana, Ayame calls GGG.

The Mobile Unit arrives, struggling to fight.

Mamoru finally senses EI-74, and runs into his parents, who understand he has something to do. When he asks about not being their child they assure him he is their son regardless of where he came from.

Mamoru rushes out to where GaiGar is struggling with EI-74, which still has Hana captive, and uses his power to block the signal scramble and rescue Hana. GaoGaiGar forms and transforms EI-74 into light. Mamoru tells Hana he is an alien, but it turns out her apprehension with Mamoru is due to believing he had been replaced by an alien.

Afterwards, the Orbit Base detects an ES Window, and from it drifts the J-Carrier, with only an unconscious Kaidou aboard.

Number.45: GGG goes to Jupiter.

Mamoru enjoys a Christmas with his family, befor Gai and Galeon come to pick him up.

GGG has determined that the remaining 17 Primevals have gone to Jupiter to use THE POWER to become powerful enough to conquer the world, and J-Der was forced to stay behind so Arma could escape. Mamoru intends to go with Kaidou to stop them, but is assured all of GGG will be there, the mission will launch in 24 hours.

Volfogg restores Tomoro 017, the American members hold a rock concert aboard Stadio 7, Ushi writes a letter to his brothers, Taiga and Hyuma share a drink, the Entoji in his father's place, Mikoto has another dizzy spell and asks her parents to watch over her, Leo expresses to Gai regret and recalls the loss of Kizuna. Mamoru asks Kaidou why he isn't going to see his mother, Kaidou claims he never let anyone get close, so when he vanished no one would miss him, unlike Mamoru.

GGG launches the J-Carrier, Susanoh, Izanagi, Amaterasu, with all units, and Taiga makes a speech to the world, Gai again sees the girl.

J-Ark appears first in what was meant to be feint, and is immediately attacked by Arm, merged with Europa, and the GGG emerge they find Primevals have merged with all of the moon's of Jupiter, and Paggliacio initiates a sealing process before merging with a core.

J-Ark is buffeted by a final attack, Kaidou sends a last message to Latio.

Leo and Volfogg there's only one option, launching Murakumo and the Double Head Driver, determining a way to create an opening using Murakumo's sensors, but the opening could only be open for a half second, but J-Der could make it, escaping as both Drivers shatter, reaching J-Carrier and forming King J-Der, he uses J-Quath to disrupt the Primeval and allow GGG to escape, as they emerge Gai sees her again. Leo detects the 17th Primeval is within Jupiter, and is then immediately shot down, falling into the planet and burns up.

Number.46: Those Who Have Courage

Leo awakens to the 3 versions of the girl above him, they merge into one, his wife, Kizuna, who used the Power but could only appear to Gai. They hold eachother.

GGG mourns Leo's death, GaoGaiGar also went chasing after.

King J-Der recovers 2 codes, GGG struggling as Kaidou purified the cores they have. Susanoh is downed, all hands evacuating to Amaterasu as Volfogg keeps the assault up, Mikoto screams for Gai as Arm attacks.

Gai is awoken by a voice, Cain, a backup saved within Galeon, he was damaged in the battle with EI-01, only now restored by THE POWER. Thanking Gai for acting in his stead, as he fades he unseals the last of Latio's powers. Star GaoGaiGar flies out of Jupiter, Mamoru now accepting his other parents as well, as Leo and Kizuna advise Gai to use THE POWER.

Star GaoGaiGar, filled with the THE POWER, arrives to save the others, and everyone launches the counterattack, each of the Mobile Unit flooding with THE POWER. As GoRyuJin and GenRyuJin form, Star GaoGaiGar uses the Goldion Hammer to swiftly destroy all the Primevals battling King J-Der, there are now 9 Zonder Crystals left.

Susanoh's Reflector Beam destroys 3 more, the Brothers 3 more between them, Star GaoGaiGar another.

Landing atop Arm, J concludes their battles by destroying him, chasing the core into Jupiter.

Within the Core within Jupiter, Paggliacio and Pasdar declare analysis of THE POWER complete, announcing fusion with the Z Master, forming a humanoid form and absorbing Arm's Core, he grabs J, and takes the near complete Zonder Crystal, throwing him away, the 3 entities within prepare recombination and restoration.

King J-Der flies out of Jupiter, warning of the threat,the true form of the 31 Primevals, the Z-Master, and inside Arm's form is immediately ready to launch Zonder Spores, using ES Windows to fire them at earth.

Mamoru and Kaidou urge them that if they can recover the Crystal they can purify it, and stop the attack.

Number.47: Ending the Mechanisation Threat

Hirata, Nozaki and Inubouzaki, still aboard the Orbit Base, are monitoring the rapid Zonderisation of Earth, with what staff remained, G-Island City is being evacuated.

Mamoru knows that the Heart Primeval controls the Z-Master, so that's their target, unfortunately, their attacks do nothing, while it's are devastating, destroying Susanoh totally, Big Volfogg only forming and escaping due to THE POWER. GaoGaiGar and the Mic Sounders Brigade attempt the Gravity Lens strategy, but the Z-Master reflects it, hitting the full brigade and leaving Mic the last of the XCR series, I dying in his arms. Z-Master declares the anger and hatred they feel to be what will cause chaos throughout the universe, extolling the virtues of forced mechanisation.

The Braves are sent falling to the planets as GGG determine the Z-Master is continuing to absorb THE POWER, from this they develop a plan to have the Braves travel by the path collecting THE POWER to reach the Heart. J-Ark carries the others along the channels, as the Z-Master downs Izanagi.

The Braves find themselves attacked by Brain, the Red Planet Warriors stay to fight it off, when Ear appears next, Big Volfogg faces him, GoRyuJin faces Nose, Mic tackles Ribs, Spine is next, facing GenRyuJin, Stomach and Liver are knocked aside by Star GaoGaiGar using Goldion Hammer, and they with Mamoru at last reach Heart Primeval, which continues the spiel of mechanisation being needed to stop Minus Energy, rejecting King J-Der's rejections as the others arrive.

The Brave Corps exact a joint attack to penetrate the Vain, allowing King J-Der to enter Heart and, recognising THE POWER is not the power of destruction, unleash THE POWER inside Heart,

THE POWER breaks King J-Der apart as much as Heart, and subsequently the Z-Master, J tells Gai they'll settle things another day, Kaidou asks Mamoru to look after their friends, and together Tomoro, J and Kaidou reflect that they've achieved their aims, Kaidou taking a final moment to think of his mother.

The Z-Master breaks apart, with a last implied threat. Protected by Mamoru, the Brave Robots return to Amaterasu, Manor using all his power to purify the Zonder Crystal.

Earth, and doubtless other worlds, are reverted to a non-mechanised state, and as everyone celebrates, Mikoto lies unconscious at her console.

Number.48: Life

As Mamoru uses what is essentially Hell and Heaven to purify the Zonder Crystal, Gai reflects on the battles and those they lost.

Mikoto awakens in sickbay, Gai taking her to Amaterasu's bridge to witness with everyone the approach to earth, as everyone discusses what they plan to do, the new reports to a great many familiar faces on GGG's return and docking at the Orbit Base.

Mamoru reunites with his parents, then sits with Hana. The Brave Robots are going to immediate overhaul, while all understand, RaiRyu and Mic are impatient, but all discuss their biggest battles.

GGG have a small ceremony for Leo, Mikoto and Gai then stop by the Utsugi grave, reflecting how it's been 3 years since the nightmare started, Mikoto remembering encountering Pasdar as her home burned.

Together they see Galeoria pass overhead, recalling that last time it passed was the day Mikoto gave him his pendant, which she's glad he still has, she gives him now a love letter she's kept all this time, and asks to stay by his side. Then suddenly she collapses.

Orbit Base medical staff find nothing wrong, it seems she's just exhausted.

Mamoru and his parents look at albums of various trips, later in bed, he feels an ill sensation, but can't tell why.

On the class trip next day, everyone reflects on the wild year they've had since the trip to garbage island. Hana mentions they haven't seen Kaidou since the battle of Tokyo, and makes Mamoru promise not to leave, Ushi, Reiko and Sunou start trading the pair, joking they should marry now, when Mamoru's senses suddenly trigger.

Aboard the Orbit Base, Mikoto convulses, and drains Gai's power when he grabs her, she then transforms into what looks like a Zonder or Primeval state, even though those in the Main Order Room know that should be impossible, draining power as she moves through the Orbit Base, to Amaterasu, simply floating past the incapacitated Braves. Gai, with no recourse, on catching up to her, seals her behind a Deadlock, but she manages to separate the portion of Amaterasu and send it falling towards earth.

Landing in the city, Mamoru triggers Galeon, as the Zonuda reforms the remains of Amaterasu into a Robot.

As Galeon appears to defend him, Mamoru begs the lion not to give it's life.

Number.49: Someday, in the Sea of Stars.

The team aboard the Orbit Base, which has lost power, recognise EI-01 must have implanted the seed of a New Machine Species into Mikoto 3 years ago, which has now matured into a lifeform immune to the G-Stone, Mamoru recognises that it is sublimating everything.

Mamoru flies out to Galeon, sensing Mikoto inside of Zonuda.

With their systems failing, in order to allow Final Fusion, the Brave Robots request to have their AI systems and GS-Rides implanted into the GaoMachines, as effort is made to get Gai moving. Mic manages to get Amaterasu moving before his systems fail completely.

Mamoru's friends encourage him as he and Galeon struggle against the Zonuda Robo, when Amaterasu appears it shoot it down, but the GaoMachines emerge. HyoRyu and EnRyu are piloting LinerGao, FuRyu and RaiRyu are in DrillGao, and Volfogg controls StealthGao II, releasing Gai towards Galeon. GoldyMarg has had his AI placed straight into the Goldion Hammer.

With Final Fusion, Star GaoGaiGar is formed, and begins the battle.

Unfortunately, the Zonuda Robo swiftly sublimates the Phantom Rings, and Volfogg is forced to eject the Ul-Tech Engines when they start being affected, and it even resists the Goldion Hammer, Goldy jettisons the Hammer head right before his AI is sublimated.

Despite recognising the reasons the New Machine Species may have come to it's conclusions, they refuse to give in, and Gai uses Hell and Heaven, it doesn't penetrates, but Mamoru throws himself in, weakening the barrier enough for the next punch to do it, the 2 robots tearing eachother apart as the Mobile Unit give Gai last encouragement, and with a last effort the Core is pulled from the Robot.

The devastation is incalculable, GaoGaiGar seems motionless, as the core returns to Zonuda.

As Zonuda starts sublimating GaoGaiGar as Gai holds the unconscious Mamoru, Mikoto's conscious begs Gai to kill her, as be steps forward, being sublimated, he says they will die together, sorry for not saving her.

The two restate their love for each others, and Gai asks Mamoru for help, his G-Stone triggering and activating the one in the GaoBrace, and Gai uses the purification ritual.

Hana awakens, and looks over the city, as Galeon's eyes relight, Mikoto looks up to see Mamoru in purification mode, and Gai stood before her, naked as the day he was born, no longer a Cyborg. The two hold eachother, and Mamoru flies away, and sees Division II: Multi-Purpose Special Machine Ship, Kanayago, flying in. Taiga orders the deployment of the Carpenters, the mass-production versions of the Pliers, which set to work repairing everything.

Aware of the possibility of other New Machine Species left behind by the Zonders, Mamoru has decided to go into space with Galeon and try to help others, Ai telling him to go. Gai and Mikoto see him off, Gai promising to use his new G-Stone abilities well, but all of GGG promise him their aid if he ever needs it. As he's about to leave, his classmates and Ayame show up, having brought Hana in a Wedding Dress. The two kiss, before Mamoru leaves with Galeon, his friends and teammates waving him off, as they pass Orbit Base, the Brave Robots, Piggy, Inubouzaki, Nozaki, Hirata and the other GGG staff wave him off. As the star that is Galeon and Mamoru fades in the distance, Mamoru's new bride stands watching it, awaiting the day her love will return.

#gaogaigar

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